#worth driving through Times Square for

[mer-se]

Prima Facie 🎭🤍 4/18

:’)

[prismatica-the-strange]

Nope, I'm still crying

[bi-writes]

it's halloween, y'all. let's get into it.

ghost contacts you, a local medium, to come rid his house of the souls that still linger. "the voices," he says, "the screamin'. they're too loud." the lives far, so normally you'd say no. it's not worth it to waste the gas on a 2 hour drive outside of manchester, but he said he'd pay, and his "half now, half later" was more than you made in a month.

you record new voices to make the job extra spectacular. creepy sounds, even music, and you pack a little fake blood just to make it believable in case you need something more physical to change his mind.

when you do a walkthrough of his house, the only ghost you find is its owner. he lingers as you walk, always appearing behind doorways or poking his head around corners. you're wary of him, but his money is burning a hole in your pocket, so you keep going, the little machine in your hand crackling as you walk through a dark hallway.

"where do you hear them? the screaming?" you ask, turning. he's where you expect him to be; big brute of a man standing as he watches you from down the hall. he nods to the door on your right, rusted door closed shut, and you open it warily, stepping inside.

it's a quaint room. neatly kept. the odd thing about it that you note is its lack of windows. there's a twin-sized bed in the corner with an array of fluffy blankets, and there's clothing folded neatly on the bed. you run your fingers over the wall, noticing the squares of padded foam hung in a perfect pattern across all four sides of the room. you step a little further into the room, turning again, and you swallow hard when you see him standing at the doorway, hand on the doorknob, his eyes scrunching in a way that you assume he must be smiling under the mask.

you make eye contact with him just as his fingers squeeze the doorknob tight. you pause, the hair on your arms and along the back of your neck standing on end. something isn't right. something is wrong. you're frozen as you stare at him, the dread filling your insides too fast. your heart drops into your stomach, and just as you make a quick break for the door, it slams shut in your face.

ghost hums as he closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. it works now, it works this time, he doesn't have to deal with it. it's bliss; quiet in the hallway, just as he prefers it.

he can't hear the screaming anymore.

[6ix9inewiturmom]

She Ours- Christopher and Matthew Sturniolo

Summary: you’re at an LA party and both chris and matt find you attractive…

Warnings: SUMT, THREESOME(not the weird kind ya freaks), P in V, Unprotected (please don’t reproduce), Dom!Matt!Chris, Sub!Reader, Squirting, Oral (M and F Receiving), PARIS (iykyk)

A/N: THIS IS BASED OFF OF P POWER BY GUNNA FT DRAKE 😫😫 ENJOY

My friend Lina was one of the biggest party girls I knew, every weekend was some party she heard about through the grapevine, which typically because I don't get out much she insisted on dragging me out of my house.

“This party better be worth it” I snap walking down the staircase of my shared house with Lina. She let me borrow her outfit: A skintight black dress that barely covered my ass, her adorable red bottom heels, and my jewelry.

“Girl you have the possibility of getting LAID tonight, let's not complain,” she stops to gasp “Maybe if you get laid you'll stop being so bitchy” she jokes.

“Lina you realize you're like the female version of a player right?” I laugh as we walk out of the house together.

As she fastens her seatbelt and starts reversing the car out of the driveway, she responds with a gentle smile, "No, I'm not. I love everyone."

“That's the problem” I chuckle.

Driving on the highway we had our hype music blasting through the speakers of the car, Lina breaks the silence, “When is the last time you actually had a dick?”

I about choked on air when I heard her invasive question, we were best friends so TMI didn't exist in our relationship considering we've known each other since we were 2 years old in daycare, but I was more or less caught off guard. “um I’d have to say probably since I went off the rails and impulsively joined Tinder and had that horrible hookup with that guy. Um shit, what's his name? OH YES TYLER” I laughed reminiscing the times.

“BITCH” she jokingly yells stomping on the brakes at the red light sending my whole body jerking forward. “That was 2 years ago” she whispers

“Yeah but like that man was weird as fuck, so I just thought maybe a guy who wanted to fuck would just pop out of the blue somewhere I don't know, you're a lot better at this than I am” I shrug getting almost embarrassed.

“oh my god, bitch this isn't the 80s you need to catch a dick” We both laugh at her commentary “But let's not catch STDs” her voice trails off as i try to contain my laughter.

After a lengthy journey, we finally reached the venue. As we pull into the parking lot, we are greeted by the sound of vibrant and lively music reverberating through the air. As we stepped out of the car and made our way inside, we were immediately engulfed by the dim, flashing lights and vibrant colors illuminating the area, accompanied by the pulsating beats of loud music that reverberated through the space.

“BITCH I LOVE THIS SONG” Lina yells over the loud music and dragging me to the lit up squared boxes where the song Maneater by Nelly Furtato is playing.

My hips move around to the song, not a care in the world who sees me but alas I nervously look around and see two pairs of crystal blue eyes practically drooling over me. One with slightly longer hair than the other and the other with a tatted arm but they both look the same.

“Y/N” Lina yells over the loud music “YOUR LOOKING A LITTLE TOO HARD” she continues

“Those guys over there keep looking at me” I lower my tone a little trying not to make a scene “They’re kinda cute” I softly smile carefully taking my bottom lip between my teeth and watching them talk amongst each other.

“BOTH?” Lina's eyes widen

“I mean why not?” I shrug my shoulders laughing

“They look like brothers which I mean is kinda attractive” Lina Replies “Just not that weird threesome Shit I'm talking about that trip to Paris if you know what I mean” she smirks shimming her shoulders

“Oh shit” my eyes widen “fuck they're coming over here, WHAT DO I DO LINA”

“Just act normal and if shit gets weird to remember to text me ‘Lemon Jelly Belly’ and ill find a way to get you out of there” Lina smiles as she walks over to the bar to flirt with the bartender

My nerves were heightened to the max watching the boys walk towards me, one of them had this coxky aura about himself and the other seemed nervous but still confident.

“Hello beautiful” the longer-haired one walks towards me coming behind me.

The one with the tatted arm comes in front of me, his smile turns into a smirk as I find my bottom lip in my teeth again.

“I'm Matt, and this is Chris” Matt said smirking down at me.

“We just couldn't help ourselves when we saw the way your hips moved and danced to the music,” Chris says whispering in my ear smirking.

“Thanks for asking my name, I’m Y/N” I snap jokingly

“That's such a pretty name,” Matt says placing his hand on my face and caressing my cheek

My hips started moving to the song softly as Matts's hands made their way to my hips as Chris’ was planted on my ass.

“Can I?” Chris asks as he moved the hair on my neck and became closer to my neck.

“Mhm,” i mumble

“Use your words, sweetheart, Can he?” Matt smirks down at me.

“Y-Yes” i stutter.

“Good girl” Matt’s smirk remains on his face as Chris kisses my neck and immediately finds that sweet spot on my neck sending chills down my spine.

“Why don't we do this In a little less crowded area hm?” Chris suggests

“I don't mind” I softly giggle

“Chris, how are we doing this? We gonna flip a coin to see who gets her first or what?” I could tell Matt was a little antsy and irritated by his brother's greediness.

“She ours,” Chris tells his brother.

Matt’s smirk became more apparent as soon as Chris said those words. Chris grabs my hand as and he guides me up a set of stairs and Matts hands remains on my ass. My eyes meet Linas and to say the least I've never seen her more proud of me. Her eyes are wide and her smile is wider. She's holding up her thumbs nodding her head in approval.

the room was dark, but very warm and had lots of room, the bed had silk sheets, and a lot of posters. “Do you guys know whose room this is anyway?” I nervously chuckle out.

“Happens to be my room” Matt speaks with a laugh

Chris comes behind me moving my hair to kiss that sweet spot on my neck again this time leaving dark purple marks on my neck. Matts's gaze softens as his eyes darken with lust watching how my body reacts to Chris’ mouth against my neck. Matt comes closer to me looking at my eyes first then my lips and sending me a soft but seductive smile before he presses his lips against mine. A soft moan escaped my lips causing him to pull back and smirk.

“Fuck I wanna rip this dress off of you,” Chris says with a husk in his voice practically groaning.

Matt presses the pad of his thumb against my lip running it across my bottom lip. “I just wanna put this pretty mouth to good use” he smirks.

Before Matt could do anything Chris picked me up and threw me on the bed looking in Matt's direction with a smirk.

“Sorry ma I really couldn't help myself” he softly chuckles positioning himself between my legs and rubbing softly up and down “May I?” Chris questions while playing with the bottom of my dress

“Be my guest” I smile looking down at his blue eyes glaring down at my clothed pussy with a small wet patch from my neediness of getting dicked down.

Chris moves my dress up to my mid-thighs and slides my underwear to the side diving right in like it was his last meal on planet earth. Matt on the other hand was too impatient and hard to wait, he removed his belt and his pants and kneeled on the bed beside me stroking his throbbing hard cock beside my face and rubbing his tip along my bottom lip teasing my mouth, finally he grips my jaw signaling to open wider as he slides his cock in my mouth thrusting ever so slightly, watching me please him and get pleasured by his brother.

Chris’ tongue laps around my clit, as my moans r muffled by Matts's cock being shoved so far down my throat.

“Fuck” Matt groans “Prettiests of mouths do the sluttiests of things” he praises as he wipes the tears that started forming in my eyes from the overstimulation.

“You're clenching around my tongue ma, you close?” Chris sadistically chuckles around my pussy.

“Mhm,” I muffle out around Matts's cock desperately in need to release built-up tension.

“Why don't you be a good girl and cum for Chris yeah?” Matt coos as he's thrusting his hips in my throat while having my hair in a makeshift ponytail.

My legs tremble and shake around Chris’ head signaling to him how close I am. “That's it baby” Matt's voice becomes husked.

Chris groans around my clit as his tongue laps around it feeling my cervix spasm over the overstimulation and pleasure that he knows he's giving me. The pent-up knot in my abdomen snaps sending me in a wave of euphoria, my eyes roll back, and my legs shake. Matt trusts into my mouth a couple more times before finishing in my mouth, placing his hand on my throat to feel mg swallowing all of him.

“Such a good girl” matt coos at me with my lips still wrapped around his cock.

He gently pulls out and walks over to Chris who's smiling down at me wiping his mouth with his sleeve. The boys talk amongst each other talking about how they'll share me.

Matt walks over between my thighs biting his lip. “Sweetheart I don't have a condom,” he says almost nervously.

“I'm on the pill,” I smiled up at him as his eyes lit up at my response.

He brings his hand to my mouth “Spit” he demands and I obey.

He uses my spit to coat his dick as my eyes roam from Matt to Chris who moves to place himself behind me placing kisses on my neck.

Matt aligns himself at my entrance pushing slowly. “Oh fuck” I moan out as my back arches off of Chris and my hands grip his for support.

He pushes himself further, completely bottoming out letting a loud groan fall from his lips and his head throwing back “fuck baby, you feel so fucking good” he smiles devilishly as he watches my body react to His movements.

his thrusts become harder and rougher. “god damn” he groans out almost at a whimper. “fuck your pussy was fucking made for me” he looks down to watch himself thrust in and out of me as he notices a bulge in my stomach from him and he smirks and presses down.

“Fuck” I scream out.

Both Matt and Chris smirk and look up at each other “Someone likes that eh?” Chris whispers in my ear using his hand and pulling and twisting at my nipples.

Matt pressed harder on my stomach watching my face contort in pleasure. “Such a fucking whore” matt groans out.

“C-C-C-LOSE” I stammer out.

“I can feel you squeezing my dick so fucking good, let it out baby” he coos not switching up his pace or his movements one bit.

Chris’ hand snakes around my throat giving slight pressure to the sides making me see more than just stars. “Cum for Matt baby, come on you can do it ma” Chris praises in my ear.

A loud squeal escaped my lips as my orgasm hit me like a train and I squirted my juices all over Matt and his abdomen. “There she is” Matt lets a low chuckle out from him. “Hold on for a second sweetheart, you can take it”

His thrusts got sloppy as I became jello in Chris's arms, with one final thrust Matt painted my pink gummy walls white coating them with all of his cum.

“Fucking hell” matt breaths out.

“You did so good” Chris praises, “can you take one more ma?” he smirked up at matt.

My body was tired but alas I nodded with a tired smile. Matt moved to where Chris was but Chris had other ideas, he used my ankles to flip me up so my ass was in the air and my stomach lay flat on the mattress. Chris used his precum and spread it around his dick before aligning himself with my sensitive entrance and bottoming out quickly.

“Fuck chris” i moan out trying to move forward but Chris stopped me by placing his hands on my waist pinning me down to the mattress.

“Someone a little sensitive hm? Can't take me, can you?” he chuckled sadistically.

I bit my lip to muffle my own screams of pleasure. “I-I- I can take it-“I was cut off by Chris absolutely pounding into me like there was no tomorrow hitting spots I didn't know was even possible.

Skin slapping and moans were the only sounds bouncing off the walls. “I ain't gonna last long ma, you're clenching me so fucking good” he groans out forcing my head into the mattress.

“CLOSE” I scream out.

“Come on sweetheart, be the good girl you were for me and cum for Chris yeah?” Matt is positioning himself so he can brush some of the hair out of my face.

Matts's gentle words sent me over the edge and once again, I squirted all over Chris sending him into a state of euphoria and cumming on the spot inside of me filling me up with his seed.

I immediately collapse laying flat on the bed out of breath. Matt ran into his bathroom connected to his room and grabbed a warm cloth to clean up my legs as Chris whispered sweet nothings into my ear about how good I did for both of them.

“You doin’ okay love?” Matt says softly wiping my legs.

“Mhm,” I mumble out.

They chuckle as Matt throws a pair of sweatpants and an oversized shirt for me to put on. In my attempt to stand up, my legs gave out.

“Don't tell me you can't walk?” Chris chuckles

“Try to be in my position and see how you feel” I joke making them chuckle.

“Okay okay Chris enough taunting,” Matt says guiding the shirt over my head and helping me get changed.

Chris helped me get my pants on while talking to me about random stuff like 7/11 Bring Your Own Slurpee Day that he didn't know existed and Matt rolled his eyes.

“We just took her ability to walk and change herself i doubt she wants to hear about Slurpee day Chris” matt says carrying me bridal style to sit down on his bed.

Suddenly someone barges into the room obviously drunk. “Wait this isn't the bathroom” it was Lina who immediately saw me and started winking and throwing her thumbs up seeing me curled into bed and in someone elses clothes.

“Who the fuck are you? Get out!” Chris yells “Bathrooms downstairs” he gently closes the door.

“That was Lina…” I shyly say covering my face.

“Who?” they say in unison

“Lina my best friend since we were two, she's the reason I came” I laughed softly.

“yo…you think she heard anything,” Chris says bluntly scratching the back of his head.

“She's weird but not that weird. She's obviously drunk so she'll forget it by morning if she did anyway” I brush it off, and I pat the empty side of the bed for Chris to join Matt and me on the bed where I'm in the middle of both of them.

“You wanna watch anything? I'll let you pick?” Matt says handing me the remote and smiling.

“Wha- bro you never let me pick anything when I’M in your room” Chris whines.

“Shut up” matt laughs in response.

“Yall ever seen gossip girl?” I smirk at both of them

“Nope,” they both say popping the ‘P’

“YAY okay so we gonna watch it and if you have any questions feel free to ask” I smirk getting cozy and comfy in the silk sheets pressing play on the the TV.

“Why am I scared?” Chris says leaning over and whispering at me.

“Shut up and watch” I snap playfully.

HI LOVERS!! im so sorry for not posting this!! ive had writers block and i’ve been on vacation with my family visiting my home town and i haven’t really had time to write or do anything on this fic!! but i hope you guys enjoy it and i love you and thank you for your patience!!

XOXO,

Gabs 🩷

Sjendje

[fashionteahouse]

Reader x Seth

Reader has always been sacred of wolves due to an incident that happened so when Seth shows her his wolf she’s so scared ran from him. He’s crushed so Leah comes over and reminds her Seth wouldn’t hurt a fly

oki doki ! hope you enjoy :)

save me - seth x reader

The small black square was safe in your hands. The view was worth it. Traveling to Alaska made you open your mind up to the nature and the wildlife.

Snaps of the camera flashed as the picture was captured. You looked at the captures as you walked back to the car that was close.

Another snap catches your attention. It wasn’t from a camera. It was from a tree branch. You slowly look over and see a wolf, locking its eye contact with you. Slowly growling, raising its lips to show off its powerful and sharp canines.

Your heart thuds almost out of your chest. You thought it was going to fall out and flop right in front of your feet.

You look away and you heard the gallops of their huge paws right on your trail. Locking its teeth on your backpack, you scream. Your body shakes in fear as you slide out of your backpack, letting the wolf to just keep it. You just wanted to stay alive.

The wolf slowed down as it looked at the backpack and back at you. You open your car door and somehow, you screech your car’s tires in the other direction. Your heavy breathing is filled in the small car as you drive away. You look to the passenger seat as you realized you never dropped your camera. That’s when the sigh of relief comes.

Coming back home to La Push, you were excited to see your boyfriend. It’s been a long week away but you were excited and as he.

The first person was him. That was the first person you’ve seen when you got back.

“So tell me, what did you see?” he asked as his arm was around your shoulders. He never let his hands leave yours as he guided you through his home.

“I saw a lot. I captured some things too. It’s beautiful out there.” you mused.

You and Seth sat on the couch as you handed him your camera. He clicks through the pictures that you have taken while you were away.

A smile is on his face as he is wowed.

“These are really good!” he exclaims and then he proceeds onto the next pictures.

The same picture that you have taken, right before the wolf made its debut. Your heart thumps at the thought, but Seth thought you were nervous because of the excitement of seeing him. He gives you a blinding smile.

That was the last time you seen him. For a while. Phone calls were going straight to voicemail, texts were being unread, and your heart was cracking.

You just didn’t understand it. Things were good. You were sure of it.

As you printed out your pictures, a knock on your front door surprised you. You weren’t expecting any company.

Opening the door, your entire body froze as you glanced at the boy who went M.I.A.

“Seth, what the hell?” you say and hug him tight.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Seth says apologetically.

You take a step back. The boy has grown taller and looks bigger and stronger. You felt a blush float across your cheeks. He takes a hand in yours and you sigh in happiness at the warmth.

“You’re so warm.” you comment as you eyed him carefully.

“Sorry.” he says sheepishly but you shake your head, “No, it’s okay. I..like it.” you say with a small smile.

“I will tell you why….Ive been away.” Seth says as you both walk. You look at him, “You can tell me anything.” you reassure him. You squeeze his hand a bit for support.

You watch as his shoulders deflate due to relaxation.

“Okay.” he says with a soft smile.

In the woods, his hand leaves yours. You watch him as he takes steps forward.

“Is everything alright?” you ask him. He nods but gives you a look that doesn’t ease your worries.

“Just please don’t run. Okay?” he instructs.

You nod but slowly.

“Just close your eyes.” he says softly.

You slowly close your eyes. Hearing snaps and crackles, you breathe in a sharp breath.

You open them and see a wolf. Your body locks with fear as you examine it. You scream bloody murder, “Seth!”

Whipping around, you ran as fast as you could. Seth tried his best to phase back in time but you were already booking it home.

You sat on your bed with your door locked. Your knees were to your chest as you gently rocked back and forth. You couldn’t believe you were in the same situation twice. The strong heartbeat never leave your ears.

Seth called, Seth tried to visit, but was met with no answer.

Leah noticed the down side of her brother’s personality. He left the home speaking about how he was finally going to see you.

“What’s with the screwed face?” Leah asks as he barely touched his food that she prepared for both him and herself.

“Nothing.” he mutters.

“No, something’s wrong. Just tell me”. Leah says. To her, he was a horrible liar.

He sighs a bit, “I showed Y/N my wolf.”

“Okay? That’s good right?” Leah asks.

“No. It’s not good!” Seth says.

“Seth, what happened?” Leah asks.

He sighs again before revealing, “I showed her my wolf and…She ran. Now, she’s avoiding me..She probably thinks I’m a freak now. It’s over for us.” he finished with defeat.

“No. That’s not true.” Leah says but her brother wasn’t trying to hear it.

Seth feels frustrated and gets up from the table.

Leah stared at his empty seat and decides to take matter into her own hands.

She rapped at the door with her knuckles. She made sure the knocks were loud and clear. You slowly open the door and Leah pushes herself into your home.

“Y/N, what’s going on?” Leah asks.

You look down. You shrug.

“A wolf.” You just say with shakes.

“Yes, Seth is a wolf. And?” Leah concluded.

“And I was almost killed by one..” you say, tears start to form as you remembered the interactions you had. The wolf you seen in Alaska was much smaller than the one that Seth morphed into.

“Y/N, one thing about Seth is that he’s not going to hurt you. I promise. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.” Leah says.

You blink down at the floor.

“Y/N.” Leah calls your name to get you to look at her.

“That’s the last thing he would do. Hurt you.” Leah says.

You sigh as you started to feel bad. You follow her back to the home that her and Seth resides in.

Leah knocked on the bedroom door. It was locked and she knew for a fact that he was having a sulking session.

“Go away!”

“Come on, don’t be a girl. Y/N is here.” Leah says through the door.

Silence was met as you give Leah a nervous look but she just rubs your back.

The door slowly opens to reveal the face that belonged to your heart.

Without saying anything, you both move forward and embrace each other. Holding each other, Leah took it to be her cue to leave.

Seth swayed you in his arms.

“I missed you.” he finally whispers.

“I missed you too.” you whisper back and you both see eye to eye.

Sitting on his bed, he rest a hand on your knee.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. My intent wasn’t to scare you. I wanted to show you all of me.” he says.

You place a hand on his cheek as you shake your head, mostly due to shame.

“No. I’m sorry. You told me not to run. I ran…” you sigh before continuing, “When I saw your wolf it just brought back to when I encountered a wild wolf in Alaska.”

“I would never hurt you. I wish you would’ve told me.” he says with passion.

He slides a hand into yours and you close it, bringing both you two’s fingers together. A smile is matched on both of your faces as you both take in each other. You know that the meaning behind is words were true.

[strawwritesfic]

Kelvin!Spock x Female!Human!Reader: Mr. Right

Summary: When one door closes, another opens—perhaps the door you were meant to enter all along.

Warnings/Tags: Starship Enterprise; post-Star Trek Beyond; friends to lovers; breakup; almost kiss; counselor!reader; Star Trek: The Original Series references; Star Trek: The Next Generation references

Relationships: Spock/Reader; Spock & Nyota Uhura; past!Spock/Nyota Uhura; past!Kevin Riley/Reader

Challenge: “160 Collective Drabbles” challenge by BobaPop on Lunaescence Archives.

