#which is going to knock anyone for absolutely fuckin six

[formulatrash]

haven't been this fucking insanely furious at Williams since they fired Damon Hill halfway through 1996

[readerthatreadsss]

Worth The Wait | Steven Grant

(Inspired by the song of the same title by Kali Uchis)

Pairing: Steven Grant x fem!reader

Word Count: 6.2k

Summary: You and Steven have been roommates for a while now. But one night after being stood up by yet another guy in a string of dates gone wrong, Steven offers you some support...which sparks an interesting chain of events.

Warnings[18+ activities MDNI]: sub! (ish) Steven, dom! (ish) reader, fools in love, friends/roommates to lovers, mentions of drunk reader (but not drunk when they actually have sex, you'll see), crying (reader's drunk and starts venting for a bit, that's all), unprotected p in v sex (cloak the joker before you poke her), oral sex (steven and r receiving), Steven doubting himself mid-sex, assertive reader and awkward Steven! , choking (r receiving), riding, creampie, barely edited cause I'm really fuckin tired.

A/N: Hi. Don't ask me where I found the time or motivation to write this shit when school started back a month ago. The idea just popped into my head and my fingers didn't stop moving once I opened a draft. Note, I have a tall fem! reader x Steven in my drafts to finish so don't think I forgot!

"Steeeeven," knock knock knock, "STEVENNNN," knock knock knock−

Steven's brows furrowed beneath his reading glasses at the sound of your voice coming from outside your shared apartment door. Concern as well as confusion sprang through him instantly. You sounded drunk. Which he was sure to be the case seeing as you were sloppily knocking at the door rather than opening it with your keys.

He quickly shut the book he was reading and removed his glasses before making his way over to the door in fear that your next call of his name would wake the entire building.

Unfortunately, he opened the door at the very moment you launched your hand forward to knock once more. This caused you to tumble through the door with a drunken yelp. But Steven caught you in his arms before your body could hit the ground.

You looked up at him with a lazy smile and hooded eyes. "Thanks, Stevie bear," you hiccuped, using both hands to cling onto one of his very defined biceps. You had never realized how big and firm they were before that moment.

"You're welcome," Steven replied worriedly. He swiftly shut the door with his foot and used your grip on his arm to bring you standing back on your feet. "Y/n what the bloody hell happened to your date?"

You rolled your eyes at his question, kicking off your heels and making your way over to the couch without somehow falling again. "See now, Steven," you paused and pointed at him drunkenly, "it can't be a date if the said date doesn't even bother to show up!" you explained.

Steven sighed deeply at your explanation as he sat on the other end of the couch. This wasn't the first time this had happened to you—or him for that matter—but he could never understand why. You were easily one of the most beautiful women in London, and definitely one of the smartest, (your framed Ph.D. in psychology hanging over the television was evidence of that). You were the full package and more. Any man would be lucky to have you.

But the men of London were clearly morons if they kept standing you up or acting like complete knobs to you on your dates.

He would never do that to you. But he's seen photos of your past dates. A woman like you was way out of his league and would never go for someone like him, anyone with eyes could see that.

"How much have you had to drink?" Steven suddenly asked you.

You raised 3 fingers to the best of your ability. "Six," you answered before bursting into a fit of giggles at Steven's expression.

"Gosh, y/n, you're absolutely clobbered," he grabbed a blanket from the arm of the couch and spread it over where your short skin-tight dress was riding up your thighs.

"Well I didn't lie," you sat up abruptly, throwing the blanket off your lap and turning to face Steven and sit as crosslegged as your dress would allow, "Three of the drinks were margaritas...the other three were shots of vodka though," you admitted softly as if it were some secret for only yours and Steven's ears.

"Do you have work in the morning?" Steven questioned gently, picking up the blanket and handing it back to you. Your dress was riding up with every slight movement you made, which meant more of your thighs being exposed to him. Despite this, Steven wouldn't dare look anywhere except your eyes.

"Nope." You threw the blanket back on the floor. The night was pretty warm, you don't understand why Steven keeps giving it to you.

"Do you want me to make you some coffee or tea?"

"Yup."

Steven looked at you in question for a few seconds. "Which one?" he prodded, fighting back a smile at your muddled state.

You moved closer and narrowed your eyes, "Which one of what?" you questioned, truly confused, before breaking out into another fit of drunken giggles that caused you to momentarily tumble forward and land your hands on Steven's thighs.

"Coffee it is then," Steven answered for you, his voice traveling up an octave. He then carefully moved your hand from his thighs, trying to ignore the chills your touch sent up his spine, and hightailed it to the kitchen to put on the percolator for you.

You tilted your head as he walked away, noting how quickly he left.

When Steven returned with your cup of coffee (with cream and no sugar just how you liked it), he found you seated in the same spot but with his blanket draped over your head and body while soft sniffles and sobs met his ears.

He placed your cup on the table nearby and carefully approached your figure on the couch. Steven reached for the blanket and slowly removed it from your body.

"Why are you crying, love?" he sweetly asked once your face came into view.

"Because I'm a mess," you sniffled, using a hand to wipe the trail of tears falling from your eyes.

Steven's head tilted in disbelief at your words. "You don't really believe that, do you?"

"Yes I do," you nodded fervently, "It's why my dates have sucked for the past 2 months, it's why I got passed over for that goddamn promotion at work last week, and it's why you can't stand being around me for longer than 3 minutes these days."

Steven was taken aback by your words. You thought he couldn't stand to be around you? That's impossible.

"You practically sprinted to the kitchen!" you added after a few moments of silence.

"To make you coffee," Steven protested, gesturing to the cup lying untouched nearby.

"I saw your face," you looked down at where your hands lay in your lap.

Steven swallowed harshly. "Y/n."

You ignored his call for your attention.

"Look at me," he came closer and entangled his hands with your own in your lap, immediately causing you to look up at him with tear-stained eyes, "You are not a mess," he softly yet sternly said to you.

"Yes I am−"

"No. You are not," he interrupted your arguing, "Your dates? They're all losers for letting you slip through their hands. And if a few bad dates is fate's way of making you wait to find the one, then I think that's well worth the holdup, yeah?"

You chewed on your bottom lip anxiously before nodding in agreement.

"And as for my behavior earlier, it was−" Steven paused with a sigh fumbling for a sensible excuse, "it's your perfume."

You pulled a face that would have made Steven laugh under normal circumstances. "My perfume? You hate my perfume?"

Steven swallowed harshly. He hated lying. He wasn't even good at it. But convincing you that he couldn't bear your perfume was easier than admitting that he just couldn't handle the way your hands felt on his thighs or the way his entire body heated up when you leaned closer to him. "Yup. The smell was too much for me," he fibbed.

You rested your head in your palms, pouting slightly. "But you're the only reason I wear this perfume, Steven," you confessed, barely audible.

Steven's face fell. "What?"

"You told me that you liked it when I moved in and from then I kept buying it just because you liked it."

Steven's heart swelled at your admission. He felt like an asshole. He was no better than the losers you'd been going on dates with.

You continued to speak. You could feel words preparing to leave your lips that have been eating at you for a while, now guided by your lowered inhibitions. "And I didn't only mean just now. These past few weeks you can barely look me in my eyes, or be near me, Steven. What am I doing wrong?" your voice broke with your last words.

Steven had seen you cry a few times before. But this time was different. The look on your face was heart-wrenching. He couldn't believe that he made you feel like this.

Because he was having trouble dealing with his own feelings for you, he made you think he hated you...when it was the complete opposite.

"There's nothing wrong with you. It's all my fault," Steven said, breaking away from your gaze, feeling it pierce through him.

"I'm the one who was dumb enough to fall in love with you..." he added, only to look up and see you passed out against the arm of the couch.

A part of him was saddened that you fell asleep before hearing his confession. But another was grateful and profoundly unprepared for your inevitable rejection.

Steven looked at you for a few more seconds before carefully picking you up—smiling to himself when you curled into his chest—and carrying you to your bedroom.

° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

You woke up in a slight daze...and in someone else's bed.

It took a few glances around the room for you to piece together that you were in Steven's room.

And then all of last night's events came back to mind, seeping in and clearing the fog that your excessive alcohol consumption had sired;

Your failed date. Coming home and falling into Steven's arms. Saying way too much to Steven. Steven's last words before your body shut down.

Steven.

Steven.

Steven.

"Oh God," you mumbled, cradling your face in your hands.

Eventually, you pulled yourself out of the bed and stumbled into the bathroom for a shower. You thanked whatever higher power was at work that Steven was still asleep on the couch when you padded through the living room.

But when you finished showering and exited the bathroom, you were hit with the smell of freshly brewed coffee. You poked your head into the living room to make sure Steven was still in the kitchen before running a path straight to your room and getting dressed.

After throwing on one of your old university crew necks and the first shorts you could get your hands on (which happened to be very short ones), you heard a knock at your door followed by Steven's voice.

"Y/N? I have a cup of green tea and some painkillers here...thought you'd need them."

You found yourself smiling at the sound of his voice, something that was becoming more common in recent weeks. What did you do to deserve a man like Steven in your life?

You quickly moved to open the door and let Steven in. "Hey, Steven," you greeted him with a small smile.

He released a nervous chuckle as he presented a cup and two pills to you. "Good morning."

You took them happily, bringing them to your night table. "I'm not actually feeling very hungover," you said to him, turning to sit on your bed.

"Really? That's surprising...considering last night," Steven replied, taking a hesitant step further into your room.

"Yeah must be my tolerance and all that," you shrugged, taking interest in how Steven had yet to meet your eyes since you opened the door.

A beat of silence passed between you while you took a sip of your tea. "Steven, you can sit," you softly spoke, gesturing to your bed.

"Oh, sure," Steven took a seat at the farthest edge of your bed, maintaining a more than comfortable space between you.

"How'd I end up in your bed this morning?" you suddenly questioned. You were genuinely curious, but the reaction it garnered from Steven was more than worth it.

After a brief clear of his throat, Steven answered, "Well you sorta climbed into my bed in the middle of the night, gave me quite a scare actually, and I wanted to give you space to rest so I let you have my bed and I slept in the couch."

"Oh, I'm sorry," you frowned, a tinge of embarrassment seeping in, "Why didn't you sleep in my bed?"

"Because..." laying in your bed that smells flawlessly like you would've sent him into cardiac arrest- "the couch is more comfortable."

You nodded in understanding, placing your half-empty teacup back on the table.

"If you uh need anything," Steven stood up from your bed, slowly walking backward to the door, "just shout," he said as he turned to open the door.

"Did you mean it?"

Steven halted in place at your words, his back still facing you.

You slid off your bed and approached his oddly still figure.

Steven's throat ran dry. There's no way you could have actually heard him. Right? "What?" is all he managed to say.

You walked past him and used a hand to close the door, coming to stand in front of him. You needed to look at his face. Living with Steven for a year has taught you that he wasn't a man of many words but his face said more than enough when he couldn't. Drunk you couldn't utilize your psych degree the night before, but sober you sure could at that moment.

"Did you mean it?" you repeated, "When you said you fell in love with me?"

Steven's jaw slackened when he met your stare, that feeling of being pierced by your gaze returning. "I-"

Your eyes narrowed as you took a step closer to him, now being close enough for his nervous breaths to fan across your lips. "Because if you meant it then I would tell you that. I think..." you paused and looked away for a moment, "No, I know that I love you too."

Steven's hooded brown eyes widened. He blinked a few times, trying to will himself to wake up if this was a dream.

You bit back a small laugh at his expression before you continued. "I love how willing you were to rent some small-time therapist your extra bedroom because you heard her crying in the corner of a coffee shop that she'd been kicked out by her stupid ex-boyfriend. I love the mugs you buy me every month because you saw them and they reminded you of me. I love how you watch shitty action movies with me after every bad date I have because you want to take my mind off them. I love how much you care about...everything really. I love you, Steven Grant," an enlightened smile rested on your face as you spoke, "and I'm sorry that I spent the past year thinking everything you made me feel was platonic when the truth was that you made me feel things that no one else has. I'm an idiot Steven-"

"No," Steven's first word came, a relieved smile accompanying it, "You are not an idiot. You are the smartest person I've ever met. Smarter than me, that's for sure," at that, you both laughed, "I've spent this whole year thinking that you would never see me as anything more than your weird, boring roommate...and turns out you loved me this whole time," he ended in a soft whisper, shocked by his own conclusion. Steven found his eyes drifting down to your lips and you immediately took note of it.

You exhaled deeply before closing the gap between you and Steven, meeting his lips in a bold kiss.

Initially stunned, Steven sunk into your lips soon after, gently bringing his hands up to rest on the sides of your face.

Your brain fogged as Steven devoured your lips, an unusual confidence taking over him. You wrapped your hands around his neck and smiled into the kiss, allowing Steven to slip his tongue past your lips, tasting more of you and pulling a moan from your chest.

Steven pulled away first, feeling himself enter a state that he wouldn't dare himself to in your presence. You bit back a whine when his lips left yours, looking up at him in confusion.

"We don't have to do this if you don't want to," he spoke, taking a step away from you.

You licked your lips and stepped towards him. "Steven, trust me, I want to do this. I want to do a lot more than this actually," you pulled his waist flush against your body, drawing a shared moan from you both when his growing bulge pressed against your stomach.

Steven's hands flew up to grab the back of your neck and your jaw. He softly muttered your name, as a warning more than anything else.

You leaned in and pressed a kiss against the corner of his lips. "If you say no, we will stop this right now and go eat breakfast. But if you say yes, we are gonna stay here and I'm gonna let you do very bad things to my body."

Steven swallowed harshly. "God, yes," he replied, failing to swallow back a whimper at the implication of your words.

Your hands squeezed his waist as you moved back to look at his face fully. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear that Stevie," you smirked.

Steven looked down at you with adoration clear in his eyes. He couldn't believe this was really about to happen. He used his hold on your neck to pull your lips crashing into his. This kiss was a lot more hungrier than the first, with Steven now making his intentions much clearer.

"I'll take that as a yes," you grinned between kisses.

Steven groaned his agreement as he continued to kiss you.

You used your grip on his waist to push him back towards your bed, effectively breaking your kiss and causing him to land on the edge of your bed with a grunt.

Steven looked up at you through his lashes in awe as you approached him. He watched keenly as you removed your top, wearing nothing underneath, before moving to straddle his thighs. Steven made a move to touch your chest before stopping his shaky hands midair and looking at you in question.

You gently held Steven's chin up and smiled down at him. "Steven you can touch me," you reassured him. Even in an intimate moment like this, he was ever the gentleman...

Steven indulged with a sheepish smile and brought both his palms to each of your breasts. Unable to help himself, Steven dove in and took one of your nipples in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the hardened bud.

"Fuck, Steven," you moaned, eyes slamming shut at how good it felt. Your words only seemed to egg him on further as Steven switched to your other breast, his lips and tongue moving against it with more enthusiasm.

Your hands at the back of his neck grabbed fistfuls of his curls while his ministrations against your chest pulled more moans and whines from your lips.

Some time after, you pulled Steven's lips away from your breasts and met them in a searing kiss, pressing your clothed cunt down against his erection. "Shit," Steven lowly cursed, bringing his hands to your waist to grind you down further against his bulge.

You obliged with a moan, grinding in Steven's lap harder. "Tell me what you want, Steven," you whispered against his lips.

Steven's hands squeezed your waist harshly when your lips began sucking against his throat. He could barely put together thoughts at the moment, much less words.

You trailed a hand down to the waistband of Steven's sweats and slowly reached under it for his cock. You swallowed a moan when your hand traced his full length and girth. "You've been holding out on me Steven," you chuckled against his neck.

Steven blushed furiously at your words. "Thank you?" he responded awkwardly, barely functioning with your hand rubbing along his cock.

You chuckled once again, pulling away from his neck to look at him. "You're so pretty," you said, causing another wave of red to hit Steven's cheeks.

"No one's ever said that to me before," he admitted softly.

"Well that's okay, cause I want to be the only one who makes you blush like this," you grinned brushing a stray curl from his forehead, "I bet your cock is just as pretty," your hand picked up speed beneath Steven's pants, "Can I see it? Please?"

Steven nodded enthusiastically. "Anything you want," he said with a desperation that had your pussy throbbing with need. You briefly lifted your hips allowing Steven to clumsily slide off his sweatpants and boxers and step out of them.

Once you returned to your position on his thighs, you looked down at his cock, the head already dripping with small beads of precum. The length was truly unexpected, as well as the girth. You would do anything to feel him inside you.

But for now, you really wanted to taste him.

Steven watched you sink to your knees before him, your eyes never straying from his.

"Are you sure you want to-"

"Steven you said anything I wanted," you paused, gliding your fingers over his length and watching it twitch in response, "And I really want to taste you. Can I suck your cock, Steven?"

Steven's breathing picked up as he took in the image before him; you on your knees, touching his dick while literally begging to suck it with a look in your eyes he could only compare to the look of a wild female tiger eyeing her freshly caught meal in the nature documentary he watched the week before.

"Please, please do," his response came soon after.

You began with a kiss to the head of his cock that made it immediately jump in your hand. You couldn't help but chuckle, and it was a sound that Steven hoped would be the last thing he heard before he left this earth. "You're so sensitive, Stevie," you cooed before pressing another kiss but to the base of his length.

Steven released a sharp moan at both of your kisses to his cock, finding himself embarrassingly close to cumming already.

"Please," he pleaded your name with a whine, "stop teasing."

You swirled your tongue around the head where precum had gathered, moaning in time with your movements and drawing yet another mewl from Steven. "Oh but Stevie, I just love hearing you say please," you teased him, looking up from where you had a hand wrapped around his base and another briefly caressing his balls.

Steven was now panting, his eyes never leaving you as you held him. He watched you slowly wrap your lips around his tip before slowly sinking down.

After reaching a little more than halfway down Steven's cock, you felt yourself gag but simply stilled instead of removing yourself completely.

"Fucking hell," Steven grunted before melding into a pathetic moan once you held your position. You eventually let up when you almost ran out of air and slowly removed your lips from his dick, your eyes meeting his with tears streaming along your face from the stretch.

You were prepared to do it once again but felt Steven's palm grab your chin before you could. "No, love, please. If you do that again I'm afraid I'm not gonna last."

Steven watched you lick your lips before shifting to trap his thumb in between your lips and softly suck on it. He couldn't stop the whine that slipped his lips at your action.

You eventually released his thumb from the confines of your mouth and came to stand over him with a smile. "Well then. Tell me what you want to do next. I'm all yours, baby, remember?"

Steven brought his hands to rest on your hips and leaned forward to press a soft kiss against your stomach. "I-uhh," his brows furrowed and he shook his head briefly as if sending away a thought.

"What is it, Steven?"

The man beneath you looked up to meet your eager eyes, suddenly confident enough to say what he wanted. "I really...really want to taste you."

You felt your breath hitch at his request. It was rare for a man to enthusiastically offer to go down on you. Though it was clear to you now that Steven was most definitely a rare man.

"You want to?" you felt your voice come out a lot more unsure than usual.

Steven's brows furrowed once again as a fleeting smile graced his lips at your response. "Of course I do, sweetheart. Do men not usually..."

You harshly exhaled. "I mean some do but I usually have to complain first or they do it cause they want me to return the favor," you admitted.

"They don't deserve you. No one does," Steven softly uttered, gazing up at you with eyes you were growing more fond of by the minute.

You quickly leaned down to meet him in a kiss in response. You didn't deserve him either.

Steven pulled you back into his lap and kissed you back eagerly. But he was the first to pull away, causing you to whine in a way that made his cock jump against your cunt. "I-I really did mean it, love, I need to taste you. Now."

You had never seen Steven so demanding. It had you throbbing in anticipation. You allowed him to lay you on your back and peel away your shorts and panties to reveal the part of you where you needed him most.

Steven looked starstruck as he examined your arousal. He moved closer and closer to your pussy, letting his warm breath fan over your glistening lips.

"Steven please-" you begged, though you couldn't finish your thought before your voice broke into a loud moan when Steven licked a stripe from your entrance to your swollen clit.

Steven closed his eyes, relishing his first taste of you. It was everything he'd quite literally dreamed of and more.

And so, he eagerly dived into your core.

Your hands flew to Steven's head working between your legs as your thighs instinctively closed around his head from the sudden wave of pleasure surging through you.

The feeling of your thighs trapping his head against your pussy was absolute bliss to Steven. He moaned into you as his tongue swirled around your clit sloppily. If he was inexperienced, you couldn't tell because every movement of his tongue brought you closer and closer to your release.

The vibrations of Steven's enjoyment drew a brief scream from your chest before you slapped a hand over your lips to silence it.

Steven finally came up for air, his lips and jaws covered in your slick. His curls were strewn along his forehead by a damp layer of sweat as his dilated pupils met your own. "C'mon. I want to hear those pretty noises you make for me, love," he said before running two of his fingers through your folds to gather some of your wetness and slowly inserting them into you.

"Oh my-STEVEN" your back arched up and off your bed as you felt immediately filled up by Steven's digits.

Steven gauged your reactions as he slowly removed his fingers before pushing them again with no resistance due to your arousal. "I've wanted this for so long, love," he began to speak as he slowly leaned down to press his lips against your clit in a kiss, "Wanted to hear you moaning my name," he sped up his fingers' movements inside you, "Wanted to taste you," he added another finger, now touching that spot inside your walls with every thrust, "You're so beautiful," he ended before fully diving back in with his tongue against your bud.

"Yes—fuck—you're so good to me baby," you finally gathered enough breath to speak while gaining a proper grip on his head. With every sharp lick or nip he'd make, you would tighten your grip on his hair and it would only spur him on further. It was only a matter of seconds from there before...

"Shit, I'm gonna cum, Steven," you called out, looking down to meet where he was already staring up at you, and speeding up his fingers and tongue's ministrations against you.

He held your stare once he felt your walls clench around his fingers and heard your moan melt into a scream.

"Fuck, fuck, FUCK," you shouted as your orgasm slammed into you thanks to Steven's eager tongue and fingers.

Steven watched your chest slow its heaving when your climax subsided and removed his fingers but couldn't stop himself from licking the remnants of your release from your folds. It was as if he was trying to work you up to another orgasm.

"Shit Steven wait," you mewled, attempting to close your legs from overstimulation. But Steven used strength you'd never known him to have to shove your legs back open and hold them in place, clearly intent on tasting every bit of what you had to offer.

Your eyes widened. "Holy fuck," you removed both your hands from Steven's head and ran them over your face and boobs. He was driving you absolutely insane. If it weren't for his grip on your legs you would be trembling beneath him.

It wasn't long before a second orgasm crept up on you, one more powerful than the last. Your lips parted in a silent scream as your climax washed over your entire body, from your thighs to your feet, to the base of your fucking spine.

Steven couldn't help but stare as he cleaned you up for the last time with his tongue. He couldn't believe he got to see this. To make you feel like this.

Your high subsided soon after and you released a sharp exhale followed by a laugh of disbelief.

Steven moved from his position on his knees before you to hover above you on your bed. "You okay, love?" he questioned in concern

You responded to his question with a satisfied grin. "I'm great, Stevie," you spoke before meeting his lips in a sweet kiss, "But..."

Steven's face fell at your words. He slowly moved from above you to lay next to you, scared to meet your eyes. "I did something wrong didn't I? Or did I forget to do something? I'm sorry-" he rambled, immediately doubting himself.

But his words died in his throat when you turned and caressed his cheek with a hand, your grin still present on your face. "You did nothing wrong," you insisted, "That was no doubt one of the best orgasms of my entire life."

Steven looked away and laughed at your confession. "You don't have to say that to make me feel better."

"I mean it, Steven," your voice grew stern, "That was fucking incredible."

Steven couldn't even formulate a response.

"What I was going to say was," you broke his silence, "I promised you could do bad things to my body and you haven't done nearly enough for me," you ended with a smirk.

Steven grunted when he felt your fingertips run along his cock.

"Don't you want to fuck me, Steven?" you questioned innocently while completely wrapping your hand around and stroking Steven's dick.

He nodded quickly, his bottom lip held between his teeth as he tried not to react to how soft your hand felt around his painfully hard cock. "I do. So badly, love."

You released him and brought a hand over to grab Steven's neck before using your grip to pull him back to his previous position above you. "Then fuck me, Steven. I need you to fuck me," you whispered.

Steven wasted no time in grabbing his length and lining himself up with your entrance. "Are you sure?" he checked in with you once more.

You jerked your hip in the direction of his cock in an effort to fill yourself up but to no avail. You were so damn desperate you didn't care how you sounded. "Yes Steven, please, I need you to fill me up. Fill me up baby, c'mon," you whined hurriedly.

"Well who am I to deny you of what you want, love?" he replied before slowly guiding himself into you.

He immediately groaned at the feeling of your walls squeezing him. "Heavens, love, you're so—aghh—tight," he grunted.

Your moans were never-ending as he sunk into you inch by inch. The stretch was briefly painful but it hurt so good you didn't care.Steven stopped halfway in and leaned down to press a kiss against your forehead. "You're taking me so well, sweetheart," he praised you.

You bit your lip at his praise. "More, Steven, keep going."

Steven obliged and fully sunk into you with one last push. Your moans mixed in the air at the sudden change. "You feel so good inside me Steven, oh my God-" you cried out.

You nearly choked on air when Steven slowly pulled out of your heat before slamming back into you.

"SHIT," you both cursed together before opening your eyes to look at each other.

"Faster, baby, I can take it I promise," you nodded, bringing your hands up to the sides of Steven's face. You even wrapped your legs around Steven's waist.

Steven took a deep breath before pulling out and rutting into you again, now establishing a pace. Which every thrust inside your cunt, Steven grazed your g-spot, effortlessly. It was as if you were built for his cock.

"Fuckin' love the way you fuck me, Steven," you mumbled as Steven set a brutal pace inside you.