Requester: @lovemesomeescapism

Tag List: @imaginesfire

Notes: For once, this is not a repost for this challenge…technically. I did write a response to the prompt "Mr. Right" ages ago, but when I was reposting, I decided that the Now You See Me one shot I wrote really wasn't worth keeping. Someone on Tumblr asked me for a Spock one shot, so I slipped him in as a replacement.

It's been a really long time since I finished something new. I realize that I am rusty. This is actually several drafts into attempts to write this one shot. For the first time ever, I actually cannibalized previous drafts while trying to get the meandering dialogue and point back on track. It still doesn't feel quite "right" to me, but it's probably going to take some time before I get back in the swing of things, and I'm ready to let this one go.

Mr. Right

Throughout Terra's history, human beings had sought the comfort of white noise. Quiet droning sounds proved beneficial for many aspects of mental health in the species. As a counselor on board the U.S.S. Enterprise, you'd recommended listening to white noise to dozens of fellow crewmates and patients alike. The best way to do this in the deep space you'd all been exploring for nearly five years was to turn everything in one's quarters down until the low hum of the ship's warp drive became audible. Many of those crewmates and patients reported back to you with decreased stress levels, improved mood, and a distinct uptick in ability to concentrate. Almost all of them said they got better sleep.

Now you learned that every single one of them had lied to you.

You'd spent the better part of the evening-adjacent hours lying face-down on your sofa, trying and failing to take a nap. The scratchy, standard-issue pillow beneath your face was soaked with tears. Your chest ached. Worst of all, any attempt on your part to get your mind off what upset you just ended with you crying harder. All the while, that awful rumble went on and on and on and on relentlessly, allowing you no respite long enough to drift off and forget your current predicament.

A chime cut through your misery. You paused without so much as lifting your head. As of three hours prior, you were officially off duty for the day. Nothing required you to answer the door unless an order came down from a superior officer, and they would call first. Probably it was only Uhura coming by to check on you. Having been through her own breakup during this voyage, surely she would understand when you didn't let her inside.

The chime sounded again, and with it came a surge of possibilities flooding your mind. What if your visitor was dealing with a crisis? Cases of PTSD had been on the rise since the events on Altamid. You could hardly ignore that in favor of your own small, personal crisis. Off duty or not, your role as a ship's counselor would not allow you to wallow in self-pity when someone might need your help.

As your boots hit the floor, you pressed one sleeve of your rumpled blue uniform to the corner of each eye. The gesture wouldn't do much to disguise what you'd been doing over the course of your time off, but you felt a little steadier afterward. Breathing deeply in and out helped too—until you hiccuped. But you could prepare yourself no more. Squaring your shoulders, you stood, walked over to the door leading to the corridor, and opened it.

Just outside stood the familiar, lanky figure of the ship's science officer. The second you spotted him, you wiped your sleeve across your face with greater urgency.

"You're not one of my patients," you said, "or Uhura."

"A very astute observation, Lieutenant [L Name]," Spock replied.

A long moment elapsed during which the two of you stared at one another. Several fellow crewmates in various uniform colors threw curious looks at his back as they passed by on their ways to wherever they were headed. Your friend, meanwhile, allowed a single dark eyebrow to drift toward his hairline. He clearly had no intention of moving on.

"What are you doing here?" you sighed at last.

The wayward eyebrow rejoined its brother. "Lieutenant Commander Uhura informed me that you left your office this afternoon in distress. I note that her assessment was an accurate one. If anything, you appear to be in more distress now than she described to me then."

You couldn't lie to Spock, not when you looked the way you looked after a crying jag like the one you'd just had. So you didn't bother to try. "Fine. I'm in distress. But really, Spock, it's not the kind of distress you can help with. I'm sure Captain Kirk will need you on a landing party any minute now, so if you'll excuse me—"

"Lieutenant Commander Uhura also informed me of the cause of your distress."

"Of course she did." Sometimes you wished your two friends were a little lighter on the "amicable" part of "amicable exes." "Let me guess: You came by to tell me that you told me so."

"As a Vulcan, I have no reason to rub my correct prediction in your face, if you will forgive the Terra colloquial."

You let out a wet laugh despite yourself. "You're pardoned."

"What I have done is stopped by the mess hall. If I am not much mistaken, ice cream is a traditional consolation food in these types of situations."

He produced from behind his back a number of different colored tapes. So startled were you that you found yourself unable to say anything. Never in a million years would you have imagined Spock of all people standing in front of you and offering you junk food of all things. Your silence went on for so long that he had to prompt you to speak:

"Was I incorrect in my understanding of how to handle Terran breakups?"

"No," you said, then, "I just didn't want you to find out about the breakup until I could pull myself together."

"I surmised as much, given that Lieutenant Commander Uhura found out about your circumstances before I did, although you and I are closer friends. It would have been more logical for you to contact me for assistance than her."

Vulcans as a whole were difficult to read. Even factoring in your education and training, as well as your friendship with Spock that had gone on for several years now, you could only guess his feelings the majority of the time. Not so then. Something about his tone made him sound hurt. Maybe you could chalk that up to projecting your own feelings onto him, but you couldn't risk that assumption.

"It's just that you warned me against dating Kevin," you explained. "As ship's counselor, I should have seen the end coming a kiloparsec away."

"Perhaps. But one might also say that your extensive proximity to the crew's emotions might cause some loss in objectivity on your part."

"So you're not here to make me feel worse?"

"I came for consolation purposes. That is all."

"Well, all right, then."

You stepped away from the doorway. Spock followed you in. He paused only long enough to press the button to close the door before he came to join you in your sitting room. A crate sat on the floor along his path, and he looked at you questioningly as he walked by it.

"Those are Kevin's things," you said.

"Expedient," he observed.

Normally, you might have tried to go for a little more decorum around him, but that day you didn't have the energy to do more than flop back onto your couch. At least you were upright. Spock, on the other hand, claimed a dignified perch at the end of your chair. The two of you certainly made an odd pair.

"He had so many hair products!" you burst out when the awkward silence turned unbearable. "I should have known we wouldn't work out. Who brings that much hair spray into deep space?"

"Humanity can hardly be expected to iron out all its flaws when you all cling so hard to your baser emotions."

"Do you mean Kevin's desire to look nice, or my need to be in a relationship?"

Spock blinked, then smoothly said, "In this case, I refer to your former beau's preoccupation with personal grooming."

"Right. Either way, I'm about ready to get rid of all my own baser emotions. Not feeling them would be a blessing." You got back to your feet and thrust one hand in Spock's direction. "Ice cream tape, please."

He offered one to you.

"Spock," you said warningly.

"I do not believe that heartbreak is an excuse to overeat. I only brought so many because I was unsure which flavor you would select."

The glare you leveled at him seemed to make him think better of lecturing you on the dangers of gluttony—as well it should have. This was the same glare that you gave Dr. McCoy when you were tired of listening to him. Unlike with Dr. McCoy, you smiled once Spock dropped the rest of the tapes into your outstretched hand.

"Thank you." You headed for your in-quarters food producer, then turned your head to ask over your shoulder, "What flavor do you want?"

"I do not require ice cream."

"Come on, Spock. If you're going to spend the evening commiserating with me, you have to have some ice cream, too. That's a critical part of the Terran breakup process."

One corner of his mouth twitched. "I'll have pistachio, then."

You fed the yellow-green tape into the slot. A quiet beeping noise covered the hum of the warp drive as the computer worked. While you waited, you flipped through the remainder of the flavors until you found the one you wanted.

"I don't think it would be a good idea for you to give up emotions," Spock said.

"Huh?" Frowning at him, you replaced his tape with yours. "Aren't you the guy that's been talking about doing the Kolinahr when we get back to Earth?"

"That's different. I am a Vulcan."

"Half Vulcan."

"Vulcan enough."

A shriller beep put an end to this potentially sticky subject. The ice creams were ready. You dumped the rest of the tapes in a basket next to the food producer, picked up the bowls, and brought them back to the living room. Spock took his with a grateful nod, though he waited until you sat down again before taking a bite.

"Maybe I'd be a better counselor if I didn't have emotions," you mused. "If I wasn't blinded by my own feelings, I could help the crew more with theirs. I shouldn't have the same problems as they do after all the studying I've done."

"While that may indeed make sense, it is hardly realistic. Besides, if you did not have your human emotions, you would no longer be the [Name] that I know, and I believe that I would miss her."

You couldn't help but smile around the spoon in your mouth. Popping that out, you said, "I bet you say that to all the Terrans you like."

"Hardly. In fact, that captain may benefit from an hour or two without his usual emotions."

"I appreciate you saying that, Spock."

"I am only speaking the truth. I have no intention of bolstering your ego artificially, even if doing so is a part of the Terran breakup process."

"I know." You slowly lowered your spoon back to the bowl, staring off into space. Something was dawning on you—something that might have dawned on you sooner had you not been so enthralled with your own feelings. "You know what else I appreciate? You coming here to help me today. Not every first officer would go out of their way for a ship's counselor like that."

Spock fixed you with an unblinking gaze as he said, "You mean a great deal more to me than most ship's counselors mean to their first officers."

"I don't care what Captain Kirk says. You sure know how to make a woman blush."

"I have had some practice with the activity."

"Remind me to thank Uhura later."

"Thank her for what?" Spock asked.

Maybe you were reading the signs wrong. Maybe you were just desperate. If he had to ask, you had to be wrong. But you took a deep breath anyway, and said, "Helping me realize that maybe the guy I've been looking for this whole time has been my best friend all along."

How could it have taken you this long to work it out? No one else spent as much time with you as Spock did, not outside of your office hours. It didn't matter if you were in the mess hall asking for a round of Fizzbin after dinner or you wanted a quiet night in your quarters. He always seemed to be there. You felt comfortable around him. Maybe you didn't always understand Spock; maybe Spock didn't always understand. But you didn't enjoy anyone's company the way you did his. And you had to wonder when your eyes met just then if he felt the same way, and if this coming-to-see-you-with-ice-cream thing was his way of showing you that.

"Well," he moistened his lips before going on, "I certainly feel that our relationship is founded more steadily upon mutual interests and desires than it is upon a passion for hair products."

You leaned forward. "You know, that sort of relationship sounds really appealing right about now."

"It does?" Spock shifted closer to you.

"I think it's about time that I dated someone whose first thought in the morning isn't beating me to the sonic shower, don't you?"

By that time, you both had come so close that it wouldn't have taken much more movement on either of your parts to touch lips. Your heart gave a painful leap inside your chest. Was this too much too fast? Even if you had just realized you'd had a thing for Spock for a while now, you had only just broken up with your last boyfriend that morning. Treating Spock as a rebound was the last thing you wanted to do. He didn't seem to mind, though. His mouth drew closer and closer to yours until you could feel his breath on your face.

The communicator in your room chirped. You jumped. Spock paused before sitting back up in his chair. Then you rose wordlessly, stepped over to the panel, cleared your throat, and pushed the button.

"[L Name]," you said.

"[Name]?" Uhura did not remark on how breathless you sounded, thankfully. "I need to talk to Spock."

"It's for you," you said unnecessarily. Spock had already reset his face into its typical blank mask and made his way to the communicator himself.

"Spock here. What is it, Lieutenant Commander?"

"Captain Kirk needs you on the bridge. We have a situation up here."

"What kind of a situation?"

"There's a former United States President floating outside the ship. He says he needs our help."

"I will be there right away."

A second chirp signaled that communications between your room and the bridge had ceased. Spock turned back to you.

"My presence is needed on the bridge," he said.

"So I heard."

"I apologize. I believe we were in the middle of something."

"It's all right."

He didn't move.

"Spock, go. Don't you want to know why a deceased historical figure has asked for the Enterprise's help?"

"I'd prefer to stay here," Spock said. "But you are correct. I must leave. Will you still be here later tonight?"

"Yeah." You surprised yourself with the eagerness of your answer. "Yeah, I will. I promise I won't run off with any other lieutenants while you're away. I'll save the rest of the ice cream. We can share it when you get back."

There it was: The slight curl to Spock's mouth that told you that you weren't making up the mutual attraction between you both after all. "To use another Terran phrase, it's a date."

He hesitated another moment longer before he quickly exited your quarter. You grinned as the door slid shut behind him and the white noise returned full force. As you sunk into your couch and pillow this time, you found you didn't mind the hum as much. In fact, the sound did exactly what it was supposed to do: Relax you. Kevin and his excuses from that morning felt farther away than your own home planet. Maybe you owed him a thank you, too, because if you were still with him, you wouldn't have slept as well as you did that night knowing that Spock would be back soon.

[mediocre-shark-tales]

Autumn Break part 2

Masterlist

The first half of autumn break was already over, and Lando decided it was time for a little adventure. “We can’t spend all our time lounging around,” he declared over breakfast. “Let’s check out the local town. It’s quaint, full of history, and there’s this amazing pub I want to show you.”

Franco clapped his hands together. “A pub? Say no more. I’m in.”

Oscar nodded in agreement. “Might be nice to stretch our legs.”

Alex gave a noncommittal shrug but didn’t protest.

The drive to town was filled with chatter and laughter, Lando narrating every turn like a tour guide. When you arrived, the cobblestone streets and charming storefronts were exactly as picturesque as he’d promised.

“We’ll start with some sightseeing,” Lando said, leading the group toward an old church that towered over the town square.

As you wandered through the narrow streets, you found yourself walking beside Alex again. He seemed more relaxed than before, even pointing out a few interesting details about the buildings.

“This town reminds me of a place I visited in Thailand once,” he said.

“Do you visit Thailand often?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“Whenever I can,” he replied. “It’s home for me in a lot of ways.”

His tone was warm, and for the first time, you saw a softer side of him.

The pub was everything Lando had promised—a cozy corner spot with low wooden beams, a roaring fireplace, and the smell of freshly baked bread wafting through the air.

Franco immediately ordered a round of drinks, and the group settled into a booth by the window.

“Let’s toast to no car troubles in the next race,” Franco declared, raising his glass.

“I’ll drink to that,” you said, clinking your glass with his.

As the conversation flowed, a group of other patrons entered the pub, their voices loud and boisterous. Among them were a few familiar faces—drivers from other teams.

Lando noticed them immediately and raised an eyebrow. “Small world.”

One of the drivers, Pierre Gasly, spotted your group and gave a nod of acknowledgment. But instead of joining you, the group settled at a separate table, their laughter carrying across the room.

You couldn’t help but notice how none of them made an effort to come over, and a familiar pang of isolation settled in your chest.

“They’re not worth your energy,” Lando said quietly, catching your expression.

“Yeah,” Franco added. “If they don’t see how awesome you are, that’s their loss.”

Oscar, ever the diplomat, gave you a reassuring smile. “They’ll come around. Just give it time.”

Alex, however, surprised you the most. “For what it’s worth,” he said, “you’ve earned my respect. That’s not something I give easily.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, and you felt a lump rise in your throat.

Later that evening, after everyone had returned to the estate, you found yourself restless. Deciding some fresh air might help, you stepped outside and started down the gravel path that wound around the property.

To your surprise, Alex was sitting on a bench near the edge of the garden, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the moonlight.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” you asked, approaching cautiously.

He looked up and gestured for you to sit. “Too much on my mind.”

You sat down beside him, the crisp night air wrapping around you like a blanket.

“Is it about racing?” you asked.

“Partly,” he admitted. “But also... everything else. This sport can be brutal sometimes.”

“I know what you mean,” you said softly. “It’s like no matter how hard you work, someone’s always ready to tear you down.”

Alex nodded, his gaze distant. “I used to think I had to fight it all on my own. But now... I’m starting to see that having the right people around you makes a difference.”

You smiled. “It does.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, the only sound the rustling of leaves in the breeze.

“You’re not what I expected,” Alex said suddenly.

“Neither are you,” you replied, your tone light but genuine.

The next morning, Lando had another surprise in store. “We’re going go-karting!” he announced at breakfast.

Franco groaned. “You’re just looking for an excuse to humiliate us, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” Lando said with a grin.

The go-kart track was tucked away on the edge of town, a modest circuit with tight corners and plenty of opportunities for friendly competition.

“I’m calling it now,” Franco said as he strapped on his helmet. “I’m winning this.”

“In your dreams,” Oscar shot back.

As the race began, it quickly became clear that Lando was in his element, weaving through the corners with ease. Franco and Oscar were close behind, their competitive streaks on full display.

You found yourself in a heated battle with Alex, neither of you willing to back down.

“Not bad,” Alex called out as you overtook him on a straight.

“Thanks,” you replied, grinning as you sped ahead.

By the end of the race, Lando predictably came out on top, given this was one of his home tracks.

On the last night of the break, Lando organized a bonfire in the garden. The group gathered around the crackling flames, wrapped in blankets and sipping hot chocolate.

“This has been one of the best breaks I’ve had in a long time,” Lando said, his eyes reflecting the firelight.

“Agreed,” Franco added. “Good vibes all around.”

Oscar nodded. “It’s nice to just... relax for once.”

Alex was quieter, but when he finally spoke, his words carried weight. “I didn’t expect to enjoy this as much as I did. But I’m glad I came.”

You smiled, feeling a warmth in your chest that had nothing to do with the fire. “Me too.”

As the night wore on, the conversation turned to lighter topics—funny racing stories, embarrassing moments, and future plans. By the time the fire began to die down, you felt a sense of contentment that you hadn’t experienced in a long time. And as you looked around at the group, you realized that, despite everything, you were finally finding your place.

The second half of autumn break began with a quiet flight across the Atlantic. The laughter and warmth of the countryside getaway with my friends felt like a distant memory as I boarded the plane to the United States. It wasn’t a trip I’d planned on taking, but I knew I needed to go. My mother’s grave and my family back home were calling to me in ways I couldn’t ignore any longer. It had been half a year since she had passed. 

The long flight gave me too much time to think. I replayed moments from the past year over and over—my mother’s smile, her laughter, the way she always seemed to know exactly what to say when I needed it most. The thought of standing in front of her grave filled me with equal parts dread and longing.

Touching down in the U.S., I rented a car and drove the familiar roads to my family’s home. The neighborhood hadn’t changed much; the same towering oak trees lined the streets, their leaves ablaze in shades of orange and red. Pulling into the driveway, I saw my father waiting on the porch, his hands in his pockets and a soft, sad smile on his face.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, wrapping me in a tight hug as soon as I stepped out of the car. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too, Dad,” I replied, though my voice trembled slightly.

Inside, the house felt both familiar and foreign. The scent of my father’s cooking lingered, but the emptiness left by my mother was impossible to ignore. We spent the evening catching up, sharing stories and memories. He asked about racing, and I did my best to keep the conversation light.

The next morning, I went to see her.

The cemetery was quiet, the autumn breeze rustling through the trees as I made my way to her grave. I carried a bouquet of white roses, her favorite, the petals trembling in my unsteady hands.

Her headstone came into view, simple but elegant, her name etched in bold letters alongside the words “Even in the darkest times, there is light.” I knelt down, placing the flowers at its base.

“Hi, Mom,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the wind. “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to come back.”

The words spilled out of me before I could stop them. I told her everything—about the races, the friends I’d made, the rumors, and the way I’d tried to stay strong. I told her how much I missed her, how much I wished she could be there to see everything I’d worked for.

Tears streamed down my face as I spoke, my chest heaving with the weight of everything I’d been carrying. The grief, the pressure, the loneliness—it all came tumbling out in the quiet stillness of that moment.

When I finally stood to leave, I touched her headstone gently. “I’ll keep making you proud,” I said softly. “I promise.”

The flight back to the UK was quieter, my heart still heavy but a little less burdened. When I got home, I dropped my bags in the corner of my apartment and collapsed onto the couch. The silence felt deafening, my thoughts swirling in the absence of distraction.

The next day, I stayed in bed, scrolling mindlessly through my phone, avoiding texts and calls. It wasn’t until a loud knock sounded at my door that I finally stirred.

When I opened the door, I was met with Franco’s grinning face and Lando holding up a bag of snacks like it was a golden trophy.

“Surprise!” Franco announced, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

“What are you guys doing here?” I asked, my voice tinged with both confusion and disbelief.

“We’re here to save you from yourself,” Lando replied, walking past me into the living room. “Snacks, movies, and bad jokes—you’re welcome.”

“I don’t—”

“No excuses,” Franco interrupted, plopping onto the couch and patting the seat beside him. “Now, come on. We’ve got a whole plan to cheer you up.”

For the next few hours, the two of them worked tirelessly to pull me out of my funk. Franco regaled me with exaggerated stories from his childhood, complete with dramatic reenactments, while Lando insisted on a Mario Kart rematch.

“You cheated last time,” Lando said, squinting at me as I crossed the finish line first.

“How do you cheat in Mario Kart?” I asked, laughing as Franco shouted at the screen after yet another crash.

“She’s just better than you,” Franco said with a smirk, earning a thrown pillow from Lando.

The room was filled with laughter, the weight on my chest easing with every joke and playful jab.

As the evening wore on, the three of us found ourselves sprawled out on the couch, empty snack wrappers and soda cans littering the coffee table.

“Thanks for this,” I said softly, glancing between the two of them. “I didn’t realize how much I needed it.”

Franco slung an arm around my shoulders. “That’s what we’re here for, Hermosa.”

Lando nodded, his expression surprisingly serious. “You’re not alone, you know. We’ve got your back.”

Their words, simple as they were, meant everything in that moment. 

The week leading up to the Texas Grand Prix came quickly, leaving little time to dwell on lingering emotions. I threw myself into training, every ounce of focus channeled into being ready for the race ahead. Franco and Lando had returned to their routines, checking in occasionally with texts and funny videos, but for the most part, I was on my own.

Mornings began with early runs through the crisp autumn air, my breath visible in the cool light of dawn. My trainer, Marcus, met me at the gym for grueling sessions of strength and endurance training.

“You’re getting faster,” he commented one afternoon, timing my sprints on the treadmill. “But Texas isn’t just about speed. Those high-speed corners will push your endurance to the limit.”

“I know,” I replied, sweat dripping down my face. “That’s why I’m here.”

Evenings were reserved for simulator sessions, pouring over data and refining race strategies. The Circuit of the Americas was a demanding track—long straights, tight technical sections, and an elevation change that would punish anyone who wasn’t ready.

By the end of the week, my body ached, but I felt more prepared than I had in months. The exhaustion was a good kind, the kind that came from knowing you’d done everything possible to be ready.

Packing for the trip was oddly calming. I folded my team-issued shirts and boots with care, double-checking that every piece of gear was accounted for. The Texas race was a big one—not just because it was in the U.S., but because it marked the start of the season’s final stretch. Though technically being one of the home races for me was also pretty cool. Every point counted now, and every mistake would be magnified.

As I zipped up my suitcase, my phone buzzed on the bedside table. It was a message from Lando.

Lando: "Ready for BBQ and cowboy hats? 🤠" Me: "Ready to beat you on track, cowboy." Lando: "Bold talk. We’ll see. Safe flight!"

Franco chimed in shortly after, his text as dramatic as ever.

Franco: "Texas awaits, Hermosa. Don’t forget your boots!" Me: "Do you even own boots?" Franco: "No, but I’ll buy some just to show you up."

Their messages brought a smile to my face, easing the tension that had been building all week.

The flight to Austin felt different than the one I’d taken just days earlier. This time, I wasn’t traveling to mourn or reflect—I was heading back for battle. The familiar hum of the plane was oddly comforting, a reminder of how far I’d come.

When I landed, the Texas sun was already blazing, a stark contrast to the cool autumn air I’d left behind in the UK. My team had arranged for a car to pick me up, and as I was driven to the hotel, I caught glimpses of the city’s vibrant streets.

Austin was alive with energy, the anticipation for the race palpable even from a distance. Billboards advertising the Grand Prix lined the streets, fans in team gear crowded around restaurants and bars, and the hum of excitement was impossible to ignore.

After settling into the hotel, I joined my team for a quick debrief. The engineers ran through the car setup, data from the simulator sessions, and what to expect during the practice sessions.

“Your sector times are strong,” one of them said, flipping through a tablet. “We’ll focus on tire management during FP1. Texas can be brutal on the tires, especially with the heat.”

“Got it,” I replied, my mind already shifting into race mode.

That night, I sat by the window in my hotel room, looking out over the city. The skyline was a mix of modern skyscrapers and old-school charm, a fitting metaphor for the duality of the sport—glamorous on the surface but grueling underneath.

I thought about my mother, about how she’d always supported my dreams, even when they seemed impossible. Being back in the U.S. brought a strange mix of emotions, but I knew she’d want me to focus on the task ahead.

Pulling out my phone, I sent a quick text to Franco and Lando.

Me: "Made it to Austin. Don’t worry, I’ll save you some BBQ." Franco: "Please, you’re going to eat it all before we even get there." Lando: "Don’t forget to try the brisket. It’s life-changing."

Their quick replies brought a sense of normalcy, grounding me in the chaos of the race week ahead. Tomorrow, the real work would begin, but for now, I allowed myself a moment to breathe.

Texas awaited, and I was ready.

[tj-dragonblade]

[Fic] With Every Nerve Alive

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: E Word Count: 4623 Tags: Human AU, Mechanic Hob, Rich Guy Dream, brief appearance by Matthew, Dream of the Endless is a Horny Little Weasel, class dynamics, as a kink perhaps, sweat is sexy, so is automotive grease apparently, scent kink, detailed sexual fantasies, Dream of the Endless is intense and unhinged, questionable lube choices, within a fantasy don't worry, no one's really getting fingered with engine grease, sugar daddy-sugar baby fantasies, glass sex toys

Notes: Prequel/bookend to Customer Service. I realized that Hot Mechanic Hob needed Dream's pov to get the full effect, so this happened. Also fills my @dreamlingbingo square C1, 'Sugar Baby', a couple thousand words in. Title taken from Turbo Lover by Judas Priest

Summary: Dream Atelíotes is merely seeking car repairs from a reputable shop; he was not expecting to get punched in the libido by the most beautiful mechanic he could have imagined.

On AO3

~ "Alright, and what're we lookin' at her for?"

"The clutch. Is not operating as expected; I fear I may have damaged it. Somehow."

Dream is grateful that the stout American behind the counter at Matthew's Motor Repairs does not pass any obvious judgement on this damning statement.

"Well, that definitely needs checking, then," he says instead, punching in notes on his computer terminal. "Hob'll be runnin' things for the next couple of weeks, lemme see when he can fit your girl in." He turns toward the half-open door that leads to the garage and yells.

"Hey Hob!"

"Yeah! Just a tic—"

"He'll definitely be able to find the problem and fix you up," the American is saying, but Dream pays him little mind, thinking ahead to schedules and obligations; the Porsche is not his primary means of transportation regardless. It had been a gift from Alex that he'd kept after the breakup, primarily out of spite. He will say, when asked, that he drives it for fun, but truthfully the manual transmission does not come easily to him and the car suffers for it. He is considering selling it, perhaps once the satisfaction of knowing how Alex seethes to see him with it has worn down—

"What's up?"

Dream spares a glance for the man who's just entered through the doorway to the garage, and promptly loses his breath.

—Exquisite—

The man is beautiful, average height and slim sturdy build, dressed in grimy coveralls that are split just enough at the zip to glimpse the collar of a plain white tee beneath. There is a sheen of sweat on his forehead and when he wipes at it, still with a wrench in hand, he leaves a faint smudge of black grease behind. His hair is dark, longish, tied up in a messy bun on the back of his head with wisps straying loose about his face attractively. His eyes and his smile are warm, strong nose and chin, a few days' worth of beard growth giving him a wonderfully soft-rugged cast that sets Dream's mouth to watering.

The coverall sleeves are rolled and twisted up to his elbows; the forearms exposed are liberally covered with dark hair, skin a warm sunkissed golden brown beneath, shapely and corded with the strength that comes of manual labor, of hefting tires and torquing wrenches. Dream considers, quite despite himself, how those hands might fit around his waist, his hips; how easily this man might lift or manhandle him about in bed, and the heat that has risen in his loins stirs approvingly.

"Mr. Atelíotes here's got clutch troubles with his Porsche," the American is saying. "Think you'll have time to check it out?"

"Not right away, I'm afraid. How soon would you be needing her back?" the mechanic asks, directly to Dream, and oh, the full focus of that gaze is divine.

"I am in no hurry," he manages to reply, voice only marginally dipping down toward sultry. He is here to see about car repairs, not to flirt with the hot mechanic in front of an audience. He is an adult. He is well-versed in exercising all manner of self control.

The mechanic smiles, like a ray of sunshine, and Dream's self-control is tested.

"Okay then, I can probably get you looked at and fixed up toward the end of next week, if that works for you? Thursday or Friday, let's say." He slips the wrench that he's still holding into a pocket on his coveralls, drawing Dream's attention to the lower half of his body, how the zipper on the coveralls goes all the way down underneath, and he firmly corrals and muzzles the thoughts that arise. Later. Let him finish his business here before he embarrasses himself.

"Next week is just fine," he agrees.

"Excellent," the mechanic says, beaming brightly, and Dream's mouth goes dry.

He is so unfairly beautiful.

The mechanic is talking now to the American who is entering Dream's work order and Dream drinks in the sight of him greedily, committing every detail to memory—the brush of silver at his temples, the crows' feet blooming at the corners of his eyes with every smile, the dimple in his chin just visible as a darkening of the scruff that adorns his jaw so beautifully. His arm flexes prettily as he points to the screen with a black-stained fingertip and his voice is strong yet soft and warm like honey; Dream sneaks a glance at his backside when he turns to the printer and finds the suggestion of shapeliness beneath the loose fit of the coveralls. Dream imagines, helplessly, buttocks and strong thighs covered in hair to match those exposed forearms, and barely stifles a whimper.

This man is absolutely exquisite, and Dream wants him.

Badly.

"Alright, Mr. Atelíotes, let me get your signature here," the mechanic says cheerfully, oblivious to the tempest he has stirred within Dream as he hands him the printed work order and a pen.

Dream makes certain that their fingers brush as he takes it, noting the smudge of fingerprints left on the paper by the other.

He glances at the mechanic's name on the form as he signs. Hob Gadling. He tucks the name safely into the vault of his mind, hoarding it for later use.

"Give me a call on Thursday next week, we'll see where we're at," Hob Gadling is saying, handing him a business card and leaving another grey-black thumbprint on the corner of the white cardstock. Dream immediately thinks of such fingerprints against the pristine paleness of his own skin and swallows thickly.

"Thursday," he repeats. "I will call then, thank you." It is Monday, currently; a week and a half is quite reasonable for routine car repairs in a reputable shop, he is given to understand, and Matthew's Motor Repairs is consistently rated with four and five stars online. He is confident that he has chosen well, especially when Hob Gadling smiles brightly while bidding him good day.

It is a good day indeed, for having met such a stunningly beautiful man.

~

He takes a cab home to Kensington, trying very hard to put his thoughts in order and focus on the week ahead, on his business meetings and the client proposal he's expecting on Friday. But his mind is full of brown eyes and warm smiles, hairy forearms and grease-stained hands, and his entire body finds these thoughts far more appealing than those of his day-to-day mundanities.

Hob Gadling lingers in his mind persistently, a siren call warming his blood and distracting him at the slightest provocation. Late afternoon finds him abandoning his office and retreating to his rooms, surrendering to the thoughts that have plagued him since his visit to Matthew's Motor Repairs this morning.

Hob Gadling—

He imagines how the smell of the shop might cling to the man, oils and gasoline and the sweat of his labor, intoxicating and inviting should Dream nuzzle in close. He imagines those hands with their black-stained fingertips, their work-roughened texture, sliding over his body. How might they feel against his skin, his chest, his thighs? On his tongue? He imagines the hungry light that might fill Hob Gadling's eyes, if Dream were to take those skilled fingers into his mouth and hold his gaze while sucking on them, tonguing lovingly at every crack and callous. He imagines those fingers dark all over with a thick layer of fresh grease, the mechanic holding them up with a smirk like a promise, turning Dream to lay on the bonnet of his car—or perhaps bending him over a stack of tires there in the garage, yes—and pushing those fingers inside him, deep and insistent and perfect while his other hand holds Dream down at the small of his back. Automotive lubricant is perhaps not sanitary or otherwise suitable for sexual use, but the heat-of-the-moment urgency of the idea appeals all the same.

He groans aloud at the thought of being fingered with the thick warm grease, the slide and drag and the way Hob Gadling's fingers would curve and press exactly right until Dream was shaking apart with pleasure, scrabbling at the rubber tread of the tires he's bent over. He imagines Hob Gadling murmuring complimentary filth above him—"You look so pretty with my fingers up your arse; bet you'd look even prettier speared on my prick"—as he comes and comes and comes.

Of course he wishes to have the mechanic's cock as well. He is certain it is full and glorious, a beautiful specimen that would fill him perfectly, touch every sweet spot within him and set him alight. He wants it in his hands, in his mouth, in his arse; he wants it any way he can have it.

He desperately wants to get fucked by Hob Gadling in his garage amongst his work, by Hob Gadling strong and sweaty and dirty in his element, vigorous and virile.

The car would perhaps be most comfortable for lying on his back, the better to see Hob Gadling's gorgeous face while taking his cock. He himself would be stark naked and the mechanic still in his coveralls, unzipped all the way to let his prick out. Dream imagines him naked beneath the grimy clothing; Dream envisions chest hair to match what was seen on his gorgeous arms. Dream imagines those arms sliding up along the bonnet beside him, bringing his legs with them until Dream is nearly folded double and breathless with the sweet pressure of the mechanic's dick inside him, pistoning deep and perfect.

Would Hob Gadling pick him up, like so much inventory to be moved about the shop? Would Hob Gadling fuck him standing upright, holding him as if he weighed nothing? He fantasizes about the strength in those forearms and biceps, of the way they would flex and hold, Dream's knees hooked in his elbows and those broad hands gripping his hips as the mechanic would bounce Dream up and down on his prick, Dream clinging around his neck and jack-knifed beautifully in his powerful arms.

He comes at the thought, face down on his knees in his bed with a toy vibrating steadily against his prostate as he strokes himself over the edge, and the orgasm is so intense that he loses all sense of space and time for a moment. The toy is still buzzing merrily when he comes back to himself and he fumbles for the remote beside him, turning it off without yet removing it. He rolls over, brings his messy hand to his face and licks. He wonders what difference he might taste between Hob Gadling and himself, imagines that he is licking Hob Gadling's spend from his hand instead of his own, imagines how those dark eyes and that lovely mouth would smile to see him do so, slow and lascivious.

He turns the toy back on.

His fantasies continue as the days progress. He imagines taking Hob Gadling into his mouth, tasting the sweat and the musk of him after working all day in the garage; he imagines lavishing his tongue all over the length of him, sucking and swallowing and milking him dry. He imagines Hob Gadling's work-roughened hands in his hair, combing through it, clenching tight as he spends into Dream's eager mouth.

He imagines Hob Gadling on his back on the low wheeled board that mechanics use for sliding beneath cars—he does not know its proper name, but he imagines opening Hob Gadling's coveralls while he is laid out on this board and riding him like a prize stallion there on the shop floor with the scent of his work and his sweat all around. He imagines the blackened smears Hob Gadling's hands might leave on him, on his hips, his waist, his arse.

He imagines Hob Gadling bending him over the bonnet of his Porsche, fucking him hard and fast and absolutely without mercy until he is screaming his pleasure, until he is so loud that the mechanic will cover his mouth to muffle the noise and simply fuck him harder still. He wants it, aches for it, imagines Hob Gadling's hands planted firm on his arse, squeezing, spreading him open for his pounding cock, leaving dirty smudges on both cheeks as they careen into orgasm together—

Dream comes under the warm cascade of his own rainfall shower, one hand braced against the sleek tiles while the other grips his pulsing cock tightly. He draws great gasping breaths of the humid air, mind barreling on even as his climax peaks and begins to subside. His mechanic in the shower with him after all of that, sudsy and slippery-wet beneath the spray, shedding the grease and grime of his workplace; his mechanic, pulling him in for a kiss, smelling now of soap more than sweat. The idea appeals, on more than one level, and will not be dislodged even as he dries and dresses for bed. He falls asleep at last to the thought of a scrubbed-clean Hob Gadling on his knees beneath the gently-pouring water, freshly-shampooed hair swept sleek and dripping back from his face and his smiling mouth wrapped around Dream's cock.

He wakes to the sun streaming in his window and lies alone in his spacious bed with drowsy thoughts of being kissed awake, of Hob Gadling's stubbled face and warm lips nuzzling against his cheek, of calloused hands with black-stained nailbeds petting down his sides and grasping his hips. Of Hob Gadling's strong shapely arms pulling him close, Hob Gadling's chest hair tickling his nose, Hob Gadling's heartbeat strong and steady beneath his ear.

He thinks of Hob Gadling following him about the kitchen as he fixes breakfast, imagines his mechanic in a borrowed robe that hits him mid-thigh and doesn't quite close over his chest. He does not currently own such a robe, but that does not matter to the fantasy. He imagines Hob Gadling draped warmly over his back in this too-small robe while he cooks, nuzzling kisses into the nape of his neck, purring about how he wants Dream for breakfast while dragging his calloused fingertips up the insides of Dream's bare thighs. Because of course Dream has merely thrown on a long shirt to cook for his lover, and of course his mechanic cannot keep his hands to himself, and of course Dream would like to be fucked over the kitchen worktop before breakfast.

It is a daring fantasy, this stranger in his home, infusing sex and affection into his daily routines, and Dream wants it with an intensity that is frightening.

He spins himself broader fantasies as the days become a week, of showing up to his mother's summer gala with Hob Gadling on his arm, a mere mechanic brought to an Atelíotes event. He dreams of engaging in increasingly indecent public displays with him where all the high society patrons would see, embarassing Mummy Dearest and igniting gossip that would haunt her for years. He would reward Hob Gadling handsomely for his part in the scandal, sexually, financially, both if he should like. Or perhaps he might offer Hob Gadling gifts and incentives without petty family business mixed in, lavish rewards simply for his affections and sexual attentions. The term 'sugar baby' is very much in line with his thoughts, if not entirely accurate; he is only forty himself and his mechanic had appeared to be in his mid-thirties at least. But that feeds into his story; Hob Gadling is well into adulthood and working in trade labor. Perhaps he never had the chance to go to university; perhaps he had grown up poor. Perhaps he might like to undertake a course of study now, if Dream were to offer to pay for such a thing, in thanks for how well-fucked his mechanic would keep him?

Perhaps he might gift Hob Gadling a luxury car like his Porsche, in return for the sexual services he should like to be provided. Perhaps he might buy him tailored suits, expensive clothes in the latest fashions. He is undeniably drawn to the grimy working-class vision that had been branded on his memory when dropping off his car, sweaty and grease-smeared and glowing with life, but he also imagines how stunning his mechanic might look cleaned up and dressed to the nines. Dream would like to wine and dine him at the finest restaurants in London, put him into a limousine after, open his perfectly-tailored trousers and sample his cock on the drive home. To Dream's home, of course, where he would take Hob Gadling to bed and offer up his body for his mechanic's use—which would be delightfully merciless, given how Dream had primed and teased and denied him with his mouth in the car.

Perhaps he might take Hob Gadling away with him on holiday, show him all manner of foreign destinations he would never have seen on his own; at each of them Hob Gadling would fuck him, in sumptuous hotel beds or private beach cabanas or the gleaming toilet stalls of michelin-starred restaurants, with every bit of skill and enthusiasm at his disposal—delighted to be Dream's kept man and eager to show his gratitude for all that Dream could provide.

Dream groans, dragging one hand down across his mouth and arched throat while the other works swiftly over his cock, writhing on his bed with his shirt undone and his trousers open. He is achingly hard, leaking steadily into every rapid stroke; he hasn't even bothered undressing, so caught up in the feverish fantasies of the money and favors he might lavish on this man who consumes his thoughts, of how thoroughly he could expect to be railed and ravished and seen to in return—

Orgasm overtakes him quite suddenly, leaves him gasping and breathless and wrecked, and still he craves more. His fantasies are delectable, but his appetite is insatiable.

He desperately wants the real thing.

~

It is Thursday of the next week at last and Dream, fueled by his fading ability to recall the precise brown of Hob Gadling's eyes or the way his cheeks crease up when he smiles, does not call Matthew's Motor Repairs to check on the status of his Porsche as instructed. Instead, he drives out, excusing the trip to himself by visiting a local bookseller first and picking up several selections to add to his personal library. He does not linger overlong among the shelves, however; today he is consumed with much more pressing distractions.

He must see Hob Gadling again, if only for a moment.

When he enters the shop, there is no one at the counter up front and the door to the garage is ajar, raucous music drifting faintly through. "Hello?" he calls, but receives no reply.

It is a warm day outside and quite warm inside as well; Dream imagines how sweaty Hob Gadling must be, to be performing physical labor under these conditions. Such thoughts do nothing to calm or cool him.

After only a moment's hesitation, he rounds the counter and passes through the doorway, at which point he can hear Hob Gadling's voice singing along—"You don't have a clue/If you did you'd find yourself/Doin' the same thing too!"—beneath the music, passably on-key no less.

Yet another appealing feature to this man; it is simply unfair. Dream draws himself up, heart beating harder, and ventures around the large sink and cleanup station until he can see his Porsche, up on ramps, and—

And legs sticking out from beneath the side of it on one of those rolling boards, Hob Gadling's legs no doubt, spread wide like an invitation.

Dream stops abruptly, heat pouring into his belly; he takes a deep breath of the warm stuffy air, the machine-and-metal smell of the garage doing nothing to calm his libido. He stares, helplessly, at the work boots and coveralls, at where they stretch across Hob Gadling's crotch, affording frustratingly little suggestion of what lies beneath. And just above that, he can see that the coveralls are unzipped, not quite far enough to expose underwear but enough that Dream is treated to a glimpse of warm golden-brown belly and the dip of his navel, the dark sweep of hair above and below it.

—Mouthwatering—

It is with tremendous effort that Dream corrals his thoughts, steps forward again, closes the space between them and clears his throat to announce his presence. He nudges one booted foot with his own, not entirely meaning to do so but somehow unable to resist.

"Bloody—" The mechanic scoots out from beneath the car and Dream's knees go weak; he is grateful they do not give out altogether.

Hob Gadling is indeed shirtless beneath his open coveralls, displaying a chest far more gloriously hairy than Dream had imagined, a pelt thick and dark and alluring. He wants to touch, to comb his fingers through and rub his face against it, to lick the trail of hair that leads down to where the parted zipper comes back together. There is a visible sheen of sweat on his skin and Dream would lick that off as well; Hob is smudged with grease in various smears across his torso and forearms and Dream can hardly think for the rushing of blood in his ears, the swelling of want in the pit of his stomach. He drags his eyes back up to Hob's face, trying to school the ravenous hunger from his own gaze; he does not think he is overly successful in that regard but there is discernible heat in the warm brown eyes that meet him, and it is difficult to care about dignity, propriety, with reality unfolding so near to the fantasies that have carried him through the last ten days.

He stutters through some explanation for his presence, barely aware of his own words, barely registering the rundown he is given in return, watching hungrily as Hob climbs to his feet. His car will be finished tomorrow. He will have reason to see Hob again tomorrow. But right now he is unraveling, his self control a tenuous and threadbare thing barely within his grasp. He is watching Hob's mouth as he speaks, captivated, obsessed with the warm color of it flashing among the dark scruff of Hob's beard, and Dream wants to taste. His mouth, his skin, his cock, which is surely as magnificent as the rest of him—Dream cannot bear the thought of leaving without confirming his certainties, but it is one thing to revel in fantasy alone in his bed and quite another to actually act on it when faced with the man before him—

"Is there something else I can do for you today, Mr. Atelíotes?"

Hob Gadling is looking at him, hip cocked and coveralls alluringly open, smile just this side of invitational; there is the strong suggestion of interest and an implied offer in that warm tone and Dream's resolve, such as it is, crumbles.

He reaches. He touches. He speaks his want and follows with a flirtatious tease to mitigate his intensity, is met by teasing agreement in return, but when his mechanic mentions cleaning up first he absolutely cannot agree.

"No. As you are now, please." He steps closer, directly into Hob's space, a week and a half of fantasies clamoring in his mind as the scent of the man wafts into his nose—oil and grease, warm metal, sweat and a faint trace of citrus and a hint of some pleasantly masculine deodorant; Dream's mouth waters, and his prick throbs.

His mechanic hesitates. "I'm kind of filthy though?"

There is a tinge of shame beneath the words, and Dream. Will not have it.

"I am aware, yes," he purrs, seizing the open lapels of the grimy coveralls, and kisses Hob Gadling with ten days' worth of anticipation and want.

~

Dream is coasting on an adrenaline and endorphin high as he drives home, afterwards. He acted. He spoke directly of what he wanted. And he got it. He had spent ten days nursing fantasy and now he has experienced a delightful sliver of the reality of Hob Gadling.

And tomorrow, he will experience more.