Steven leaned down to press his forehead against yours as he continued to fuck you. Your breathing seemed to sync as he pulled out moan after moan from you.

His hands rested at the sides of your head but you could feel them inching closer to your neck.

Your pussy clenched around him at the thought of him choking you. Steven faltered in his thrusts in response. "Love you're squeezing me so hard I don't think I'm gonna last."

"Do it," you called out, tilting your head toward one of his hands.

"What?"

"I can see you thinking about it. Choke me, baby," your chest heaved as you felt your third orgasm of the night approaching.

Steven hesitated for a second before he stopped his thrusts and brought a shaky hand to wrap around your throat.

"I trust you, Steven," you spoke truthfully, "I want this too," you brought a hand to rest over Steven's briefly in reassurance.

Steven began roughly pounding you again with his hand now squeezing around your neck.

"Fuck yes, holy shit," you breathed out, feeling your eyes nearly roll to the back of your head with the newly added feeling of Steven's large hand wrapped around your throat. making you see stars.

Steven, although shocked by your immediate enjoyment of his secret guilty pleasure, took it as a sign to continue. So he trusted faster but made sure to maintain the same amount of pressure on your neck. He then got the idea to use his free hand to reach down and fiddle with your clit while fucking you.

You were instantly thrown over the edge. You came with as best a scream of Steven's name as you could manage with his hand still choking you. Chills ran down your spine while Steven slowed his thrusts inside you and waited for your orgasm to pass.

Eventually, you felt Steven release your neck and slowly begin to remove his cock from your cunt. You tightened your legs around his waist in protest. "Uh uh, we're not stopping till you come inside me, Steven," you demanded.

Steven loved the way you'd been taking control throughout all of this. He'd do anything you asked without a thought. "That's fine with me love," he nodded with a lopsided grin.

"Good," you deeply inhaled before using your hold on his waist to roll him onto his back, with you now straddling him.

You smiled at his shocked expression, which soon morphed into excitement. "You're bloody amazing," he grinned up at you.

You fought the heat that crawled onto your cheeks at his words and looked away with a smile. "Stop sweet talking me and fuck me, Steven."

He nodded quickly, "Yes ma'am." Steven slipped back into your entrance slowly.

But you grew impatient and fully sat down on his cock, loving how full he made you feel. Steven's cries met your ears soon after.

You grabbed his hands and placed each on one of your breasts before beginning to properly ride him. Steven heeded your directions and pawed at your chest while thrusting up to meet your hips.

His grunts soon became whimpers and whines as you rode him harder and faster, eager to make him cum.

"I'm almost there, love," he cried before sitting up and pulling you into his chest. His hands moved down to grip your waist where he guided you faster along his cock.

"There you go, Steven," you held his face against your own as his pace grew sloppy and his brown eyes slid shut.

"Cum for me, baby," you softly spoke with one last grind of your hips. Steven halted inside you with a broken sob of your name and filled you up with his warm release.

You moaned at the feeling of his spend coating your inner walls and leaned down to press a kiss to the top of his head. "You did so good Steven."

"I love you," his eyes finally opened while he panted, looking up at you with vulnerable eyes as if scared that you wouldn't feel the same after what you had just done together.

"I love you too," you replied without hesitation. You gently shoved Steven onto his back and followed suit, laying down on his chest as you gently removed his softening cock from inside you. You felt his hands move to wrap around your body soon after, bringing you further into his body.

Steven was the first to speak after some time. "I think you're the best thing that's happened to me in a really long time," he admitted, turning to look at you, not at all phased by the exhaustion in your features.

You leaned up to meet Steven in a heated kiss. He tightened his hold on you and met your lips with equal fervor. You pulled away reluctantly and looked down at his face with furrowed brows as you used a hand to trace his jaw and swollen lips. "Where have you been hiding my entire life, Steven Grant?"

"Haven't been hiding, love. I've just been here waiting for you."

° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

WHEW! This ABSOLUTELY got away from me holy shit. 6k words? yeah, not the plan at all. But hey it's definitely something considering that I haven't been able to sit down and write anything till tonight.

So I really do hope you enjoyed it.

(Lemme go look back through my requests and see what else I can cook up.)

[disillusioneddanny]

Barbie and Ken {Dead on Main}

The light flashed bright in Danny’s eyes, momentarily blinding him as he held the sign with his name up. He couldn’t believe this was happening. When Jazz had told him that she was going to set him up with a coworker of hers, Danny was expecting a nice night at dinner where they had some wine, talked about shared interests and all that jazz. 

What he got instead was a knock out drag out fight with a bastard who immediately started throwing hands as soon as Danny had walked into the restaurant! He hadn’t even gotten to meet this guy that Jazz was setting him up with! 

She had set him up with an English teacher at the school she was working at. The siblings had moved to Gotham together as soon as Danny had graduated from high school. In that time Jazz enrolled in Gotham University and got her degree in Chemistry and her teaching license. 

Danny decided to go to school for linguistics. When you already know all the dead languages and most languages come from those, the idea of studying all of the others just sounded neat. 

But none of that mattered now. 

Why?

Because Danny Fenton was in fucking jail. 

He scoffed as the police officer booking him in had him step away from the camera and put in his finger prints before escorting him to the hallway where the jackass he fought was already waiting, handcuffed and leaning against the wall, a scowl on his face. All Danny wanted to do was meet this Jason Todd guy that Jazz had been talking up for weeks and instead he got some fucking liminal prick who wanted to fight instead. 

Which usually, the halfa was all for getting into a fun ghost fight! Even with fellow halfas or liminals. But not when he’s supposed to be on a date! Not when he’s trying to make himself look good for a guy who sounds like a match made in heaven for him!

Sure, the fight was a lot of fun, and it was the first time in years that he got to fight another ectoplasmic entity, but that was beside the point! Now Jason was going to think that Danny was nothing more than a criminal. 

Oh, Danny hoped to the ancients that Jason hadn’t seen his fight with the liminal. He hoped to anyone who was listening, to Clockwork, to the Ghost Queen, anyone who was willing to listen to his pleas, they had to make it where Jason didn’t see him get arrested. 

“Todd, Fenton! Follow me,” a guard shouted, Danny glanced over at the asshole and raised an eyebrow. 

“Todd?” He said incredulously. 

“Fenton?” The man asked with a disbelieving laugh of his own. 

“Danny,” Danny said with a small smile, trying not to lose his shit. If his fucking date was the same guy with that fantastic left hook, he was going to lose his mind. 

“Jason,” he said, letting out another chuckle. “Jazz was right, we did have instant chemistry, but not for the reason she thought. I’m fuckin’ sorry, I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never just attacked someone before. Well, not like that, at least,” he said, shaking his head as the two followed behind the guard. 

The officer snapped at the two to shut up and Danny held back a sigh as he glanced over at the liminal. It was likely that Jason didn’t even know he was liminal and damn, that was a story that Danny wanted to hear as soon as possible. In the meantime, though, he looked this Jason Todd up and down and smiled to himself. 

Jazz definitely knew what Danny’s type was. That was for damn sure. 

Jason Todd was built like a goddamn tank. While Danny still managed to be taller than him by a few inches thanks to that Fenton height, the six foot man stood tall and buff compared to Danny’s own tall and lanky. He was absolutely sure that Jason could throw him around like a rag doll if Danny let him and by the ancients would Danny let him. 

The freckles that smattered across the bridge of Jason’s nose reminded Danny of some of his favorite constellations. If he looked close enough he bet he could find quite a few, just looking where he was he found ursa minor, polaris sat right at the tip of Jason’s nose. He wanted to trace each and every constellation on his skin. 

“Don’t worry about it, I have a punchable face,” Danny said with a laugh as the two got shoved into a holding cell together. He turned to the officer and called after him. “Don’t we get a phonecall!”

“Shut the fuck up,” the officer said before walking away. 

“Gotta love Gotham’s finest,” Jason said with a chuckle as he sat on a metal bed with a pitiful paper thin mattress on top of it and a threadbare blanket laid on top. Danny took a seat beside him and let out a breath of air. 

“Well, this wasn’t what I was planning for our first date,” Danny said softly. “I was thinking we’d get dinner, probably bail because I’m not big on fancy dinners and it was Jazz’s idea and then we could go walk around together and talk about books and the fact that the smog in Gotham is terrible.”

“That does sound fun,” Jason said with a chuckle. He glanced over at Danny and gave him a small smile. “You’re not what I was expecting. I mean you’re a lanky mother fucker but that punch to the jaw was no joke, I think it’s already bruising.”

Danny chuckled and took Jason’s face in his hands and turned his face to the side to look at where he had punched him to the face. “Yeah it’s bruising,” he said but smiled softly before he allowed his hand to ice over and pressed it against the bruise. “How’s that feel?”

“Better,” Jason said with a sigh as he smiled up at Danny. “You’re a meta?”

The halfa let out a soft hum. “In a way, does it count if you died in a freak lab accident and then came back wrong and with weird ghost powers?”

Jason looked at him startled before he threw back his head and let out a laugh of his own. “I’m jealous, all I got when I died and came back wrong was a white streak in my hair and an intense rage that never really goes away.”

Danny tilted his head and looked Jason over for a moment before he noticed the little ball of a blob ghost that seemed to be gnawing on his core inside of his chest. 

��Remind me when we get out of here, I can fix that rage for you,” Danny said with a smug smile. “And trust me, I bet without that messing you up, you’ll get some fun little ghost powers too.”

Jason just laughed and launched into the tale of how he had come back to life in the first place, telling Danny a wild tale of assassins and weird pits of ectoplasm called Lazarus Waters and how he decided to become a crime lord in the night while during the day he went to school and eventually became an English teacher where he found a passion for helping teenagers who wanted to go somewhere in life. 

In turn, Danny told his own story, about being a small town hero and later defeating the Ghost King, only to turn down the throne when it was offered and instead moved to Gotham with his sister to finally live a normal life and managed to somehow become a linguist despite the childhood dream of becoming an astronaut. 

He didn’t know how long they spoke to one another, but by the end of it, Danny had completely forogotten he was in jail in the first place! At least until a guard came in and opened the cell. 

“Fenton, Todd, you’ve been bailed out!” he barked. The two quickly got up and followed the man out of holding and into a hallway where Jazz and a tall dark haired older man stood giving the two twin looks of disappointment. 

“Hey Bruce,” Jason said, a dopey grin on his face as he looked at his father.

“Hey Jazz, thanks for hooking us up,” Danny said with a grin as the guard uncuffed each of them and they immediately held hands. “Now, I know you want to chew me out for getting arrested. But technically this is your fault for setting me up with a liminal, of course we were going to get in a fist fight. Also, Mr. Wayne, interesting to meet you, Jason has told me so much about you it’s batty,” he said with a wink. 

“Danny don’t you dare even think about it,” Jazz growled out, pointing a finely manicured finger at him. Danny looked from his sister to his date and smiled. 

“Thanks for getting us together, Jazz, you’re a great coworker,” Jason said with a smile. “But we have a date to finish,” he said. Danny turned the couple intangible and the two shot into the air and out of the jail before either of the family members could stop them. 

Jazz sighed and turned to Bruce. “I’m so sorry for introducing them to one another, I didn’t think that would happen,” she said with a sigh. 

Bruce looked up at the ceiling before he looked back at Jazz. “Would you like a drink?”

“God yes,” she said with a sigh before following the older man out of the jail. 

[drunktuesdays]

Six

[one ] [two] [three] [four] [five]

After that, Eddie barely sees Garcia at all. Oh, BCC is still feuding with the JAS creeps, so Eddie sees him when he's standing at Jericho's side, or picking a fight with one of the others. 

But he doesn't pick a fight with Eddie. Not ever.  

And he doesn't hang around anymore. Eddie hadn't realized how much he'd been used to running into the kid everywhere—the hotel, catering, coming out of the locker room. Eddie hadn't actually realized the kid was doing it on purpose until abruptly, he wasn't around. 

Eddie doesn't care. It ain't a big deal. There are a lotta people who have gotten sick of Eddie's shit and quit. He's almost forty fuckin' years old, pardna. Garcia ain't the first to realize Eddie's more trouble than he's worth, and he certainly won't be the last

Anyway, as he says to absolutely no one because he ain't troubled about it, he quit on Garcia first, so. Take that.

The kid fights Danielson. Twice. They're both good matches, obviously. Garcia's not a rising fuckin' star for nothing. Eddie's standing at the monitors for the second bout, and feeling something fuckin' stupid like pride. Like he had anything to do with the kid's talent. Stupid. He should go in the back and find Ortiz and bum a cigarette, or go get something to eat, or maybe head back to the hotel if Tony's done with him.  

He doesn't move. 

Mox is at his side, watching the monitors with him. Garcia goes limp for the second fall, and the bell rings, the crowd roars. Good for him. The kid won that crowd over fair and square. Goatface sticks out a hand to him and the kid watches him warily. Eddie scoffs. 

"You talkin' about it yet?" says Mox. 

"Bout what?" Eddie says, and then doesn't wait for the reply and stomps off. 

It was a good fight. Both of em were. Its just the fuckin' speeches that are honestly what kills him. He's so sick of everyone crying their faces off on the mic. "My hero did this" and "my hero said that". Bryan fuckin' Danielson? Really?  Get some better fuckin heroes.  

The first time he sees the kid not on a screen is when he's getting out of an Uber from dinner with Ruby-Rubes and is crossing the venue parking lot. Garcia's standing by the back door with Dumb and Dumber, talking in low tones. 

"Yo," Eddie calls. "I thought you were done with these freaks. Thought Danielson was your new daddy now." The three of them look up, and immediately Matt and Jeff immediately step in front of the kid, squaring up. 

"Back off, Eddie," Matt says. "Leave him alone."

"I ain't even doing anything," Eddie says. "What am I doing? I'm just walking by.  Ruby, am I doin' something?

"C'mon," Ruby says. "Let's go back to your locker room."  

"Why?" Eddie says belligerently. "I'm just talking' here."

"Oh, now you wanna talk," the kid scoffs. Eddie can barely even see him behind the human moron wall. "That's rich."

"Aww," Eddie says. "Did you get your lil feelings hurt by big mean Eddie? Sorry, princess. But I hear you're probably hooking up with us now anyway. Which means you and Yuta on the same side. You'll like that."

The energy goes puzzled suddenly. The ding-dongs both stop posturing and give Eddie a weird look, and the kid manages to crane his neck enough for Eddie to see him.  "What does that mean?"  

Eddie feels embarrassed all of a sudden. "Nothin," he says. "What do I give a shit? Ruby, let's go."

"Finally," Ruby says and shoves him forward to get him moving. He hears Jeff say, "what the fuck does Yuta have to do with with the price of cheese?" but the door closes before Eddie hears any reply. 

"I've been listening to like, this really cool meditation podcast I found," Ruby says as they walk down the hallway. 

"What's a podcast?" Eddie says and walks faster.

That night there's a knock on his hotel room door. In catering earlier, he was freely telling everyone what his room number was, just fuckin' shouting it around, so it could be anyone. Could be anyone with anything to say.  

He opens the door and lets Garcia in.  

"What the fuck is wrong with you," Garcia says when the door closes beind him. "Is there like, something broken in your goddamn brain?"

"Uh, yeah," Eddie says. "Ain't you never heard anything anyone has ever said about me? That ain't my fault if you don't listen. That makes you the stupid one." 

"This was about Yuta?" Garcia says, like Eddie didn't say shit. "You broke up with me in front of everyone because you—what—were jealous of Yuta?"  

"Broke up with," Eddie scoffs derisively. "Like I gave you back your letterman's jacket on fuckin' prom night. Grow up, we weren't—"

"Yeah," Garcia says, his eyes flashing. "We fuckin' were. And you tried to tailspin it, for what? For fuckin' what, Eddie?"  

"Listen," Eddie says, feeling backed into a dumb corner. He wishes he didn't open the fucking door. "I don't give a shit what you do. We weren't nothing, we just fucked sometimes. If you wanna go fuckin' give Wheeler Yuta a mating bite in the middle of a goddamn pay-per-view, that's your look-out.  Enjoy. I hope you're fuckin happy. Tell me where you're registered and I'll buy you a fuckin' instapot."  

The kid's gone real fuckin' still. He's watching Eddie, eyes big and wide. His chest is still heaving like he ran up all seven flights to get here or something, but he's looking at Eddie so intense and so close that it makes Eddie wanna grab him by the scruff and throw him out.

"Oh," he says finally. "That's what you think I really want."

"I don't care what you want—"

"You think I wanna mate up with Yoots," Garcia says. "Bite him, knot him, do the whole thing."

"I said I don't—"

"It's not a bad idea," Garcia says. "I mean, we pretty much played this out here, and maybe it's time I move on. Maybe I'll go find Yuta right now, see if he's up for it. He probably will be, right? Because that's how things are supposed to go." 

"Shut the fuck up," Eddie says. 

"Good idea, man," Garcia says, moving back towards the door. "Anyway, thanks for everything. Had a fuckin blast. I'll thank you in my wedding speech for sure."

Eddie's vicious when he slams Garcia's back against the closed hotel room door, and gets a fist twisted in his shirt front, and forcing a knee between his legs. The kid meets him eagerly though, spreading his stance for it, going up on his toes to drag Eddie down for a furious, searing kiss. Eddie kisses him back, hitching the kid up against the door and just goes for it. All the anger and jealousy and frustration of the past few weeks, he lets it out. Lets Danny take it all until that's not enough either.  Then he eases up just a little bit, just enough to haul the kid across the room and dump him on his back on the bed. Garcia doesn't stay still, he bounces twice, then sits up and starts yanking his shirt off, fumbles off his belt.  Eddie practically rips off his own clothes, so fucking desperate for it.

When they're both naked, Eddie shoves Garcia back against the pillows, knocks his legs open, spits on his fingers and starts working the kid open, probably too rough. "Gonna knot you tonight," he says, low. "You want it?"

"Yeah," Garcia bites off. He throws an arm over his eyes, hiding his face away, which Eddie fucking hates actually, but he don't know what to do about it. He just keeps loosening the kid up on his fingers, making a space he can fit into.  "Fuckin do it already," the kid says eventually, and rolls over onto his stomach, spreading his legs wide open and presenting. 

"Jesus Christ," Eddie says, and spits again, fisting his own cock. Then, thinking the better of it, lists over and snags his dopp kit from the floor, gets the bottle of Wet he hasn't touched in weeks. Eddie fingers a little bit inside, and then wets the kid's crack like he's a slicked up little omega, fucks his cock right through it. He does that a few times, just nudging against the kid's little hole, teasing. 

"You need a fucking invitation?" Garcia snaps, his face buried away in his folded arms. 

"I don't need shit," Eddie says. "This is for you. You need this." He finally presses against the sweet clench, nudging forward until he can feel the little hole give way and welcome him in.  Garcia lets out a long exhale as Eddie slides all the way, and then starts to draw back. "You love this," Eddie says through gritted teeth. He always forgets how vice-tight the kid is, how silky-good. "You can't get it like this from no one else. Not Bryan, not Chris. Not Yuta. Not no one."

Garcia doesn't say anything and Eddie can't fuckin bear it anymore. He drags the kid up to his knees, gets an arm around Garcia's chest. Eddie can't pound him like this, but he can deliver deep, sweet, sharp rolls of his hips. He roughly fondles the kid's tits, kisses his neck.  

Garcia makes a low noise, throws his head back on Eddie's shoulder, gets a hand around himself.  The kid's cute little knot is already forming, and Eddie gets his hand on it too, wraps his fingers tight around the little bulge as Garcia strokes himself off. He wonders if the kid has ever put it in anyone, whether he wants to know what it feels like to hold someone down, make them take it. He doesn't think Garcia'll answer if he asks though, so he don't.

He says, instead, "Gonna put my knot in you. You feel it baby? You feel it begging to get inside?" 

Garcia grunts, widens his stance, says "just fuckin do it."

Eddie tips them forward again, puts the kid back on his hands and knees, and gives it to him. Eddie fucks the kid hard and uncontrolled until he feels his knot blow up, big and insistent. The kid's got him so tight inside, so Eddie can only thrust a little, rough little jostles before he's groaning and crushing the kid to him, pinning him to the bed, holding him still and making him take it all.  It feels—it feels like the sweetest relief. Like all the tension in his body seeps out. Like burying himself in Garcia is a tiny glimpse of peace.

The slick quick noises of the kid jerking off startle Eddie back to his senses. He rolls them onto their sides, hooks his chin over the kid's shoulder and watches as Garcia handles himself.  "Slow down," he says. 

"Fuck you," Garcia bites off. 

"Already too busy fucking you," Eddie says, and grabs the kid's forearm, slows him down.  Garcia sobs a little, pinned on Eddie's knot, unable to move, unable to do anything but take whatever Eddie gives him. It makes Eddie feel nice, all of a sudden, and he kisses the hinge of Garcia's jaw, and encourages the kid to fuck into Eddie's grip. The kid does, in jerky, desperate thrusts, bumping his little knot against the edge of Eddie's palm.  "C'mon, I know you wanna come," Eddie says. "I'll let you. I wanna see it."

"Fuck you," Garcia says again, weaker and with less heat this time. He's too busy writhing against Eddie, restlessly begging with his body. Within a few thrusts, he's shoving his cock up and groaning, spurting all over Eddie's hand.  

"Good," Eddie says, low and warm. "That's so good. You took it so good. You feel so good."

Garcia doesn't say anything, and Eddie suddenly feels a little unsure. The kid's not tense or uncomfortable in his arms, but Eddie can't see his face to try and get a read on what's happening here.  The mood is—strange. He shifts his hips a little thoughtlessly and the kid makes a strangled noise.  "Sorry," he says. 

"Just stay still," the kid says, almost tiredly. "Just lay there til it's done, okay? Can you do that at least?"

"Yeah I can do that," Eddie says, readjusting his hold. "You got it, partna."

[onwards to seven]

[seijorhi]

insidious

Hinata Shoyo x female reader (+ Miya Atsumu x female reader)

tw dub-con/non-con, yandere, voyeurism, nsfw, smut but like just a sprinkle

Atsumu’s never considered himself much of a relationship guru, but surely he can’t be the only one who notices there’s something real fuckin’ weird about your relationship with Hinata.

Admittedly, the first few times he met you, he wasn’t paying all that much attention. Sure, you were hot, and he’d be a liar if he said he hadn’t snuck a peek every now and then; but his focus has always been on the game, on his teammates. On himself as a setter. It’s why he’s got a strict no girlfriends policy during the season. Atsumu doesn’t do distractions.

And he likes Hinata. On the court, the little dude’s a monster for him to unleash and he’d love him for that alone, but somehow despite being a 5’7” excitable ball of crazy intensity off the court as well, the redhead’s impossible not to get along with. 

There’s a few guys on the team that have partners – fuck, Meian’s even married, his wife five months pregnant with their second kid. But it doesn’t hit him until maybe three or so weeks after Hinata joins the team that he’s never seen any of them (or the ones that came before them) show up at every single training session. 

You do. 

Rain, hail or shine, no matter how early Hinata starts or how late he stays, you’re there, sitting in the stands, just… watching. It’s not a bad thing exactly. He knows Bo thinks it’s cute, gets all moony eyed and sappy about it and Hinata certainly doesn’t seem bothered by it, beaming up at you after every point scored, every successful spike, every receive. 

But it’s just– they train six days a week. It’s long hours and a lot of it’s just drills and exercising till they’re dead on the floor, and even hardcore volleyball fans would find it boring to sit through day in and day out. You don’t take a book or sit there on your phone; you just watch idly as they train. 

Day in, day out. 

There ain’t a rule against it; their practices are closed to the public but the team have a few passes they can hand around on the odd occasion. It’s more of an unspoken understanding; you can invite who you want, so long as you’re focused and they don’t make a fuss.

You never do though, quiet as a mouse as you wait for Hinata to finish up. 

“Don’tcha think it’s weird though?” he asks Sakusa one afternoon, wiping the sweat from his brow as he watches Hinata slump down beside you after practice wraps up, pulling you into a nuzzling embrace.

Sakusa makes a noncommittal noise, but dark eyes regard the two of you nonetheless. “She moved with him from Brazil, didn’t she?” 

Atsumu shrugs, “And?”

“She doesn’t have any friends or family here, no roots, no job, just Hinata,” he says – slowly, like Atsumu’s an idiot. 

And he tries to put himself in your shoes for a minute, imagine what it would be like to follow someone halfway across the world (further actually, because he’s pretty sure you weren’t from Brazil to begin with) but it’s not the same. Even without Samu, or his friends or his family, even in a country with weird customs and a language that wasn’t his own, Atsumu’s always been good at finding his feet. 

But he supposes he can understand why you cling to Hinata. Though it’s really more a case of Hinata clinging to you, ‘cause whenever he turns around, it’s the redhead who’s the one all over you, pulling you into cuddles, twining his fingers with yours, peppering your face with butterfly kisses. Like he’ll just die if he’s not touching you every second you’re together.

It’s either sickeningly cute or revoltingly excessive, and for the life of him Atsumu can’t figure out which. 

You’d think it’s his first relationship or something, that he’s stuck in some weird puppy love honeymoon phase, but from what he’s heard the two of you have been together for years now – that’s just the way Hinata is, apparently.

He shouldn’t be too surprised; the guy’s always first in line to jump on his back or try and tackle him to the floor after any successful play. Between him and Bokuto, he’s got more bruises littered over his body than a linebacker, but they’re a tactile team, and he usually gives as good as he gets. 

You’re not one for excessive PDA though. You never fight against the overbearing affection, don’t shrug it off or shrink away – at least, not from what he’s noticed – but Atsumu hasn’t seen you initiate anything more than a quick peck to his cheek when Hinata’s got you all bundled up in his arms.