Sleep does not come easily that night, keyed up and aroused as he is, but he manages at last. He wakes later than usual the next morning; he eats a light brunch, the excitement in his stomach counterproductive to the task, and makes sure to drink more water than usual. Thoughts of Hob fill his mind, arousing, distracting, enticing; he recalls with a sharp thrill the taste of Hob's pleasure on his tongue, and he is eager to be on his way to their appointment.

But there are things he must do to prepare, first.

He takes an enema, then shaves and showers, lathering everywhere with his sweetest-smelling soap, determined to be the polar opposite of what he lusts for in Hob. He strives for the cleanest prettiest and freshest he can get, the better to be taken and sullied and dirtied by his mechanic; Hob had seemed quite pleased with that dynamic yesterday and Dream is eager to repeat it with Hob's cock in his arse this time.

To that end, he employs a favorite dildo once he is clean and dry, lubing himself carefully and working himself open on the toy, mind blazing with thoughts of Hob all the while. He knows, now, the size and the shape (and the taste!) of Hob's prick, and he is giddy with the anticipation of having it inside him. He is salivating over how Hob compares to the dildo, how Hob will fill him just that much better, what filthy things Hob might say while taking his time over long slow thrusts, how good it will feel when Hob finally rails him without mercy—

He must force himself to stop, hard and panting as he withdraws the toy from his body. He sorts through his glass plugs quickly, finding the one he wants and fitting it carefully inside himself. It's broad enough to stretch him just a little more, perfectly flared to fit just right inside and out, short enough that he can bend and sit without discomfort. It's a beautiful tease, as a matter of fact, keeping him keyed up and aroused as he dresses himself, making him squirm just a little with every step as he gathers his condoms and his pocket-sized bottle of lube and his phone wallet and water, and leaves the house.

He composes himself over the two blocks he walks to the busier streets where he can hail a cab, steeling himself to normalcy in both movement and appearance while pleasure sings in his veins with every subtle shift of the toy within him. He is half-hard, hidden well enough by the loose cut of his slacks, and works to keep his thoughts from heating any further until he has reached his destination.

The cab drops him outside of Matthew's Motor Repairs and he pays, distracted and breathless with anticipation. Hob is there, inside, and Dream is certain that Hob is just as eager as he is for their rendezvous.

He hopes that Hob is just as eager.

Closed for walk-ins due to special circumstances, reads the hand-written sign taped to the glass of the shop door. Ring if you have an appointment.

Dream's heart plummets for half a second, until he remembers their parting conversation yesterday about appointments and showing up and fitting in. This sign is for him, surely, a blatant invitation.

He takes a breath to calm the excited pounding of his heart, squirms surreptitiously on the toy inside him, and rings the bell.

= Started: 5/15/24 Drafted: 7/27/24 Posted: 7/29/24

[brattyfics]

Swampbound V

The rest of the day passed like a slow, heavy fog. Adla kept herself busy with chores, but her thoughts were spinning, caught up in the newly-discovered truths that had turned her world upside down overnight. 

Terry had shifted from a wolf to a man right before her eyes, and despite his wildness, he hadn’t struck her as a monster until he squared off against Jesse. Jesse, who she wasn’t sure she could trust anymore. She didn’t know how long he’d been hiding the truth or how many secrets he held, but the sharp edge of his lies cut deep. And then there was that dark mask that had slipped over his face—twice.

It all made sense now: his fussing about her walking the woods alone. They’d grown up tearing through the thick brush and vines in her backyard, never fearing what lurked out there. The worst they encountered was the occasional snake, and that was enough to send them flying back to her daddy’s arms. Gators and wild hogs were around, but they kept their distance unless you gave ‘em reason.

"Live and let live," she'd always believed in—until now. Now, she was being pulled into a world she’d only heard about in old stories—shapeshifters and whatever Jesse truly was. 

What else was hiding just beyond her sight? Had she been blind to the world around her all this time? She thought about the folks in town—faces she’d known all her life. Could any of them turn into monsters under the right moon? The idea that the world she knew was just a shadow of something far darker and deeper gnawed at her insides.

Adla ran a bath, sprinkling sea salt and lavender into the water, hoping it might settle her nerves. But no matter how long she soaked, the unease wouldn’t let go. Every few minutes, her eyes drifted toward the window, scanning the shadows outside. She didn’t even know why—whether it was instinct finally waking up, making her notice things she used to miss, or if, deep down, she was hoping to catch a glimpse of Terry.

Her mind churned with questions, pieces of old legends surfacing from the depths of her mind. Was he born like that or had it come upon him somehow? What brought him and his cousin to her little corner of the world? And Chief Burne—how had they gotten tangled up with him? But the question that weighed most heavily on her heart was personal—did Terry feel that same pull she did? Did he sense the charge in the air whenever they were close?

Was he out there right now, stalking Burne in the dark? 

She couldn’t know for sure.

As the bathwater cooled around her, the image of Jesse’s limp body flashed through her mind like lightning. She could still see herself standing over Jesse, Terry’s lips brushing against her neck, grounding her in the chaos.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for bringin’ all this trouble to your door.”

She looked up at him then, really looked at him, memorizing every sharp feature, the way the sunlight filtered through the window and highlighted his face. She knew he’d find his cousin, finish whatever it was that needed finishing, and then he’d be gone—like a phantom fading back into the night. 

The thought twisted something deep inside her.

“I need you to do something for me before you head out,” Her voice was soft, but there was a weight to it, something that carried more than simple words. Whatever she was about to ask would tether him here, one way or another, and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever find the will to leave.

She didn’t know what was driving her, what compelled her to say the words, but she stared up into his eyes, searching for assurance. Her earlier ire had dissipated just like that, and all she could focus on was Terry. "Promise me you'll be careful. Get your cousin, but keep yourself outta harm's way."

"I’ll watch my back. You just take care of yourself." Terry said, his tone firm yet reassuring as he placed a comforting hand on the small of her back.

Just then, Jesse’s finger twitched—once, then again—an involuntary movement that sent a jolt of panic through her. Adla’s heart raced, and she could almost hear the ticking clock in the back of her mind, each second tightening the noose of dread.

Adla knew she should be angry with Terry, using all her energy to push him out the front door and out of her life. But in that moment, her judgment blurred. All that mattered was keeping Terry and Jesse apart.

"We need to move him outside. Make it look like he fell and hit his head! Just hurry—he can’t wake up in here, not like this!” Her voice trembled with urgency, a tight knot of anxiety coiling in her stomach. The fear of Jesse waking up to see Terry loomed over her like a dark cloud, thick and suffocating. 

Something whispered in her mind that crafting a story was the only way to hold back the coming storm.

Pulled by something she couldn’t explain, Adla snatched a mop and broom from the closet and dashed outside. Terry’s voice trailed after her, but she couldn’t make sense of his words; all she could think about was getting the place cleaned up. That one word—hurry!—echoed in her mind, pushing her hands to move faster, scrubbing away at whatever traces she could, as if she could sweep the whole mess out of memory.

As she scrubbed the porch with frantic strokes, her mind spiraled through the chaos of the morning—Terry, Burne, Jesse. The blood had dried, resisting her efforts, and she knew no amount of cleaning could erase what had happened. Still, it was the only thing she could control. Jesse would wake up and remember—he had to. Her hands moved in a desperate rhythm as dread gnawed at her. 

What would she say when he came to? And what would Jesse do?

“Adla, what are you—?” Terry’s voice cut through her frantic thoughts, but she couldn’t focus on him right now. She heard him moving Jesse’s unconscious body, his strong hands lifting the other man with ease, as if he were a child. A strange mix of gratitude and anxiety washed over her. If they could just get Jesse outside, away from the traces of his fight with Terry, maybe she could finally breathe again.

Her gaze darted to the small gash at the back of Jesse’s head as Terry set his body down, and something in her stirred—a fierce need to erase what had happened. As she dabbed at the blood seeping from the wound, she whispered, “Please don’t remember... please don’t remember...” The words slipped from her lips like a prayer, soft yet insistent. 

With every touch, she felt a strange sensation spark between them, her intentions weaving through the air like mist, settling in the fragile space between her and Jesse.

Now, as she reflected on that moment, doubt crept in. Jesse’s confusion struck her as odd. She’d staged a clumsy scene, but his memory should’ve helped him see through it.

He’d gotten riled up, insisting something was off, yet he hadn’t called her out on it. Was he pretending not to remember?

A chill ran down her spine. Had her whispered words done something? Maybe it had something to do with Terry’s supernatural abilities?

A flicker of realization tugged at her—a hint of something strange brewing beneath the surface. She didn’t understand it yet, but the fact that Jesse really seemed to have forgotten left her feeling unsettled.

With a heavy sigh, she slipped out of the bathtub, telling herself to stop chasing answers that weren’t coming. She prayed sleep would ease the steady stream of thoughts swirling in her head, but it didn’t come easily. Her eyes grew heavy as the drone of cicadas seeped through the window, growing louder until it overpowered her thoughts.

Moonlight crept in through the cracks in the curtains, casting soft, silver-blue ribbons across the room. The ceiling fan spun lazily overhead, stirring cool air over her skin. Adla turned onto her side, drifting somewhere between sleep and waking—until something sent a jolt through her senses.

"I’m gon’ need your help again."

Adla’s eyes flew open. 

Terry sat on the edge of her bed, his presence too large, and too close for comfort. 

Her face mirrored silent disbelief—mouth agape, hands pressed against her cheeks, as if she were trapped in a nightmare. It had been one thing to offer her help earlier. This? This was something else entirely. 

What had she done by letting him in?

Instinct kicked in, and a rush of adrenaline surged through her veins. She moved fast, reaching for the nightstand, but then froze, her heart pounding as moonlight caught the glint of metal. Her pistol lay casually in his lap, as if it belonged there, held loosely—suggesting no immediate threat unless he decided differently.

Don’t freeze up now!

Her fingers twitched, searching under the pillow for her knife, only to find nothing but cool, empty sheets. Terry’s eyes followed her movements, a sly smile creeping across his face. “What you lookin’ for now, baby?” he murmured, his voice a smooth drawl that made her breath hitch, a mix of fear and something unnameable stirring in her gut.

He has some nerve callin’ me baby. ​​I ain’t helpless, and I sure as hell ain’t no baby!

That thought sparked something deep in her chest. She moved fast, aiming to shove him off balance, but he was quicker. In an instant, his weight was on her, wrists pinned to the bed, his breath hot on her skin.

The ceiling fan hummed lazily above them, oblivious to the heavy tension that now filled the room. She could barely breathe beneath him. His scent wrapped around her—earthy, masculine, and something a little wild beneath it all. Anger surged through her. She was furious at him for barging in like he owned the place, but even more at herself for letting him get this close.

How had he slipped in without her hearing a thing?

“What do you want?” she snapped, struggling against his hold.

“You,” he answered, his voice soft and steady like restraining her was nothing, “and that sharp mind of yours.” 

Adla’s brow furrowed.

Does he mean…in the literal sense? But before her thoughts could spin too far, he shifted, one hand gathering both of her wrists above her head, while the other reached over to flick on the bedside lamp. The soft glow cast shadows against their faces in the dark, making the moment feel far too intimate.

“Not literally,” he murmured, voice smooth as molasses. He lingered, closer than he should have, inhaling that sweet lavender on her skin. “Our deal still stands. Just curious about what you know 'bout the police chief and his boys.”

He’d promised not to bite unless she asked, but a small part of her wished he would. Let him sink his teeth in, drain her dry, and end it all. At least she'd see her father again and free from the troubles that had surfaced. The thought flickered in her mind, and she cursed herself for even considering it.

"Enough," she rasped, struggling to regain control—of her mind, her body, her will. “They’ve been shaking folks down for years. Make ‘em pay to live ‘round here. Starts small—maybe a busted window or slashed tire if you don’t pay up. But then it gets worse. Fires. People go missing. You pay, you’re safe. But not everybody’s got the money.”

"But you don’t pay, do you? Why’s that?"

Her pulse quickened. 

So he had been snooping, listening with those sharp ears of his. Cold sweat gathered at the back of her neck. What else could he pick up on without her knowing? Could he sense her quickened pulse was more than fear? Could he smell the heat pooling between her thighs? 

It was a bizarre sensation to feel while caught in her predicament, but there was no denying it was real.

“How do you know that?” she shot back, the tremor in her voice betraying her.

Terry’s eyes gleamed, a predator’s look—calm, controlled, but intense. His gaze swept over her like he could read every flicker of emotion, every tiny movement, as though she were a mystery he intended to unravel piece by piece. He echoed her words from earlier, voice smooth but firm, "I asked you a question.” 

Anger flared hotter in her chest.

Adla swallowed hard, her jaw tightening. “My daddy and Burne had an understanding. He honors it with me. I stay outta his way, he stays outta mine. That’s how it’s always been.”

Terry’s expression shifted, contemplating her words. 

“What do you know about that understanding?” 

“Not much,” she replied, frustration tightening her throat. “I was just a kid back then. Burne came around a few times, and every time, Daddy sent me out back like he didn’t want me to see whatever ugly business they were discussing. Burne never lingered, though.”

Terry’s jaw clenched tightly, his voice low and intense. “Think harder. There’s got to be something more.”

Her nostrils flared as she wriggled in his grip, her body tense against his, struggling to break free. "I’d remember better if I wasn’t being held hostage by a man who broke into my house." His grip remained firm, but she caught a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, frustration crossing his face.

“What are you mixed up in, Terry Richmond?” she demanded, searching for a crack in his armor. 

Finally, he released her.

She rubbed her wrists, sitting up with her eyes fixed on him, challenging him to explain himself.

“Did I hurt you?” Terry asked, his tone almost tender. He took her hands, fingers brushing over them slow and gentle, then pressed a quick kiss to each one, whispering sincere apologies against her perfumed skin.

She didn’t pull her wrists back, didn’t jerk away. Just held still, watching, waiting to see what he’d do next. One minute, he was charm personified; the next, red hot and demanding. 

“I’m fine,” she lied, but the heat between her thighs refused to fade, steady and pulsing, intensifying with every passing moment. She couldn’t shake it off for anything and couldn’t help but wonder what kind of root he was working on her.

“Don’t you worry ’bout my troubles,” he said, the weight of pulling her into his mess heavy on his shoulders. The fate of his cousin loomed over him, driving him to the brink. His shoulders sagged, but he held her gaze. “I’m sorry for barging in on you like this. It won’t happen again. I promise you that.”

He stood to leave, moonlight casting faint shadows across his caramel skin. She had a wild notion to ask him to stay—the house felt too lonely some nights—but that’s when her gaze caught the ink on his arm once more.

A jolt of memory struck her.

“Hold up a minute! That necklace! Chief Burne took a necklace with some kinda strange mark on it—the same one you’ve got inked on your arm!”

Terry froze in the doorway, his whole body going rigid. “You sure 'bout that?”

“Yeah! I remember it clear as day. It was real strange.” Memories of the past rolled out before her like an old film, every moment flickering back to life. “I found it once—Daddy had it tucked away in that old dresser.” She nodded toward the corner of the room.

“When I found it, he fussed at me somethin’ fierce, told me to stay outta his things. Daddy never got mad like that, not with me. The next day, it was gone. Didn’t see it again ’til Chief Burne came by and Daddy handed it over. I can’t believe I forgot!” She could still picture it—the way she’d perched on a rickety milk crate, peeking through the window to catch a glimpse of their exchange. It hadn’t held her long, but she saw enough to remember that moment.

Adla had thought her daddy’s business—and everything tied to it—had been buried with him. But now, it felt like a ghost from his past was rising to the surface. 

“What’s up with that necklace?”

Terry’s gaze shifted, a whirlwind of emotions churning just beneath the surface—hard to read but impossible to ignore. “Let’s just say it’s a piece of my family history.”

“What kinda history we talkin’ ‘bout?” Adla crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes as the shadows seemed to thicken around them. Having a man in her bedroom felt surreal. Jesse always avoided this room during his visits, claimin’ it was too strange to be her daddy's old space. It felt like she and Terry were sharing something sacred and intimate, bound together in a way she couldn’t quite grasp yet.

“You think you can handle the truth? Knowin’ ain’t always what you think it is.” Terry asked, his voice roughening as he took long, deliberate strides back toward her bed. 

“I figure I’ve earned the right, considerin’ you keep breakin’ into my house.”

“You invited me in,” he said with a sly glint in his eyes. “I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t.” There it was again— that same strange fixation on the idea of being invited, like it mattered more than it should. “It’s gonna change everything you think you know. You ready for that?”

She hadn’t anticipated any of the turmoil since he’d shown up, but there was no turning back now. “Just tell me,” she urged, her fingers tracing the patterns on the comforter. When he settled onto her bed this time, it felt like an invitation rather than an intrusion.

“You know I’m a shifter…” She remembered their earlier conversation and the massive black wolf that had shown up on her porch. “...but you don’t know how it all started. You believe in magic?”

She swallowed hard, nodding. "How could I not, especially with everything that happened today?"

“It all started with a pact that changed everything for us.”

Terry’s expression shifted, turning grave. “My grandfather was a maroon—one of them ‘unruly’ slaves who had the guts to run off from his plantation and into these swamps. He was one of the first to break free. Word got around, and more folks joined him; their strength grew by the night. They’d sneak back in the dark, helpin’ anyone brave enough to follow ’em to freedom.” His voice dropped to a steady murmur, thick with resolve. “Among those he led were healers, rootworkers, and conjurers—men and women who were deep-rooted in their traditions, carryin’ the power to shape reality, but always payin’ a hefty price for it.”

An image of Jesse's grandmother flickered through her mind.

“I don’t know everything about the witches—how they do what they do,” he continued, locking eyes with her. “But they can work wonders—things that’ll stop you dead in your tracks.”

She recalled the bright light shooting from Jesse’s hands earlier, and the hairs on her arms stood on end.

“The maroons carved out their own path, livin’ side by side with the native folks in these swamps. But as the number of enslaved people started to drop in this area, the enslavers took notice. They couldn’t afford to lose any more ‘property,’” he growled, anger bubbling just beneath the surface. “So they began sendin’ out hunting parties.”

“At first, they didn’t know the lay of the land, so the maroons slipped right through their fingers. But when that didn’t work, they turned to our own people. They dangled promises of freedom, tryin’ to lure ’em outta the swamp with visions of homes with walls and their own land. It was a lie, but it had a way of workin' on folks. People had families to think about, I reckon.”

It was easy to judge when you didn’t know the daily struggles they faced—sneakin’ into town for scraps, navigatin’ a world rigged against ’em, riskin’ everything just to make it through the day. Freedom came with a heavy price.

“They twisted the law, huntin’ us down like we was nothin’ but animals. Meanwhile, white folks kept gettin’ rich off our backs.”

A thick silence hung between them, both lost in thoughts of their ancestors and the unspeakable horrors they’d endured.

Terry shook his head, tryin’ to shake off the weight of the past. “Needless to say, their tactics worked. By the end, nearly everyone was dead. A few ordinary but tough souls, like my grandfather and just a couple of the witches, managed to survive. Out in these very woods, they came up with a plan for payback. Those witches could give ’em the power to rise against their oppressors, but it came at a steep cost—tradin’ their humanity for the ability to transform.”

She could piece together the unspoken parts: The maroons were worn thin, workin’ twice as hard just to get by, while white men wielded their privilege—armed with better weapons, sheltered in comfort, and backed by all who supported the chains of slavery. They had no choice.

She reached out, her fingers skimming over his forearm, a soft touch she knew she probably shouldn’t be makin’. As if pulled by some unseen force, Terry’s hand glided down to rest on her leg, his warmth grounding them both in that delicate moment of connection.

“So they made a pact. Each full moon, the men would be trapped in the shape of a big ol’ wolf, their humanity swallowed by the beast inside. But for the rest of the month, they could shift at will—keepin’ themselves safe and protectin’ whatever was left of their kin.”

“That must’ve been downright terrifying, bein’ trapped outside their own skin,” Adla said, her mind wanderin’ to what she’d do if she had to make a choice like that.

“They weren’t about to go back to no chains or meet death without swingin’ back. That’s how I—how we came to be,” Terry said, layin’ bare the truth of his origin.

“And what about that necklace?” Adla asked, sensing the intricate puzzle was missing some key pieces. Terry’s touch and those piercing eyes were pulling her in, but her instincts remained razor-sharp. Everything he shared had begun to connect in her mind, but there was still more to uncover.

A look crossed his face, like he was digging up a memory of his own.

“That’s a whole other story. But if your daddy had it, he probably stashed away a book with a ledger too. You know where that might be?”

Chapter 6.

@nayaesworld

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[mirandasidefics]

But Home is Nowhere

Pairing(s): Lucien X Plus Size Reader, Azriel X Plus Size Reader

Part 1 Summary: Reader is pulled into Prythian by an unknown force and comes face to face with members of the Night Court. However, the welcome is less than warm.

Word Count: 3.9K

Warning(s): Minor violence, minor self-harm, mentions of body issues/past self-harm.

A/N: This is my first ACOTAR fic and first story I've even considered posting since 2013, so please be gentle. The story is fully outlined, but due to the fact that I work full time and really weird hours updates will be once a month. Use of cisfemale descriptors used. Key: (Y/N )-Your Name, (e/c)-eye color, (h/c)-hair color.

You gathered your belongings as you did everyday before heading into work. ‘Phone, wallet, keys, charger, make-up…’ the list in your head prattled on as you secured each item in the black backpack. Once satisfied that you had everything you needed you swung the leaden object over your left shoulder. Pausing before the near full-length mirror at your door you tucked a strand of (h/c) hair behind you ear. Your (e/c) orbs roamed over for anything that could be out of place. It took a considerable amount of effort not to let your gaze pause on the parts of yourself that you hated. You pulled the dark red sweater down, covering your large and sagging lower belly and too wide hips. You debated on going back to put shapewear on so your muffin top didn’t hang over your dark black skinny jeans too much, but you were already running late. You quickly slipped your dress flats on to your feet as you whispered a small affirmation to yourself. ‘Everything happens for a reason.’

You were not looking forward to today. The laundry list of to-do tasks was miles long. Hours of work meetings, followed by even more hours of research and writing for your thesis. You were always writing. You paused again to double check that you had the required USB drive that held your many months’ worth of research. A quick glance reassured it was safely tucked away on the hook in your pack, and you stiffly grasped the handle of the front door. No sooner than pulling the door open, your feet tripped over the lip of the frame, and you plummeted down through the threshold.