And he gets that not every relationship has to be equal in that sense, different love languages and all that crap, but while you don’t fight it, you never seem… entirely comfortable with it either. Not in the ‘stop, we’re in public, please don’t’ kinda way, but–

He can’t put a finger on it. 

You smile at Hinata, cheer when he scores, let him pet and kiss and pull you around wherever he wants, but you never seem to relax properly, and it bothers him. He doesn’t know why it bothers him.

If he hadn’t met you, hadn’t known that you’d been with Hinata since he was dirt poor and moonlighting as a delivery boy in Brazil, he’d be tempted to think that you were only in it for the money. It’s not a bad plan, as far as these things go – find some up and coming athlete to place all your bets on, get him wrapped around your finger before success goes to his head. And he doesn’t know you all that well and has absolutely zero fucking justification to back it up, but you don’t strike him as the money hungry type.

You don’t strike him as anything, and maybe that’s part of the issue.

Hinata’s like a sun; he’s gonna eclipse anyone standing too close. That’s normal. The team; him and Sakusa, Bokuto, the others – they have their own talents to stand on, to push through and shine on their own, but you… 

Fuck, why does it even matter?

Why does it bother him? It ain’t his relationship. You never complain, you make Hinata happy – he’d have to be blind not to see how much that guy loves you – and he dotes on you, spoils the shit out of you, so why can’t he shake this feeling in his gut that something ain’t right there?

It ain’t his relationship, and Atsumu’s not stupid enough to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong.

It ain’t his relationship.

It’s not, and he has more important things to focus his time and energy on.

You aren’t his problem. Fuck, you’ve barely spoken more than a few sentences to him! There’s no reason for why he can’t get you and your stupid relationship with his wing spiker outta his mind. 

“Just admit ya wanna fuck her and stop bitchin’ about it,” Samu groans one night when Atsumu stops by the restaurant after training. “Yer looking for a problem between the two of them so ya don’t feel guilty about it.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, “Shut yer trap, wouldja, Samu? I said it ain’t like that!”

He’s not gonna stand there and deny that he thinks you’re hot, but that’s not what this is about. Never has been. 

It’s quiet between them for a moment, Atsumu angrily stabbing at the onigiri on his plate, but he feels it when Osamu looks at him. Really looks, dark eyes flickering across his face, reading him like an open book. Samu might enjoy giving him shit and winding him up just for the sake of it, but there’s nobody on earth who knows him better. 

Eventually he sighs, and the air feels different between them. Heavier, somehow. “What’re ya saying, Tsumu? Ya think Hinata’s hurting her or somethin’?”

Yes. 

No.

He knows Hinata. Well, for a few months at least, but peripherally for years. Ever since high school. And Atsumu’s had the displeasure of knowing guys like that, guys who liked to feel big and tough and strong and would gladly slap around some pretty thing just to feel all manly and shit, and Hinata’s not– 

He doesn’t treat you like you’re made of glass or anything, but every time he touches you, so much as looks at you with those bright eyes, it’s with this kind of intense, burning love that Atsumu just doesn’t understand, that honestly freaks him out a little. He’s never seen bruises littering your skin – at least, not the kind that Samu’s worried about. You don’t flinch away from Hinata’s touch. 

(You never look comfortable though. Never happy – not like Hinata is.)

No. He’s a good guy, he wouldn’t hurt a fly, and despite the lingering unease Atsumu has about the two of you, he doesn’t doubt for a second that Hinata is head over fucking heels in love with you. He wouldn’t hurt you.

He wouldn’t.

“No, ‘course not! I just…” he breaks off, shaking his head. And he chews on his lip for a moment, debating with himself whether he should actually admit what he’s been thinking the past few weeks or whether Samu’s just gonna call him a pussy or something and tell him to knock it off. “I get the feeling she doesn’t wanna be there. She’s smiling and sitting there all pretty, but it’s just… I dunno, it’s just weird.”

Osamu doesn’t say much after that, but he doesn’t really need to. He knows what his brother’s thinking. If you weren’t happy, you’d leave. If Hinata wasn’t treating you right, you’d leave. You’d tell someone. But it ain’t that simple, is it? 

Atsumu’s always had a problem sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. 

The first game of the season’s a slam dunk, and while they’re usually pretty tame during the season, beating Kageyama and Ushijima, last year's undefeated champs is cause for celebration. He’s not surprised to see you there at the club, tucked under Hinata’s arm in some little black dress, all dolled up. You smile at him, a hollow, fleeting thing, and Atsumu hates how the sight of it makes his stomach clench. 

Sakusa, Bokuto and Inunaki arrive moments later, a drink’s shoved into his hands and he forces himself to think of other things. You aren’t his problem, you aren’t his girl, and he’s definitely not watching you dance, your back flush with Hinata’s front, the wing spiker’s hands splayed across your hips, his mouth trailing greedily along your neck. 

And for the first time since this whole stupid thing started, Atsumu recognises the ugly feeling stirring in the pit of his gut. It’s jealousy.

He’s played one of the best games of his life today, his team’s fucking amazing, the music’s good and the alcohol is free flowing – he should be happy. And there’s absolutely no reason he should be watching you out of the corner of his eye, waiting for an opening.

It shouldn’t make his heart skip a beat when Hinata leans down to whisper something in your ear, passing you his glass as he heads off to find the men’s. He’s midway through a conversation of his own with Adriah and Bokuto that he’s barely paying attention to, and there’s a voice in his head (one that sounds suspiciously like Samu’s) that tells him to just let it go, but his feet are already moving, a half hearted excuse spilling from his lips as he slips past them both to make his way over to you.

“Hey,” he says. His voice is too quiet, too breathless to carry across over the music, but he’s taller than you, taking up your space and he isn’t imagining the way that your eyes widen, a flicker of something passing your face before you school your features back into that same fake, pleasant smile. 

He doesn’t imagine the nervous look you dart over his shoulder in the direction Hinata walked off in. 

You take a delicate sip from your glass, the very same one you’ve been nursing since you arrived and he watches – watches – as you force yourself to relax, the tension easing from your shoulders, your posture softening. “Miya,” you greet, raising your voice just enough to be heard. “Congratulations on the win.”

It’s so polite, so fucking fake that it makes him wanna hurl. 

“Atsumu,” he corrects before he can help himself. Sakusa calls him Miya, but nobody else – nobody who knows him – does. He can’t bear the sound of it on your lips, like you’re nothing more than strangers. 

He’s talked to you before, right? Surely. 

You’re just standing there, perfectly at ease around him and the others – if not for the finger tapping anxiously against the stem of your glass, a tic he wonders if you’re even aware of. You might be able to fool the others – admittedly, they’re probably not paying you too much attention – but he’s used to picking up on the smallest details. 

And he’s become real good at reading you these past few weeks.

“So tell me, how’d the two of ya meet?” he asks instead, because he’s rushed in here with no game plan and it’s the first thing that comes to mind. He doesn’t even care about the answer; now that he’s finally here, finally has you to himself for a moment, he just wants to hear you talk. 

“Oh, um,” you swallow, ducking your head so you’re not meeting his gaze anymore. “It’s a little embarrassing–”

A familiar, bright laugh cuts you off, and Atsumu’s heart hammers when Hinata slaps him on the shoulder, “It’s not embarrassing, babe, it’s cute!” 

Deep brown eyes meet his; wide, glittering and freakishly intense and he fights the urge to recoil. He’s done nothing wrong, he knows that, but Hinata’s staring at him like every thought he’s ever had about you is written right across his face, plain as day.

And you – you look like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar, like Hinata’s stumbled on you shoving your tongue down his throat rather than just having an innocent, friendly conversation with his teammate. It’s a split second that stretches a lifetime, but when he dares to look over, you’re rigid, eyes wide and full of panic and he knows, he fucking knows that he’s right. 

“Tell him,” Hinata urges, wasting no time in slipping past Atsumu to take his place by your side.

His arm wraps around your waist, squeezing you gently, and after a single, tense beat, you comply. “O-on the first week of my trip to Brazil, I was mugged. Shoyo saw it all happen and chased after them – got my purse back for me, even walked me back home to make sure I was okay, patched me up and everything.” You pause, nibbling on your bottom lip as you gaze up at Hinata, “He was my knight in shining armour.”

Hinata preens as you smile, but it’s still wrong. Atsumu’s seen what hero worship looks like, what real love looks like, and he’ll hand it to you; you have the basics down pat, but you can’t fake everything. 

With bitterness and disgust eating away at his gut, it becomes suffocating, standing there trying to carry a conversation and pretending that whatever there is between the two of you is in any way fucking romantic–

It’s too much, like somebody has a grip on his lungs, viciously squeezing out the last of his breath, and he barely remembers to excuse himself before he’s shoving his way through the crowd, knocking Meian’s concerned hand away as he flees for the balcony.

The late summer night air’s warm and humid, but he gulps it down in big, gasping heaves, clinging to the rail like it’s a lifeline. 

You’re fucking with his head and he hates it. He hates that he can’t let this go, can’t get you out of his goddamn head no matter how hard he tries. Atsumu’s always been a selfish, arrogant bastard, why should he give two shits about some girl whose last name he doesn’t even know?

He wants to despise you. He wants to forget you, to shove you aside like he has every other distraction in his life. It’s not his problem you’ve found yourself in some fucked up relationship.

But he squeezes his eyes shut, and all Atsumu can see is your face. 

He stays out on that balcony until his body stops shaking, until the sweat on his forehead cools and he no longer feels like he’s gonna throw up. The beat of the music, spilling muted from the glass doors, wraps around him now that the pounding in his head’s subsided, tempting him back inside. Any other night, and he’d follow it, get absolutely shitfaced and party till he doesn’t remember his own name.

And as he stands there alone, staring up at the Tokyo city skyline, part of him almost wants to give in – to drink himself to oblivion. Because at least that’d be easier.

But he won’t.

Instead, Atsumu shoves his feelings down, musters up a lazy smirk and walks back inside. He has every intention of saying goodbye to at least a few of his teammates before heading back to the hotel room to crash, but as his eyes scan the crowded floor, he catches sight of something that stops him cold in his tracks.

Hinata has you pinned to the wall, his face buried in the crook of your neck, but that’s not what makes his heart skip a beat. It’s the way your dress is hiked up, your panties shoved to the side, Hinata’s hand between your thighs, fucking you on his fingers.

It’s the look on your face, screwed up in pleasure – or pain – biting down on your lip to stifle your cries. It wouldn’t make a difference. Nobody would be able to hear you over the music, and even if they could he doubts anyone would give a fuck.

His mouth dries out, every thought eddying from his head as he watches you cling to Hinata, your hands gripping his arms tight. Your makeup’s smudged, a tear spilling down your cheek catches the glittering lights of the club, but when your head tilts back he knows it’s a moan that leaves your lips. He can almost hear it, picture it in his mind. You’re shuddering, shaking your head even as your eyes are squeezed shut and the only sound Atsumu can hear is the restless thumping of his own heart.

And then your eyes flutter open and find his. He watches, frozen in place, transfixed in the worst possible way as mortification flashes across your features and your lips move–

Whatever you say to him, Hinata doesn’t stop. He just shifts a little, angles his body in a way that gives Atsumu a better view of your pussy and the attention he’s paying it. He can’t look away even if he desperately wants to, utterly enthralled by the slickness coating the digits, the way your thighs tremble and quake as those fingers curl inside of you, the little jolt you give when Hinata’s thumb rubs at your puffy clit.

Atsumu watches, equal parts horrified and mesmerised as he pushes you over the edge and you cum for him, a pleasured cry drowned out by the music, shaking and breathless and beautifully wrecked in his teammate’s arms. And as you all but collapse against him, Hinata finally turns to glance over his shoulder, meeting Atsumu’s stare.

And with his eyes fixed on the blonde, he whispers something into your ear that Atsumu doesn’t have a hope in hell of hearing, presses a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek and grins.

It’s enough to rip him out of his stupor, stumbling back with a gasp as his blood runs cold. Hinata knew, he knew he was watching – put on a fucking show for him, and suddenly the nausea returns, bile creeping up his throat and Atsumu can’t do a single thing but turn and flee.

Alone in his hotel room and not nearly drunk enough, he falls into a fitful sleep, the image of your face, tear stricken and beautiful as you fell to pieces on Hinata’s fingers, burned into the back of his eyelids. 

—

He doesn’t utter a word about it when Boktuo gives him shit for ducking out early the next day at training. He doesn’t so much as meet Hinata’s eye, though the redhead seems no different than usual, all but bouncing on his heels when the Coach runs through the game against the Adlers set by set.

He still gushes when Atsumu gives him a perfect set, beaming up at him with that thousand watt smile. He still offers to be paired off with him when they run two-on-two games, isn’t ruffled when Atsumu instead grabs Sakusa and goes up against Adriah and Barnes.

And you’re still sitting in the stands, fingers twined on your lap, smiling dutifully whenever your boyfriend glances up.

Atsumu tries his best to ignore you and focus on training. He can’t afford to let you distract him any more than you already have, but in the quiet moments between sets, on their breaks, every second he’s not thinking about the game and his performance and his team his thoughts drift back to you. The way you’d bitten down on your bottom lip. Your eyes, pupils blown wide as pleasure crashed through you. Your glistening cunt, swallowing up Hinata’s fingers. The cute little noises you made – the ones he couldn’t hear but spent all fucking night imagining.

And the moment those thoughts enter his head, he can’t stop himself from darting a quick glance towards you, like he’s making sure you’re still there, that you’re okay. Even if you stiffen almost imperceptibly every time he does.

He can’t help himself, and he’s not the only one who notices. 

“Dude, you good?” Bokuto asks, pulling him aside a week or so later during one of their water breaks. And for a second there, there’s a flicker of indignation – whatever’s going on with his head, his performance is beyond question; he’s killing it. 

It’s not until the wing spiker’s attention shifts, risking a glance over his shoulder to where he knows you’re sitting that he realises that’s not what Bokkun’s worried about.

“Look, I get it, she’s cute and all, but…” Bokuto trails off, awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck. Every ounce of discomfort is written clear as day across his face. “You might wanna tone it down a bit, you know? For everyone’s sake.”

The irony of it all doesn’t escape him. And he probably should feel some kinda shame, because if Bokuto’s noticed then that means every goddamn one of the others has too and they’re all just too uncomfortable to say anything, but he can’t seem to muster it. 

“Yeah,” he croaks out instead.

Two days later he’s halfway through a shower when the stall beside his bursts open and he hears that familiar, sunny laugh, the sound of two bodies clambering into a space too small, and his heart stutters in his chest.

“Sho, no. I-I don’t wanna–”

“Shh, be good for me, alright baby? Please?” 

A drawn out hiss followed by a breathy moan, and Atsumu’s bracing himself against the tiled wall squeezing his eyes shut.

The spray of the shower isn’t loud enough to drown out the sounds of you swallowing down Hinata’s cock. And he can’t move, can’t make a sound for fear of making this worse, but with every lewd, messy gluck from your throat, every obnoxious moan that spills from his teammate’s lips, Atsumu feels that telltale stirring in his gut.

His eyes are closed and the image comes unbidden to his mind.

You on your knees, looking up at him with those big, wide innocent eyes. You, pressing soft, teasing kisses to his cock, your tongue slowly trailing along the thick vein that runs along the underside of his shaft. The way it’d swirl around his flushed head, eagerly lapping at his precum. Fuck, his cock’s already throbbing, aching. 

He’s only human, he thinks as he wraps a hand around his member, teeth sinking into the flesh of his forearm to stifle his groan. You’re making a mess of him, he wants it so fucking bad. Wants you; to fuck you, have you, hold you, he doesn’t give a shit anymore, you’re driving him to the brink and he’s helpless to stop this.

He can see it so perfectly in his head, how you’d look with those soft lips wrapped around him, the way you’d massage his balls as he fucked your face, how you’d choke on it. You’d be good, so fucking perfect as you sucked him off–

Hinata’s chanting your name and Atsumu picks up his pace, strokes turning into pumps, his fist tightening as he hisses with pleasure. Distantly he wonders whether they can hear it too; his heavy breathing, the slick, wet sound of him jerking off less than a foot away.

He doesn’t care anymore, can’t hold himself back. It’s blinding, the pleasure that rips through him, shaking him to his very core as spurt after spurt of thick, hot cum paints the shower walls.

His knees buckle, his cock still twitching as aftershocks jolt through him, stealing his breath. For a blissful moment, Atsumu lets himself sag against the tiles, a lazy smirk coating his face as he basks in the afterglow, his heartbeat slowly coming down from it’s racing high. 

And yet as the warm water of the shower cascades down his toned body, his breathing returning to normal something unpleasant begins to unfurl in his stomach, toxic and cloying, seeping through his veins. All that bliss, that heady, addictive pleasure fades away and Atsumu’s left with the weight of what he’s just done.

Distantly, he registers that it’s quieter now in the stall next to his. Hinata’s murmuring something to you, but Atsumu can’t make sense of it over the dull roar in his head, the disgust and shame that coils like a noose around his throat.

He should hate himself. 

He just might, actually.

And it’s not enough to scrub until his skin’s raw and he doesn’t feel it crawling anymore, doesn’t matter that he stays in the shower until the two of you leave, until the water runs ice cold and it physically hurts to stand under the spray.

Hinata’s still in the locker room when he gets out, slowly gathering the last of his things and shoving them into his duffle bag. For once you’re not by his side, and Atsumu can only thank whatever godly beings might be out there for this one, tiny mercy, because he doesn’t think he can bear to see you after what he’s just done.

But Hinata just smiles, bright and cheerful and all too knowing, “Seeya tomorrow, Atsumu!”

And he feels filthy all over again.

[harrieatthemet]

Mustache

He has never been keen on sharing. 

And Gemma’s mere existence, as well as the small indent on her left thumb she swears is a scar (though Harry vehemently denies it is), is living proof. 

Mr Ducky was his favorite bath time companion for a good bulk of his childhood. There were even times he’d carry it around with him in the house tied to a string like a pet, one of Anne’s fondest memories and favorite stories to tell whenever she found the opportunity. 

Maybe it was Gemma’s own fault; she was only six at the time and was foolishly under the impression that the stupid rubber toy was at anyone’s disposal, which is what led her to try and situate the duck in her backpack as she geared up for school. 

It’s also what led her to tears because Harry caught her on the way out the front door, Mr Ducky in tow, and he instinctively sunk his teeth right into the side of her hand in protest. And, okay fine, he may have bit down a little harder than he should have, but the overall message he was sending came across very clear. Gemma never touched anything he owned again for a very, very, long time; and eventually went on to tell everyone in her class she had a vampire as a brother. 

“What do we think of this little number,” your hip jut, innocent as it was, just now became a permanent memory in Harry’s brain, “too much, like.. revealing?”

You like nice in red; devilish, even, and in the best way possible. There’s nothing revealing about the dress at all. Somehow, though, he finds himself perched squeamishly at the foot of your bed in complete fucking anguish. In theory, no, the dress is not too much. It’s the perfect ensemble and flatters you so well he feels like whoever made the dress conjured it up with you specifically in mind. 

And no, it’s not too much, for literally anyone else except him. How is such a modest dress enough for him to think you up the way he is right now; bent over in front of him with your hair wrapped tightly up in his palm while that dress lays in a sloppy ball by his feet. 

“Would be nice with nude shoes,” he mules, “like, those sandals y’ave, yeah?” 

The way your eyes light up, that same way they always do when your mind starts to move at light’s speed as you start assembling a million different ideas into one, is enough to tug a grin onto his mouth. 

He didn’t really want to agree to this. When you texted first to ask he ignored it, that way you’d have just carried on without him and he could blame a busy schedule or an overrun nap on his delayed response time. It’s much easier to blame a missed text for no response. Of course it’s not in your nature to send a text, and he knew that already. So it came a son surprise when he was bombarded by 4 phone calls. By the fifth one he had picked up, succumbing to you and just the flat out unfulfilled urge he had to hear your voice at the other end of the phone.

“Seriously Harry,” your voice is like fucking honey, sweet and sullen like it always is, and he’s in euphoria listening to it as you poke your earring through the lobe of your left ear, “it’s just, y’know I don’t- I’m nervous and I appreciate you helping me do something as stupid as picking a dress.” 

“S’not stupid,” he reassures, “y’know I just like spending time with yeh, since y’so busy ’n stuff.”

Which is true. That’s the only thing that got him over here; and he rescheduled a zoom call just to sit in your bedroom for all of twenty minutes. Not one part of him regretted it, either.

“I’m busy?” You tease, “coming from the A lister who’s in London, than LA, than New York, London again, oh, than LA again oh, then ‘sorry love, m’in Tokyo.’”

Also true, he knows that, which is why he’s snickering at fault in response to your harmless teasing. He wouldn’t say it now, mainly because he doesn’t want to make it weird, but regardless of where he falls on the map he somehow still finds a way to fit you in. He’s never minded doing it, either. 

Twenty minutes isn’t enough. Maybe another twenty more could be a sufficient amount. That’s almost an hour, right? Forty minutes is almost a full hour with you and he’d love to get even that much. Or twenty more hours, even, would be that much better. It’s better for him to think of getting more time with you than to let his thoughts wander and remind him of where you’re getting ready to go off to. 

A date. It’s why he was so hesitant to come here. It’s hard enough as it is being a prisoner to his own thoughts, being around you and not getting to interact with you the way he actually wants; kiss you the way he wants, touch you the way he wants, hold you and talk to you the way he wants. Adding a new element to the mix, another man getting access to you the way he wants, well that’s just mental warfare. 

You don’t know anything about though. And thank God, because if you could get a peak into his thoughts and see just a preview of what he thinks he almost knows for sure you’d ice him out in a heartbeat. He’s got a soft spot for you, nonetheless, which is why he swallowed the massive-sized lump in his throat when you told him you needed help on an outfit for a date and b lined it over to your place.

“Who’s this guy, anyways.” He chimes, following you similar to that of a lost puppy as you start heading towards the staircase, “Like, wha’s he look like ’n stuff.”

Immediately after he asks he wishes he hadn’t. The way that pesky fucking lump reappears when you wiggle your eyebrows in response, stuffing your hand into your leather purse in an attempt to fish out your phone. A simple response like ‘handsome’ or ‘he’s a nice guy’ would’ve sufficed for him. Seriously, that’s all he needed. What he didn’t need was an entire fucking slideshow of an above average looking guy. And he had a cool mustache, to boot, which really pissed Harry off for some reason. 

“Should probably shave,” he squints his eyes at the photo you’ve got propped right in front of his face, trying his hardest to act like he isn’t so fucking jealous of that mustache, “kinda looks like a squirrel on his top lip."

“If I didn’t know you so well,” you tut teasingly, “I’d think you’re a dick.”

“You know me so well and still don’t think that?” 

He likes the way your laugh sounds, and it makes him happy that he said something amusing enough to drag it out of you. And the toothy smile you pair with it practically knocks the wind right out of him. Everything you do seems to wow him, corny as it sounds. It makes him feel so at ease, and the butterflies he gets each time gets him reminiscing to the days where he was just a kid and had the worlds biggest crush on the girl who sat three rows ahead of him in grade school. He’s giddy and he doesn’t want you to leave for this date. 

For a second he thinks about doing something elaborate; breaking his foot or faking an illness so that you literally have no choice but to hang back and look after him. That’s selfish though, and honestly just crazy and super fucked up, so he opts out of that. But he doesn’t want you to go so bad he seriously considers it, especially as you start sorting through the downstairs closet to find a coat that doesn’t clash with your shoes. 

He could just be honest. He could just tell you that he doesn’t want you to go, solely because he’s absolutely infatuated with you and for every hour he’s awake and functioning you manage to consume every thought he has. He could just be an adult and tell you he’s got feelings for you that very much surpass a platonic, friendly demeanor. That might be a better way into persuading you to stay back with him than breaking his fucking foot. 

“Ok now wait a minute,” he chokes, and there’s a painful twang that strikes his gut when you frown, “gotta tell y’somethin’.” 

“What,” you groan, and he swears he would rather die right now than do anything else, “it’s the shoes, right? They make my calves look like I’m a running back don’t they?” 

He wants to laugh but he thinks if he opens his mouth he would projectile vomit everywhere. But the thought occurs to him that if he does that than it would be an excellent excuse for you to skip the date. Though, of course, he runs the risk of grossing you out and absolutely humiliating himself all in one go of it. 

So he shakes his head no. In fact he loves the shoes, and they make your ankles look slender and really compliment your legs quite nicely. Still, he’s scrambling to string together a coherent sentence because his brain is working a lot faster than the muscles in his mouth are and it feels like someone just super glued his lips shut.

“Speak now or forever hold your peace,” you tease, and the cheeky wink you shoot him over your shoulder just edges him even more if that’s possible at this point, “Styles.”

“I don’t want y’to go on this date, (Y/N).” 

He’s well aware that he blurted that out in a way that he really, really, wish he hadn’t. Now the air in the room is stale and heavy, dense too, like someone just sucked all the air out and left the two of you here with nothing to inhale but words and unspecified tension. 

And he’s starting to get more anxious as your playful manner dissipates. He can tell your puzzled not just be the demeanor of your face, but by the stance of your body because your letting shoulders hang the way you do when you’re a little uncomfortable. 

“Oh,” you breath, and his chest starts sinking inward, “okay, I just- well why not? Do I not.. like, do I look bad or something?”

“No,” he coos, and he feels like the worlds biggest asshole when you start to frown, “No y’don’t- Christ, (Y/N) y’look amazing. Y’always look so fuckin’ amazing. It’s just-”

“What,” you huff, “than what is it, than? Why wouldn’t you want me to go?”

He’s really done it now. The proper thing to do would’ve just been to let you go, walk out with you and watch you drive off before he headed home himself. The proper thing to do would’ve been for him to just go home and think about you on a date with someone other than himself, curled up in a ball watching a Friends episode he’s already seen four times while he felt sorry for himself. But that’s not what happened, and what he should’ve done was just broke the fucking foot like he initially thought to do. That would’ve been less agonizing than this. 