Bracing for a faceplant against concrete, you were surprised to find soft grass under your fingertips. The grass was a deep rich shade of green and still held the wetness of early morning-dew. Slowly lifting your head, you glanced around the spot where you fell. You immediately noticed that you were no longer at the threshold of your duplex if the wide expanse of grass was to be trusted. Slower still, you raised yourself up on your knees. The sky you looked at was now clear of the pale grey clouds you spied out of your bedroom window only minutes before. The bright yellow-white sun was high enough above to indicate that it was midday. A chilled and briny breeze floated across your shoulders and caused strands of your hair to blow away from your face. You pushed your glasses a little further up the bridge of your nose as you took in the distant buildings to your left. Not a single one of the simple brick and mortar buildings appeared to be more than 3 to 4 floors in height. Further down you could make out some shops and an open square. It reminded you more of a smaller European town than of a bustling city suburb. Yet the buzz in the air told you that there was much more than what met your eyes. You could only make out a few figures as they darted through a bustling crowd. Despite the feeling that there were a large number of inhabitants in the city beyond, there wasn’t a single sound of a motorized vehicle. Your head tilted up to examine the vast blueness above you, looking for any sign of the planes that constantly passed over your home, but the sky was also empty. You held your breath, willing for the sound of a jet engine to be heard in the distance. All was silent, except for the brush of the wind and bubbling of water. You turned toward your right an observed a large house that sat just along the river’s edge. Your eyes followed the winding path of the turquoise water as it stretched into a decent sized bay, complete with docks and what appeared to be old wooden sailing ships. You felt like you had stepped back in time.

Panic began to seep into your bones. You could clearly tell that you were no longer in your own city, but where you were…that was wholly unknown to you. Was this even real? Maybe you hit your head when you tripped and this is all just some dream. Yeah, that had to be it. You reached for the backpack that had landed at your side when a shadow flew over you. A heavy thud was heard to your right and your head whipped up to look at the dark silhouette that now towered over head. You initially thought there had been the shape of wings along the figure’s outline, but after blinking away the shards of sunlight that your hand didn’t block, you determined that it must have been your imagination.

“Well hello there,” a velvety smooth tenor reached your ears, “You’re not an associate of Ms. Quinlan’s, are you?”

                “W-What?” Your voice trembled, a strong metallic scent radiated from the man as he knelt down. Your breath caught in your throat. He was absolutely stunning. You mentally slapped yourself after feeling your jaw literally drop. You could have sworn his eyes held flecks of starlight in them. However, his humorless chuckle sent a shiver down your spine.

                “Do you know Bryce?” He surveyed you this time.

                “I don’t…I don’t know any Bryce,” You couldn’t help the rise of your flight response start to kick in, “Where am I?” A part of you didn’t dare look away, but you had to gage your possible exits out of the periphery of your vision.  The man continued to stare and evaluate you. You swallowed thickly in an attempt to clear the non-existent obstruction that was your unease and opened your mouth to ask another question. Before you could speak the man cut you off, placing his hands in his pockets.

                “If you’re not here for or because of Bryce,” Something about his darkened expression filled your bones with fear, “then, unfortunately, I’m not in a position to readily trust you. I must protect my people. I hope you understand that my actions are nothing personal.” Confusion laced your features at his words and you clutched your bag tightly against your chest.

Without warning your entire body froze as what felt like ice cold claws scratched against the surface of your skull. Fear gripped you tightly, the need to run or fight back utterly demolished as you locked eyes with the man. He truly didn’t appear to be bothered in the slightest over how terrified you were.

‘Mother above…he’s going to kill me.’ Your mind reeled and you were certain that you would have emptied your bladder had you not done so before exiting your home. You couldn’t get your voice to cooperate, to beg for mercy as the claws gripped your skull harder. You couldn’t even scream as you felt the flesh tear near your right temple. Your heart beat erratically, hoping it would give out before you could feel any of the pain that was sure to accompany your death. It took all of your mental strength to dampen the fear down and whisper the prayer you incorporated into your own practice so long ago.

“Mother hold me, let me pass through the gates into that immortal land of milk and honey. Let me fear no evil, feel no pain, and let me enter eternity.” Eyes still locked with the man you saw a glimmer of…you honestly had no clue what emotion it was that passed over his expression. But as soon as it passed the feeling of the claws were gone and air rushed back into your lungs. The man stood to his full height and continue to stare at your gasping form. A rush of nausea swept over you and you heaved. The stomach acid burned your throat more than normal after not eating anything for well over 24 hours.

You spit the remaining mucus onto the grass and you were suddenly hauled up to your feet. His grip on your forearm was so tight you could already feel the bruises forming. While the man’s features appeared calm and unbothered, his eyes simmered with caution. However, he remained silent as darkness converged on you both. Your stomach rolled and plummeted with the sensation of your body in free fall, but the man’s grip never lessened. Suddenly your feet impacted against solid stone. Your vision blurred and your other arm reached out towards anything to purchase itself to keep you up right. Your throat burned again but the stomach acid never reached your mouth. Your outstretched hand finally found a wall and you clung onto it for dear life.

The surface was cool and rough to the touch. You chanced a glance around and found yourself in a small dimly lit room. The walls and floor appeared to have been carved directly out of the stone. The dampness to the air clued you in that you were not inside a building, but some structure more akin to a cave. The room held no furniture, unless you counted the metal sconce that held the only source of light. You did a double take as the light itself was strange, appearing to be condensed to the size of a lightbulb, but it was quickly obvious that there was no material encasing its source. Was there even a- your thoughts were interrupted by the screeching of metal hinges as a single wooden door swung open.

A second man appeared in the entry way and ducked down to avoid hitting his head on the top of the frame. Once he was fully inside the room you couldn’t believe your eyes. You blinked several times yet the insanely large bat like wings never disappeared. You attempted to take in his dark appearance, but shadows seemed to swirl around him. He wore a scaly leather outfit that appeared to be some type of armor. You couldn’t tell if it was multiple pieces or a single body suit in the dim silver light, but that didn’t matter as soon as you saw the first of the seven blue stones intermingled into his outfit. Your eyes widened. The first man handed the newcomer your bag, allowing you to get a good look at his winged back. You immediately noticed there were no straps that held the wings in place. Nor were they attached to the clothing he wore, but rather connected to and protruding from the skin underneath. With this realization the room spun as their soft voices drifted over towards you, but you couldn’t make out what was said as your knees gave out and everything went dark.

When you finally awoke the room was cold, dark, and damp; which sadly reminded you that recent events weren’t just a dream. You found that you were now alone, but weren’t sure if that was a good sign. There was no telling if either of the men-no males- would come back. A part of you hoped that someone would at least give you answers, even if just to tell you that you would rot away in this cell. If that was the case, why didn’t the first male just follow through with killing you? What caused him to stop and bring you to this place you now found yourself? Unsure of what to expect you backed yourself up into a corner on the opposite side from the door. A dim light filtered through the wood panels and space between the door and ground. You could hardly call what you sat upon a floor given all the dirt and rocks. Unfortunately, it did little to comfort you while the room was largely in shadow. Despite your best efforts and desire to make yourself as small as possible, your round and plump frame wouldn’t allow you to curl your knees towards your chest. So, you opted instead to sit with your legs stretched out in front of you, ankles crossed. A false picture of being unperturbed with your current circumstances. The longer you sat there in the silence, the more your anxiety seeped into your muscles. You shook your foot trying to expel the nervous energy. Your ears strained for any semblance for sounds of life beyond the door. Surely there had to be other prisoners or guards. Unless you really were just left for dead. You fought back the tears that welled up in your eyes.

                “This is fucked,” You mumbled, “I’m fucked. What the hell is happening?” You could feel the panic rise up your throat. Your heartbeat increased and your breath became shallow. You ran your fingers through your hair, pulling at the roots. Tiny pin pricks of pain blossomed as the blonde strands became taut. You felt pain, or rather discomfort. You’ve felt that in your extremely vivid dreams before, but it gave you an idea. Moving on to your hands and knees you began to feel around for any rocks or other items you could use. If you could find something and make it sharp enough, maybe you could wake yourself. The door looked the same, but maybe it was different. Maybe you were in a different REM cycle, meaning a different dream that just piggy backed off the first. After all, there was no way to determine if the male that took you was going to come back. ‘This has to be a nightmare.’

“Please, please let there be something,” You crawled through the darkness, eyes straining to make out any shapes. Your hands finally found a smooth stone about the size of your palm. In the darkness you couldn’t tell if it was granite or something else, so you went ahead and bashed the side against the stone of your cell wall. The side of the object splintered off as if the stone was made of glass.

“Obsidian…” You smiled to yourself. The obsidian shard would be sharp enough to draw blood wherever you managed to drag it along your skin.

“Where to cut, where to cut…” You felt along your body, the scars on your covered legs sang with expectation. Were you willing to risk taking off your pants in this place though? Were you willing to take off any of your clothing? Finally deciding against the removal of your clothes you crawled over to the door and lowered your hands to the soft light that filtered through. Pressing the shard against the palm of your left hand you hoped that there would be no feeling as you dragged it against the skin. Oh, how wrong you were.

“Fuck!” A searing pain erupted over your hand as the makeshift blade tore at the skin. You sucked in a breath through your teeth as blood pooled at the seams of the cut. The obsidian hit the ground.

“Why did you do that?” A deep tenor filled the space near the back of your cell and you screamed. The sconce on the wall lit up. Your head whipped around to the opposite corner from where you had been sitting. Your eyes took in the retreating shadows as they revealed the male that you really didn’t want to see. The cobalt stones again caught your eye as your gazed wondered over his form. The wings were still there. You cradled your bleeding hand and you backed away from the known male that stared you down. You figured that you were about to pass out again as the shadows behind him seemed to writhe and undulate around his frame.

“Don’t come any closer,” You tried to keep your voice steady, but you wanted to kick yourself for how pathetic you sounded. The male rolled his eyes and walked towards you before crouching down. His wings stretched out and angled themselves so as to not drag along the stone beneath. The sight of their movement took your breath away. They were real. All of this was real. He grabbed your hand and began to exam it. Your attempts to pull it back failed as his grip was tight. Clicking his tongue against his teeth he locked eyes with you, hazel orbs boring into your own. Despite yourself you noted just how attractive he was as he continued to scrutinize you. He continued to look at you expectantly and you realized that he must have asked you a second question. He sighed and gave you back your hand.

“I’ll be right back,” He stood and left. As soon as the door shut you scrambled to your feet and retreated back to your corner. Had he been in the room with you the entire time? If so, why was the light off? And…you felt pain in your hand. You glanced down at the jagged cut, the blood had yet to start to congeal and clot, but it was superficial at best. Honestly nothing to worry about. You’ve done worse to yourself before. But…you felt pain. Real pain, not just a semblance of a memory of pain as you’ve dreamt of before. This was no dream. Everything pointed to this being a very real place. And you were in very real trouble. Especially if you ended up in-

A soft knock on the door brought you out of your thoughts. Whomever was there didn’t wait for you to respond as they entered. A man-no again male- with long red hair and almost equally red-brown eyes walked into the room. He wore a simple off-white billowy linen shirt that appeared as if it was from the Renaissance or possibly the Victorian era. Honestly, you were really sure. The history of the fashion industry wasn’t your area of expertise.  He also wore a simple pair of dark brown pants. He was definitely different compared to your captor and the winged male. He appeared…warmer. Maybe it was the soft smile that graced his lips. However, his eyes-which you now saw that the left had a long scar that ran down towards his jaw- held a certain sense of sadness to them. Pity.

“Hello,” He held out his hand towards you as he cautiously approached, “Can I take a look at your hand?” He seemed friendly enough, but you still pulled your hand closer toward your chest. You shook your head and backed away, not trusting your voice. The red head looked back at the door, where you saw the winged male patiently waiting.

“She does understand our language correct?” He turned back towards you after receiving an affirming nod from his companion. He took a tentative step closer. You felt like you were being treated like a wild animal.

“Stop!” You hissed, “I’m perfectly fine. You can leave.” The male just stood, his gaze trailing to the blood that dripped down your forearm.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” He stated, “I need to heal your hand. Will you let me do that?” You paused.

“What do you care if it heals?” You squeezed your hand into a protective fist causing blood to gush out faster, “Isn’t it easier to just let me be?”

“Honestly I don’t care,” His demeanor changed like the flick of a switch, “If you don’t want help then that is your choice. My question then is why cut yourself in the first place?” You held his stare. You didn’t want to answer, knowing that it wouldn’t make any sense to the stranger.

“This is going no where Lucien,” the winged male finally re-entered the room, “Just heal her hand so I can begin my questioning.” Lucien scoffed, but did as requested. Grabbing your wrist, he tugged you away from the corner you backed yourself into. You held your breath as he pried your fingers open so he could get a look at the cut. You honestly tried to pull your hand free, but he was clearly much stronger than you. Almost unnaturally so. You were left with nothing to do but to watch. You heard a faint whirring sound, before he hovered his free hand over the injury. A warmth enveloped your open palm and was accompanied by a slight metallic scent to the air. Within seconds your skin had stitched itself back together. All that remained was the trail of drying blood. You stared at the healed skin, mind racing with jumbled thoughts. It didn’t make sense. Nothing in the world could do that. It was like…magic. Your breath caught in your throat. Just where the hell were you. You flicked your gaze back to Lucien standing before you, only this time you noted the golden mechanical eye and the arch of his ears. The pointed arch of his ears. The jumbled thoughts became cloudy and you felt darkness start to descend.

“There,” Lucien let go of her hand, which was something that he would immediately regret. It took less than 30 seconds for her wide (e/c) eyes to flutter shut. He watched as her knees gave out as she crashed towards the ground. His reflexes were fast enough to allow him to catch her before her head hit the hard stone. Azriel was immediately crouching next to him.

“That’s the second time she’s fainted,” He whispered, cursing under his breath. He removed her outer sweater and placed it under her head before standing up to speak to the male beside him. 

“How long has she been down here?” Lucien questioned also rising to his feet. This didn’t sit well with him. The woman was clearly frightened, and there was no absolutely no trace of any lingering magic emanating from her. So why was she being kept beneath the throne room in the Hewn City?

“A few hours,” Azriel explained, “Rhys found her this morning. According to him, she literally just appeared. Much in the same way Bryce did. Fell flat on her face outside their home on the Sidra’s edge.” Her face was pale, honestly, too pale for Lucien’s liking. He knelt down beside her, straightening out her legs so they weren’t tucked under at an odd angle.

“Does Feyre know?” The Shadowsinger remained quiet. Lucien looked up at the male. Azriel couldn’t meet his eyes. That wasn’t a good sign. There was no way that Feyre would be comfortable with having a defenseless and harmless human female locked away. It was unusual for Rhysand to keep things from his mate, not without there being a definitive threat.

“This human has no magic. Absolutely none. She’s completely powerless,” He spat out, “There are no traces of any spells surrounding her either. Whatever brought her here, she had no control over. Its likely she had no knowledge of what was happening either.”

“That’s what I need to find out,” Azriel stated simply. If he was irritated with Lucien’s outburst he didn’t let on. “So now that she’s healed and you’ve completed your assessment, you can leave.” This really didn’t sit well with him. Bryce had been brought right into their family home when she arrived. So, what was it about this human that set the High Lord on such edge that she’d been banished from what would probably be the safest place for a human in Prythian? Lucien really didn’t like what was happening, but knew better than to argue with the Spymaster. If anyone did get answers out of the woman it was going to be him. However, he wouldn’t let this injustice go to the way side. So, without so much as a word to the Shadowsinger, Lucien left the cell. He was determined to have a very stern word with the High Lord.

Part 2

[seramilla]

In human au I wonder how many habits and things like the hyper independence Sera and Carmilla need to work through. We can tell Sera doesn't know how to relax or not work I could also see her almost never eating until Emily has because she needs to make sure Emily has eaten before she can worry about eating.

If Sera isn't working or being productive, she may as well not be breathing. When it was just her and Emily, Sera would be on her feet from dawn until dusk, getting Emily off to school by 7:00, working straight through lunch at her office job so she could leave by 4:00 to take her sister to band practice or other extracurriculars. Sometimes she'd leave even earlier, depending on Emily's schedule. Whether it's playing an instrument, or participating in a sport Emily will tire of in 3 months, Sera doesn't really care. She just wants to be supportive and make sure Emily gets the most out of her education.

When they both moved in with Carmilla, Sera quickly realized that Carmilla has people to help her with those things. While Carmilla does her best to be there to support Odette and Clara in their activities, sometimes it's just easier to have the chauffeur pick them up and take them to after-school clubs. The first time Sera rushed to the school to pick up Emily after joining the Carmine household, she was in a panicked frenzy to discover neither Emily nor the other girls were there. A frantic text to Carmilla left her relieved to know one of Carmilla's staff had already taken them to their lessons. But it left a bad taste in Sera's mouth to be removed from that part of her sister's routine...even worse because Emily had forgotten to tell her that morning.

The same thing starts happening around mealtimes, too. Sera had always cooked her and Emily's meals, and made sure Emily got the bigger portion for her growing body. And most importantly, dinner was always hers and Emily's chance to bond after a long day. Especially since Sera would often skip lunch at her job, so by supper time, she was starving, and very much looking forward to catching up with Emily and hearing what she'd learned. Even if she didn't always get enough to eat, it was all worth it, to see Emily smile.

These days, all three girls eat immediately after they get home, rushing and rarely having time for conversation, and then it's off to clubs and activities. Sera may not even be able to talk to Emily until much later in the evening. Sera will feed them something quick, but usually hold off and wait for Carmilla to get home so they can eat dinner together -- at least so she doesn't have to eat alone.

Carmilla Carmine insists she likes cooking for her girlfriend, because she's fantastic at it. But also, she wants to make sure Sera is getting enough to eat of the foods she likes. Sera was always so skinny when Carmilla first met her. It's amazing what three square meals will do for a person. Sera has never looked more radiant. Even though she complains when Carmilla won't let her skip lunch.

Cooking is technically supposed to be Sera's job, since she gets home earlier than she does and often fixes it for the girls. But Carmilla Carmine is not one to deny herself the simple pleasure of feeding the woman she loves.

One night, though, Sera seems awfully distracted. Sera had been quiet that morning, too, and Carmilla didn't think much of it then. Sometimes Sera gets into her own head and wants to be left alone. But that trend continues well into the evening. Carmilla makes them some seafood for dinner, serving it on a fancy sushi boat and everything. Sera smiles at her softly, obviously flattered with Carmilla's efforts. But all throughout the meal, she just stares off in silence, leaning her cheek on her elbow and picking at the sushi with her chopsticks. The scrunched-up expression on Sera's face is adorable, but it's also driving Carmilla bonkers with concern, because she doesn't know what's gotten Sera's goose.

"Everything okay, mi cielo?" Carmilla asks, surprising Sera out of her silent reverie. "You're awfully quiet today."

"Huh?" Sera seems almost drunk at the question initially. Like she doesn't realize Carmilla has spoken to her. Her reaction is delayed, and she blushes profusely and shakes her head when she realizes she'd been staring off into the distance beyond Carmilla's head.

"Oh! Oh, sorry! My apologies. I was just...thinking, I guess."

"...About?"

"Please don't worry about it!" Sera exclaims. She waves her hand in front of her face frantically. "It's nothing!"

"It doesn't seem like nothing. You've been muerto viviente all day long. What has you troubled, mi amor?"

Sera keeps picking at her food with her chopsticks. The utensils are practically green from being swirled around in the wasabi a few too many times. After a while, the profound silence in the room gets to her. Carmilla has a way of letting a lack of sound be the pressure Sera needs to break it in any way possible. She sees her use that technique on the girls all the time; to break them when they know they've done something wrong.

Even though she knows she's done nothing wrong, it's still extremely effective at breaking her silence.

"I feel like I haven't seen Emily all week. Maybe longer. All she wants to do is spend time with Odette and Clara after school. They are her friends. Her sisters in spirit. I know that. It's good for her to have people her age to rely on. But... I can't help it, but sometimes, I feel like she's growing away from me. She has them now...and you. She doesn't need me like she used to. I'm not the only one anymore."

Sera can do nothing to stop the torrent of tears that suddenly fill her eyes at this admission. Without warning, she is flooded with so many conflicting emotions she hadn't expected. It's so easy to just shove those feelings down when Emily needs her; she's done it for years. That innate ability to toss everything aside for her baby sister has always been her shield.

But she can't hide behind adrenaline, or work, or an excuse to be strong anymore. Her entire sense of self-worth has been wrapped up in Emily for so many years, now that the sole burden of parenthood has been lifted from her shoulders, coming to the realization that she's no longer as important as she once thought, sends a white-hot streak of pain directly through her heart.

"I don't know what to be anymore, without her needing me."

Carmilla gets to her feet, coming around the kitchen island and hugging Sera's neck from behind as the other woman sobs hot tears into her hands. Carmilla twirls her on the barstool to face her. Sera is taller than her, with legs for days, even without the benefit of the barstool. But in moments like these, Carmilla realizes how frail and fragile she can be. Sera falls into her arms, almost out of the chair, and soaks Carmilla's shirt with her tears.

"Oh, cariño, it's all right. No wonder you've been so stressed lately."

"What do I do, Carmilla?" Sera wails, hiding her face in Carmilla's neck as the matriarch pulls her deeper into her arms. "For years, my entire life has revolved around her. I've forgotten how to be me without her."

Sera is leaning forward and hugging Carmilla so tight, Carmilla has to hold her up in the chair to keep from toppling them both over. Leave it to Sera to be stronger than she looks. The woman can be incredibly threatening even when she's sobbing like a baby.

"That's the way it happens with kids, you know? You have them, and for a while, you are their entire world. But then their world gets bigger, and suddenly, you're only a single part of it. But still the most important part."

Carmilla pulls away, just to be able to cup Sera's cheek in her hand. Sera nuzzles into it deeper. Carmilla tries to ignore her snotty nose and the way Sera rubs it directly into Carmilla's open palm like a tissue.

She loves this woman, Carmilla repeats to herself. She does. Snotty nose, phlegm, and all!

"When they don't need you for everything anymore, that's how you know it was all worthwhile. Because they are becoming independent human beings. I've done my fair share of crying about Odette over the years. That girl doesn't want my help with anything. Clara still needs a little encouragement...but she'll get there. Especially with Emily helping her with her homework. No more late-night tutoring sessions for me."

Sera stops crying. She forces a wet laugh into Carmilla's hand.

Sera may be the one feeling sorry for herself, but Carmilla isn't afraid to be real and talk with her about her own girls. She doesn't sugarcoat anything, or pretend like raising children is easier than it is. Carmilla can admit when she's not in control. It's such a stark contrast from the way Sera usually pretends everything is fine, or ignores her struggles, so Emily doesn't have to face a harsh reality.