“Because,” he’s frustrated now, not with you but really just himself, “I should be taking y’out. M’absolutely in love with yeh, (Y/N), and I don’t have a cool mustache but I could take y’out on a date, ’n I want to so bad.” 

There’s still that dense energy looming in the room, and his gut now too as he feels it winding up tightly in an anxious bundle of knots and twists. You’re not saying anything and the only thing he notices is that you’re breathing is vaguely staggered and your clutching onto that purse in your hand like he’s about to snatch it and run off. God, he should’ve just broken the foot!

“Please don’t go out wit him,” and now, his voice is small, “think it might kill me.”

[thiswasinevitableid]

since i am obsessed <33333 with the sternclay fill you did for this prompt, can you do 57 with indruck nsfw?

Here it is! Note: this mentions mating talk.

57: we’re fighting over the last box of half-off valentine’s day chocolate and end up in a “who has it worse” battle

This is it. Duck’s new low. Standing under the high ceilings of Wal-Mart at two in the morning, trying to decide if his dignity can take the hit of someone seeing him scale the shelves to grab the lone leftover bag of valentine’s candy.

Fuck it, those are Ghiradeli caramel squares, he deserves them after today.

Just as he’s choosing his foothold, a large, feathery shape rounds the corner. It figures that the one other customer in the store would need to be in the exact same place as him. He’ll just wait the mothman out.

Duck’s mostly used to seeing random monsters around town; back in the fifties, an interstellar gate opened up in Kepler, making it the home of a small population of cryptids know as Sylphs. When he was younger, he hated the fact he grew up in such a weird-ass place, but these days his brain barely differentiates them from the other Keplerites. They come to the national forest where he works, order their dinners in line ahead of him and, apparently, come to big box stores in the dead of night.

“Ah, excellent.” The mothman chirps, grabbing the bag of caramel squares from the top shelf.

“Hey!”

The antenna-topped head swivels, owl-like, and red eyes regard him with surprise, “Yes? Oh, apologies” he tucks his wings in “I didn’t mean to block your way.

“That ain’t it. I was gonna buy that.” He points at the bag.

The creature cocks his head, “But it was still on the shelf.”

“Yeah, because we ain’t all seven feet tall. I was about to grab it.”

“It’s not my fault you’re short.”

Duck bites back an unkind retort, sighs, “will you just give me the damn bag?”

“Absolutely not. I’ve had a very bad day and this is my conciliation prize.”

“You’ve had a bad day? I went out to a singles night for the first time after gettin dumped a month ago. Figured I’d finds someone to take home, but not a single fuckin person OR Sylph was interested. If anyone needs that candy, it’s me.”

A haughty flick of antenna, “I see your disappointing evening and raise you a reminder that it’s been five years to the day that anyone’s wanted to touch you.”

“Please, this town is crawlin with monsterfuckers, you can’t find someone to mess up those pretty feathers, that sounds like a problem with your personality.”

The mothman chirrs, annoyed, “There’s no need for such remarks. Wait, what was that about my feathers?”

Okay, so maybe Duck has jerked off to mothman porn once or twice. Or a few dozen times. He’s not about to admit that here.

“Uh, I, uh, fuck, I don’t not know, fuck-” he grabs for the bag, hoping to distract the Sylph. It works, but the mothman simply raises it above his head. Duck growls, too committed to his bad idea to back down now, and jumps for it.

A toothy grin, “Since we’re speculating, maybe everyone you encountered tonight was simply in search of a taller partner.”

“Fuck you, I’m five six.”

“What was that? It’s rather hard to hear you down there.”

“That’s it fluffball” He jumps again, fingers grazing the bag before it’s passed to the mothman’s upper set of hands. Mid-leap, he can tell he’s going to fall on his fucking knees, and a broken bone is the last thing he needs. His body acts on panic and wraps his arms and legs around the only stable thing.

“What in the world are you doing?” The mothman trills, lower hands catching Duck’s legs so he doesn’t slide straight to the floor.

“Tryin to get what’s mine.”

“This is ridiculous.” He keeps the candy out of reach as Duck tries to climb him.

“I know, but I ain’t about to let you win.”

“Gentlemen.”

They stop grappling and stare at the beleaguered employee at the end of the aisle.

“Please just get out. Don’t even worry about paying for that, it’s like two bucks and that is not worth dealing with you for.”

They both mumble an apology. Then he lunges up, snatching the bag while his opponent is distracted and bolts for the door. He’s without his car, so he’s half a block from the store when a shadow glides overhead and drops down in front of him.

“That was rude.”

“So was insultin me.”

“You started it.” The cryptid looms over him, “and you only have minor ego bruising to blame for your short temper and poor judgement. I spent the entirety of my day arguing on the phone with government officials until one of them finally listened to me about a dam bursting north of here. I, I deserve something nice.” The last part is said more softly, as if he’s not sure he believes it. That slaps Duck back to his usual sensible state.

Duck sighs, reaches for the cryptid’s arm, “Look man, how about we-”

When his hand makes contact the mothman purrs, then flattens his antenna. Duck runs his hand up the smooth chitin, making the purr double in strength.

“I, I apologize. I didn’t even know this could happen with a human so I did not check the futures for it.”

“For what?”

“I, my kind use playfighting and chase as a mating ritual. Which, combined with those gentle touches just now, means my body thinks you’re a potential partner.”

A thrill creeps up his spine, and he pets the Sylph once more just to hear him purr, “So, uh, what should I do?”

“I suggest you take the candy and” he shudders, “walk home, and we both pretend this never happened.”

“What happens if I run?” Duck sets his hand on the down of the cryptids chest, shivering as it sinks into the fluff.

The mothman looks at him, confusion warring with desire on his face, “I chase you. And since I foresee you asking, if I catch you I will take you then and there unless you tell me not to.”

“Got it.” Duck steps back, smiles when the cryptid tries to follow his touch and then catches himself. He could just walk home and wolf down his hard-won candy. But they’re right by his shortcut through the forest to his house and no one has wanted to chase him for months…

He takes off into the trees.

For the first few yards there’s no sound but crunching leaves and his breathing. Then soft, determined wing-beats glide through the treetops. The canopy is thick here and no one but him knows this path, so he likes his odds of making it home. He even knows where the most troublesome roots are so he won’t trip and lose ground.

Duck’s nearly home when nature betrays him; a deer springs across his path, startling him and sending him to the ground. He scrambles up, listening for signs of the Sylph’s location, but the wingbeats are gone. Did he give up? Is he lying in wait up ahead? Did Duck actually lose him?

The questions spin through his mind as he scans the treetops. There’s nothing, only shadows and bark.

“You know” a voice lilts, coiling around him, “I’d think someone who worked in the woods would know many moths excel at camouflage.”

Red eyes appear in the branches to his right. He gets out a single “fuck” before the mothman swoops down and knocks him into the leaf litter. The candy hits the dirt a few feet away as he’s roughly rolled onto his stomach.

“Holy fuck.” He pants as clawed hands undo his pants and push his shirt up his back, “holy fuUUUuuck, oh christ that’s good.” He rests his head on his forearms as the mothman drags his tongue up his back again.

“Mmmmm, what a lovely little mate I’ve caught.” One set of hands pulls his pants and boxers to his knees while the other caresses his ass, “all dressed up too. I cannot imagine why others passed you up tonight but I am glad they did. Hmmm” claws prick his inner thighs as they’re pushed as wide as they’ll go, “you’re a bit aroused already-”

“Wonder why.” He teases.

“-but I ought to make sure you’re ready to take my cock.” A long, flexible tongue traces circles on his folds. He groans, pushes his hips back in hopes of getting more. The Sylph grants his wish with a purr, thrusting his tongue in hungrily. Duck moans, then snickers into his arms.

“‘At’s ‘o ‘unny?”

“F-feathers, ticklish.” Is what he manages to get out before the tongue curls and finds his G-spot, making it impossible to focus on anything but the being behind him. But the Sylph only gives him a minute of delicious sensation before pulling back.

“There, now you’re ready. I, ah, I suggest you hold on.”

“To whatAHFUCK, fuck, jesusfuckingchrist” his fingers dig into the earth and dead twigs scrape his knees as the Sylph grips his hips and shoves in all at once. The upper set of hands drops to either side of his head as the cryptid hunches over him, snapping his hips while sharp trills and chirps fill the air.

“That’s it sweet one, goodness, years without a partner and the first warm hole I can catch is a tight one, I, I do so love fucking humans for that reason alone, but you, you feel exquisite, ohyes, yesyesyes” he chirrs triumphantly and Duck moans; he’s never been able to feel a partner cum like this. When he glances down his torso, he’s surprised to see the droplets shimmering in the moonlight as they drip down his thighs.

“That was fuckin incredibleAH!” He’s flipped onto his back, the mothmans body blocking out the sky.

“Did you think we were done?” He’s grinning again, the expression as charming as the starlight on his feathers.

“Kinda? Not, uh, not that I mind if you wanna go again.”

“I do.” The cryptid lifts his legs, removing his shoes and clothes as he adds, “again, and again, and again. After all, look how much it likes you” He adjusts so Duck can see his dick. It’s not the size that startles him; it’s the series of ridges on it and the fact that it’s fucking pulsing like it’s got a mind of it’s own.

Duck spreads his legs, “Only it likes me?”

“I’m beginning to share it’s opinion” The tip presses in and the purring intensifies, “though I must say you’ll need to be far more polite and submissive a mate to make up for your--ohgoodness--earlier behavior.”

“Yeah?” Duck smirks, dragging his hands up the soft feathers of his chest, then glides them out to stroke his inner wing “how’s that for a start?”

The Sylph’s chirrs change, growing needier the more Duck pets him, “So very good. No, no one has touched my wings in years.”

Duck studies their sheen, the little speckles of grey and white, and digs his fingers deeper, “Damn shame.”

A soft trill accompanied by three demanding thrusts and then cum spills into him once more.

“Heh, you like when I compliment your feathers? Ohfuckyes” He moans as the Sylph starts thrusting, slower than before but made far more obscene by the sound of his cum being fucked back into Duck’s body.

“I, I do.” He drops his forehead to rest above the top of Duck’s head, “it’s been so long. As you said, this town is full of people who would gladly take a werewolf to bed but have...reservations about one such as me.”

“Their loss” Duck nuzzles the ruff of feathers around the Sylphs neck, runs his hands greedily along his wings, “these alone are so fuckin gorgeous there oughta be a line of folks beggin for the chance to mess ‘em up while they ride you.”

The mothman whimpers, chirps when Duck leans sideways to trail kisses along his right wing. His hips are moving lazily in time with the roll of Duck’s own and he sighs with every thrust, as if Duck is his favorite place to be.

“Got some broken feathers.” He murmurs.

“A peril of fast flights and living alone. It’s better if someone else pulls them free and grooms them for you.”

“I could do that.”

A hungry moan as the mothman noses his hair, “You’re making me wish I hadn’t caught you so soon; had we played longer, my ovipositor would have joined the fun, and you’re so wonderful a mate I ought to lay in you.”

“Jesusfuck” Duck fists his hands into his chest feathers, bucking his hips.

“Oh, do you like that? The thought of being a handsome little hole for me to stuff my eggs in?”

“Yes, holy fuck yes.”

The thrusts turn demanding, “Just one more way in which you’re perfect. You’re strong, you’ve a lovely shape” one hand runs possessively across Duck’s belly and chest, “and it only takes a little bit of vigorous fucking to make you well-behaved and willing to be properly mated.”

“Fuck, fuckin christ that’s goodOH, ohfuckrightthere” one of the ridges is catching his dick, pushing him towards orgasm, “please don’t stop, don’t you dare fuckin stop-”

“Never” it comes out in a growl, “I want to see you be a good little human and cum on my cock while I fill you up. Oh yes, yes” he smiles down at him, “it seems you’re about to oblige meAHhnnnn, goodness you tighten so nicely when you finish” he speeds up, jostling Duck as his climax renders him limp, “yes, yes sweet one hold out just a moment, nnnf, oh, ohyes” He spills into him, Duck’s body unable to contain it all and sending it running down the cryptid’s shaft and the humans thighs. Then the mothman eases out with a low chirp and sits back on his heels.

Duck flops his arms about until he finds plastic, pulling the bag of candy to him as he sits up. He yanks it open, undoes the foil, and freezes. The cryptid isn’t looking at him, isn’t making any noise. He’s just hunched forward, antenna flattening.

“You okay?” Duck finishes freeing the chocolate square.

“Yes” there’s a sniff, “yes I’ll be fine.”

“That ain’t quite what I asked.” He holds the candy out. Antenna twitch, but the mothman keeps his head down.

“I apologize, I, I meant to wait until you left but I, I got overwhelmed. You were so sweet, you let me do all that and I, I don’t even know your name.”

“That’s an easy fix. I’m Duck. It’s a nickname.”

The cryptid finally looks up, takes the offered treat between his claws, “I’m Indrid.” He pops the candy in his mouth and chews miserably.

Duck pulls his boxers on to avoid getting any more pine needle pokes on his ass, then scoots closer, “So, uh, Indrid. Is there somethin special we need for groomin your wings? My place makes the most sense as a next stop, but if there’s a special tool might be better to go to yours.”

Indrid blinks, cocks his head, “You...you want to groom them? I, I thought that was just dirty talk.”

“Can be. But I was serious; now that I got a taste of those wings, I wanna touch ‘em whenever you’ll let me.”

“This is the least likely timeline.” Indrid whispers to himself

“What’d I do in the other ones?”

“Thanked me for a good time and left.”

“See, I thought about that” Duck tentatively moves forward, smiles when Indrid allows him into his lap to stroke his face, “but then I thought, ‘this fella’s fuckin mind blowin in bed, but I wanna get to know what he’s like the rest of the time. Can’t do that if I up and leave.” He offers another chocolate. Indrid eats it out of his hand, then wraps his wings around him.

“I, ah, there’s a special oil for my feathers.”

“Should we go get it?”

“We could. Or” he smiles, hopeful, “we could go to my place tomorrow morning. After we rest at your home and you let me buy you breakfast.”

Duck kisses his fuzzy cheek, “Yeah, let’s do that.”

[elysiashelby]

In Another World - T. Shelby Imagine Ch. 13

Paring: (Eventual) Thomas Shelby x Aliena Welsh (OC)

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Word Count: 5,851

WARNINGS: ANGST, HEAVY ANGST, Alcohol Consumption, Cursing, Recreational Drug Use, SUICIDE ATTEMPT, Mentions of SMUT (doesn’t concern any of the main characters)

Summary: Aliena Welsh hasn’t gotten any better. Her mental health is in the dumps and she’s coping with alcohol and drugs. How will she recover?

MASTERLIST ��CHAPTER 12 CHAPTER 14

A/N: THERE IS A SCENE OF ATTEMPTED SUICIDE. YOU READ ALL OF HER THOUGHTS LEADING UP TO THIS POINT & I DO BELIEVE IT TO BE VERY TRIGGERING!! THERE WILL BE BLACK LINE BREAKS TO START THE SCENE. Not a whole lot of Tommy in this one.

That night on me birthday, I blacked out. Couldn’t remember a thing, but I do remember feeling like shit the next morning. Not just from the raging hangover, but emotionally as well. I’ve never truly understood how fuckin’ shitty it is to wake up with no fuckin’ memories of the night before.

But now I did!

The days after I attempted to cut down me drinking as suggested by Polly. I kept to it as much as I could, but I just turned to other vices when we went out. Instead of drinking, I was getting high. Same effect really except I was more affectionate than ever and wasn’t getting weepy. 

Problem with weed? It made me sexually aroused a.k.a. horny. I started dancing with strangers. Men and women. I was truly not giving one flying fuck. 

And it was scaring me.

I managed to get past the whole debacle of me assaulting that woman at the Garrison. Talked to Polly abar it, ya know, some of me troubles. Really made some headway. She started wanting me to work in the shop more. 

Couldn’t tell ya why, though.

I didn’t mind, it kept me busy for a while. That was ‘til Polly told me she didn’t need me in the shop for sometime. So, now— I was stuck collecting money every fortnight, cleaning the house, cooking, and be an all-round delivery girl. 

Have you ever heard of the saying, “High highs are followed by low lows.” Let me tell you abar the low blow I was dealt. I caught Tommy banging Lizzie. 

Drop the mic!

Yeah! I caught the first love of me life having sex with a prostitute. Not knocking her down, a girl has to earn her coin somehow. It was the fact that Tom was paying for sex that got me. He would rather pay than use me. 

Let me tell you the number that did on me self-esteem. I didn't want to make it matter, but it did. It was irrational, in a way. I knew that. It was just that I was so hung up on him and I couldn't find it in meself to let go of him, yet. It was absolutely pathetic. I realize that, but I was also used to it. Used to the ones that I want not wanting me.

Oh well! I mean I wasn’t obsessing over it, but it did hurt me heart, is all. It also served as a turning point for me. Now, I wasn’t just dancing with random fellas— I was making out with them too. 

Kissing didn’t matter to me anymore. Ever since me first kiss was stolen by that bastard two years ago, or so.

I didn’t let it go any further. I was just making out with them. Men and women. Anyone who would have me. 

I was laying in me bed. I didn’t feel like leaving it. So, I didn’t. I kept me eyes shut and was getting lost in me own world. I fantasized abar being back with me family. That I had woken up in de’ ozzy from a coma ‘n I made all of this up.

“Aliena, love. You need to get up now.” Polly whispered as she shook me gently.

I opened me eyes and blinked. I faked waking up for the first time today. I hummed. 

“Come on, love.” She urged while uncovering me and taking me hand.

With our hands joined, I turned ‘round and rose to me feet. She took me head in her grasp before using the back of the head to check me temperature.

She tutted. “You don’t have a fever. Do you feel sick, Ali?”

I nodded, lying. She sighed and pulled me into her chest. I hugged her tightly while whimpering. It was better this way.

We stayed that way for a while before she pulled away. Me face in her hands again. “How ‘bout I make ya some soup? You go on back to bed and I call you when it’s done. Yeah?”

I nodded with a small smile. She led me back to me bed and tucked me in. I said nothing as the tears streamed down me face. When she left, I closed me eyes again. 

I’m so tired.

When the soup was ready, she got me up as promised and helped me down. I was acting and not at the same time. I was just showing how I really felt. I knew tomorrow I would have to bottle it all up again. 

It was just that I already used up all me rest days just laying around, so this was a better cover. 

She sat with me as I slowly nibbled away at the soup she made me. I didn’t care for it. I wanted me ma’s chicken soup. We made small chat ‘til I was done and I was sent back to bed afterward. 

I laid there doing nothing ‘til I felt like I was going stir crazy. I leaped from me bed and pulled out me journal that was full of me writings. Only once I had the pen in me hand, I couldn’t think of anything.

I threw it down and ran me hands over me face. I began doin’ some heavy breathing before I took a deep breath and just suppressed it. I just suppressed it ‘cause I felt like I was being overdramatic.

I do so much complaining. I should be grateful. I should be grateful for what I have. Why was I so miserable? 

Because I wasn’t in a relationship with Tommy, don’t make me laugh! He’s just one man.

 Is it because I’m not with me family? Come on, after all that wishing to experience something more exciting in me life!

 Fucking kinel! I was lucky enough to be found by Jeremiah and not be chucked into some mental asylum or in a prison cell for being suspicious. For not having to sell me own body in order to make ends meet. No, nothing has changed. I’m still that sheltered little girl who is just so ungrateful.

I inhaled sharply and gripped me hair tightly. 

Just so greedy. Just so lustful. So fuckin’ ungrateful.

“No!” I shouted before I slapped meself. The stinging sensation overwhelmed me and balanced me. I swallowed harshly before racking me head for a song. 

I sang ‘Empty’ by Olivia O’Brien to meself. I sang a million of other depressing songs ‘til me head ached. Then, I sat there. Just sat there. Letting the stories that ran through me mind play out there since I couldn’t write them.

But even they weren’t bringing me joy. Awful scenarios triumphed the love stories I was trying to conjure. They would just turn sour with infidelity, broken promises, and death. 

I placed me bent elbows on me desk and used me hands to support me head. I closed me eyes as a way to fight the burning in me eyes. 

As soon as I woke up, I choked down a sigh. I just turned on me back and ran a hand threw me hair. After a second or two, I got up and began getting ready for the day. For the past couple of days, I’ve been waking up with anxiety. I haven’t felt this way since being in school. 

College was different. I had more freedoms, but years six through eleven— they were absolute hell for me. It just triggered me anxiety disorders, especially me agoraphobia. 

I looked at meself in the mirror and saw a dead woman. I placed me fingers under me eyes, tugged down, and then let go. I took a sharp breath before I opened the door and walked out.

I was finding it harder to breathe these days. Like if me asthma was back, or gotten worse. Which would be totally plausible since I have been smoking ciggies now. Still pace meself, though. 

I had me hair in a bun, some hairs framing me face. I was wearing a light purple button up shirt with a darker purple, high-waisted midi skirt. 

I walked down and cut me two slices of bread. I was gonna eat me regular bread and jam. I sat down ‘n ate it. When I was done, I began to clean up again. The same old routine. Sweep, dust, fold, sew, shine, or wash.

I was in the middle of fixing one of Finn’s shirts when he walked in, panting. His lips smacked before he spoke. “Tom-Tommy wants to see you.”

“What is it, Finn?” I asked while rising to me feet. What the fuck’s happened? “What’s happened?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I was out with Isaiah, came in and he told me he wanted me to get you.”

I let out a sigh of relief before annoyance took over me. I shoved his head away from me. “Dear lord, Finn. I thought something bad happened! Ugh!” I walked past him and into the shop.

The chatter of men overwhelmed me senses. I marched over to Tommy’s office and knocked before going in. 

“Finn said you needed me.” I stood up straight with me shoulder rolled back. Me fingers were interlocked and resting at me waist.

Thomas nodded as he took a drag from his ciggie. “I need you to deliver this to Moss.” He looked up as he held up the package for me to take. 

It was probably hush money to distribute, or his own allowance to keep him quiet, or something else.

I blinked furiously as I stepped forward and attempted to take the package from his hand. 

Okay, the fuck is happening?

Tommy kept looking at me up and down and wouldn’t let go of the package. I cleared me throat and he let go instantly. 

“Right. I need you to give that to him as soon as possible. So, it’s best if you go now.” He looked away from me and back down at his paperwork.

“Right.” I repeated softly before turning ‘round. As I stood in the doorway, I held onto the wall and snapped me head to Tommy.

“Tommy.” 

He looked up, his eyes wide. “Yeah?”

I thought abar it. I wanted to ask what that was all abar. I cleared me throat before gulping and shake me head. “Nevermind. Have a good rest of your day, Tom.” 

I didn’t wait to hear a response. I practically ran out of there. I got me coat and then out the door. The cold air stung me face, but I welcomed it. After all, that interaction got me all warm inside. 

I didn’t want to think abar it too hard. I had negative and positive thoughts. Maybe he thought I looked nice, but at the same time— maybe he saw what I’ve been hiding too. I remembered abar that promise we made on December 3rd. Abar how I would go to him if me depression was getting bad, but—! I didn’t sit right with me. How could I complain abar all of me problems when he was unknowingly one of them?

I sighed and clutched the package tighter. Men and women alike greeted me as I passed. After the bar “fight,” some stares and greetings changed. I didn’t care.

Why should I? They probably bunched me in with the rest of the Blinders, now. Might call me a devil too, now.

I huffed. Well, as long as they kept their thoughts to themselves. A bizzy held open the door for me, so I flashed them a nod ‘n smile. I walked through the building ‘n ignored the stares. I walked over to Moss’s office and knocked. 

“Come in.” He shouted.

 I opened the door and walked in. Moss, instantly, sat up straight.

“Ms. Welsh.” He began. “What can I do for ya?”

With the package still in one hand, I thrusted it forward, bouncing it a little. “Mr. Shelby has a delivery for you.”

He ah-ed, rose from his seat, and took it. “Thank you. Miss. My wife was just saying the other day how she missed your company. She’d be very pleased if you visited her soon.”

I smiled and nodded. “Oh, well, I’ll make sure to stop by soon. Good afternoon, Sergeant Moss.” I nodded again and turned ‘round.

I felt the stares and heard the whispers as I walked. As walked out of the station, as I walked home. 

I shook me head as I raised me fingers to me head. Whispers, gossip, chisme. It was all so fucking annoying. Me days were blending together. Day in and day out, I was just lethargic. Having to force meself to do all this stuff was so tiring. 

But what else am I going to do? I’m so useless.

I was letting the music in me head envelope me. With me hands, I moved me hair to the side as I danced. I was hot. Like feverishly hot, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t thinking abar anything but dancing. 

I felt someone take their hands in mine, so I opened me eyes. Cassie was in front of me.

“Dance with me.” She yelled before she started doing the Charleston. 

I giggled and then began to do it with her. For this type of dancing, I had to tune in on the club music. The club we were at right now was owned by Sabini. Luckily, no one knew me face. Otherwise, we might have been kicked out or worse. 

Well, actually, since there was no bad blood yet… I might’ve just been used as a tool for some sort of deal. Ya know, a messenger or something.

When I felt tired, I gulped for air and stopped dancing. As did Cassie. We walked into each other. Why do we fucking wear heels all the damn time? I want me trainers back!

“Let’s go back to the table, yeah.” I announced more than asked. I led Cassie back to the table where Angie and Tina were sitting with men.

I rolled me eyes. Here we fuckin’ go. “Angie!” I shouted. “We’re back. You can hit the floor if ya want.” Angie’s eyes snapped to Tina, excitement all over her face. Tina’s facial expression spoke volumes, “She didn’t want to leave the table.” But she gave a sheepish smile, and nodded instead.