But maybe part of the problem is her own reluctance; her tendency to keep everything buried deep inside, until it has no choice but to force its way out, usually in the form of her tears or an inconvenient panic attack.

"I know," Sera whines a little petulantly. She steps off the barstool, letting herself be completely engulfed in Carmilla's arms, leaning down a little bit to lay her head on Carmilla's shoulder.

"I am so proud of Emily, I can hardly believe I did that. I just wish I could be proud of myself. It's a little embarassing, but that girl has been my entire personality for--"

Carmilla silences Sera with a kiss. It's a hot, heavy one; deep and comforting. Sera pulls Carmilla in closer when the older woman lays it on particularly thick. It's certainly unfair how thorough and efficient Carmilla is with her kisses. How Sera can go from being self-flagellating and feeling sorry for herself in one moment, and completely bowled over under Carmilla's lips in the next.

Carmilla shoots Sera a wicked, knowing grin, as she leans her girlfriend over the back of the kitchen island. It hurts Sera's back a little bit, but with Carmilla this close to her face, the last thing she would dare do is complain.

"How about this...?" Carmilla asks. "...Every time you are kind to yourself, I'll give you one of those? But every time you insult yourself, or question your own capabilities, I won't kiss you for the entire night. Is that incentive enough for you?"

In a fraction of a second, Sera's face is redder than a sunburn on a tomato. She flails, trying to stand up, but Carmilla keeps her bent backward until she responds.

"Ye-yes! Please! Let's do that!" Sera rasps, blushing profusely. Carmilla gives her one more kiss for good measure, before letting her back up.

Sera is wobbly on her feet for a moment, but gets her bearings pretty quickly. She tries to pull Carmilla back in for another smooch, with herself leading this time, but Carmilla gently shoves her back. That shit-eating grin is even wider now.

"Not so fast. You have to work for it. What do you say?"

Sera's blush can practically be seen from space at this point. She breathes heavily, whining a little in the back of her throat at having to be nice to herself for once. For a reward.

"I'm a good guardian. Emily loves me. I am perfectly capable and worthy of love, no matter what."

Carmilla squeezes her cheeks. Pulls Sera back in for another heavy, drawn-out kiss. By the time she pulls away again, Sera's feet have returned to their jelloed state, and Carmilla has to hold her up to keep from falling.

"Was that so hard?" Carmilla quips. "That's my good girl."

Sera whines. She could get used to this.

[tohwitchesduels]

REQUEST BATTLES OF WITCHES DUELS - Battle 55: Hunter The Golden Guard vs Matt Tholomule

Disclaimer: This is not a popularity contest or which character you prefer, in this tournament, you decide who is stronger/better/smarter/etc. opponent.

information for both opponents under the cut to those who don't know what they can do in their battle:

Matt Tholomule:

Mattholomule specializes mainly in construction and illusion magic.

Matt is known to be quite underestimated by those around him, but he does possess the skill, even if gloats to be able to bite more than he can chew. Matt is however pretty smart when it comes to the usage of his powers, even if he doesn't use them too offensively. He can however be pretty hopeless at times, being taken out easily if his opponents prove to be more formidable than him. He does lack drive and fighting spirit if he does not have confidence in his abilities.

Matt doesn't respect Hunter at all, considering him weak. In LR he really meant it when he said that he could take him. Matt recognizes how he may ultimately not be the best battler of this tournament but in his eyes Hunter is an absolute fraud who shouldn't have gotten this far as he did, so he wants to challenge him because of that, bringing up Hunter's fraudulent win against Luz (Luz beat Matt fair and square but how comes Hunter supposedly won the fight with her?). To Matt, it doesn't matter if he was the Golden Guard, to Matt Hunter, ain't shit.

Matt does not possess any known palisman, nor showcased any on the screen. Because of this anyone fighting him would also not be allowed to wield a palisman

Size alteration - Matt is capable of altering the size of any of his body parts. This displayed first during Covention with his head.

Construction Tool - Matt is capable of creating tools made out of earthen materials as displayed TTLGR when he created a key/blade to cut Gus free. This ability during battle can manifest as Matt is capable of creating any kind of tool or weapon to help him during the battle.

Geokinesis - Implied in TTLGR that Matt can telekinetically move earthen materials as displayed when he helped clean the graveyard by moving the broken parts of the statues placing them back and making them stick together. During the battle, Matt would be capable of throwing rubble at his opponents.

Rock Wall - as displayed in LR, Matt is capable of creating walls to block attacks. The walls are thin so can be broken through enough force, but Matt displayed pretty great reflexes with those walls and they are still fairly durable.

Rock Dummy - as displayed in FTF, Matt is capable of creating a rock dummy of himself to appear wherever he feels like it.

Camouflage - Displayed in its full glory in FTF where Matt made Amity completely disappear. During the battle, Matt can turn himself invisible temporarily and other people as well (battle royale-exclusive)

Smokescreen - Matt is capable of releasing a smokescreen that can disorient his opponents.

Link to more of Matt's capabilities here

Hunter The Golden Guard:

I will only mention moves by names rather than delve into specifics as they're too large for that. In the name (with a few exceptions for the sake of clarification for some), there's a link to more of Hunter's capabilities.

Hunter has zero respect for Matt and does not take him seriously in the slightest. He really is disappointed that supposedly he's the closest Gus has to a romantic partner at the moment, his little bro can do better. During this battle, Hunter is however even more peeved by Matt because he really talks a big amount of sh!t for someone who's not even worth dirt on Hunter's shoes. There is also the fact that Matt painfully reminds Hunter of everything he loathes about himself. To say the least, Hunter will show Matt why he was Golden Guard, to begin with, and put Matt in his place.

Hunter "Insert your preferred surname/s for him", also known as a former and the youngest Golden Guard in history, head of the Emperor's Coven, Emperor Belos's right-hand man. One must know that unlike other contestants (aside from Luz) he's not constricted to specific covens and tracks since as a former leader of the coven that allows all kinds of magic, Hunter will have expertise in all types of coven magic as well, and he's also very dedicated to studying wild magic.

Hunter himself was also known as a genius teen prodigy and is undeniably a child soldier who was raised by both hell and the library to get to the very top. While he was born magicless, it did not stop him from earning his title as the right-hand man of the most powerful witch of the Boiling Isles. Hunter spends days and nights both training and learning everything about magic both as a duty and as fun. He's incredibly knowledgeable regarding all kinds of magic, meaning it's hard to actually surprise him with anything. And since he's a child soldier raised in a magical military with no magic by himself, Hunter had to survive hell even worse than some of the adults that also were part of this coven went through, and he survived it all. Hunter has already been to countless witches' duels beforehand, he made it several times through a maze full of traps, and judging by how he calls getting from the top to the bottom of the mountain alive "a classic", this might as well suggest that this Hunter's version of "summer camp", as he did that numerous times and he considers it "fond memories". Hunter without a doubt has the most experience among all participants when it comes to battling, because you know Belos never gave him a break or easy time and for Hunter to be where he is today is all thanks to his own strength, intelligence, and resilience.

Hunter certainly has one of the strongest wills among all characters in TOH, as despite going through a ridiculous amount of pain, he is capable of brushing it off and pushing forward, with his only weakness being Belos. Hunter's willpower was even able to withstand Gus's trauma bubble which specifically puts you through your worst memories and even renders you useless, but Hunter resisted its effect and calmed Gus down instead, despite his pain being very fresh and severe and Hunter in fact not being ok with it, but Hunter keeps on going anyway. One must know it's very hard to break him, trust Belos, he tried but didn't succeed. Hunter even managed to resist Belos's possession for some time, which is a lot considering Belos was his abuser and had power over him metaphorically and physically in that moment.

Hunter displayed throughout the series to have some great athletic skills and agility, being able to keep up pace with running Luz without breaking a sweat while proving he has experience in parkour and acrobatics as seen in him flying on staff. Certainly, he can use his skills to evade incoming attacks with his reflexes while keeping up with his opponents and close distance between him and his enemies. He also has plenty of brute strength at his disposal as well, considering he managed to shatter falling debris by just swinging his staff in one hand.

Hand-To-Hand Combat - Hunter has proven to be efficient in hand-to-hand combat throughout the series. While Hunter overall plays more on defense as a protector rather than offense, he is not afraid to throw a punch. This post goes more in-depth about Hunter's proficiency in staff-wielding, but I will explain some of it here too. Hunter as a trained soldier and experienced martial artist has his body be his weapon. He knows how the body works and has great control over it. He defeated both Luz and Eda in his debut with a quick kick while evading their attack, straight-up toyed with Kikimora and had to be put to sleep to be restrained by coven scouts as he was still fighting and kicking. This also gives him a huge advantage against other competitors who are used to fighting across distance, whereas Hunter fights at a close range.

Back in EC Hunter learned how to be smart, resourceful, and strong, and as I've mentioned before multiple times, he's a child soldier. His opponents usually underestimate him, but he's not the one to be crossed. His victories compromise of defeating Eda and Luz on 2v1 in his debut; immediately defeating Luz in HP once he's recovered; defeating Kikimora in HP; and Tying with Amity in EL after being physically and mentally exhausted, in 2v1 with King (who was rather defeated by Hunter in this duel), while wielding a completely new staff and restraining himself to not kill her but just getting the key; winning flyer derby game on his first try; catching Darius off-guard (which is a feat with Darius's great reflexes); making a strong glyph combo on his very first try; resisting Gus's trauma bubble; kicking ass during Hexside against EC battle; he was defeated twice by coven scouts, which while fair, was also due to his poor condition and the second time he had to be put to sleep to be restrained; handling abomatons and scouts with rest of the Hexsquad during S2 finale; standing his ground and protecting Hexsquad from Belos while being severely weakened in KT; breaking through Willow's vines in FtF with his freshly awakened powers.

Hunter now is sub-merged with Flapjack meaning he does not require staff anymore to cast spells as magic now comes from within. What's more, I allow Hunter to also levitate/fly without the help of any staff. This is more of a fanon ability, but it's supposed to connect him to having the powers of a palisman (but no, he can't turn into a staff, nor is wooden) and abilities of a palisman are usually just enhanced abilities of the holder, meaning flight is in capacity of any witch, but all of them utilise staff since flight on its own is probably hard spell to pull off, but Hunter should do just fine for the sake of this tournament.

During this fight, Palismen are not allowed.

Flash Step

Comet Charge

Resistance Spell

Block Spell

Underground Escape

Tool Creation

Tying Spell

Battle Armor

Laser Bolt

Lightning Strike

Barrier Spell - is not demonstrated in the show itself but in storyboards of Yasmin Khudari, where Hunter could create a force field to shield Willow from falling debris. In the final product, he just used his own brute strength and staff to protect Willow rather than magic, but I will allow this spell meaning Hunter can create barriers that can withstand heavy hits and create them anywhere he desires.

Flesh-Eating Plant - - this is more of a speculation rather than a confirmed fact, but I rewatched ST, and Luz and Eda weren't originally standing in the flesh-eating plant until GG showed up, so I decided to be funny and say he actually made this plant himself to taunt them, especially since he also knew what it does (which also shows his expertise in plants among many things). Hunter in battles can utilise flesh-eating plants to set traps across the battlefield to both harm and distract his opponents.

Telekinesis

Sand Blast

Sand Construct

Rock Fist

Earth Magic

Water Magic

Aqua Jet

Water Hand

Wall Of Vine And Ice

Return to Masterpost

[xzaddyzanakinx]

I Crybaby I part three

Mean Punk/Grunge Anakin × Naive Femme Reader

18+ MDNI

Warnings: demeaning comments, crude behavior, aggression toward reader, hurt/comfort

Info: Anakin is an ass, like no joke he's really mean. Pierced and tatted Ani, he plays the drums, annoying rude neighbor, modern AU (90's), he might be mean now but I promise he is changing

Smut is coming soon! Be on the look out for the next chapter.

NOT PROOFREAD

You woke up in a panic, sulked on your drive to work, suffered through the day at the diner, and drove home with an anxiously churning stomach.

You paced the floors of your living room and kitchen, you’d already called Marie three times and had stopped yourself from sprinting to the wall phone once again. She offered to come help, but you’d refused, saying she’d already done so much for you. Besides this was something you felt like you had to do on your own, Anakin was nosy, he’d definitely take notice of a stranger visiting your house.

He had already tried to rip your shopping bag of makeup from your hands, insisting he needed to see inside. Stating that he was better at it than you anyway, you could benefit from a lesson or two. At this point you would’ve considered taking him up on the offer if you knew it wouldn’t ruin your plan.

You’d never so much as owned black eyeshadow, and Anakin did wear it often. You closed your eyes and tried to picture the way it looked in your head, then thought better of it. That would be creepy right? Copying his look?

So instead you settled on clumsily going through the motions of your transformation with the company of girls from Marie’s magazines. You’d ripped them out and hastily stuck them to your bathroom mirror with gum.

You braided your hair and looped some silver hoops in it just like one of the girls who was modeling a very painful looking choker necklace. The girls were all wearing heavy makeup, and your attempts had all turned out miserably, so you went back to the magazines and flipped through until you found the perfect reference.

A skinny boy in a fishnet shirt had on subtle and simple looking makeup, you could handle that, it should be easy… right? Digging through your grocery bag of new eyeshadows you selected a black eyeshadow palette that had a gorgeous little square of greyish sparkles.

You tried over and over again until your eyelids felt raw, with a frustrated cry you slammed the palette down onto the counter, effectively cracking the clear plastic lid.

“Great!” You huffed, “just great.” You began scraping up the fallen black powder with your bare hands, being interrupted by the phone ringing.

You screeched in surprise, the abrasive and shrill noise always startled you. The floor was slick under your fuzzy pink socks as you rushed to the kitchen wall phone. You sniffled, tears of frustration forming as you slipped and almost fell, swiping at them without thinking.

“Hello?” You croaked.

“What’re you doing?” The voice on the other line laughed.

“Anakin?” You questioned in surprise.

“Obviously.” He huffed, you could visualize his eyes rolling in annoyance. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Why do you want to know?” You shot back.

“Your bathroom window is wide open and you’ve been banging around in there for the last hour.” He grumbled.

“I’ll close it.” You huffed.

“What’re you doing?” He asked again.

“Nothing!” You said loudly, “it’s not your business.”

“Well sorry for trying to make sure you weren’t being murdered.” He retorted, starting to speak again.

“Listen. I’m busy. I’ll close the window.” You started to hang up, but stopped when you heard him shouting.

“Hey! Wait a second! God, you’re impatient.” He grumbled, “I won’t be home tonight, so if you’re going on some shitty date don’t count on me to rescue you alright?”

“Got it.” You said through gritted teeth.

With that you hung up, bringing the heels of your palms to dig into your tired eyes. Was this worth it? What was that phone call? Was he looking through your window or did he somehow hear you another way? Were you just that loud?

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face before sucking in a sharp breath. The phone was covered in black power and as you looked down you realized your hands were too.

“Shit!” You spit out, stomping to the bathroom sink and staring at yourself in the mirror.

You looked a mess, your whole face streaked with eyeshadow. Angrily your wet a towel and scrubbed off the makeup from your cheeks and nose, washing you hands and then grabbing your makeup remover for a more gentle approach on your already irritated eyes.

But when you looked back at yourself, you realized it wasn’t all that bad. It actually looked kind of good? Maybe the trick was using your fingers instead of a brush, maybe just cleaning it up around the edges would fix it. You could salvage this as long as you stayed calm… probably.

First things first though you went and shut the window, closing the curtains before returning to your task.

Thirty minutes later you had penciled eyeliner and tinted lip gloss to go along with your surprisingly nice eyeshadow. You were proud, you looked good, you - felt - good.

You headed back to the kitchen, pulling out the scissors from the knife block, it was time to cut off shirt. You slipped it on over your bralette, pinching the fabric at the spot you wanted to cut along the midriff. Snipping a tiny hole there before moving to your shoulders and repeating the process.

Once the snips were put in place you lifted the shirt up and over your head again, cutting off the places you’d marked. The sleeves were gone, along with a good portion of the fabric that would normally hug your sides, the bralette peaking out from under the shirt. The new hem hit just above your belly button, the breeze from the fan tickling your skin.

You slipped on the ripped baggy jeans complete with your homemade rips and tears before allowing yourself to slump to the floor. You had about a hour to kill, you didn’t want to be extremely late and you didn’t want to be early so you planned to arrive about fifteen minutes after start time. You wanted to be able to sneak in and find a spot among the crowd until you were comfortable enough to make your way to the front.

You heard the pop and crack of Anakin’s car starting and the tell-tale sign of him leaving could be heard as he screeched out of his driveway. Another glance at the clock showed only 5 minutes had passed. You couldn’t just idly sit there, it was excruciating to wait for something you were so anxious for.

You stood up, deciding to stop at the gas station up the road and grabbed a bottle of Pepsi before heading off to your destination. That would kill some time, the old man behind the register always talked to much, you needed gas anyway. Smiling at your new plan you rushed to grab your keys and small wallet.

You pulled in at the warehouse and saw it was absolutely packed with cars, people milling about, smoking, music playing through speakers from a CD you didn’t recognize. You jogged inside, taking in the scene. It was incredible. The people were all so different, it was interesting to see so many kinds of people all mixed together in one place, interacting as if they all knew each other.

You weaved your way in a dense spot at the tail end of crowd just as Anakin and his band walked on the makeshift stage.

You could feel your heart race as you caught sight of Anakin, his usually gelled hair was shaggy and moving with attitude as he stepped onto the stage with his bandmates. The crowd erupted with cheers, as the front man introduced them all, the excitement and anticipation from the crowd palpable in the air.

He took his seat at his drum kit, his tongue poking out in concentration while twirling his drum sticks. It shouldn’t have been as attractive as it was, it wasn’t your fault that he exuded a magnetism that was hard to ignore.

The band began to play, a heavy wave of guitar and pounding drums filling the warehouse. The low growl of the lead singer was much more intense in person than what you had heard on CD’s.

You found yourself struck with awe, your eyes locked on Anakin. The way he thrashed about, fully immersed in the music, was both powerful and mesmerizing. It was as if he had tapped into something primal, expressing his raw emotions through each beat of the drum. It was something you’d never seen from him before, he was so focused, so in his element.

In your stupor you failed to see a younger man stumble your way after shoulder checking another person. He fell into you and immediately apologized, laughing at himself. He quickly realized you weren’t laughing along with him, in fact you looked quite miffed.

"Hey! First time?" He asked and you nodded quickly with eyes wide, he laughed and pulled you into a nearby group of people. They showed you what to do, shared the unspoken rules of events such as this and it was exhilarating.

You’d never have imagined yourself enjoying something as chaotic as this, but here you were, soaking it all in with enthusiasm. Laughter and excitement filled the space as they showed you the ropes, guiding you through the chaos of the wall to wall mosh pit. It was an exhilarating experience, completely freeing and liberating. You laughed and let go, surrendering to the atmosphere that surrounded you.

As the music reverberated through the warehouse, the room alive with pulsating energy. Each beat of Anakin's drumsticks echoed in perfect synchrony with the crowd's wild enthusiasm. You couldn't tear your eyes away as he effortlessly commanded the drums, his body moving wildly with the rhythm.

After bidding farewell to your newfound friends, you found yourself gradually making your way to the front, eager to witness Anakin's performance up close. The sight of him sent bolts of anticipation shooting through your veins. You smiled widely, unable to contain the surging energy bubbling within your chest.

The song reached its crescendo, the crowd roared their approval, their cheers crashing against the walls. Anakin's drumming intensified, his body drenched in sweat, his passion tangible in every stroke. It was a breathtaking sight, even more so when you realized he was playing some parts with his eyes closed. Facial muscles twitching occasionally with the effort of keeping himself on track.

They wasted no time in jumping into another song, and another, and another. It was bewildering to see how much effort it took to play with such intensity up close. How could they all keep up? How could Anakin not be exhausted already? He was throwing his entire being into beating those drums and making it look completely effortless despite the sweat dripping from his forehead.

The show had ended but the people hadn’t dispersed as much as you would’ve liked. You maneuvered through the crowd, heart sinking at the sight of Anakin surrounded by a group of girls vying for his attention. His eyes met yours, and you felt hopeful for just a moment, before reality crashed down on you as he turned away. Jealousy twisted in your gut, and you found yourself hesitating, unsure of what to do next. Should you wait and try to speak to him, or should you walk away, heart heavy with disappointment?

Feeling a mix of frustration and defeat, you took a step back, hiding in the shadows of taller people, observing from a safe distance. Anakin seemed disinterested in the attention, his eyes scanning the crowd as if searching for something--or someone.

But the sight of those girls clinging to him, vying for a moment of his time, stirred a sense of unease within you.

As you weighed your options, a new wave of frustration washed over you. You couldn't bear to watch any longer, feeling the sting of jealousy and insecurity gnawing at your confidence. With a pout, you turned on your heel and walked away, deciding that it was probably better to leave and nurse your wounded pride in solitude.

The journey back to the car felt heavy, each step punctuated by the weight of disappointment that pressed against your chest. It was only when you felt the cool metal of the car door beneath your clammy fingertips that you finally allowed the emotions to consume you.

Tears welled up in your eyes, their droplets tracing a path down your reddened cheeks as you crumpled into an emotional wreck. Sobs wracked your body, unleashing pent-up frustrations mingling with the raw ache of rejection. It was an agonizing release, the culmination of disappointment and longing that had been building within you. In that moment of vulnerability, you allowed yourself to grieve the connection you so desperately wanted but felt slipping through your fingers.

As time ticked by, the tears slowly subsided, leaving behind a sense of exhaustion and resignation. You wiped your cheeks, the dampness lingering as a reminder of your emotional unraveling. With a heavy sigh, you started the engine and prepared to drive away. Wanting nothing more than to escape the ache that lingered in the air.

By the time you shifted into drive there were even more people leaving the venue, the parking lot getting empty. You sighed, pulling out of the parking lot and speeding home.

"Great." You rolled your eyes and sniffled, Anakin had beat you home, he was standing on his front porch smoking a cigarette, shirtless.

His shirtless form glistened under the porch light, his sweaty t-shirt hanging haphazardly over the railing. You couldn't help but feel vulnerable in his presence. You sniffled, still fighting back the remnants of tears, as you stepped out of the car and closed the door with a soft thud.

"Bad date?" Anakin shouted, snickering.

"Guess you could say that." Under the cover of darkness he couldn't see your clothes and for that you were thankful.

You knew you would have to walk quickly so you could get into the house before he saw your clothes under the porch light. So you ran up your driveway and jogged up your steps.