“Thanks, Ali.” She said to me before looking down at her new friend. “You want to dance with me?” She asked him to which he happily took her hand. Then, the four of them were gone.

I let out a sigh of relief and sat down with me legs open. 

Cassie snorted. “You’re so ungraceful.”

I tsked while waving her off. “Do one. I’m tired.” I reached for me glass of water. I wasn’t gonna be drinking alcohol for a while. However, I did reach into me bag and took out a rolled joint along with me lighter.

I lit it up and took a puff. I held it for as long as I could before exhaling. This wasn’t wise. I’ve already smoke so much, but I didn’t want to come down from me high— so, I was lightin’ up again. 

“You got cards?” I asked before exhaling another puff. 

Cassie shook two fingers as she replied. “Yeah, in my purse.” 

I passed her the joint. Probably shouldn’t have since she was drinking too, but fuck it! She was a grown woman.

I sniffed and wiped me nose. Cassie took out the cards with one hand before getting frustrated since she couldn’t get them open. She passed me back the joint before taking one last puff. I took it as a chance to take another drag.

Cassie got the cards out and began to shuffle them. “So, what game are we playing?” 

I shrugged. “Want to play Go Fish?”

Cassie chuckled while meeting me gaze. “That’s your favorite game, isn’t it.”

I shrugged again, exhaling while stubbing out the joint. “Easiest to play. That’s all.” So, that’s what we did ‘til I found meself getting more ‘n more sluggish. I felt the imaginary hand squeeze me heart as much as it was racing. That sense of dread better known as a cold sweat. 

Before I knew it, I passed out. 

When I came too, I felt a cold towel on me forehead. Slowly, I reached for it and dragged it off me face. I moaned as I sat up straight in me chair. I looked to me right to see Cassie chatting up some guy. 

My moan caught her attention. 

“Oh, good, you woke up, Ali. You smoked too much weed again. I got you a towel from the bar while you were passed out. Just stay there for a while. This is Henry.” Cassie motioned to Harry who greeted me.

Through squinted eyes, I nodded at him and gave him a little wave. I turned me attention back on the wet towel. I placed it back on me forehead and just looked ‘round. People were dancing, sitting and having a chat, and others were just drinking. Well, okay. I didn’t want to pay attention to it, but there were people having sex ‘n doing a whole bunch of exhibitionist acts.

I stifled a laugh at meself while covering me mouth. I swear this place is always a madhouse, but it was very freeing too. People were just free here. It made me feel like I fit in. 

The bad thing abar sitting down by yourself when you’re high, for me, is that I start thinking. Thinking while high isn’t good. ‘Cause what you find out is that you don’t feel pain all that much. If you catch my drift.

I sighed. The same thoughts that’s been haunting me kept repeating in me head. The same stuff as always. 

Why was I here? What was my purpose? What was I going to do with my life now? ‘Cause honestly, I was a 22-year-old Hispanic English-American, who was working on her first book as well as beginning the process of having a baby. I was going to have a baby.

And now, I’m here. Getting high and drinking meself ‘til I blacked out. I was having anxiety attacks under the same roof of the man I’ve been obsessing over since 2013!

My whole life plan was fucked. I’m stuck in the 1920s where Women’s rights are not the highest priority. Fuck, my children are probably gonna be put through the second world war.

I sighed loudly as I pinched me nose and started bouncing me leg. I let the towel fall off me head and onto the table. I picked up back up and started wiping me neck with it.

I miss my family and friends. I want the comfort of being in my own home back. The feeling of security. I knew that no matter what my family would be there for me always. But here, here everything was conditional. Everything came at a price. 

Doesn’t it? 

I mean, yeah, it does. 

I stopped wiping and got up. Me chair scraped loudly against the floor. I got up too quickly. Me vision went black and I had to sit down again. I stifled the moans that wanted to escape me mouth out of embarrassment and pride. 

When me vision cleared, I got up again. Slower this time. Then, I began to make my way over to the bar. 

“Oi!” I shouted. The bartender looked toward my direction. I raised the towel and he walked over to me. “I wanted to give this back. Don’t need it anymore. Thanks.”

He took it from me hand while nodding. “No problem, miss.”

I nodded while taping the bar top rhythmically before turning ‘round and walked back to the table. 

I have no idea what time it is. I don’t care. I fucked up. I groaned and doubled over. 

“Get the fuck up, Ali.” Cassie slurred. 

“Do one, slag.” I replied while trying to push her away.

She tsked. “You fuckin’ first. We’re almost at your stupid house.”

“You’re stupid.”

“You’re stupid.”

“Bitch.”

“No you.”

We glared at each other before busting out laughing. I started kicking me feet.

“I’m gonna piss meself!” I shouted. “I’m gonna-! I’m gonna piss meself!”

Cassie cackled even harder while clutching me arm with a death grip. I said “ow,” very childishly as I tried to pry her grip off me.

Anyway, I drank. I stupidly drank and was also high. I can’t describe the feeling except that I am extremely tired and numb. 

I slumped to the side and tried holding me head up, but failed. I groaned loudly as me head slipped from me hand. I shot back up and held my stomach. I felt like I was gonna be sick.

I pried open the window and stuck out me head.

“Get in, you dummy.” Cassie shouted as she tried to claw me back inside. Her nails only leaving a little bit of sting. It was enough for me to register that she was doing it.

I breathed slowly and deeply. I tried making the cold wind sober me up. But then the clawing got annoying, so I shook off the heel of my left foot and used it to push her away.

I could faintly hear her groan. Should’ve known that wouldn’t have stopped her. She started pulling on me leg. I rolled me eyes and got back into the car.

“I was trying to feel better, Cass!” I shouted in face. 

She pouted angrily, like a child, before burying her face in me breasts. I sighed and started stroking her hair. I did it for so long that I didn’t even realize we had made it to me house. 

“Ms. Welsh, we’ve arrived.” Simmons repeated. 

“Huh? Oh, okay.” I looked ‘round the car ‘n saw that everyone was passed out. I loudly stifled me laughter. “Simmons, they, uh.”

“I know, Ms. Welsh. I can take care of it.” He smiled at me through the rear-view mirror. 

I trusted him as much as Cassie trusted him. He came with her and her father from America. He’s been with their family for a long time. 

So, I nodded and slipped out from under Cassie slowly. I opened the car door with the same pace and then stumbled out. I was flailing abar like fucking Bambi! I gasped when I was able to balance meself. I took a deep breath and then tapped on the hood of the car.

“Thank you, Simmons.” 

“You’re welcome, Ms. Welsh. Goodnight.”

“You too.” I said before giving him a salute and turning ‘round. I trudged over to the door and shifted through me purse for the keys. I groaned impatiently when I couldn’t find them right away.

Once I did, I cheered and unlocked the door. I stumbled through, me heels clacking against the floor. As I was taking off me coat, I noticed a coat that’s not often there. Along with a very familiar shoulder holster. 

A whisper escaped my lips as me fingertips carefully touched the items. “Tommy.” 

I slowly walked into the living room and saw that there was a fire lit along with a glass on the table. I walked even slower toward the couch, me heart in me throat. I looked over it and sure enough, he was sleeping on the couch.

I smiled with scoff. I, immediately, turned ‘round and slowly went upstairs. I didn’t want to disturb his sleep. Hardly gets any as it is.

As I closed my door, I let out a sigh of relief. I looked down and cured. “Fuck! I forgot to hang up me coat.” I tsked and ripped it off me. I threw it on me chair. I crossed me arms and took off my dress. I had to fight with it a little, though. I left it on the floor and walked to my closet.

I took out my matching white nightgown and robe. I put them both on. I tied the robe tightly around me stomach and then began taking the pins out of me hair. I trudged over to my desk and threw them on there.

I shook out me hair and finally looked at meself in the mirror. I smiled at meself softly. If there was something I was absolutely confident abar meself, it was me hair. I smiled again before looking down and getting the stuff I needed to take off all this makeup. 

Once I was done, I walked over to me bed and sat down on it. I wasn’t tired anymore. So, I just sat there. I shuffled over the window and just looked. I would strain me eyes so much that black dots would appear and I would frighten meself.

What am I doing here? Why am I here? How is ma and papa doing? Are they grieving over me? How abar me friends? Did they know I was gone? Did anyone? Was this real? This is real, right?

Calm down, Aliena. That’s not your name. I took a deep breath. That’s not your name! You are not 18-years-old. Why is your body like this? Why can I do things that I couldn’t do before?

I raised me hand to me head.

What am I doing? How long am I going to wait for Tommy to look at me? How long am I going to stay with this family? Should I just move in with Cassie? No, no that’s wrong.

No, this is wrong.

Stop being so irrational. You’re just feeling depressed, right now. You’ll get over this soon. You’re overreacting. 

But what if I’m not?

When Grace comes back, will Tommy still sleep with her? Does he love her as intensely as he did on the show? 

Why would you think anything else? Well, we used to be close. Used to be! He made it clear many nights ago that you were to be married to someone else. He doesn’t like you like that!

I whimpered and gripped me head tighter. Me feet going back and forth on the bed, messing up my blankets.

Even if he did, you’re too insecure. You can lie to yourself all you want, but you’d be worried. Worried every time he left that door. Every time he had a far off thought. “Are you thinking of her?” You’d think. “Did you cheat on me?” You ask. “If you ever cheat on me, I’ll kill you.” You’d threaten.

Toxic, toxic, toxic.

Should I try to go back?

My eyes shot open and I gasped. 

Should I try to go back? Maybe this is all a very complicated dream. If I die, then maybe I’ll wake up in my room at home. I see me ma’ sitting in the living room with her dogs. Papa would be in his room working or with her in the living room. I’d see my baby niece. 

I gulped. I put down me hands and noticed they were shaking.

Things here aren’t that great. I’m not close to Tommy anymore. I’m depressed and I can’t recall most days. I’m drinking meself half to death. I should just…

I looked at the door with wide eyes. I felt tears sting me eyes. I took a shuddering breath and slowly, me feet touched the floor. I gasped and a tear fell from me eye. I walked toward me door and slowly opened it.

I savored every creak of the door. When I deemed that I opened it enough to slip through, I stopped and did just that. I twirled ‘round and closed it with just as much care. I walked past Tommy’s door with ease since he was downstairs. 

I was at the top of the stairs when it hit me.

Should I leave a note?

I raised me hand to my mouth and nibbled on my fingernail. I shook me head, deciding against it. 

I went down the stairs, one step at a time. Each more daunting than the last. I didn’t want to risk waking up Thomas. When I got to the last step, I let out a shuddering sigh of relief.

I tiptoed across the room all the way to the door. I went to get me coat and mentally cursed meself.

I left it upstairs. 

I looked back at the stairs. My face contorted in discomfort. I looked back at the rack and stared at Tommy’s coat and shoulder holster. I then shifted my gaze to the couch where he laid.

I took a deep breathe and raised me hands at a snail’s pace. I took the holster into me hands and carefully lifted it up. I put it on with little difficulty. I thought I would have trouble since I saw Tommy having some from time to time. 

The holster was empty. I knew it would be. I took a deep breath and tip-toed over to where Tommy laid. There on the little table was the gun. I held me breath as I walked closer. 

I was in front of him now. I couldn’t stare. He would feel it. ‘Cause of the war. I reach down and quickly snatched the gun. I didn’t waste a second as I quickly walked back to his coat. With the gun clenched tightly in me hand, I exhaled as silently as I could. Me mouth opened wide as I slowly let the breath out.

When I didn’t see his head pop up, I swallowed me worries. I placed the gun in the holster and then hurriedly put on the coat. 

It was so big on me. Me hands were lost in the sleeves and it reached me mid-thigh. 

I could admire it later. I blinked and made my way to the door. I gripped the handle with a strength I didn’t know I had. Me hands shook as I slowly unlocked the door. Then, I opened it with just as much care. 

Just like I’d done earlier, I slipped through the sliver. Once the door was shut, I let go an audible exhale. I looked ‘round me and instantly felt paranoid. I walked fast and looked at no one. 

I brought the sleeves to me face. I took in the scent. 

Cigarettes. It smelt of cigarettes and his cologne. I used to associate the smell of ciggie with me gran, but now— I was surrounded by smokers. The scent, I would think, would evade my nose since it was so common. I just adapted to it. 

I took in the sights as I walked past them.

This maybe the very last time I walk these cobblestone steps. This last time I set eyes on these houses. No more gossips, no more whispers. 

I took another gasp for air and quickened my pace. 

I kept feeling like someone was chasing me.

There was this burn in me legs. They were begging for me to stop, but I was used to it. It reminded me of the times I would feel this burn in me legs when I walked to and from school. 

So, I marched on all the way ‘til I reached my special place. When my parents’ headstones were in sight, it got very real. I was going to attempt committing suicide again. It was like white noise filled me head as I walked up to them. 

I dropped to me knees when I stood in front of their headstones. Me hands instinctively began to trace their names. 

Memories of them began to flash in me head. From when I was little to just, what, two years ago now. I have a feeling the childhood memories were fabricated, though. I hardly have any positive memories of that time. I lost them to my depression. 

I sucked in breath and exhaled, shakily with my cheeks puffed. 

I just kept thinking abar their faces. How much I missed them. That brought on longing for me friends. I met them in high school ‘n they meant everything to me. I thought they would see my babies. They wanted to be there for me ‘n now…

I let out a curt laugh to meself as I bent me head, in shame. Slowly, I got off me knees and sat on me bum. I brought me trembling hand to where the gun was. It was cold in me grasp. 

I took it out. The holster made a noise as I did so. I held it with both hands. 

My breathing got quicker and I felt more and more fear. 

I was going to die. What if I die? What if I die and don’t wake up? What if I don’t see my parents’ again after all and I just threw away my life? 

Isn’t that what you wanted! I mean you’re depressed, aren’t you! 

Yes, but no. I had things I wanted to do before I died.

So, why are you doing this?

“Because I’m so fucking tired.” I sobbed as I raised my forearms to hide me face. I brought my knees to me chest as well. 

I let out an “oooh” before blowing the rest of the exhale out. 

Well, then what abar the Shelbys’? How will they react when they find my body? Will they weep? Will they hold a funeral? Will I change things? 

I choked on a sob. Then, it hit me. Like a fucking revelation an idea struck me.

Let’s leave this to a high power. I don’t care who. God, Fortuna, Tyche, or just the laws that controlled fucking chance. 

I opened up the cylinder, spread me legs, and emptied out the chamber. I let the bullets fall on me dress. I took the bullets and set them aside one by one. I held that sixth bullet in me palm. I rolled it ‘round in me palm. 

This very bullet will decide my fate. It completely holds the fate of my life. This little thing. 

I slid it back into a chamber, closed me eyes, spun the cylinder, and then snapped it closed. I opened me eyes ‘n a tear fell out.

When debating suicide, I only accepted two ways. Overdosing on sleeping pills and a bullet to the head, no pain. Peaceful. 

I laid down between the headstones of my parents and looked up at the sky. Tree branches were slightly in the way, but it made for a beautiful picture. Tears were falling out of me eyes more now. Blurred me vision, but I didn’t care. I liked the way me tears rolled down me face. 

Slowly, I raised the gun to me temple. I inhaled sharply and held it as cocked the gun. A sob wracked my body. 

I placed me finger on the trigger gently. Thoughts in me head were racing a hundred miles per hour. 

I kept apologizing to everyone that ever mattered to me. The Shelbys, my friends here, my family, and my friends there. 

I licked my lips, threw my head back against the ground, and gasped. I closed my eyes.

“I’m sorry.” I whispered. “Tommy,” was left unsaid.

Then, I pulled the trigger.

TAG LIST: @amirahiddleston @nemesis729​ @salvatoreitmeanssaviour @tlfshelby1 @halepea @lilymurphy03 @marsfireeyes @masumiyetimziyanoldu @i-love-superhero​ @thatweirddaydreamer​

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 54 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last time on The Thanksgiving Chronicles: Things got real as Courtney and Bianca had sex for the first time and Pearl and Adore for the last (??).

This Chapter: Adore seeks comfort, Katya decorates, and we just might have escaped from the alternate dimension where it’s always Thanksgiving. (Thanksgiving Chronicles 5 of 5)

***

More than anything else, Adore felt stupid. For believing, even for a second, that she and Pearl were finally on the same page. It was her fault, she supposed. She’d initiated things before they’d had a chance to really talk.

It still hurt though.

She could’ve just gone home and crashed. But she really didn’t want to be alone, and it wasn’t that late. Maybe Bianca would be up for an old movie. And she still had all those leftovers. Besides, she was planning to stay there to house-sit starting on Friday anyway, so it just made sense that’s where she’d head.

What she was not prepared for was the sight when the elevator doors opened. Clothes strewn all over the foyer and the bottom of the stairs. Courtney’s purse, spilling out its contents, right by her feet. Her mouth opened as she took it all in, temporarily too amazed by what she was seeing to remember that she was sad.

She walked forward a few steps and then stopped when the dogs came tearing through the apartment to greet her, barking up a storm. She set down her stupid box and knelt down to pet them.

“Hey guys! How’s it going? What the fuck has your Mommy been up to?”

“Hey.” Bianca appeared next, wrapped in one of those fancy silk robes she loved so much, awkwardly asking, “Um, what’re you doing back here?”

“Uhhh...I guess I’m interrupting, huh?” Adore said, trying not to laugh, standing back up.

“Or, you could...not?” Bianca cleared her throat and gestured vaguely back to the elevator. “And call me in the morning?”

“Yeah, I could…” Adore tilted her head, pretending to consider it for a few seconds before she took off, racing towards the stairs.

“Adore!” Bianca tried to grab at her, but she missed, Adore adeptly avoiding her hands and continuing.

“Too slow, old woman!”

“Fucking hell!” Bianca exclaimed, as Adore left her in the dust, laughing maniacally.

*

Courtney sat up in bed, startled by the footsteps thundering up the stairs, pretty sure they didn’t belong to Bianca, who had gone down to feed the dogs. She grabbed the covers, pulling them up to cover her naked body just as Adore appeared in the doorway, standing there breathlessly for a few moments, staring at Courtney with her mouth open and chest heaving.

Courtney relaxed a bit, seeing that it was just her best friend. She supposed this saved them that awkward ‘So...I slept with your sister’ conversation. She gave Adore a mildly self-conscious little wave.

“Hi...”

Adore threw back her head and laughed, then skipped forward and flung herself onto the bed.

“Oh...my...god. What the fuck, Courtney?”

Courtney wasn’t sure what to say to that, so she just giggled, covering most of her face with Bianca’s comforter, only her eyes peeking out.

“What are you doing back so soon, anyway?” she asked, and Adore rolled her eyes.

“It’s been like six hours.”

“Oh. Oops,” she said, another giggle slipping out before remembering where Adore had been. “How was Pearl’s?”

“A disaster.”

“I’m sorry,” Courtney said.

“Yeah. Well…” Adore sighed, then her eyes zeroed in on something and she laughed again. “Courtney. Are those yours?”

Courtney followed her gaze to the foot of the bed, where her panties had apparently landed.

“Yes, why?” Adore reached for them and Courtney slapped her hand away, laughing.

“Because! I know what kind of underwear you normally wear, and those...did you intentionally wear lacy little sex panties to come to my sister’s house today?”

Coutney pressed her lips together, saying nothing, and Adore shook her head with delight.

“Oh my god, you filthy lesbian slut.”

Courtney giggled some more, settling back against the pillows with a shrug.

“Adore...” Bianca walked in just then, holding Courtney’s purse and a stack of neatly folded clothes, which she set on the little bench at the foot of her bed. “Get your fucking shoes off my duvet, bitch!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Adore swung her legs to the ground and began removing her shoes.

“That didn’t mean take them off, that meant…” Bianca sighed. “We really need to discuss boundaries here.”

“Really? You want to discuss boundaries after fucking my best friend?”

Courtney brought up the covers to hide her laughter as Bianca shot her sister an irritated look.

“Alright alright. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She heaved herself off the bed and headed for the door, where she turned around and said, “Now, be safe, okay? We don’t want any pregnancies here-”

“Goodnight Adore!”

“Nighty night kids!” Adore blew one last kiss and then disappeared.

Bianca turned towards Courtney, shaking her head. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.” Courtney bit her lip. “Are you upset that she knows?”

“No. Are you?”

Courtney shook her head. “I’d have told her anyway.”

“Mmm...and what would you have told her, exactly?” Bianca began to untie her robe, one shoulder already slipping down.

“That...um…that we…” Courtney’s eyes roamed over Bianca’s body, pulse quickening. It was almost too much. The tits, the ass, those legs. Courtney was consumed with a desire to be pressed up against her smooth tan skin once again, wrapped in her and around her.

“That we what?” Bianca asked, now joining her under the covers, one hand sliding across her thigh. The husky voice right in her ear sending shivers up and down her body. “What did we do?”

Courtney whimpered, pushing Bianca onto her back and hovering over her, prolonging the torture by just looking at her, not touching.

“Oh, she’s in charge now, huh?” Bianca teased, trailing fingers up the back of her thighs.

“Mmhmm…” Courtney murmured, finally lowering her hips, pressing their bodies together as she went in for a kiss, wet and messy, spurred on by the fingers digging into her ass.

***

Pearl stumbled out of her bedroom, head pounding with a hangover from all the shots she’d consumed after Adore left, but seeking out the coffee she’d smelled from her bed. She assumed that Trixie and Katya would be lounging on the sofa, enjoying their day off and relaxing.

Instead, the sight that met her was an absolute explosion of Christmas kitsch. It seemed that, with Thanksgiving now behind them, the apartment was about to turn into a holly jolly nightmare.

There were yards and yards of garlands and colored lights, boxes of ornaments and holly and a big stuffed reindeer, multiple nativity scenes, Trixie’s snowglobe collection, some mechanical carolers with very strange off-putting faces that had to be Katya’s, and two Christmas trees, including a sparkly pink one that Trixie was currently assembling on the floor.

“Good morning Pearlie!” Trixie chirped. “Want some gingerbread coffee? We have eggnog creamer, too!”

“Jesus fucking Christ, you guys,” Pearl croaked.

“Exactly!” exclaimed Katya, pulling a colorful banner out of one of the boxes that read ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY JESUS!’

“You’re deranged,” Pearl told her. She felt like shit, and she wanted her friends to take care of her, but they seemed so happy. “Completely crazy.”

“Pearl, please have more respect for our lord and savior?” Trixie said, making both himself and Katya crack up, punctuating their lunacy with a high five.

Pearl stared at them for a few moments before turning on her heel. It was too early for this. She’d be better off back in bed.

Back in bed where her terrible mood couldn’t affect anyone but herself.

***

Bianca got up carefully, slipping from the bed so as not to disturb Courtney. They’d been up most of the night, and though Bianca had a billion things to do today, she wanted to let Courtney sleep in as long as possible.

She was out of the shower, fully moisturized and drying her hair by the time Courtney appeared in the bathroom doorway, tousled blonde hair spilling over her shoulders, wearing nothing but a sleepy smile on her face.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Bianca said, putting down the blow dryer and brush in her hands, eyes raking over Courtney’s naked body. “Nice PJs.”

“Hi,” Courtney replied, suddenly bashful, biting her lip.

“Come here.”

She walked forward, but when Bianca turned around to take hold of her hips, a hand flew up to cover her mouth.

“I haven’t brushed my teeth yet.”

“Do I look scared?” Bianca asked, one eyebrow raised, and Courtney lowered her hand slowly. Bianca leaned towards her, nuzzling her nose gently before grinning and moving to place a row of kisses along her jaw, finishing with a soft press to her lips. “How’d you sleep?”

“Honestly? I can’t remember sleeping that well since...ever.” She grinned, then wrinkled her nose and added. “I really want to brush my teeth, though.”

Bianca laughed, giving her a pat on the ass and pulling open a drawer, getting out a new toothbrush, still in the package. “Knock yourself out.”

Courtney stepped up to the counter, picking it up and reaching for the toothpaste, tossing out a very deliberately casual, “There were a lot of toothbrushes in that drawer, huh?”

“I got a 24-pack.”

“Mmm,” Courtney raised the toothbrush to her mouth. “...So, how many are left?”

Bianca tossed her a sly look, asking, “You wanna count them?”

“No. Sorry.” Courtney looked embarrassed, eyes avoiding Bianca’s in the mirror.

“You know...whatever’s happened with other women...that has nothing to do with me and you,” Bianca said.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m just a little, uh…”

“You’re beautiful.” Bianca moved towards her, wrapping her into an embrace from behind, kissing her neck. Courtney tilted her head to give Bianca better access, eyes falling closed, when a knock nearby made them fly right back open again.

“Uh...morning guys...you fuckin’ or can I come in?” asked Adore’s voice.

“Be right back,” Bianca whispered in Courtney’s ear.

“Kay…”

Bianca tightened the belt on her robe and strode out into her sitting area, where Adore was perched on the armchair.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Nothin.’” Adore drew a little design in Bianca’s new area rug with her toe. “Just wondering if you wanted to get some brunch or whatevs.”

She was clearly a bit dejected, and Bianca took a few steps forward.

“I still have to pack, but...maybe you could take Courtney out? Have a girls’ day? On me?”

“Cool.”

“Are you alright?” Bianca asked softly.

“Yeah. Just like, feel kinda dumb for thinking, you know. That things would be any different.” Adore looked up, her blue eyes misty.

“You’re not dumb,” Bianca told her, putting her hands on her shoulders. “You just...trust people with your heart. And some people don’t deserve it.”

Adore nodded, letting out a dry, sad chuckle.

“But hey. Some day, you’ll meet someone who does. And they’re gonna love you so much,” Bianca promised, a thumb catching the tear that had begun falling down her left cheek.