"What the fuck are you wearing?" He barked out laughing.

He couldn't see the full outfit from this angle, just the tattered t-shirt.

"Stop it." You shouted, trying not to cry again as you fumbled with the keys.

His laugh filled the air as he witnessed you clumsily struggling in your disheveled state, the pain in his eyes masked by his laughter tinged with a touch of cruelty. Your heart sank further, emotions teetering on the edge of overwhelming you once more.

"Does baby need a hug?" He asked teasingly, hopping down from the second to last step of his porch and making his way to you.

"Stop it Anakin," You pleaded, desperation lacing your words as you dropped the keys.

You groaned, scooping them up hurriedly, desperate to get inside. But it was too late. Anakin was walking up the steps, taking in every detail of your very out of character clothes.

"What the fuck is this?” He asked pointing at the clothes with a confused expression.

"Stop. You're just gonna be mean." You said back.

Anakin's features softened, an uncharacteristic flicker of concern crossing his face. His fingers twitched as if resisting the urge to reach out and offer comfort.

You took a step back, heart pounding in your chest. You’d had seen the glimpses of his softer side, his capacity for care buried beneath layers of cynicism. But in that moment, you couldn't allow yourself to hope. His previous toxic behaviors and hurtful words echoed in your mind, urging you to protect yourself.

"Where were you?" Anakin's gaze remained fixed on you, his brows furrowed in confusion.

"Where were you?" You shot back hoping that the venom in your voice would convey your disappointment.

He didn't recognize you at his gig. After you tried so hard to impress him, now he was here making fun of you for dressing this way.

You could see the gears turning in his head as he tried to piece together the puzzle before him. But when his silence stretched on, your frustration grew.

"Where were you?" You asked again sharply.

You wanted him to feel the sting of disappointment, to understand the effort you had put into the night, only to be met with ridicule. You had hoped to impress him at his gig, to have him notice you, and now he stood before you mocking the very choices you had made to catch his eye.

Anakin's brows furrowed even deeper, a hint of remorse flickering across his features. He was adept at hiding his emotions, but in that moment, you saw a glimpse of regret in his eyes.

"You were at the gig, weren't you?" His tone had lost its earlier teasing edge, replaced instead by a heavy mix of confusion and realization.

A wave of emotions washed over you-disappointment, hurt, and even a tinge of anger. You had gone out of your way to support him, to be present in a world that wasn't yours, just for him. And in return, he didn’t even recognize you.

"It's doesn't matter if I was does it?" You asked, wiping your eyes.

He leaned in closer, the subtle scent of his Marlboro cigarettes mingling with the hint of his cologne and sweat. His voice, now gentle and sincere, reached your ears like a soothing melody.

"No, it does matter," he replied, his voice laced with regret.

"It's okay. I get it, I know what you're gonna say. I look dumb, I look like I'm trying to hard, I shouldn’t have even come to your show.” You sniffled, tugging at your shirt that now felt so uncomfortable.

Anakin's face fell as he listened to your words, sensing the insecurity and self-doubt that had clouded your thoughts.

"You don't look dumb. I didn't mean to make you feel that way." He ran his hands through hair, his tongue playing with his lip piercings.

“You don’t even look like yourself babydoll.” If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he sounded upset.

"But-" You had finally stopped crying and then your voice broke once again. "I thought you'd like it if I dressed like I belonged there."

He let out a low sigh, his fingers absently playing with the chain on his pants as he searched for the right words.

"I get why you did it, darlin'," he said, his voice gentle yet tinged with self-reproach. "You wanted to fit in. But listen, you don't have to change who you are for anyone, especially not me."

He stepped towards you, still not looking up.

"Its not that you don't look good, you do, you always do. But I know it's not you. You only wore that because of me. I don't want that, YOU don’t want that.” He sighed and finally looked into your eyes.

"I was looking for my pretty princess in a pink dress." He whispered, his hand coming up to your cheek.

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[heygerald]

Falling Without A Harness - Chapter 8

AU where Tom Ryder is still an asshole, just not a psychotic one. Invited along to his party, Parker spends the entire time trying to compare the Tom Ryder being celebrated with the one that she was starting to know. Oddly enough, it seemed that no one else knew him like she did.

Read the story here: prev / next

"Ho-ly shit."

Parker peeled her sunglasses off the bridge of her nose to cast a bug-eyed glance towards the looming mansion. The driveway, long and filled to the brim with parked cars worth more than her entire life savings, led up to one of the nicest houses she had ever seen. Gail's was the only one in competition, but while the producer's house had been a modern deco build with glass walls and white washed everything, this one was a Mediterranean style villa. Cobblestone led up to the front porch, large pillars jutting up to a three story foyer, with ivy sprawled over the entirety of the front half.

Holy shit was right.

"I can't believe this is where he lives," Colt muttered with a shake of the head. They were slowly ambling towards the valet parking, and music could be heard pulsing in the distance.

Parker leant between the two fronts seats, seatbelt unbuckled, to angle her head back for a better view. "Really?" she asked with a laugh. "Because this is exactly the type of place that I would picture him living."

"No way," he argued, petering up the drive. "Tom is all about fancy and new and having his face plastered on everything. I pictured him living in a Tom Cruise style mansion. Huge windows, glass ceilings, a petting zoo. That type of thing."

"Does Tom Cruise have a petting zoo?" Jody mused from the passenger seat.

"Well... probably," Colt shrugged.

Parker sighed, tilting her head to spare Jody an over the top eyeroll. "Colt thinks that all rich people have petting zoos. Something about the illegal zebra trade."

"Ivory trade."

"He watched one documentary and now he thinks he's David Attenborough," she chirped.

Her brother didn't take kindly to that, however, and planted his palm squarely into her face to push her into the backseat. She swatted him away, but the damage to her hair had already been done, and as Jody giggled into her hand, Parker tried to smooth it down. "It's Sir David Attenborough," he corrected her. Jody, amused as always by his antics, listened intently as he added, "and it wasn't just one documentary. There's a whole bunch out there about the exotic animal trade. Really heinous stuff, you know. Tom Cruise is definitely knee deep in it. He's the A-lister, after all. I bet he has one of those safari themed rooms with taxidermy endangered animals stuck up all over the walls. Rhinos for sure."

"Oh, for sure," she agreed.

They smiled at one another as Colt drew his truck to a stop. A valet appeared on both sides, opening a door for both Colt and Jody. Parker clambered out behind them—a disgruntled glare shot towards the valets that had completely ignored her—as Colt handed over the keys.

"Be easy with her, yeah? She's hard to handle if you don't know what you're doing," he said. Of course, with all the other cars surrounding them being Ferraris and Range Rovers, his pickup was the least expensive thing they had to worry about. When one of the boys coughed into his fist, Parker grabbed her brother by the elbow and hauled him towards the door. "What—it's a 2015!"

"I think they know what they're doing," she said.

"It has a wonky shift!"

"You're a wonky shift."

Colt snatched his arm out of her grasp as they approached the front door. He looked scandalized at her comment, and Parker couldn't help but return the favor by running a hand through his hair.

Of course, he had a problem with that, and as he shoved her away she could only laugh. A good thing she wasn't wearing heels; the cobblestone entry way was hard enough to walk on in sneakers, and if Jody hadn't been there to catch her, Parker may have gone face first into Tom's expensive garden. But, the blonde was there to catch her, and as Colt fixed his hair, the girls linked arms with matching smiles.

"Well, I for one can't wait to see what the inside looks like," Jody said conversationally. "I still can't believe that he invited us."

"Why not?"

Colt popped up on her other side, fringe back in place. "Because he's never invited us to his house. For anything. Ever. Like... ever. In the history of working for him. Literal years, Park. I'm not even allowed inside his trailer."

She shrugged. "First time for everything, right?"

Her brother didn't share her sentiments. In fact, as a pair of staff opened the front door for them, he almost looked trepidatious with a frown firmly in place.

Jody, on the other hand, was smiling excitedly. "First time for everything," she echoed.

Parker grinned at her. Then at her brother.

He rolled his eyes, but eventually a smile cracked through his apprehension. "Whatever. You think they have Bud Light?"

Music and chatter met the trio in a wave as they stepped through the front door. Jody was right to be excited—the inside of the house was far more gorgeous than the outside—and though the mass of people were all arguably important, respectable figures in Hollywood, all of them seemed to having good times with smiles and drinks in hands. No different than any other party they had been to before. Not really, anyway.

At the far side of the room was a fully stocked bar, waiters moving to and fro to serve the guests.

"Yeah, Colt," Parker laughed. "I think they have Bud Light."

---

Tom Ryder's house was exactly what Parker pictured it to be; a little bit Gucci, a little bit modern, a whole lot of colorful stucco decorated with oddly shaped mirrors, and an insurmountable number of pictures and self-portraits propped up throughout the room. Cardboard cut-outs of Tom in costumes from some of his most famous movies were sprawled throughout the living room, fashion shows and MTV interviews playing soundlessly on the large TVs, with balloons and banners stuck to every available space. If she didn't know better she might have thought that he was running for presidency with how many surfaces his face was plastered on.

Even standing at the bar, elbow propped on the cool marble surface, there were napkins with Tom Ryder quotes and trivia questions scattered along it.

"To see yourself on the screen is to be loved," one quote said. Another, printed, "Hollywood isn't just about believing, it's about doing."

Parker snorted, but tucked them into her purse anyway. Every quote was as ridiculous and vapid as the last. In one sense, she could absolutely picture Tom Ryder, face of the new Versace cologne, saying these things completely seriously to whatever reporter was listening. On the other hand, she also couldn't ever picture anyone saying these things outside of a movie script.

A bad one, too.

She was in the middle of reaching for the next in the pile when someone slumped against the bar beside her. She thought for a second that it was Colt—blonde fringe carefully swept away from the forehead with meticulous detail, beard trimmed neatly along his jawline, white toothed smile in place—but she had also left her brother in conversation with some directors outside by the pool with specific instructions not to move until she came back.

Besides, something about his presence just felt different.

Parker was smiling before she even met his gaze.

"I was wondering where you were hiding," she chirped.

Tom rolled his eyes. He was dressed in a silk button down with patterns of black and gold that accentuated the color of his hair, and a pair of black jeans. Last week's sunglasses had been replaced with his funky pair of yellow tinted glasses. Casual, yet she knew his outfit likely cost over a grand for the designer tags alone. "Are you already drinking?"

"Hardly," she huffed, glancing at the overcrowded bar. "I can't get anyone to take my—"

All it took was for him to wave a hand for a bartender to materialize, and Parker blinked in surprise. "Doubleshot vodka soda on the rocks, and a cosmopolitan," he said.

"Oh, I don't drink cosmos—" she started, only for the bartender to vanish before her eyes to get their drink orders started. She blinked a second time, mouth agape. "Huh. Now I know how pretty girls at bars feel."

"You think I'm a pretty girl?"

"You definitely have the attitude of one," she teased. Tom bent an elbow, turning to face her, and although they were in a room full of people overcrowded with music and chatter, there was something so captivating about Tom's attention that made it feel like she was the only person around. She cleared her throat, waving a napkin around languidly. "These are fun."

He rolled his eyes. "Gail loves that shit."

"I think this one is my favorite. To act is to be another person ," she quoted, wiggling her brows exaggeratedly. "Very insightful."

"Who invited you?"

Parker shrugged, plopping the napkin down onto the bar. "Some asshole I think," she mused. "I really only came for the chance to snoop through his house. I bet I could sell some hand towels for a couple hundred dollars each on eBay if I said you used them before."

He harrumphed. "Unlike Gail, I lock my doors."

"Spoilsport."

He shook his head with a chuckle just as the bartender set two glasses down in front of them. The cosmopolitan, though pink and delicate, had Parker crinkling her nose distastefully. She glanced up, hoping to flag the bartender back down, but the woman was gone.

The sound of clinking glass drew her attention, and Parker watched as Tom settled the vodka soda on her napkin, before taking a sip of the cosmopolitan. "I can't believe you don't like cosmopolitans."

"I can't believe you do. I feel like I read a quote of yours citing toxic masculinity as the best thing to come out of the older generation," she mused, glancing around at the mess of napkins she had made. "Pretty sure you said pink was for babies."

"I never said that."

"I'm telling you—"

"And salmon is the color of the season," he corrected her with another sip of his cocktail. She laughed, chancing a sip of her own, and though it was strong, it was fucking good. "Ask Melissa, she'll tell you that pink is very in right now."

"Oh, Christ, don't get me started," Parker groaned. The entire week had been spent getting Melissa up to speed on how to work the cash register, how to log new books, and how dreamy Tom Ryder was. Every other question out of the girl's mouth had been about the actor, and while Parker put up with a lot, even she had to put her foot down when Melissa started throwing around the boyfriend term. "She's pretty much the de facto president of Winward High's Tom Ryder fan club, you know. Now that she knows we're friends she's never going to leave my store."

He shrugged, casting a lithe glance around. "What's wrong with that? She clearly has good taste."

"Clearly," Parker deadpanned. "Her friends have started hanging around the store too thinking they'll spot you."

"Maybe they will."

She paused, straw pinched between her fresh manicure, to arch her brows at him accordingly. "You plan on coming by every Sunday to judge our progress or something?"

Her tone was teasing and light, but there was a weight behind the question. Are you planning on sticking around? she was asking without really asking.

Maybe he sensed that or maybe she wasn't as suave as she thought because in response Tom cast her a dry look. "You expect me to go to a real bookstore every time I need a recommendation?" he asked. And though it was quite clearly an insult against her little store, in another sense, it was also quite clearly not. "At least at your store I know I won't get mobbed with attention."

She huffed. "Well, you might, if Melissa's friends stick around."

Tom took another long sip of his drink before saying, "she's not so bad. And who am I to turn away some adoring fans, huh?"

"I almost forgot. You love attention," Parker deadpanned through a growing smile. It was hard sometimes to remember why she had disliked him so thoroughly when they first met—regardless of what Colt said, Tom was certainly charming. "Nice party, by the way."

He shot her a smug look. "Oh, this?"

"Oh, this? Whatever," she laughed. Her vodka soda was going down a little too easy as they talked, and with a shake of the quickly emptying glass, she had to remind herself that she absolutely could not get drunk at this function. Colt's birthday party was one thing, but this was altogether something else. "A very casual afternoon for you, I'd guess. I'm surprised you're not being mobbed by fans right here, too."

He waved a hand at her. "I've been networking all afternoon. Besides, most of the people here are advertisers or producers that I've already worked with in one way or another. If anyone wants to sign me for something they have to talk to Gail, not me. Really, it's more her party than mine with how much attention she's getting today."

Parker glanced at the large cardboard cut-out of a shirtless Tom Ryder from his movie The Puncher. She lifted a brow. "Really? I could hardly tell. You ever get creeped out from seeing your face everywhere?"

He followed her eyeline, and smirked. "Not when I look like that. I had to put on twenty pounds for that role."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah," he said, nodding, something offended in his tone that she didn't believe him. A lot of things could be said about Tom, but no one could claim that he was lazy when it came to his acting. "I had to give up sugar for six months."

Parker blinked at him. "Seriously?"

"Alcohol too."

She glanced back at the cut-out, paying more attention to the cut of his muscles and the leanness of his body. It felt odd ogling the man that was literally standing next to her, but when she passed her gaze back over the real Tom, he seemed to be greatly enjoying the attention. Smugly, he flexed a bicep at her.

Parker couldn't help but throw her hands up with a laugh. "Alright, alright! I believe you. Not to say I'm an actor or anything but I can't believe you gave up alcohol for that role. I don't think I could do that. Not that I'm an alcoholic or anything, but, I don't know. That sounds awful."

"S'not as easy as everyone thinks. Being an actor."

She tilted her glass at him. "Well, I'm sorry I ever doubted you, Mr. Ryder. Good thing you can drink now, right?"

He blinked at her for a moment, assessing how serious she was, and when she gestured to him a second time with her glass, his shoulders lost some tension she didn't even realizing he was carrying. Smirking, Tom clinked his own glass against hers.

Together, they finished their drinks.

She wiped some spilt vodka off her chin as Tom glanced around. Despite him being the center of attention, he was right. It seemed that the party was happy to exist around him without even needing him. Though, every odd glance his way earned a wave or an acknowledging nod of the head, no one seemed desperate to interrupt his drink.

He turned to her. "Colt here?"

"Over by the pool. I think Jody was trying to introduce herself to some people from Warner Brothers when I left. You want to go say hi?"

He licked his lips, before gesturing to the bartender. "Four shots of vodka," he said. Parker lifted her brows at him in surprise. "What?"

"I thought we were supposed to be on our best behavior."

Tom shrugged with an indifferent sniff. "Yeah, well, it's my party right? Besides, I've spent all day entertaining these assholes. May as well see what kind of shit Colt has going on. I've got to talk to him about the movie schedule anyways."

Four shot glasses with lime wedges were set down onto the bar. Tom picked up two, and when Parker did nothing but blink at him, he gestured to them impatiently.

"Fuck, come on before someone does decide they want a picture."

"Why would they want a picture when they could just steal a poster?" she mused, though she did pick up the shot glasses. After stashing another wad of napkins into her purse, of course.

"Don't steal my shit, Parker."

"What—I didn't say I was going to!"

He scoffed, but there was a laugh hidden in there as well, and when he gestured at her a second time she figured there were worse ways to get into trouble then a few measly shots. Besides, he was offering. Where was the harm in that?

The crowd parted for Tom without him even having to ask, and as she hustled after him, she couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to have everyone worship you, but from a distance.

"Hey, listen," she said, crowding up against his shoulder. "Colt might ask you some weird questions about the exotic animal trade. He thinks all rich people secretly own zebras. Something he saw on a documentary."

"Do you really think I'd let a zebra in here? I'm allergic to them. Plus they bite."

"Wh—how could you possibly know that?"

Tom glanced at her over his shoulder with a look she couldn't quite interpret. She was pretty sure from the flatness of his brows that he was judging her, but then again, she got the distinct impression that Tom was always judging her in one way or another. It seemed a default setting for him. "I had to get allergy shots when I did that Dior commercial," he said, voice almost swallowed by the music around them. When he shrugged, she felt the ripple of muscles from where she was pressed up against him. "Besides, you ever been to Tom Cruise's house? The place is crawling in them."

That sparked more questions than she could rightly keep track of, but Tom kept on walking as though it was an entirely normal thing to say.

So, with a huff, she just followed after.

---

The afternoon sun was warm on her shoulders, but Parker didn't seem to notice from her spot on the couch. People milled all around the pool—models walking by with oversized hats to protect their skin, producers speaking behind Kardashian style sunglasses that covered most of their face, directors caught up in spirited debates about whatever they thought the best movie of the year was—yet somehow the group of four had managed to find a little spot all to themselves away from the crowd.

The patio furniture was gorgeous; a blend of wood and metal work that was just as pretty as it was functional. There was a mix of empty glasses across the table. Their shot glasses, long since empty, had been carted off sometime ago by waitstaff. In their place were crystal glasses and crumpled napkins. Jody was currently nursing a chilled glass of wine, while Colt was responsibly finishing off a water to counter all the mojitos he'd already drank. Tom had an array of fancy cocktails that he'd finished off throughout the afternoon, and beside him Parker was working on her third double vodka soda.

She could feel her nose tingling a bit, legs fluid and weightless from where they were tucked beneath her.

The whole don't drink too much from the open bar sentiment had been disregarded almost as soon as she got there. Though she wasn't trying to make an ass of herself, it was obvious that Tom wasn't the lightweight she had teased him with being. He had been steadily drinking himself through the unlimited bar, and despite not intending to do the same, every time he ordered a new drink, miraculously something would appear for Parker as well.

Not that she minded. Open bars were spectacular, and she was having too much fun to turn down a free drink.

"—so, anyway, I'm telling you," Colt was in the middle of saying, hands gestured wide and face a rosy red as he laughed. He smacked the umbrella at his side as he talked, but didn't even seem to notice. "The drop was fifty feet, and I was supposed to do it without any sort of harness."

"Isn't that a safety hazard?"

"Well, he was just dropping into the water," Tom shrugged. "That's not bad, right? Water is soft."

"Water is so not soft," Parker corrected with an incredulous giggle. "It's like hitting solid concrete! Especially from that height. He had bruises for days!"

Tom furrowed his brows. "Nah... seriously?"

"Well, uh, I mean," her brother hedged. Whatever sort of comradery that had been building between him and Tom over the last week didn't seem to negate the fact that Tom was still his boss. Anxiously, he tugged at the collar of his jacket. "S'not like falling onto pillows."

This was apparently a shock to Tom. "Seriously? You did that stunt, like, four times!"

"Right, yes, I did. I did do it like four times. But, you know, that's because the angle wasn't right and they wanted me to show less face and then there was the whole issue with my hair..." he trailed off, shrugging. "Which, totally fine. Hair is hair, I get it."

Tom thoughtfully trailed a hand through his own hair.

"But, anyway," Colt continued. Always smiling, never one to linger on bad feelings and unfortunate facts. "So, I'm sitting there, right? Totally scared shitless as everything is prepped because the night before, Parker, that asshole, had sent me all these links to a story about someone getting eaten by a shark!"

The memory came flooding back, and though she probably should have felt bad, she was too occupied by laughing at how hilarious the whole thing was. "I didn't know you were going to be in the water at the same place!" she defended with a cry. "It was a viral story! How is it my fault that a shark decided to have a surfer for lunch?"

"Oh, well, when you put it like that... I guess you could have kept that to yourself!"

The couch erupted in laughter. Partially because Colt was just as funny as he was expressive, and partially because the idea that he had been jumping fifty feet into the water but was worried about sharks was entirely ridiculous.

"Were you alright?" Jody asked.

"Who? Me?" Colt sniffed, a hand run through his own hair. He never played cool all that well, but that certainly never stopped him from trying. Parker shared an amused look with Tom. "Fine. Totally good. Not even a scratch. You know, it was a big jump too. But I did it four times and the footage came out really good. Not to brag or anything but it was the biggest jump I've done so far."

"Sounds awful."

"Very scary."

"Horrific," she continued to emphasize with him. Drunk or not, Parker wondered if Jody was ever not staring at her brother like he lit up the room. She didn't have to ask that question about Colt—when Jody was around, she swore he would walk face first into a concrete wall. "I'll add that to the list of very brave things that you do."

He made some sort of suave joke that Parker couldn't—and more importantly didn't—want to hear that had the pair leaning on each other in giggles.

Parker took a long sip of her drink before shooting Tom a derisive look.

"Isn't there a rule on set about fraternizing?"

He looked just as disturbed as she did. "Should be. Maybe I could work that into the next contract."