“Thanks,” Adore sniffled, and Bianca pulled her in for a warm, tight hug. She held her close for a few moments, rocking her, then kissed her cheek. “You didn’t just make a pussy juice mark on my face, did you?”

“Ugh!” Bianca pushed her away, laughing. “Get the fuck out of here!”

Adore giggled, heading for the stairs, before turning and saying, “Hey, B?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

“Back atcha, pussycat.”

***

“Mmh.”

“Hey sleeping beauty.” Sutan smiled, reaching out to push the blanket underneath Violet’s chin, the top of his girlfriend’s head touching his hip, the TV playing on low in the background. “How are we feeling? It’s still a couple of hours until your next dose.”

“Mmh?” Violet cracked an eye open, looking up at him. “M’okay.”

“And you’re sure?” Thanksgiving had taken more out of Violet than it seemed like either of them had expected.

“Mmh,” Violet smiled. “Stop worrying.”

“Okay, okay,” Sutan laughed. “I get it.”

They had been on the couch all day, which Sutan didn’t mind in the slightest, his laptop open on his knees as he was working through his emails, his phone on the table. Tamisha had sent him a long list of potentials other agents had found, but she wanted his opinion on them before signing them with the company on entry level contracts. He’d been meaning to get to it all week, but with all the chaos, this was the first chance he’d had to really dig in.

It was one of the things Sutan excelled at, several of the girls already rejected based off of their photos and videos, but he had a handful he wanted to see in person, a model not worth much in the high fashion industry if she only sparked through a camera lens.

One potential in particular had caught his eye. She only had a shaky full body phone photo from the day she had been discovered, and a few selfies, but there was something about her face that had instantly caught his professional attention in a way white girls rarely did, and he had known instinctively that she didn’t belong in L.A.

“Sutan?”

Sutan had fully expected for Violet to go back to sleep, her prescribed painkillers knocking her out completely, her eyes closed, but it didn’t seem like she was gone just yet.

“Do you need to make another call?”

“Why?” Sutan tried to keep his voice impassive, to not show the clench of his stomach on his face. He was used to everything from casual flings to his most serious relationships being annoyed with him working nights and weekends, but it was the reality of his career.

“It’s nice. Listening to you talk.” Violet yawned, hiding her mouth with her blanket. “Makes it easier to sleep.”

“Really?” Sutan chuckled, the answer the last one he had expected. “Well in that case. I’ll see what I can do.”

***

Courtney stirred her iced tea with a metal straw, trying not to get too lost in her head while Adore was in the restroom. Last night had been amazing. Magical, even. Everything she’d been dreaming of. And then this morning, that spark was still there--Bianca was so affectionate and sweet with her, making her feel special in spite of everything Courtney knew.

When she looked into Bianca’s eyes, she saw things that she was pretty sure she wasn’t supposed to, not after one night. Especially not the way Bianca had, very kindly and suavely, ushered her out for brunch with Adore. With the very believable excuse that she gets cranky when she packs, and she didn’t want to “subject” Courtney to that. So Courtney was pretty sure that she was a fleeting distraction, and she told herself over and over that she’d be okay with that. Whether it was actually true...that was another story.

Adore got back to the table, sighing with relief when she saw that the drinks were there. She sat down and quickly sucked down half her hurricane, then looked up at Courtney.

“So…”

“Yes?” Courtney asked sweetly.

“You have a lot to tell me, miss thing.”

“What do you want to know?” Courtney asked, a faint blush warming her cheeks already, since she had a pretty good idea of exactly what Adore wanted to know.

“Well first of all, um...I know it’s hard to tell what with her voice and all, but Bianca is a woman.”

“Oh shit, really?” Courtney asked, before breaking out into a grin.

“Since when do you fuck women?”

“Since...last night, I guess.”

“Are you like...gay? Bi? Or is this just another case of my sister bagging a curious straight girl?” Adore asked, taking another sip, almost done with her cocktail already. “Shit, I should really have ordered two of these.”

“You could drink your water.”

“Gross.” Adore rapped her knuckles on the table. “Answer the question!”

“Uh...I dunno, I haven’t really thought about labels. But…” she shrugged, a smile pulling at her mouth. “I’m definitely not straight. Not after that.”

Adore laughed, then asked, “So has this really never come up for you before?”

“I mean...you know my brother’s gay. Like very gay.” Courtney rested her chin on her hand. “A full time drag queen.”

“Yeah, so?”

“I dunno, I guess there was always this kind of thing with my parents, like ‘yeah we have one glorious sparkly camp child and one...plain one,’” she said with an apologetic little shrug.

Adore laughed harder at that, signaling to the server for another drink. “You were the bland unseasoned child, huh?”

“Yeah. And it was so obvious with him, and everyone knew and I guess I just thought...that being gay was this intrinsic magical thing that’s really clear. Or like, some giant revelation that comes to you all at once.”

“So...then did you ever have feelings for a girl before?”

“Kind of...but I always sort of rationalized it away. You know, that it’s normal to admire female beauty and girls are just prettier than boys and they smell nicer and...” Courtney sighed. “I think I thought that if I could force myself to tolerate a man, then I must be straight. Cause that’s what straight women do.”

“Ugh, so sad.”

“I know, right? But yeah. I guess I...have always liked girls, but I just didn’t think it meant I liked girls.”

“You know I would have gladly helped you work these feelings out in college.”

Courtney laughed, giving her a soft kick under the table.

“Man. Just when I think Bianca’s losing it, she scores a fucking ace…”

“Why thank you,” Courtney said, fluttering her lashes and tossing her hair.

“So like...are you guys gonna be dating or...what’s the deal?” Adore asked, giving the server a wink as she set down her new drink.

“I don’t know. I guess...whatever she wants.”

“But what do you want?”

“I…” Courtney hadn’t really thought about it much. She figured the whole thing was entirely out of hands. Everyone told her, everyone warned her--Bianca doesn’t do relationships. Bianca does flings. So in her mind, the best she’d hoped for was a fling that lasted more than a night. But now she was going to Tokyo for a week and Courtney has a strong suspicion that even half the world away, the mere thought of her would still be able to conjure up tingling sense memories on Courtney’s skin. She looked up at Adore, who was patiently waiting for an answer, and admitted, “I really like her.”

Adore nodded, and Courtney continued.

“She’s just so smart and commanding and sexy and I just-”

Adore’s nose wrinkled at the word ‘sexy,’ but Courtney went on.

“Well, she is.”

“You know she’s like...old enough to be your mother, right? I mean not for nothing, but there are women our age who would gladly fuck you. I promise.”

“The thing is…” Courtney leaned forward, eyes glittering, lowering her voice to say, “I think her age is kind of...part of it? She’s just so successful and confident and she knows who she is. If I even had an ounce of that, I’d be set. And the sex? Was like…”

“That’s my sister, please proceed with caution.”

“It was so fucking good,” Courtney said, trying not to gush or get too detailed. “I’ve never...I mean I know I have no real frame of reference for sex with a woman but it was...transcendent. It’s like I was living in this two-dimesional world and suddenly not only was it 3D, but it was like...more than that. A kaleidoscope.”

“Did y’all fuck or do mushrooms?”

“I’ve done mushrooms before. Last night was...a billion times better.”

“Damn.” Adore shook her head, lifting her glass. “Well...here’s to more transcendent fucking.”

“Cheers,” Courtney laughed, clinking glasses with her.

***

Fame sighed, sliding even further into the bathtub and wiggling her toes, music playing in the background as bubbles and rose petals surrounded her body.

She was thankfully, blissfully alone, Patrick taking his family to Radio Music Hall for a show.

The thoughts of scalding hot water and complete privacy was the only thing that had carried her through the morning, her mother-in-law daring to say to Fame’s face that their coffee selection was subpar, as if her beans weren’t flown in directly from Colombia.

Fame was considering if it’d be worth it to add a few drops of essential oils to her bath, when she heard her phone buzz,  but instead of picking it up from where she had placed it on the edge of the marble tub, she ignored it.

Or, she would have, if it didn’t buzz again, and then again and again.

Fame sat up, water dripping from her body as she reached for her phone, annoyance flaring in her chest when she saw Pearl’s name.

Didn’t she realize she was still upset with her?

She was seconds away from just deleting the messages without reading them, when yet another one ticked in, and curiosity won her over.

PEARL: I know we’re not talking right now

PEARL: Which sucks

PEARL: You were right though

PEARL: I’m a bad and terrible person

PEARL: Just thought you should know that I understand

Fame paused, reading the messages once more, a sinking feeling settling in her stomach.

Her silence had only been meant as a punishment, a way to show Pearl her displeasure, to make Pearl understand that she couldn’t just go against her direct commands or orders without a consequence, but this was never what Fame had intended.

Pearl was many things, but a bad person wasn’t one of them.

Fame pressed down, holding the phone to her ear, her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun.

“... Hello? Fame? Is that you?”

“Come over. Right now.”

[jennycalendar]

so i decided to write something short for giles and jenny in that au i was talking about this morning, because i love the thought of ripper trying to keep an eye on fifteen-year-old jenny and accidentally stumbling into good life choices. there are obviously no romantic feelings on ripper’s end when jenny is a baby, obviously, but they meet five years later and giles is absolutely knocked off course by the tiny kid he used to scoop out of trouble suddenly being this confident bombshell with a steady job and a solid magical-academic reputation.

anyway: shenanigans below the cut.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you are more damn trouble than you’re worth,” snapped Ripper, scooping Janna up and tossing her unceremoniously over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Janna shrieked, outraged, and tried to kick him in the face. “Fucking stop it! You’re going to get yourself killed – which, first of all, see if I care, all the trouble you’ve put me through in the last two weeks alone, and second, you’ll probably cause me more trouble if you go and die on me! I’ll go back to the Council, see if I don’t—”

“PUT ME DOWN I HATE YOU PUT ME DOWN,” Janna was yelling at the top of her lungs, attracting the attention of absolutely everyone in the bar. Ripper was literally never going to be able to come back here. He had been flirting with that lovely barmaid, Olivia, and now he was never going to be able to see her again, because stupid Janna had somehow managed to get someone to buy her alcohol in the ten minutes he’d spent looking away from her. “I’M GONNA BITE YOUR EAR OFF YOU DICKWEED—”

“Alright, Ripper?” said Olivia, who was watching him with the same amused look that Ethan had gotten when Ripper had walked directly into a lamppost and tried to pretend it hadn’t happened. “Didn’t know you had a kid sister—”

“I’M NOT HIS SISTER!!!!!” shrieked Janna, who always seemed to get disproportionately upset whenever anyone made that assumption. Ripper felt certain his ears were bleeding. “PUT ME DOWN—!”

Entirely losing his patience, Ripper dropped Janna directly on the floor. She fell with an unpleasant-sounding thud and abruptly stopped shouting, at which point he realized that dropping a particularly tiny fifteen-year-old six feet without warning probably wasn’t a good idea. “…Janna?” he said, well aware that most of the people in the bar were giving him dirty looks.

Janna pulled herself into a sitting position with great effort, pushing her hair out of her face with one hand before going back to cradling her arm. She didn’t say anything, just bit her lip and looked angrily down at the floor. Tears were collecting in her eyes.

Oh, Christ. Dropping a fifteen-year-old girl on the floor was a bit different than dropping one of your mates on the floor. Ripper really hadn’t thought this one through. “Janna,” he said, very tentatively, and knelt down next to her on the floor.

“Leave me alone to die,” said Janna tearfully. “Less trouble for you, right?”

“I’m not – ghhh,” said Ripper. “Let’s go, all right? We’ll talk about this outside.”

“I don’t want to leave,” said Janna. “My entire life is terrible and stupid and I want to stay here forever, so leave me alone.”

“Look, I—” Ripper reached out, tempted to place a hand on Janna’s shoulder, and thought better of it. She’d probably bite off his arm or something. “C’mon, Jaybird,” he finally said. “For me?”

Janna sniffled. “You don’t even like me!”

Ah. A strange, terrifying feeling rose in Ripper’s chest – the sort of thing that usually stopped him from saying anything nice to anyone who’d found a place in his heart. But Janna was still very resolutely not looking at him, in that way that meant that she’d probably gotten quite used to hearing things much worse than Ripper’s frustrated griping, and it suddenly felt imperative to tell her something true.

“You’re fucking exhausting,” he said. “Doesn’t mean I don’t like you.”

“Don’t try and be nice to me just ‘cause I’m crying and you probably broke my arm,” snapped Janna.

“I didn’t – fuck’s sake, Janna, what do you want me to say?” Ripper shot back. “That you’re fuckin’ adorable and not half as punk as you think you are? Jesus—”

That got Janna to look at him. Eyes very wide, she said, “Y-you think I’m—”

“You can’t be punk when you’re fifteen and clinging to the back of my jacket every time you get startled by a motorcycle,” said Ripper. “At a motorcycle race.”

“—adorable?”

Obviously Ripper thought Janna was adorable. Janna carried a switchblade around and had once accidentally cut herself on it because she still didn’t know how to use it. She was a tiny anarchist and keeping her out of trouble was exhausting, but it was hard not to like a kid who was easily smarter than Randall and Phil combined. He still didn’t entirely know how to handle kids, though, and calling a kid with a switchblade adorable seemed condescending enough to get himself stabbed, so he settled with, “You are going to fuckin’ murder some guy when you grow up, Jay.”

(He meant it in the literal sense, and was not at all sure why Janna went bright pink.)

 ~~

“Oh my god,” said Jenny, five years later. “Do you remember – Giles. Do you remember that one time you tried to carry me out of a bar and almost broke my arm?”

“To some degree,” said Giles uneasily. It was certainly hard to imagine tossing Jenny around like that now, and not just because he was no longer a complete idiot. At fifteen, she’d been a scrappy little thing, unmistakably a child – and they’d parted ways long before she’d entered any awkward adolescent phase. At twenty – well.

“I should totally apologize for how much trouble I put you through,” said Jenny with a laugh. “I mean, I should. I don’t think I’m gonna. The things you were getting up to at the time, I’m surprised you were so bad at handling a fifteen-year-old with a crush.”

“I may have been summoning demons, but it wasn’t as though I was heartless,” said Giles indignantly. “I took the responsibility of looking out for you very s—I’m sorry, a fifteen-year-old with a crush?”

Jenny blinked. Very slowly, she said, “You would have had to have been a complete dunce to have missed the kind of crush I had on you five years ago.”

“A crush,” said Giles again.

“Like, we’re talking Watchers’ Council levels of incompetence.”

“You had a – who did you have a crush on?”

“It is taking everything in me not to start laughing at you right now. I really need you to know that.” Eyes sparkling, Jenny took a sip of wine. “God. I felt so certain I was obvious and you were just – I don’t know. Humoring me, or something. You really had no idea?”

“The kind of crush you had on me,” Giles repeated dazedly.

“I’ll give you a minute, sweetie,” said Jenny, and patted his forearm. Her fingertips grazed his skin as she pulled her hand away, sending an electric jolt up his spine. “But really. How oblivious do you have to be? Someone in close proximity to you who can barely speak when you even bring up the concept of romance, and you’re just like – oh, wow, they obviously see me as a friend?”

“…oblivious,” echoed Giles, who had very possibly lost all ability for critical thought.

“I can guarantee you,” said Jenny, “when I have someone interested in me like that, I am gonna notice it. You bet I will.”

[brooklynislandgirl]

For the headcanon{s}, can you talk about Beth's mental illness? How it does and does not impact her daily life, if things trigger it, how she handled this after losing Riley {in verses that are sans Riley, obviously}, and what some of her experiences have been? I feel like it's something people determinedly overlook about her, and I'd like to know!

This.

“You can’t be fuckin’ serious!”

“You keep a civil tongue in that head of yours, boy. I think I know what’s best for your sister.”

“With all due respect, sir... you haven’t known what’s best in-”

Beth is an oyster.

Vague lines and curves that are nothing remarkable perhaps to the point of being unappealing. She can only burrow into the Sand....sandy...Andy. Andy and the Admiral are outside of the room, arguing about the proper course of treatment. She can’t hear every word because she’s underwater and all the sounds are so far away as to be indistinct from the beeping of the monitor that is keeping track of her vital signs. The bandages on her pseudo-pods ~arms, they’re arms, Beth~ are too heavy. They keep her trapped to this bed where she can’t really move and she doesn’t know why. It’s all wriggling around inside of her. A parasite. One she has to wrap in smooth layers of aragonite and conchiolin. Layer after microscopic crystalline layer. Maybe if it’s smooth enough and round enough, maybe if it has enough lustre, then they will set her free. She’s so very tired but she doesn’t have her turtle, and the thin cotton gown isn’t warm enough, worn thin in places. The blankets are too scratchy and the air smells funny, too many chemicals that it’s making her feel nauseous.

But that’s all wrong. Oysters don’t have blankets and they aren’t tied down to beds and they don’t... they don’t...

“Electroshock! How can you? Look at her. She’s just a kid!”

“And your sister nearly killed herself tonight, Andrew. I am done discussing this with you. I’m your father, and a neurosurgeon. If anyone is capable of choosing a treatment plan, it isn’t a teen age boy.”

~*~

Beth was fourteen years old when she was diagnosed however wrongly with Depression mood disorder with features of psychosis, after she smashed her bedroom mirror with her fists, deeply slashing her arms from wrists to elbows. The symptoms leading up to this moment certainly were red-flags for what was wrong with her, all of them classic to the specific diagnosis: the trouble concentrating or making decisions, chronic fatigue, feelings of guilt and worthlessness, insomnia, restlessness, loss of appetite, phantom aches and pains that didn’t seem to go away, persistent sadness and anxiety. It isn’t uncommon for girls and young women diagnosed with Turner Syndrome to also develop depression. And her father felt the matter was cut and dry, despite strenuous objections from her brother.

She spent three miserable weeks in an in-patient psychiatric facility receiving less than pleasant electroconvulsive therapy, psychotherapy and was prescribed citalopram {Celexa}. Which made Beth absolutely nauseous to the point that she had trouble keeping water down, only worsened her sleeping troubles, and made her jittery. As soon as the Admiral shipped out again for a year long deployment aboard the USNS Comfort, Andy took her back to the doctor to get a second opinion.

It was then, at fifteen, that she was re-diagnosed correctly with Rapid Cycling Bi-Polar Disorder. Andy nursed her through the withdrawal of the citalopram and taking over her care regiment seemed to do his sister wonders, as she started to be the sweet and gentle girl he’d always known her to be. He’d sort out her medication by days of the week, would make sure she took the right ones at the right times with her meals, going out of his way to cook things she could stomach, letting her sleep in his bed when she wanted to, and for years after, she seemed to improve. She went months without crippling depression and her manic and hypomanic states were few and far between as well.

Then everything changed.

Beth was accepted into several universities and chose Columbia, knowing that their pre-med program was top-notch and their medical school was even better, and wouldn’t require her to change schools for the duration of her education. Having just turned sixteen in June she was starting a new life perhaps far younger than she ought to have.

There was major upheaval, stress and abject terror at leaving Hawai’i behind, going almost as far away as possible. She was not prepared for the cross-continent move. Neither was she prepared for living on her own. Perhaps she simply expected to live with Andy the whole of her life, or at the very least through her under-grad years. But after the initial first two months that it took to move into their grandparents’ apartment in Brooklyn, and Andy setting up all of her bills, hiring a cook and house keeper, making sure she got settled in as a freshman, he enlisted in the US Air-Force. She saw very little of her brother for the next two years, and the only thing that kept Beth from failing out of school was the idea that she would be sent home to live with the Admiral.

She began to notice that her medication {bupropion aka Wellbutrin} seemed less effective during this time. She was barely getting more than three hours of sleep at night, and maybe half that during day time naps. She experiences bouts of nausea that once again made eating difficult to prioritise, a feature that would last her entire life thus far, with Beth being at least twenty pounds consistently underweight. She also began to experience chronic sore throats, what she describes as her bladder shrinking down to the size of a pea, and worse...tinnitus that became co-morbid with her audio processing disorder. 

The few times during the year that she was able to see Andy, things seemed to get better....until she crashed immediately after he left again.

Beth decided she no longer wanted to take her medication.

~*~

“C’mon Beth, I’m getting married, it’s not like I’m dying!”

“GET OUT! GETOUTGETOUTGETOUT!” She’s throwing things at him. She’s destroyed seven plates,six coffee mugs and at least one irreplaceable vase. There are so many tears, so much snot, it’s hard to believe his sister is almost eighteen and not eight. But thankfully, she’s still so short she can’t reach the stemware and is forced to come out from behind the island kitchen.

Which means he manages to get his arms around her, a bear hug from behind that locks her stick-figure arms to her chest. She fusses and has a fit, kicking and trying to bite him, but his training in Pararescue has taught him how to hold someone without hurting them.

“I’m not gonna leave you, jelly bean, I promise. And you’ll like Lana. She’s a real nice girl, her family’s from Jersey, and she’ll be moving in with us. You won’t have to-” “LA LA LA! NO CAN HEAR YOU!”

Beth is a hermit crab.

She can just shrink back into her shell and keep everyone out. She can hide down in the bottom of the sea and let the water of her Mother’s arms wash over her and if anything gets close, she’ll pinch them to bits.

But she really isn’t. She isn’t a hermit crab, she’s just a girl and there’s nothing that can keep everything inside of her from dying a slow and painful death. Because now Andy is not only not going to be around, but he’s getting married. To a stranger no less. But like a hermit crab, her house is too small and this woman is never setting foot inside of it. And it’s his stupid fault, because that’s what her brother is...stupid.

Doesn’t he know that no one will love him like she does? That no one depends on and needs him as much? Doesn’t he know they’re supposed to be together, forever and always? Doesn’t he know he’s the only person who truly loves her? The person who said he’d never leave her? Why does he need a wife anyway? She can do everything this Lana person can, and better. If he’d just let her prove it, he’d see!

~*~

But he didn’t. Andy ended up getting married.

Beth dropped out of medical school before completing her residency, but applied her credits to nursing. She was absolutely certain the Admiral was going to have a stroke that she had decided not to become a neurosurgeon like him, or his second choice, a cardiologist. Emergency room nursing suits her needs. She is indoors and on her feet throughout the darkness of the night when home is ever so lonely. It feeds the excessive energy that floods her system and lets her literally crash, semi-conscious during the sometimes three, sometimes four consecutive days she has off.

Life settles into a medication-less routine. Beth finally grows her final inch in height, puts on a few more pounds so she doesn’t seem nearly as cadaverous as she did before. She can blame late occurring puberty for that and for just the most brief moments of time, things seemed to have found their balance. There were no great highs. There were no life-threatening lows. Beth could finally breath.

At least until....the sun burned out and destroyed everything in a single knock on the door.

Perfunctory words that echo in her dreams.

~*~

“Miss Riley, on behalf of the Chief of Staff, United States Air Force, I regret to inform you of the untimely death of your brother, Second Lieutenant Andrew M. Riley-”

Beth Riley...isn’t anything any more.  All of everything that was bright and best within her is now a single leg and some bone fragments in a beautiful koa wood casket. It is a folded flag put into her hands. It’s the reception in the Admiral’s house and an incredibly long line of people talking and talkingandtalkingandtalkingandtalking and saying nothing at all. She can’t breath. She can’t feel. Nothing makes sense and it never will because what do you say when half of you is ripped away and gone forever? What do you do when the world stops turning and the sun has burnt out of the sky?

Beth slips out of the house without being noticed. She manages to get in her brother’s Mustang and heads into the city proper, and ends up at the bar he used to like to frequent when he was on leave. She sits at the bar and orders scotch, 25 year Macallan.

She buys the bottle. She buys the entire bar drink after drink until last call.

She lets someone take her home. Gets into his apartment. Doesn’t really feel his mouth and his hands pawing at her. Doesn’t feel anything really at all until she shoves him away. Things become blurry after that and she only really vaguely remembers calling Jay from a payphone some blocks away.

She can’t find her shoes. But that doesn’t matter.

Nothing does.

Three months later ~one hundred days, to be precise~ Beth quits her job. She turns her utilities off. Throws a few things including her wallet, her passport, and her rosary into a sea bag that she’s had forever. 

Darfur. The Democratic Republic of Congo. Amsterdam. Uruguay. Wherever Médecins Sans Frontières will let her go, to treat people living in the worst conditions. Ironic, isn’t it...that no matter where she goes, Beth always manages to make it back. That all those fears Andy had of her killing herself from neglect or inattention, or even possibly through deliberate action, and she can’t get so much as a life-threatening paper cut? It isn’t fair.

And maybe...maybe it doesn’t matter. There’s a lot of ways you can die in Louisiana.

She hears the coffee in New Orleans is really wonderful.

[steponmepinkjun]

THATS WHAT IVE BEEN WONDERING! maybe its cause i dont look a day over 13 and im 5'2. idk. i think everyone stopped being scared of me when i stopped clawing bitches in hs. maybe i should grow out my nails again... LMFAO i was feral fr. nah but when ppl tell me i talk to much i get more upset and less angry and wanting to ruin their life bc my track record w keeping friends is so bad my brain has convinced me it's a me problem and something i genuinely need to work on so i shouldnt hold it against them. it keeps me from sending them 6ft under but i still do hold it against them. like yes jade i remember every single little off comment u made to me in 8th grade. tbh looking back on it it's probably because i still wanted to be friends w them that i held back. the bitches who Really crossed me and i lashed out at, never recovered. i was deadass aboutta jump a bitch on the way home from work the other day for smth he did three years ago. guess i really am a scorpio LMAOOOO too bad im leaving the country i wouldve loved to knock his lights out -felix bi anon

My philosophy on yall shorties has always been this: the shorter they are, the closer to hell. Do NOT fuck w a shortie they will slice your achilles tendon and then go back to their iced coffee like it twerent no thang. Mess w someone under 5'5", they will burn your house down right after they ask for your help reaching the snacks on the top shelf 😂 IT IS NOT A GAAAAAME HOMIE 🤣🤣 anyone who thinks that shorties can't fight has never gotten an uppercut to the jaw from someone who looks like they should be on the schoolbus but harbors the fires of hell inside them at all times. Not a joke, just a fact. I promise you though it's absolutely not a you problem, I know it's so hard to overcome that mindset because we're constantly confronted w the fact that we live in a world that is not designed for us to thrive in, but it's not a you problem, some people just fucking suck. If I had a boring ass NT brain I'd probably be mad as hell that someone had so many cool things to talk about too, when all I had was a regurgitation of whatever mainstream news was out lately 🙄 If I wasn't easily able to juggle six topics and storylines at once during any conversation I'd be mad too 🙄 If I was the human brain equivalent of flat soda I'd be mad too 🙄 Scorpios do be ruuuuuthlessssss tho, straight out the jungle type ruthless 😂 that's what I love about yall. Yall don't miss, yall don't even play. Your shooters a scorp, they stay hot 😂 But I also really love the fact that Scorpios are so feisty and petty because they are deadass the most loyal fuckin people you've ever met, they've always been through shit and have been hurt and their heart is locked away behind all the walls all their past betrayals built. But if you stick around, put in some elbow grease, show you're a real one? Get past those walls? Actually get to touch that heart that theyve kept so soft and so tender, away from all that damage? They'll never leave you, never ever, theyll never dream of going against you or betraying your trust. They'll ride out for life. You gotta work for em, but they're worth it. And if you finally earn that trust, and then betray it? You go back on a scorp once they've allowed you into the triple-decker high-end-security vault that is their heart? They NEVER forget. They might forgive you, sometime 80 years from now, at your own funeral (which they showed up to looking hotter and more successful and more unbothered than anyone else), but they will never forget. Scorps are soft and extremely sensitive under that exoskeleton. Under it all, they're as soft as a scoop of strawberry ice cream melting in the summer sun. Softiest, sweethearts, good, loyal friends, protective as fuck, scary on the outside but only bevause they have reason to be. Every person I've ever fallen in love with has been a Scorpio for that reason, they fuckin get it. I ain't never had my ass checked quicker or more thoroughly than by a Capricorn, and I ain't never been whipped into shape faster than by an Aries lmfao you're swimmin in it, you're golden, boo. MY ass however hoooo lawd jeebus, I got the taurus moon (sounds of projectile vomiting) which is why these boys easily control my emotions from their fuckin dorm that don't even got a proper curtain rod 😂

[swamplatibule]

Paramay Prompt Three! Para+Childhood

I HAVE BEEN WRITING THIS FOR FOUR MOTHERFUCKING DAYS NOW AND I HAVE NO REGRETS :DDDD

this has not been proofread it is 10 at night, I am exhausted, please accept my humble offerings

Damn, only prompt three and I’m already forced to reveal everyone’s tragic backstory oh well lol

Trigger warnings: Abuse, arson, su•c•de, death, homophobia, murder, gun mention

tw; death mention

Alright alright alright let’s fuckin goooo we’ll start off with Hollister, her childhood is no doubt the easiest to write since it’s basically been the same her whole life.

She never met her parents. She doesn’t know if they’re dead, or if they just decided they didn’t want a kid, or if something else happened, and she doesn‘t care. It’s not her problem. At least, she tells herself that, but she really isn’t 100% sure that it wasn’t somehow her fault. Poor baby.

She‘s completely grown up in the foster care system, bouncing from home to home. Hollister kept running away, getting caught, and being sent somewhere else. She’s also, guess what, a fucking genius with technology.

One time she tried running away and then erasing herself from the system. It didn’t work, but nobody realized that she’s tried to do it, so it’s fine, nothing went wrong.

A few weeks into her newest home, one of the other foster kids named Silas (who she’d been fast friends with) went missing days after developing a weird anti-gravitational power. And so she tried to find him. She stumbled across the Starwritten Society - when I say “stumbled across” I mean she followed a few very questionable leads on, like, conspiracy theory websites and shit and actually found something - and hacked into the archives, trying to find some sort of info.

Now, you can imagine the panic that caused in the Society. Complete lockdown. The Starwritten Society is top-secret, and nobody just hacks into the archives that easily. She didn’t actually find anything, one because she didn’t get time to look around before the security system actually started working and kicked her out, and two because Silas just wasn’t in the records anyway, meaning he’d disappeared some other way.

However, before she could go out looking for him, there were three agents knocking at the door, having tracked her location here. And you can imagine the looks on their faces when they saw that the person who had caused the mass panic that morning was none other than some kid with a computer that looked home-made.

Things happened, she asked to join because, y’know, fuck yeah secret society, paperwork was filed, and she got in. She’s currently the youngest trainee to join the Society in seventy-four years. Also, fun fact, they had to fill out the adoption papers and such, so she’s listed as the child of Director Iara Adams. Which isn’t that big of a deal, since literally every kid in need of adoption taken in by the Society is adopted under her name, and most have only interacted with her like once, but... it’s a cool world building detail I felt like I needed to add.

Anyways, ONWARD!!!

——————————————

tw; homophobia

Kennedy was born in a pretty influential family with very “traditional” values. They kinda suck, so we won’t get too into that shithole.

Each generation of that family has had like six kids, and every single time, one turns out to be lgbtq+ and gets ✨disowned✨because the parents are just kinda assholes. It’s just this never-ending cycle.

Suffice it to say, Kennedy - being a flaming bisexual and all that - got disowned when she was like twelve after one of her siblings outed her by accident. Her uncle took her in. Guess what? He had also been disowned! When he was fifteen!

And he also went on to become a very important person in the Starwritten Society, and when he discovered Kennedy’s complete genius with technology, he recommended her to become a trainee at 17 years old.

To be honest, Kennedy’s basically gotten the short end of the stick when it comes to characterization and fleshing-out. I have quite a few paras like that, sadly. I think I might make her a playlist sometime and let her be the main character for a while.

——————————————

tw: abuse, arson, su•c•de, murder, gun mention

Fox. Oh boy. Fox grew up in a very... tense household. His father started out pretty okay when he was a younger kid, but he slowly started getting more and more violent and controlling, to both Fox, his twin sister, and his mother.

Fox always had a very close relationship with his sister, Wren. You know that siblings meme? The “You are my sister, you are my brother, we are siblings and we care for each other,”? The were the living definition of that. They managed to keep a definite sense of humor and lightheartedness with each other, despite everything that had been going on.

They weren’t fine, but they had each other.

And then Wren went missing. There was a huge police search, but they didn’t find anything. Fox was fourteen at the time. That experience basically broke him, and he never saw Wren again.

A month later, he was coming home from school, got off the bus, and found the house in smoking ruins. His mother hadn’t been able to take his father’s abuse anymore, and she couldn’t see any way out. So she set the house on fire, killing both herself and her husband.

Fox, who was a mental wreck at this point, as almost anyone would be, was placed into the foster care system. He never stayed anywhere for longer than a week. His humor became a shield for him, an easy way to seem like he was fine when he wasn’t. After about a year, he ran away. And then joined the circus. Why, you ask? Because I said so; I grow these flowers and if you don’t like it then you can leave my garden

Fox was always a flexible kid. He’d been in gymnastics classes since he was five. And, as it would turn out, he was damn good on a trapeze. It wasn’t a very big circus, just some small family-run traveling one, but it gave him a place to stay and an environment that welcomed him, and that was good enough for him.

He was with the circus for about four years, up until he was eighteen, so technically this isn’t his childhood anymore, but I’m gonna keep going because I want to.

The Starwritten Society was following a lead on an underground lab somewhere around the place where Fox’s circus was performing. Kennedy was actually on the mission, although she doesn’t do many of those anymore after she got injured in the field and such and I’ll talk about that later. Anyway.

The team of agents who were on the search came across the circus, and figured it was as good of a place as any to try and find the person they were looking for, Eleanor Sylvidas. She was actually in the crowd watching, and there was a confrontation after the show. Fox went to check it out, being the one generally in charge of telling people to cool it whenever small fights broke out between customers, but he wasn’t quite sure what to do in a situation where both parties happen to have guns pointed at each other. Especially when Eleanor pointed her gun at his head and told the agents that if they didn’t back down, she’d shoot him.

That wasn’t exactly something that happened to him on a day-to-day basis.

Of course, a fight broke out. Actually, Fox made the first move, he literally tried to snatch this woman’s gun out of her hand. It didn’t work, but the shot she took at him definitely missed, and then there was a very chaotic fight scene and Eleanor ended up losing and got arrested. Course, they still had to find the lab so they could get the kids out of there. Fox was very helpful in that aspect, too.

Once the mission had been completed, he was offered a place as a trainee in the Society. Those who were there will say that the offer was accepted immediately, but he was actually a bit reluctant. He made the choice to go, however, and it proved to be one of the best decisions he’s made.

——————————————

tw; abuse, violence, gun mention

Wilson. Where do I start? He has trauma, definitely, although so does practically everyone who works with the Starwritten Society.

See, Wilson is actually one of the people who were rescued from labs as children, but there are two things that sets him apart from others.

1. He wasn’t kidnapped at birth or after he developed abilities. He was literally created in a lab, which has led to a lot of self-doubt due to being raised to believe he wasn’t “natural”.

2. The Society aims to rescue all powered children from labs as soon as possible, and since many of them are kidnapped at a young age, they try to get them out at least before they turn 10. Wilson wasn’t found until he was a bit older than 17.

He wasn’t even given a name while he was in the lab. He was just “Project Firebird”, with abilities including fire and heat manipulation, as well as immunity to those two things, plus flight and enhanced strength, speed, and stamina. Wilson was made for the sole purpose of being a weapon.

The person running the lab? An absolute fucker of a man named Alastor Killigan. Him? I cannot put into words how much I hate him. He just really fucking sucks, and not in a “loveable bastard“ way. I honestly wish I could physically teleport into my daydreams just to set this bitch on fire.

Anyway, he’s running this whole operation. He’s got guards, he’s got other scientists who he may or may not have blackmailed into helping him, he’s got people who work for him. And this isn’t the first time he’s done this. That’s right, Grey isn’t the first time he’s tried to weaponize a kid. He got caught by the Society last time, but escaped, and now he knows that he has to keep moving around constantly.

So the first 17 years of Grey’s life were just constant training and experiments and tests and moving around and being raised to believe that he was a literal monster and wasn’t worth anything if he wasn’t a weapon. Fucked up, right? But, see, the Society had no idea he existed. They found the lab kids through keeping tabs on recent kidnappings and disappearances. Grey wasn’t on any of those lists. The only people aware of Grey’s existence were Alastor and the people working for him.

In fact, the Society only found him by chance. They managed to track Alastor’s location and find him to arrest him, and they found Grey while they were doing that. There was a huge fight, but Alastor lost, and Grey got rescued. Things were looking up.

Because the Society legally adopts all the orphaned kids they take in, Grey needed a name. He also just needed a name in general. The lady filling out the papers told him he could just pick something, and he panicked. He wasn’t used to being allowed to make his own decisions. There was a plaque on the wall with a list of people who’d been top agents in the past, and he just read one of those.

Grey Wilson.

So, y’know, that‘s why it says he was a top agent in 1937. Just a heads up.

Have I talked about the Society’s different departments yet? No? Maybe I’ll do that later, but anyway - one of the divisions is basically therapy, because some of these kiddos have severe trauma and need help. Grey worked with a woman named Mags for a few years, and then started training for the High-Risk Rescue department. He was taking charge of his own future! Yayyyy!

Oh yeah and then Alastor escaped - again, and Mags went missing on the same day and it was presumed Alastor killed her on his way out, and Grey hasn’t seen either of them since. He’s been working in the Society for about 22 years now, trying to make sure that nobody goes through what he has. He decided early on that he didn’t want to use his abilities again, ever, and it’s become his personal secret, with very few people knowing.

[lwilson]

the boy we knew

The day we found out the tragic news was a beautiful autumn afternoon. I think it was a Saturday and the leaves were turning colors and gathering in mounds of reds, yellows, and greens at the base of the trees in front of the small houses on the block. I had just enlisted in the Army and I wanted to see my friend Ramone before I went off to basic training at Fort Sill in Oklahoma.

Alan, another close friend of Ramone and mine worked at an industrial laundry company called C.Q’s. over on East Grand Blvd and Palmer street. He detested the job, the pay, and the people, but with times being what they were, and jobs being few and far between during the Reagan era recession of the 1980s it was the only job that he could get so he took it, and fought tooth and nails to keep it.  I had worked at C.Q’s. as well, and speaking from personal experience I will tell you that there should have been a sign engraved over the entrance that read “All hope abandon, ye who enter here,” like at the gates of hell in Dante’s “Inferno”.  I lasted all of six weeks before hell got to be too hot for me to handle. So, I quit and joined the Army.

Alan, on the other hand, stayed and with good reason, his girlfriend Kacy was pregnant now which only exacerbated an already stressful situation. They were beyond broke and argued constantly about everything. I can’t remember how many break up to make up sessions they had, but it was a lot.

Kacy was a feisty streetwise girl with the misfortune of having two train wrecks for parents. The only thing keeping Kacy and her little brother Steven from being homeless and on the streets or worse was Kacy’s wit and her strong will.  Kacy was the type of girl that could smell bullshit coming a mile away. She’d smile her sweet slightly crooked smile at the bullshitter, usually some guy way to old to be hitting on a girl her age then she’d kick him in the nuts verbally and sometimes literally and down he’d go.  She and Alan were perfect for one another they were the embodiment of Detroit tough.  Her biological father was a real winner. I never knew his name or met him, but I heard from Alan that he was doing some serious time up in  Jackson penitentiary. Jasmine, her mother was a part-time recovering addict and a full time, well let’s just say the word I would like to call her rhymes with witch.

Kacy and Steven were little more than afterthoughts Jasmine. Jasmine’s major concern was when and where her next fix was coming from, raising a blossoming fifteen-year-old girl and a high strung twelve- year -old boy with criminal tendencies wasn’t high on Jasmine’s to-do list. Kacy and Steven were mostly left to fend for themselves. Kacy, I figured would be alright. She was tough and street smart, but Steven on the other hand was a different story. The first time I saw him strutting up and down the block like a little banty rooster with his nearly translucent white skin and unruly red curls bouncing about his shoulders as he made his way up Farnsworth Avenue, blustering and picking fights with anyone that crossed his path. I knew he was on borrowed time.

Steven was a twig of a boy with visions of grandeur. He was the outlaw son of the outlaw father he never met or knew. A little boy with a major Napolean complex walking around with a boulder on his shoulder daring anyone to knock it off, and many did knock it off and much worse. Undeterred, Steven had decided that being a so-called outlaw was in his blood and that was the way he was going to go.

I watched as Steven began to take up with the absolute worse elements in the neighborhood. Kacy had asked Alan to talk with him, then she asked me, but nothing worked, he was bound and determined to go the way of the wicked, a decision that would cost him his life. When he was 18 or 19 years old I don’t remember which. Steven’s brutally beaten and stabbed body was found in a burnt-out drug den near  Woodard Ave.

*****

Kacy’s mother’s boyfriend Bulldog was a small-time weed dealer who liked getting underaged girls high and drunk so that he could take advantage of them sexually. He had tried this move on Stacy a few times when Jasmine wasn’t around or either blackout in one of the upstairs bedrooms, but Kacy always managed to escape unscathed. It was only a matter of time she knew before he would take what he wanted from her the way he did with Tammy, a young Korean girl from up the block. When he did come for her, Kacy and her four-inch steak knife she slept with would be waiting. She told me and Alan that she would kill him before she let him have her. Kacy was right, Bulldog did come for her a few nights later and she had managed to fight him off but cutting him with her knife.  When Alan got the news he was furious and although she told him that she had the situation under control I knew that there was no way that Alan would let that kind of thing go.

Bulldog received an anonymous ass-kicking one wintery Michigan morning. Still high or drunk from partying the night before Bulldog staggered out on the icy porch and fell. His feet slipped and slid underneath him then shoot out from under him. The first thing that hit the porch was his fat girlish ass. His ass bounced off the ice, his feet flew into the air, he farted, then his head slammed into the ice-covered wooden porch.

“Motherfucker!” he whined. His voice sounded super high and tinny in the still earlier morning. He lay there for a moment breathing heavily and making a strange sound, a mixture of groans and whimpers.

“ Fat Fucks crying,” Alan whispered barely containing his laughter.

“You think,” I asked amazed and tilted my head toward the porch and sure enough he was crying. Bulldog always played the tough guy and now he was out here crying because he fell and bumped his head. What a fuckin cooze.  

“Damn,” I said shaking my head.

After a few minutes, Bulldog pulled himself together and tried to stand up. His feet slid back and forth beneath him and he fell again. His ungloved hand slapped down hard on the icy wooden rail. He yelped like a kicked dog and yanked his hand back and tumbled backward off the porch. He rolled down the four or five front steps and landed flat on his back in the walkway and once again the water work’s started up. Alan and I could believe it. We knew Bulldog was more bark than bite, but we couldn’t believe how soft he really was. This guy was a cream puff.  After a few seconds, Bulldog got to his feet and staggered toward his 1970 Chevrolet Monte Carlo, red with a white interior, a very nice car. As he reached for the door handle he looked up and got knocked out. We heard that Jasmine found him lying face down in the snow with a bloody nose, ears, and a broken hand twenty minutes later. A few days later Tammy’s family contacted the police about Tammy’s sexual assault, but by the time they got around to investigating it, Bulldog was gone. West Virginia, that’s where I heard he went, and surprise, surprise, he ended up in jail for statutory rape a few years later.

*****

           “What are you going to do,” I asked Alan after he told me about Kacy’s pregnancy. He looked sick.

           “ Got to marry her I guess,” he said staring down at the floor.

           “ You guess?”

           “Yeah, what else can I do. We ain’t having no fucking abortion.”

           “ I never suggested…”

           “ I know. I’m sorry. I’m so fucked right now.”

           “What about money,”

           “ I got the job over at C.Qs. Tony’s gonna have to give me a raise.”

           “Tony’s not going to give you a raise.”

           “Why not?”

           “Because he just gave you one a few weeks ago. Why don’t you join the Army with me,” I said? Alan shook his head.

           “Forget that, I ain’t going into no Army.”

           “ You’ll make more money in the Army then you will working at C.Qs.” Alan thought about it then shook his head again.

           “ Nah, we’ll be alright, we’ll manage,” he said.

“You still driving me to the airport?” I asked really wishing my friend would come with me.

           “Yeah, If you want me to.”

           “Okay,” I said. “I’m heading over to Ramone’s. I’d like to see him before I go.”

           “I’ll drive,” Alan said quickly and grabbed his car keys.

*****

Although it had been a few years since we had last seen him, I still considered Ramone a good friend and I wanted to see him before I went off to basic training. Ramone’s street was quiet as it always was when we were kids. Alan parked in front of Ramone’s house and killed the engine.

“I can’t believe he still lives here,” Alan said absently as he looked up and down the short block.

“His parents left him and his sister the house is what I heard,” I said as I looked around.

“Fuck that, I would sell, I wouldn’t want to live around here now.”

Alan and I got out of his Ford Talon and walked up the thin paved walkway up to the house. Everything about the place seemed smaller and shabbier. It was the same small house on E. Palmer that Ramone and his family had lived in when we all went to Ferry Elementary. Going there was like stepping back in time. Many of the same families and small business owners were still there. “Young’s Barbeque” on Mt. Elliot and East Grand Blvd, was still there at the time, “Thompson’s cleaners”, on McDougall and Ferry was still there, and my favorite penny candy store “Frank’s Beer &Wine”  on the corner of Ferry and Mt. Elliot, my old block was still there at the time.

That was years ago, they are all gone now, even Ferry Elementary is gone now.  Torn down by the city leaving a gigantic black hole where our childhood once stood.  An obscene black scar the size of an entire city block with scattered houses and overrun weed fields.

As Alan and I walked toward the small blockhouse my mind drifted back to when I first met Ramone in Mrs. Drum’s class when we were in the fourth grade. I wanted to be Ramone’s friend. It took a while, but slowly but surely he started opening up to me.  I remember sitting at our table waiting for the class to start. Alan for whatever reason wasn’t in school that day. Ramone and I sat quietly waiting then he turned to me and look me directly in the eyes. His voice was calm and splashed with a hint of contempt for me.

“ Do you like Alan better than me because he’s white,” he asked. My views on race and culture were still in the development stages so this question caught me completely off guard. As I sit here today writing this, I can almost hear his flat monotonic voice.

“ I don’t like Alan better than you,” I said quickly.

“You don’t,” he asked slightly surprised.

“No, why would I? I like you both the same,” I said.

“For real,” he smiled. It was a rare thing to see Ramone smile.

“Yeah, sure I do. Maybe I’ll ask my mom to see if she’ll let me have company this weekend.”

“Spend a night,” he asked excitedly.

“Yeah, you haven’t spent a night yet,” I said.

A cloud suddenly came over his dark features and his smile slowly faded.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. He looked down at the table and began to fidget with a piece of torn notebook paper.

“You going to invite Alan too,” he looked up and asked cautiously.

“I was going to, why?”

“ Oh,” he said and looked down at his torn piece of paper again, “Then I can’t come.”

“ Why not, should I not invite Alan, I thought you liked Alan?”

“I do. Alan and I are best buds,” he hesitated, “ It’s just that if my mom and dad knew that Alan is going to be there… I don’t think they’ll let me come over.” I looked at him confused for a moment then I remembered Alan telling me about how Ramone’s parents weren’t too keen on him having white friends.

“ My mom would talk to your mom and let her know that you’ll be safe.”

“I know,” he hesitated, “ It’s just that if Alan’s there they won’t let me come.”

“Why not,” I asked even though I already knew the answer. I needed to hear him say it. I don’t know why, but I did. So, he did say it.

“My mom and dad don’t want me playing or hanging around them.” He motioned with his head toward a table of white children.

“Oh,” I said, “why not?”

“They’re white,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Oh,” was all I could think to say.

“My dad says you can’t really trust them and that most of them look down on us black people. They think we’re all on the welfare, or on drugs, or crooks,” he said.

“No, they don’t.”

“My dad says they do.”

“I’ve been to Alan’s house…” I started to say before he interrupted me.

“Your mom and dad let you go over there?” He asked shocked.

“Yeah, and his mom and dad treated me real nice too. They never looked down on me. I even ate dinner over there once.”

“ I bet they think you’re poor now. They gave you charity, see,” he said raising his voice slightly.

“ My dad works at Ford Motor Company, that’s a good job. We’re not poor, my dad’s a boss or something.” I said.

           “ I know you’re not, but I bet they think you are.”

           “They don’t. They’re nice every time I go over there.”

           “ My dad says we shouldn’t do that. He says we should stick to our own kind.”

           “ You want to spend the night or not?”

           “Alan going to be there?”

           “Yeah,” I said. “Just don’t tell your mom and dad.”

           He looked at me as if I had just suggested that we rob a bank.

           “You mean lie?”

           “No, just if they don’t ask you about Alan don’t tell them.” Ramone smiled again and nodded. Ramone was never allowed to spend the night. His parents just wouldn’t let him do it.

On the day of our visit to Ramone’s house, Alan’s family and my family had moved out of the neighborhood and had been out for years by this point. My family moved out right after I graduated from Ferry in 1979. We moved to a quiet middle-class neighborhood about ten miles from where we lived on Mt Elliot Street. The neighborhood was strikingly different than the one we had left. These were tree-lined streets with manicured yards. Our neighbor Mr. Traminski literally had a white picket fence around his yard. It looked like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting. When my family moved in the neighborhood was predominantly white with a few black, Asian, and Arab families sprinkled in for good measure.  By the late 80s rolled around almost all the white families had moved out. White flight is what they called it, I guess. Mr. Traminski was one of the first to go. I guess we liked him more than he liked us.

Alan’s family moved out of the old neighborhood around 1983. In this period, Alan and I had become as close as two friends could be, while Ramone whose family never left the old neighborhood began to drift from our orbit. We tried to keep in touch with him but were unable to regularly. All and all, Alan and I had been away from the old neighborhood off and on for almost nine years and at that time, we might have seen Ramone five or six times. The times we did see him he didn’t seem quite right. He seemed tight, and a  little off-kilter.

By 1985 Alan and I were high school graduates with our whole lives laid out in front of us. I looked as if I was about to embark on a promising college football career, Ramone had been accepted into several really good universities, and Alan had gotten a job at a paper manufacturing plant.  

*****

“This neighborhood has gone to shit,” I said as I scanned my surroundings. I looked out toward the empty lot where Ferry Elementary once stood. The last time Alan and I had been in the neighborhood Ferry Elementary was still standing It had been closed and torn down for years by the next time Alan and I rolled around.  

“To shit and then some,” Alan said. I looked up at the cool cloudless sky. A tiny barely visible plane flew by overhead. A reflective dot high above it all creeping across the cobalt sky dipping in and out of sight. I tilted my head back and closed my eyes. I could almost feel the earth rotating, even though I knew that it wasn’t possible, still, it made me feel dizzy. I took a half a step back to avoid staggering, then opened my eyes.

“I bet Ramone’s heading off to Yale or Princeton or some other ivory league school partly because of his grades and partly because he’s black. Affirmative action,” Alan said out of the blue. I slowly turned to him not believing what I was hearing.

“What,” I said my anger was bubbling just below the surface.

“ I bet I couldn’t get in,” he said sharply.

“Yeah, because you don’t have the grades.”

“ I’m just saying,” he shrugged.

The front door swung open and Serina stepped out onto the porch. Serina’s, Ramone’s little sister. She had smooth chocolate skin and wide brown eyes, she looked like a black Barbie doll. She stared at us with a blank expression. She didn’t recognize us. Before that day I remembered Serina as a slightly chubby happy-go-lucky little girl running and playing with her friends on the playground with her protective older brother Ramone always keeping one eye out for her and the other eye out for us. The chubby little girl that used to be too shy to look at me was gone and had been replaced with this beautiful stern woman standing before us in the partially opened screen door.

“Can I help you,” She asked while subtly looking us over.

“Serina,” I said cautiously.

“Yes,” she said without looking at me. Her eyes were fixed on Alan.

“I’m Luke and this is Alan,” I said, “We’re friends of Ramone. Is he here?” She turned to me, her jaw tightened and her eyebrows came together in a tight knot.

“What,” she said, the words came out in a breathy whisper. Her expression softened.

“ Is he home?” I asked. Serina looked at me for a long moment then she turned and looked at Alan. I could see the light bulb coming on. She slowly raised a finger and pointed it at me.

“ Your Luke?” She asked. I nodded and motioned toward Alan.

“ And that’s Alan, do you remember us?” She nodded and stepped out onto the porch closing the screen door behind her.

“Where have you guys been?” she asked in a thin wavey voice.  Alan and I looked at one another confused.

“Excuse me,” Alan asked.

“Ramone is dead,” she said in a voice that suggested that she was still struggling with the realization of what had happened. The news was devastating.

“What, when,” Alan and I asked in unison.

“He walked into traffic,” she said in a voice strangled with emotion. “ a truck hit and killed.”

“Where did it happen,” I asked.

“He was on Mt Elliot when it happened.”

“How could this have happened?” I thought. “We were all good friends, weren’t we? How could it be that this was the first we were hearing of this?” I looked at Alan he was standing with his jaw gapped and unhinged looking glossy-eyed and confused. Alan and I stood there on her front porch like mute idiots as Serina dropped the bombshell on us. My brain went foggy and felt warped and wobbled and I jerked my head to the left to shake off the cobwebs. I couldn’t believe it.

“Suicide,” Alan muttered in a low husky voice. I was trying to think of something to say, but my mind was blank.

“I’m sorry,” Serina said. “I thought you guys knew,” she paused, “I thought everyone knew by now.”

“By now,” Alan asked, “How long has he been gone?”

“Three years,” She said matter-of-factly, “ I thought all his true friends knew,” she said bitterly as she glared at us.

“No,” I said shaking my head. She cocked her head to the right and looked at me with her big doll-like brown eyes. She had the kind of eyes that made grown men stutter if she looked directly at you and she was looking directly into the eyes. My mind went blank. Serina was studying me with those eyes, looking for signs of a lie. I understood what she was doing so I held her gaze until she looked away. Ramone had killed himself on my old street. He didn’t kill himself on my block thank god. He did the deed a few blocks up near East Grand Blvd. I don’t think that I had ever known anyone that had committed suicide before or since.

As sad as Ramone’s suicide was I’m sure he was now in a better place. Ramone was a melancholy boy from the moment I met him back in 1976 up until the last time I saw him which must have been some time in the mid-eighties. He just seemed too delicate of a human being to survive in this harsh and hateful world.

[asterekmess]

S3A - E1

Okay, instead of making like massive reblogs of thoughts as I have them for the episodes, I’m gonna just make a massive bullet point list that I’ll add to throughout the episode, so you get One post per episode instead of “Like all nine million of them.”

I put Read-More’s because I care.

Thoughts (of which I have far too many):

I’m in the first ten seconds of the fuckin episode. Why the fuck is Braeden electrocuting Isaac? Like, look, I wanna like Braeden. I have issues with her entire moral system, but I still wanna like her cus’ she saves Isaac. But...how am I supposed to do that when the literal first thing she does is electrocute my boy??? He’s knocked out, not DEAD (not that that’s how shocking someone’s heart even Works) and it’s not like she needs to trigger the healing process. He’s already got Gaping slash wounds on his chest. He’s hurt enough. ALSO. “Be quiet”?? R U Serious? You’re electrocuting him. YOU try being quiet with fucking jumper cables on your chest.

The CGI...is so bad. Oh my god. What the absolute fuck. it looks like Sharkboy & Lavagirl. And why aren’t Ethan & Aiden’s claws doing anything to the bike?

I AM CONFUSION. If the twins don’t have to take their pants off to do the Transformers shit, why do they have to take off their shirts? Can...can I just skip that? Make the big bad werewolf wear an ugly hybrid of two of their stupid ass sweaters? Or do Ethan and Aiden really just like being shirtless that much? (I wouldn’t put it past them)

What is with Braeden and the electricity?

The writing in this show, what the fuck? “I thought I told you to hold on” EXCUSE ME, ma’am. He literally just passed out. His bad I guess.

Guess who has to add the anti-scott tag to this now? Anyway, I hate that Allison’s bit in the intro is her kissing Scott and then drawing the bow. Like, they’re broken up. They don’t get together in this season. Why are they kissing in the intro? That had to have Totally pissed off Scallison fans.

There’s my boy, holding up lizard tattoo designs. Pls tell me he took a pic and sent it to Jackson with the caption “It’s YOU.” Like, yes, way too soon, but man it’s fuckin funny.

This tattoo artist is a good-ass salesman. However, p-sure he’s not a good-ass artist if he had to wrap Scott’s arm up That badly. Like...they have stuff for that. Fuck, the one I got on my ankle, they used SaranWrap and Tape. Just needs to be kept out of the open air for a bit. You don’t need like eight layers of gauze. I do feel for Scott tho. That tat probably cost him like $50-75 before the tip. Oof.

Eyyy, time to be salty. Ya’ll know I love Allison, but does it get any more clear that she totally bailed on everyone after the warehouse? She went to France! She doesn’t even know what happened to Jackson after he got cured. ALSO. Lydia says “Derek taught him the werewolf 101.” Not Scott. Derek. XP

Lydia, honey, leave Allison alone. If she doesn’t want to go on the double date, go alone and make it an orgy. Fun, right? Wait, no. Don’t. You’re 16. Don’t do that!

When exactly did they “agree to give each other the summer”? She said “I’m breaking up with you.” he said “I’ll wait” and then she cried into her dad’s arms. Like...why didn’t we get to see this apparently incredibly important conversation? (maybe because it didn’t happen??)

I fucking LOVE the “I’m just gonna say hi. HEYYYYY! You know....they probably didn’t see us.”

The most horrific thing about that moment was the bad CGI.

I WANNA POINT OUT how cute it is (in a like, sad way cus’ she’s terrified) that Lydia is close enough to Stiles now that she immediately goes for his side and they like insta connect with the eye contact. Not in like a Stydia way, but like, they’re close. she trusts him and goes to him when she’s scared, even though he’s human and you’d wonder if she shouldn’t go to Scott instead, since he’s the werewolf.

SCOTT WHY ARE YOU TOUCHING THE DEAD DEER. Your ability to smell chemosignals/sense emotions has nothing to do with touching. Stop poking the dead animal.

Wait, WHY is there a full moon in that shot? The full moon isn’t for like a week! I COUNTED.

...what? Why the fuck does Braeden think Scott’s an Alpha? Why tho? Like, seriously? WHY? He’s not an Alpha yet. Nowhere near it. And if she knows bc Deaton told her (i think he was the one who hired her) then shouldn’t she know he isn’t one yet? IF SHE KNOWS that she can tell Melissa abt werewolves, WHY doesn’t she know that Scott’s Melissa’s son? Where is the LOGIC?

Scott’s morning routine is giving me Legally Blonde vibes. ~my perrrfectt dayyy, nothing standing in my wayyy~

I can’t tell. did Allison get highlights, or straight up dye her hair brown?

This sweet moment between her and her dad. Yes. Pls.

I will admit, I like getting to see each of their mornings.

Lydia...who are you fucking? Honey, you’re sixteen. Why isn’t whoever the fuck is in bed with you also getting ready for school? What.....the fuck?

Completely different Beacon Hills High School set. I really can’t blame the writers for that.

Wtf Davis? You list Erica and Boyd as being 17...since when? They’re supposed to be entering their Junior Year of high school. They would be 16 GOING ON 17. ANd what the hell do you mean Erica’s birthday is August 16th? She said in the last season that she’d “Just turned 16 a month ago” that was Spring semester. ???? Come on, guys. Seriously. Writing 101, getting to know your characters. I don’t know anyone writing a novel who doesn’t know the exact birthday of their characters. Plus, they cut 2 in. from Gage Golightly’s actual height, while adding an inch to Sinqua’s (according to google, which isn’t always reliable) Whatever. Boooooo.

Uh...that principal was threatened by the Argents. Victoria herself promised to torture him if he didn’t resign. Why does he look so surprised by the fucking sword in his office? For that matter, why is he at the school at all? He KNOWS the Argents attacked him. This should cause problems!

Honestly, Lydia, I love you. Like, go for it. Nothing wrong with not wanting to date and just wanting to have fun. My issues stem from YOU BEING 16. Yes, teenagers have sex. But this is ridiculous. Why is there so much sexualization? I knew a grand total of like....two teenagers who had sex at 16? and like one who did at 15 (which they say in canon she and Jackson were banging before her birthday). Like, it’s not nearly as common as y’all are making it out to be. Knock it off.

WHEN DID MELISSA MEET ISAAC PROPERLY? WHEN did that HAPPEN?

....so why didn’t Derek answer the phone? They literally never explain? He shows up, so...why didn’t he answer?

I’m SO InCredibly Disturbed by Jennifer having everyone’s phone numbers. HOW? In What Way is that REMOTELY appropriate? WHY did no one question it? Why didn’t STILES or LYDIA question it?

So tiny, bugs me so much. He didn’t turn his phone off. He turned his screen off...is it that hard to have him do the right one?

uhhh. Werewolves can smell other werewolves. Wanna tell me why Isaac can’t tell a werewolf just walked in the room? An ALPHA no less?

why TF are Kali’s iris’ and pupils so fucking massive?

So...what was the deal with the birds? Don’t they say later that Jennifer like summoned them? So they aren’t from the Alpha pack scaring animals? And also, how would the Alpha pack be scaring animals if they’re like, in the middle of town? They said in S1 that “wild animal sightings are up” like what 75% or something? “As though something is scaring them out” but that made sense, bc we knew Peter was running around in his full-shift (it’s a fucking full shift, it’s just fucked up) in the woods. But these Alphas aren’t, they’re integrating. So is it Jennifer that the animals are afraid of? Like, does she have sPoOkY aura or something?

More bad CGI.

WHy is no one responding to the woman stumbling around in nothing but a hospital gown?

ONCE AGAIN. Werewolves can Sense Werewolves. SCOTT you sensed Isaac in a BOYS LOCKER ROOM. DUKE IS RIGHT THERE. WHT THE FUCK?

angry smoker doctor  “Why don’t you wheel this joker out of here?” “I’m gonna go smoke” Grrr

Sir. clearly your mask wasn’t tied on appropriately. it shouldn’t just Fall Off when you touch it. there are Protocols! STOP THE SPREAD. also, someone wanna tell me why none of these alphas can keep their claws in? A lil flashy flashy red eye would’ve done the trick just fine.

Okay no, seriously what the FUCK is up with these contacts, you guys? THEY”RE MASSIVE???

Ugh, can I just *swoons* “I’m an Alpha!” slice “So am I.” That is just so fucking smooth. Woo. I feel so safe ohmygod. PLUS. Derek KNOWS Ennis. I can’t imagine how satisfying that had to be.

Uh, Derek, honey. You’re Isaac’s legal guardian. You can just Sign Him Out of the hospital. With clothes and everything. What are you doing?

Honey, what do you mean the county took it over? If they were gonna do that they’d have done it six fucking years ago. Unless you gave it to them, it’s still yours? I did the research. Like HOURS of it.

What do you MEAN there’s a magic healing herb that helps with Alpha wounds? Since when do Alpha wounds need extra healing, I thought they just took a lil longer? ALSO why is it growing INSIDE your house???? SCOTT. Isaac is fucking UNCONSCIOUS. Can your tattoo fucking WAIT A MINUTE?

I have so many questions. WHY does Braeden know who Allison is? If Lydia’s immune to magic, WHY is Braeden able to bruise her? WHY can Braeden DO magic? and WHY is Chris allowed to take Lydia out of school?

ALLISON you had Geometry LAST YEAR why are you holding a GEOMETRY BOOK??

ohhhhmygod, Derek. Derek. DEREK. Your eyes are pretty on a normal day. That little Blink and ruby reds thing? Ohmygod. I just. I wanna take a picture and just stare at it BUT. how tf does this whole red eye thing work? You can see in the dark....but now you also have x-ray vision? You know, I could believe it was thermal vision...maybe? If Scott was still healing for some reason maybe the tattoo would be brighter? Otherwise I have no idea what is going on.

BUT SCOTT”S NOT 18??? He’s Still fucking 16, or even 17, but not 18. WTF? He needs parental consent in the first place (i should’ve mentioned this in the other note abt the tattoo)

uhh...seriously? When someone breaks up with you and tells you not to talk to them anymore...why do you need a reward for doing as they asked? Like, yeah, you’re sad, I feel that. But making it a ‘reward’ sounds kinda weird. You know what makes it really easy not to text the ex that doesn’t wanna talk to you? Delete her number.

WHY THE BLOWTORCH? SOMEONE WANNA EXPLAIN? Peter’s not covered in tattoo from when he was literally burned alive, why the FUCK would a blowtorch create a black tattoo on Scott’s skin?

DEREK. HONEY. Why would Stiles be able to hold Scott still??? Scott’s a werewolf.

All this bullshit to explain away Posey’s tattoo that he got. Like, damn dude, we all like tattoos, but you have a job that needs bare arms on the regular. That was kinda rude.

Where did braeden get clothes? I forgot to ask.

uhhhh. Ephemeral might technically work in that sentence, but that’s still really awkward.

WHY THE FUCK DID YOU DESTROY HIS DOOR? YOU FUCKING ASSHAT. And WHY the instant fucking grr face? “why’d you paint the door?” uhh, leave him alone? He can do what he wants? It’s his house? Also, don’t get all fucking rude about the alpha pack. He told you it was a rival pack.

KALI. PUT SOME FUCKING SHOES ON. JESUS.

Why exactly does Scott see the symbol and INSTANTLY put together that it’s got anything to do with the Alphas or the animal attacks? Where is the logic jump there?

What exactly was the POINT of popping your claws if you were gonna kick her in the face???

UH, Melissa? Why didn’t you tell Scott that there was a whole other person with Isaac?

What is with the face touching, Duke? I’ve never known a blind person who actually wanted to rub their hands on my face to ‘find out what i look like?’

Really not a fan of all these weird jumps and camera angles with the awkward reflecting.

WOah WOah. Allison gets to PAINT her APARTMENT? Wtf kinda BULlshit is that? My landlord won’t let me do that. Rude.

I know they’re imprisoned and it sucks, but they’ve been there for four months, they had to have gotten bored. Do you think they broke into any of the security deposit boxes to see if anything was left behind?

Last thoughts: They really went for it with this episode. I have plans to change a lot of it. Hopefully I can mesh the changes with the general plotline.

[breakingsomething]

french toast

basic summary: jameson makes breakfast.

trigger warnings: read the tags! i was worried putting the warnings here would spoil the fic, so look in the tags if you want to know :)

the sun came up the same every morning. five am exactly, jameson knew. time was something he was intimately familiar with in a way he couldn't explain. it ran through his veins with his blood. it rang in his ears every second of the day. it burned in his fingers and warmed every tear that he spilled. he owned it. there wasn't another man living who was as powerful as he was.

and nobody knew it but him.

it was far too cold in the bed. jameson couldn't feel anti beside him. that wasn't unusual, or normally wouldn't be, except for the fact that it was very early and he knew anti hadn't gone to bed until just past two. he'd heard him having a nightmare at twenty past three. after that he'd gone silent, and jameson had properly slept. now, he sat up, blinking and rubbing his eyes, adjusting to the empty, slowly lightening room. he wished they has curtains, but he supposed beggars couldn't be choosers when it came to a situation like theirs.

looking around, it made him wonder what the creator's boys were doing right now. probably all still sleeping, maybe eating food that they hadn't stolen or fought tooth and nail for. maybe when they woke, they'd take a shower without worrying about the hot water bill for a house not registered under their name. maybe they'd dress in clothes they picked out themselves. maybe they'd spend the day thinking of pastries and youtube videos and magic and jewelry and whatever else people thought of. not a thought to be spared for anyone else. jameson almost snorted at the thought.

his bare feet padded to the door, the silence almost deafening. his heart raced in his ears. a-n-t-i? he knocked on the doorframe, to which he got no response. probably for the best. definitely for the best. gave jameson a bit more time.

he went over to the cupboard and quickly pulled on some proper clothes, a blue hoodie and black tracksuit bottoms with mismatched socks that had holes at the top. drank some water that he'd left on his bedside. then he pulled out something that he'd hidden in between his sketchbook pages and slipped it in his pocket, along with something else that he'd hidden in his shoes. just as precautions. eventually, he went to the bathroom and quickly brushed his hair with his fingers before slowly making his way downstairs.

anti was sitting at the kitchen table. he didn't look up when jameson came in, though; he was slumped over with his face in his arms, whistling softly in his sleep. jameson wasn't used to seeing him in just a t-shirt, and for a moment he just stared at his ink black tattoos, marred by raised pink scars from an event jameson hadn't been around to witness, which he was grateful for. anti's hair was getting long too, falling in curls around his freckled face. right now, it was almost hard to look at him and see him as a manipulative murderer, a torturer, an actor and a kidnapper and a liar and a thief. but jameson knew he was. he always had been.

he wished he could have seen it earlier.

he made breakfast. he'd managed to convince anti that he wanted to try his hand at cooking, and his brother had relented after just a few days of begging for ingredients. eggs, vanilla extract, yoghurt and berries - french toast was on the menu this morning. by the time anti had slowly begun to stir, the scent had filled the warm kitchen, making the house that wasn't theirs feel so much more cosy. anti yawned, shaking his arms out and wincing. jameson watched him with a raised eyebrow and a soft smile, waiting for his brother to notice him.

it took a moment before he did. "oh - morning, dap," anti mumbled, scrubbing sleep from his eyes. "what the fuck're you… it's, like, six am, shouldn't even you still be asleep?"

jameson grinned, holding up the two plates he'd already set up and placing the left one proudly in front of anti. "toast," he signed as soon as he had both hands free. "french toast. also, i'm an early bird. figured i'd use my time well."

he sat at the table and slid a fork across the table to a surprised anti, who caught it and stared down at his plate in amazement. "you absolute mad lad, dapper," he grinned, brown eyes flashing. "i knew it was a good idea to let you buy all that shit."

that was bullshit. anti hadn't wanted to buy it at all, and jameson had had to behave perfectly to his older brother's standards in order to get it. like a dog being rewarded with a treat. jameson bit his lip hard and didn't respond, forcing a smile onto his face.

they dug in, the two of them eating in relative silence as a conversation was difficult to have when one party couldn't speak without their hands. jameson tapped the edge of his plate with his fork, the sound ringing out in the quiet. his hoodie pocket felt suddenly very heavy, despite it now being lighter than before.

"doing anything today?" he asked once he'd eaten a few bites, setting the fork down at the side. he didn't feel very hungry. anti bobbed his head and held up a hand while he swallowed, coughing into his hand immediately after.

"i have to go shopping soon, actually," he said, drumming his fingers on the table to a tune jameson didn't recognize. "do we need anything specific? i can definitely get more of this shit if we need any, ha. i know we need, uhh… fuck, my head hurts and i don't remember shit." he closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly. "d'you know, dap? anything important?"

jameson waited for anti to remember that he wouldn't be able to hear his brother's reply and sheepishly open his eyes before responding. "i don't think we'll need anything. as far as i'm aware, it's all taken care of."

anti furrowed his brows, frowning. "i'm sure we… needed something. i dunno what it was." he yawned again, shivering. "christ, it's gotten dead cold in here. and for some reason, i'm still tired as shit."

"why'd you sleep down here?" jameson asked. might as well ask. anti did love to talk about himself.

it took the man a moment to respond, and when he did, his voice was slightly slurred. "had a weird fuckin' dream, didn't wanna be 'round you. was gonna sleep on the couch, but i came in here for water 'n i fell 'sleep…" he suddenly coughed again, doubling over and covering his face. when he sat up again, he had gone very pale, hair sticking to his face with sweat. "shit, i don't… don't feel well, what th'fuck…"

this time when he coughed, his hands came away from his mouth red. "fuck!" he swore, trying to stagger to his feet. but his legs gave out beneath him and he crumpled to the floor, gasping and wheezing. "fuck, fuck, i'm - dap, help me up, shit!"

jameson watched calmly from his place at the table. anti looked up with desperate eyes that widened as he saw his brother's blank expression, pupils dilating to pinpricks. "dap?" he rasped, retching with a hand clamped over his mouth. "wh-what the fuck did you -"

"a-r-s-e-n-i-c," jameson signed with a smile. his movements were smooth and deliberate in comparison to anti's pained thrashing. "i went classic. there was enough in there to kill a man in half an hour, i'd say. i'm surprised you didn't taste it. you may be experiencing nausea and vomiting, muscle cramps, dizziness, abnormal heart rhythm, sudden convulsions…"

he trailed off, smirking as anti clawed at his throat, gasping for breath and gagging. jameson wasn't even sure the man could see his signs anymore. "y-you fucking - you poisoned me?" anti stammered, wrapping his arms round his stomach and paling even further. "christ, well, that's a first -"

jameson grimaced in disgust as anti threw up without warning, still coughing afterwards. "gross," the time traveler signed, screwing up his face. "die with a little dignity, anti."

anti looked up in time to catch the last few words, although by this point jameson supposed his vision had blurred enough that he couldn't see very well. nevertheless, he managed to sit himself up, wiping spit off his chin. "you want me - why the fuck d'you want me dead?" he managed. his arm twitched wildly, and he gasped in pain. jameson watched him clutch at the counter, trying to pull himself up. "i g-gave you everything, you unappreciative shit, what is wrong with - you f-fucking -"

he suddenly spasmed, and jameson sighed. "oh dear," he signed, despite anti not being able to see him. "it appears you've reached the stage of convulsing and seizures. that's not good, especially with your epilepsy, is it?"

anti choked, and jameson laughed without noise, pulling his phone from his pocket and quickly typing into the text to speech box. he wanted anti to hear what he had to say. "you say you gave me everything," the monotone male voice spoke. "then why am i always in pain? why are you always hurting me, one way or another? why do you treat me like i'm less than you?"

"i - love you, you b-b-bastard," anti gasped, stopping to cry out in pain as he convulsed. "i do, tha-that's nottalie, swear, swear, stop it, stop -"

jameson had finished typing his next lines by that point. "you always say you love me but you don't fucking show it. buying me sketchbooks and ingredients for meals doesn't count as love." his fingers flew across the keyboard. "love is not hurting someone just because you want to. love is not demeaning someone and making them feel small and worthless. love is not stepping on someone to elevate yourself. love is not hurt. love is not you."

"no, no, no," anti mumbled, curling up on the floor, hissing through his teeth. "i - i - you don't underst-t-tand - protect, trying to protect, ah, ah, nngh, i'm - dap -"

"and there's another thing," the voice said cooly. "my name isn't dapper. it's jameson jackson. you don't notice anything, do you, anti? this wasn't a sudden rebellion."

"a li'l p-poison isn't gonna kill me," anti laughed hoarsely.

jameson stood. "no," he signed. "but this will."

he pulled the other item from his pocket, slowly, so anti could take it in. he smirked as his brother's breath hitched at the sight of the silver kitchen knife, reflecting the light from the window above the counter. the reaction was so satisfying to watch.

"y-you're gonna stab m-me, eh?" anti tried to laugh again, but it came out more like a weak whimper. he retched again, head slamming against the wall as he twitched. "f-feels like it's f-fitting that you'd b-be - be the one to kill me. if anyone did, you-you're not - the worst choice."

jameson rolled his eyes. "sure." then he leaned down and pressed his knife to anti's bandaged throat. "anything else to say?"

anti was still shaking, blood dribbling from his mouth. but his eyes, flickering from colour to colour and eventually coming to rest on grey to match his brothers, were full of an emotion that jameson didn't understand. "didn't mean to - you - i -" he threw his head back, whimpering with pain. "b-b-bastard, i - fuck -"

jameson didn't let him get any further.

once it was over, jameson slumped back against the kitchen cupboards, staring off into the living room with unfocused eyes. he'd done it. why didn't he feel happier, more free? why did he feel more trapped than ever?

his hands were red.

he washed them. ten times over. then he took a shower and changed his clothes. he stared at his reflection for a full half hour, lost in thought, hands shaking as his nails dug into his palm.

anti was still on the floor when he went back downstairs. fuck, best get rid of him. jameson crouched down next to him and pressed a hand to his brother's chest. with closed eyes, he let the magic channel through him, burning his skin, burning anti's skin, crushing him under the weight of time itself. several minutes passed, and by the end of it, anti's body was gone. eaten away, dissolved.

jameson didn't feel lighter. really, he felt so much heavier. like he'd gone swimming in a full denim outfit. like he'd gone swimming with rocks in his pockets. like he'd - like he'd just killed his brother. there was no sugarcoating it.

it had felt good. jameson had never been more disgusted with himself.

what would he do now? there was no where else to turn. no one else to go to. except - jameson narrowed his eyes. no one else but the creator's boys. the one's who'd called themselves his brothers. the one's who'd left him with anti. they'd left him with anti, they'd left him with - they'd left him here. they'd been too fucking cowardly to come save him.

jameson picked up the knife from the place anti's body had been. maybe he had something he could do after all. loose ends to tie up. more brothers to put in their places.

his hands weren't red anymore. they felt red.

jameson's french toast had gone cold.