"I bet you have good lawyers."

"Very good."

In the same tone that Jody had used, she said, "how brave of you. I can't imagine ever leaving the house without a team of lawyers to protect me."

She was obviously teasing, and he was well aware of that. Yet, when Tom looked at her, Parker couldn't help but flush under his attention. They were pressed into one another on the couch, having been shifted closer and closer over the afternoon every time a story was told or drinks were passed out, and from this distance she could smell his cologne.

Musky and light at the same time; lemons and saltwater.

The moment passed when his face split into a grin, and just like she had been judging Colt and Jody moments before, the pair peeled forward with their own laughter.

It wasn't until an ice cube bounced off her forehead did she control herself enough to return her attention to her brother.

He had a weird look on his face; eyes bouncing back and forth between her and Tom. "What are you laughing at, weirdo?"

"Inside joke," she chirped, if only because she knew it would bother him even more to be left out. "You wouldn't understand."

As expected, Colt sat up straighter with a frown. "I'll understand. I understand everything about you. You know, since I'm you're best friend. Have been for years. Pretty much know everything about you, Park. Duh."

"You're not my best friend."

"What—what do you mean I'm not your best friend?" he hissed incredulously. Jody sipped her wine calmly, glancing between Colt and Parker as he practically leaned over her lap to argue. "Of course I'm your best friend!"

"Am I your best friend?"

Colt spluttered. "Well of course you are! You know, just behind Dan. And Johnny. And Pete has been with me for a long time, you know, through the whole... that doesn't matter. I'm your best friend! I know I am! Who else would it possibly be?"

Parker leaned closer. Jody was now angled back, trying to avoid being smacked by either of the siblings. "Doesn't matter. So why don't you mind your business?"

"Mind my—?" Colt let out a sound halfway between a groan and a squeal, and Parker settled back into her seat with a proud grin.

Honestly, he was so easy to rile up.

So easy in fact that Jody had to pat him on the shoulder, shifting between Colt and Parker so that she could console him. Parker could still make out his frown; hear his harsh muttering as well. She giggled into her straw, pleased as punch.

"And you think I'm an asshole," Tom muttered into her ear.

She smirked at him. "You are an asshole."

The same flicker of disbelief that her brother had worn flashed across Tom's face, and it only disappeared when she pitched forward in giggles.

"I swear you two are so easy to mess with!" she cackled.

He rolled his eyes, shoving her hand off his shoulder when she attempted to console him in the same way that Jody was consoling Colt. "Didn't you say something about personally kicking you out? I think I remember that being part of our negotiations."

With all the elegance she could muster, Parker stuck her tongue out at him.

Perhaps no one had done that to him since middle school, but it shocked Tom so much that he ended up coughing up his last sip of his pina colada. That only prompted her to laugh harder, of course, and even though she was quite literally laughing at his expense, the couch shook when he started laughing too.

It was nice.

And then, suddenly, it wasn't.

"Well, this looks like a good bit of fun I've just stumbled into," a cloying voice called from the edge of their couch.

Parker didn't recognize the woman watching them, but it seemed by their reactions that the other three were well familiar with her. Colt and Tom covered their laughter with coughs and large swallows of their drinks, while Jody smoothed a hand nervously through her hair. It was an immediate sort of reaction—the type kids had when the principle stopped by—and though she didn't even know her, Parker couldn't help but to fix her own hair as well.

"No, no, please, don't stop on my regard," she said, waving perfectly manicured nails at them. The gold bracelets on her arms jingled harmoniously around the diet code and rum in her hand. A striped paper straw, tainted with the equally bright red of her lipstick, swung around in the glass. "I'm so glad that you're all enjoying yourselves so much. I rarely get this glimpse of your personal lives outside of the set."

Her brother cleared his throat under her attention, a strained smile plastered in place. "Yeah, well, you know, it's a little hard to do that when you don't normally have anything to do with us outside the set," he said.

Parker's frown deepened, but the woman only laughed.

"Charming as ever, Colt! And Jody," she added, peering around Parker. The camerawoman gave an awkward smile in response. "It's so nice to see you too, my dear. I really do have quite a few people here that I think you should talk to. Lots of talent everywhere you look, really. You could learn so much just by a few conversations; it'd be so really good for your career, dear."

"Oh. Uh, of course," she nodded. "I'd love to meet anyone. I've noticed that—"

"Tom, of course, I know. Hello my darling, my shining star," she carried on as if Jody hadn't spoken at all. She responded by taking a long swig of her drink while Colt muttered something behind the curve of his hand. Parker would have paid more attention to their whispering if the woman's gaze didn't move to her next. "And who might this be?"

Tom cleared his throat. "This is Parker."

"Uh, hi," she said with an awkward half wave.

"This is Gail," he continued with another gesture. "My producer."

Oh.

Oh.

Gail the producer was not quite what Parker was expecting. And yet, in another way, she was everything that she had been expecting. Dressed elegantly in a black pantsuit, neck adorned with gold jewelry that matched the heavy earrings dangling from her ears, Gail was certainly wealthy. She had a pair of red bottomed shoes on, the type of tinted glasses that were certainly more for appearances than necessity, and her hair was in large mussed curls around her head that probably cost a hundred dollars a piece. Her makeup was spotless despite the drink in her hand, and her smile was the mega-watt type that only existed in Hollywood.

Yet, it didn't feel friendly. In fact, as Gail's gaze slipped over Parker in a torturously slow slide, she couldn't help but feel that nothing about the woman was sincere.

And that's exactly what she was starting to suspect from Tom's stories, wasn't it? That the producer wasn't so much his friend as she was in the person in charge of him.

That certainly felt true now as her smile shifted to Tom.

"Oh, this is Parker?" she asked in a high pitched voice. If possible, her smile stretched further. "Darling, so good to meet you. I had no idea that you would be joining us today—I certainly didn't think I saw your names on the guest list—but the more the merrier! Besides, I feel that I should be thanking you."

"Sorry," Parker did a double take. "Thanking me?"

"Well, you are the one that convinced Tom here to go for that sci-fi role, aren't you?" she mused, fingers carefully sticking her straw back into her mouth as she took a long sip.

"Oh, I don't think I—"

"No need to be so shy, darling! Tom told me all about it. Course, that was only after I found him reading a stack of books to prepare for the role; so dedicated this one. I had a hard enough time getting him to consider a romance movie last year," Gail continued, laughing, "and it barely took any help from you at all to get him in excited for this film. Brilliant, darling, really. I'm always telling him that he should try to expand his portfolio. And this? Well, I think this is going to be the next big thing!"

Tom took a long dreg of his drink at the comment. Parker frowned.

She hadn't done anything. It was Tom's idea to go for the audition. And hadn't Gail been telling him he wasn't right for it in the first place?

Knowing when not to be mouthy, however, kept Parker's questions to herself. She nudged Tom with her elbow, and only when he glanced at her out of the corner of her eye, did she say, "I think you're probably right. This movie will be the next big thing. Sci-fi is really in right now, you know. Right Colt?"

Her brother blinked at her like he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Subtly, Parker gave him a look. "Oh, yeah, totally. Sci-fi is huge ever since, er, Star Trek got big again. This movie is gonna be a blockbuster, Gail. Definitely a game changer for, uh, Tom."

Gail hummed. "Yes, certainly. And all thanks to the star sitting right here with us. I've always said Chris Pine was nothing compared to him."

Tom gave an awkward laugh. "We haven't even started filming yet."

"Oh, hush, darling," she waved a hand at him flippantly. Parker couldn't imagine anyone dismissing Tom Ryder like that and him taking it, but his only response was to take another sip of his drink. It was empty, however, and without being asked, she offered hers.

Tom drank half of it in a single gulp.

"He's so humble, isn't he?" Gail continued cooing. "Sitting over here, all by himself. Darling, there are so many people that still want to talk to you! You can't expect to hide out all afternoon."

"Are we chopped liver?" Colt muttered under his breath, only to be shushed by Jody.

Gail didn't hear, and instead patted Tom on the shoulder with an affectionate tut. "Come on, there are a few people from Disney that want to talk to you. Big things coming already from this movie! Just think about it; this could be the next Disney prince!"

He shifted under her touch, but managed a smile. The very type that was plastered inside on every available surface. Once upon a time, it was the smile she associated with him—the Tom Ryder that everyone saw scattered across the globe—but now, seeing it just had Parker's stomach dropping.

"Fine. But I'm not singing."

"Oh, no, of course not dear. We can always have vocals brought in from someone else if it comes to that..."

The pair disappeared into the crowd, though Parker swore she could hear Gail's laugh like nails on a chalkboard. She shook the last it of her drink with a sigh, ice clinking together.

"So, that's Gail, huh?"

Colt blew a raspberry. "Don't even get me started. Once, someone got stung by a bee, and she ranted for twenty minutes at filming being held up because they needed an epi-pen. She's the only person I've ever met that's worse than Tom."

"She's the scariest women I've ever met," Jody said. Then, with a thoughtful glance around, added, "do you think there really are people here that want to meet me?"

And just like that, things went back to normal, as her brother's face lit up with a dreamy smile. "I'd bet everyone here wants to meet you."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm serious!" he said. Two men drifting by their couch caught his attention, and Colt cupped his hands at them. "Hey! I've got Jody Moreno over here! Waiting to be talked to! Step right up!"

"Colt!" she hissed. But she was laughing too as she tugged his hands back down into his lap. Her face was beet red when the men raised their brows at her curiously. "I can't believe you've just done that. Honestly!"

Her brother didn't see the problem, and just shrugged. "What?"

And while Jody spent the next twenty minutes swatting at him in humiliation every time he tried to pull someone into conversation with her, Parker couldn't help the way that her shoulders dropped in disappointment when every new person passing by turned out not to be the only one she wanted to talk to.

Fucking Gail.

---

Turns out, drinking from an open bar whilst sitting around the pool was a recipe for getting drunker than one intended. Parker hadn't moved from their spot on the couch in over two hours, and by the time she decided she really had to pee, her movements weren't nearly as harmonious with her thoughts as they had been.

In fact, when she stood up, she almost went careening right into Jody's lap. And though she had been considering another vodka soda the way her brother teased her was advice enough to start drinking some water. Afterall, if Colt thought she was making an ass of herself, she was a lot worse off than she thought.

So, after a wobbly trip to the bathroom where she had splashed some cold water onto her face, and an extra cold water from the bar, Parker had firmly told herself that she wasn't going to drink any more. It was getting late, anyway, and they would have to leave eventually. It would do no one any good if she threw up on the windy rode back to Colt's place—especially not when it would be the second Friday in a row that those exact circumstances played out—and the idea of having to polish her brother's truck as an apology was enough to have her start sobering up.

But, by the time she got her second water from the bar, the party seemed to have moved outside as the sunset proved a beautiful backdrop for selfies. Crowded and surrounded by cameras was not something Parker was interested in.

So, while everyone else moved outside, Parker decided to wander around inside.

It was a gorgeous house. Prettier than Gail's, she thought, because while the producer's had been that sort of minimalistic white that was taking over Beverly Hills, this one was a painting of orange and red, framed memorabilia scattered across the walls, bohemian patterned rugs soundless beneath her sneakers as she aimlessly drifted throughout. A framed hockey jersey was the only thing that felt out of place, but Tom hadn't been wrong when he scolded her interior design skills; she really wasn't one to judge, and so she shrugged it off without much thought to amble on past. There was a landing at the top of his stairs just like Gail's, one that was crowded with people and drinks, and though there was a hallway that had clearly been roped off from public access, no one seemed to nice when Parker ducked underneath the rope and disappeared around the corner.

She supposed that was something she could apologize for later, but when she stumbled across an ivy colored balcony, she couldn't begrudge herself for being curious.

It sat on the side of the house, hidden well behind an overhang of trees that blocked the neighboring houses from view. A stack of yoga mats sat in the corner, weights and endurance bands sitting next to them, and a worn rug silenced her shoes as she peered over the wall. On her tip toes she could just make out the front drive, Colt's truck parked all the way at the end, but for the most part she felt hidden from everything.

"I thought I told you not to steal anything."

Or, almost everything, anyways.

Parker snorted, but flung her purse to Tom. He caught it and one handedly started to shift through its contents. His brows furrowed together. "It's just napkins."

"Some coasters too. How do you even get your face printed on a coaster?"

"Money."

She sucked her teeth dramatically. "So that's why I don't have my face on wooden coasters. Add it to the Christmas wish-list I guess."

Tom dropped her purse onto the small table with an eyeroll, before plopping down onto the small loveseat next to it. He didn't seem amused by her joke. "This area is blocked off. There's a rope and everything to keep people from snooping."

"Is there?" she mused. "Huh. Weird. I don't think I saw that."

"Are you drunk?"

She blew a raspberry with one last view at the drive before joining him on the couch. Her drink sloshed a bit, but she hardly noticed as she offered it to him. Smiling, she said, "water."

Tom turned his nose up at her. "At least if you spill that everywhere it won't ruin anything."

"It happened one time."

"Do you know how much I pay my interior designer?"

Parker set her water down onto the table with an eyeroll, but not one that missed the dangling windchimes or the birdfeeder in the corner. "Honestly, probably plenty, but I like your house, so it's worth it."

"Oh, you think it's worth it? Thank god. I was worried it wouldn't be to your taste," he snarked. It was unusually aggressive for him, though. Like he used to talk to her. Mean and cagey, with a bite to each syllable. "I'm not sure what I would do if my house didn't get your approval. Might have to buy a new one."

"O-kay," she drawled. "That was rude. What's up with you?"

"Nothing is up with me."

"Sure," she said with furrowed brows. He huffed at her tone, sneering. Awkwardly, Parker gestured between them. "Do you want to talk about it? Or would you rather keep acting like a passive aggressive dick?"

"Better idea. Why don't you just fuck off?" he snapped.

For a moment, Parker could only blink at him in surprise. He'd been an ass plenty of times before, but he'd never been this outrightly rude to her. She thought he might change his tone, hoped that he would admit it was all just a joke, but instead Tom just sat there with a glare.

And fuck if that didn't hurt.

"Alright, fine," she stood, throwing her hands up. Surprise flashed across his face, clearly not having expected her to give up so easily, but she was a grown women; friends or not, Parker did not linger where she wasn't wanted. Grabbing her purse, she said, "if you'd rather yell at me then I'm going to find Colt. I think we're going to leave soon anyway."

She crossed half the porch before Tom scoffed.

"Seriously? That's it? Fucking great. You're welcome for the invites, by the way. I'm sure you drank your worth at the open bar so you may as well leave like everyone else."

"That's not fair."

"Whatever," he waved a hand at her dismissively. "If you're going to go then just go. Now that you're done snooping around and drinking I'm not sure why'd you want to stay anyway."

She crossed her arms at him, breathing sharply through her nose, trying to level out just which emotion she was feeling the most. Hurt? Betrayal? Stupid?

"Well, what do you want me to do, Tom? Huh? If you're going to be an ass then I'm going to leave you alone because I don't deserve to be treated like that. Especially since you know I didn't come for free alcohol," she said, voice hitching. He looked away from her with a stony silence. Parker continued. "I came to celebrate you . But it's your house, and your party, so if this is how it's going to be I'm going to leave. Which is—that's fine if you'd rather be left alone, alright, that's not a sin to need some space—but you can't talk to me like that just because something upset you."

"I'm not upset."

She shook her head. "Well you're either upset or you're just an asshole."

"You made it very clear which you thought I was."

Parker ground her teeth together, knowing that there were quite a lot of things she could say to that, but also well aware that he was baiting her. Slowly, she took a deep breath before biting out, "I'm not sorry that I called you an asshole the first time we met because you were being one. But," she continued, shifting on her feet with an even deeper sigh, "I'm sorry that I keep calling you one. Alright? It was a joke. I thought you knew that I don't really think that. Well, didn't before right now."

He said nothing.

She sighed a second time, awkwardly adjusting her purse on the crook of her shoulder.

He wasn't looking at her. In fact, he was pointedly looking anywhere but at her as her words echoed across the balcony. They could still hear music drifting from the other side of the house, the occasional crunch of tires across gravel up the driveway, the chatter of happy, drunk people from all around.

Deciding not to linger she swallowed her pride to leave.

"...alright."

She paused, glancing over at him. "Alright, you want to be alone?"

He cleared his throat, still not looking directly at her, before he gestured to her vacated seat beside him. "Alright, you can stay."

Despite his apparent humility, Parker felt her temper flare at his wording a second time.

Who did he think he was?

"Oh, how gracious of you to let me stay. Thanks."

"What do you want me to say?" he shot back, finally looking at her. There was something in his gaze she wasn't used to seeing—something hurt and angry and lonely. She couldn't understand how someone could ever feel lonely at a party thrown in his honor. Then again, Parker supposed it wasn't really in his honor, was it? Sure, it was his face plastered everywhere, but the only people that she had seen him talk to were ones asking for something. He ran a hand through his hair. "If you want to stay then stay. You don't have to be so fucking difficult about it."

"I'm not being difficult, you're just in a mood."

"I'm not—" he started to refute, tension lingering in his words, before catching himself. She watched him take a deep breath, eyes studying something she couldn't see. He gestured to the seat next to him a second time. "Just... stay, alright?"

It wasn't an apology. It wasn't even close to an apology. He didn't meet her eyes, didn't take back what he had said, didn't change his tone.

And yet for a reason she couldn't pinpoint... she stayed.

Parker took a calming breath, glancing at the picturesque sky, reminding herself of the good mood and fun she had been having moments before this conversation. When she felt her pulse return to a normal level she sat back down, purse plopped against the table with a rattling thud. Tom was playing with some frayed thread from his jeans as if she wasn't even there.

The petty part of Parker argued that was fine by her. If he wanted to play the quiet game, than she could play the quiet game.

But the other part of Parker...

Well, it felt bad for him. Which was ridiculous. He was an A-list movie star with a Beverly Hills mansion that overlooked the city hosting a gigantic party to celebrate his latest movie contract. He was constantly the center of attention, constantly being catered to, constantly having people sing his praises not caring if he treated them like he had just treated her. He had his own fan club for fuck's sake.

What did he have to be upset over?

That wasn't fair though. Parker knew it wasn't. Tom had proven time and time again that his life wasn't all rainbows and sunshine; that he didn't get to do whatever he wanted, that he wasn't the same face she saw on advertisements.

"Was it Gail?" she asked quietly.

"What?"

"You were in a good mood earlier, when you were hanging out with us. I thought so, anyway. And then she came and pulled you away and I didn't see you for a while and now you're... well, you don't seem to be enjoying the party anymore. I just—did she say something? "

He frowned, tugging extra hard on the thread. "Just leave it, Parker."

"But—"

"Please," he muttered. It was the first time she had ever heard him say that word, and though he wasn't looking at her, she was pretty sure that there was something broken beneath his golden framed glasses. "Just leave it alone."

And oh if that didn't hurt worse than his attitude.

Parker pulled a knee up to her chest, tucking her chin on it. She had worn her hair down today, silky from a blow-out that Jody had helped her with just for this occasion, and it slid against her back as a breeze kicked up. From where she had haphazardly thrown her purse a pair of napkins fluttered to the ground.

"Okay, fine, we don't have to talk about it, but this is officially boring," she said when the silence continued to stretch on. She snatched up the crumpled wad of napkins, and Tom furrowed his brow at her as she flattened them out. "Alright. When is your birthday?"

"What?"

"August thirteenth, November seventh, or January twenty-first?"

He blinked between her and the napkin. "What?"

She huffed, waving the napkin like a flag. "It's trivia. Some of them, anyways. A lot of them are some very questionable quotes that we're definitely going to discuss later. But for now we can at least we can entertain ourselves with these."

"Why did you take, like, a hundred of them?"

She shrugged indifferently. "Sticky fingers," she said, and when Tom's mouth flickered ever so slightly at the corner, she pressed on. "So, anyway, when is your birthday? August, November, or January?"

"You don't know?"

"Why would I know when your birthday is?"

He shrugged, hand dropping the thread of his pants to pass through his hair. His fringe had been mussed throughout the afternoon, clearly a sign that he did that a lot, but he didn't seem to even notice. "Because I'm—"

"Ugh, don't even finish that thought," she moaned, rolling her eyes. He really had to be joking sometimes. "I'm going to guess... August?"

Tom shifted on the couch, shooting her a strange look. "How'd you know?"

"Good luck, I guess. What does that make you? A virgo?"

"Leo."

"Ah," she nodded, pretending that was interesting news to her. Parker didn't know shit about astrology, but she had heard Melissa talk about it enough to know at thing or two. With mock seriousness, she continued, "that makes sense, I guess. Leo's are all about self-confidence and actualization. The sign of royalty. Some say that Julius Caesar was a Leo."

"Really?"

Parker shot him a look, brows arched towards her hairline. "I don't fucking know, astrology is total bullshit," she snickered, chucking the crumpled napkin at him. It fluttered into his lap, and he didn't look all that impressed at he set it onto the side table. Still, his mouth twitched again. The next napkin was stained with something pink. "What is your favorite sport? Basketball, hockey, or baseball?"

"Shouldn't I be reading the questions?"

"I'm not letting you dig through my purse, perv," she said. He looked scandalized by the comment, and when she started to laugh, Tom shook his head at her. She nudged his leg with her shoe. "Besides, they're my napkins."

"That I paid for."

She steamrolled on, pursing her mouth thoughtfully. "Well, I think basketball is a stupid sport, so not that. Mhmmm... hockey?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "...did you read these already?"

"So I'm right?" she asked, and with the grace of a sore loser, Tom pursed his mouth irritably. Parker pumped a fist in the air victoriously, wiggling her brows at him, and when his mouth crested into a smile, she waved the napkin in his face with the grace of a sore winner. "Ha! I'm starting to think we should put money down on the next one."

He forced the smile away with an eye roll. "Do you have money to bet?"

"Well... I'm sure there's a couple dollars somewhere in my purse. Colt always has at least twenty on him."

"Don't go betting your brother's money just yet, huh? These are easy questions."

"Easy?" she blustered.

"Everyone likes hockey."

"Everyone—baseball is literally an American sport! Everyone likes baseball!"

He ignored her, waving a flippant hand at her stack of napkins. Parker stuck her tongue out at him, tossing aside that question, to search for the next. Half the napkins she had stashed were ones with quotes, all of which were equally ridiculous, and she carefully set them into a pile on the table so she could take them home.

For comedic purposes, obviously. She wanted to stash them around Colt's apartment. She was pretty sure he would lose his mind if Jody thought he was secretly a Tom Ryder super fan.

Finding one that did have a question, she adjusted in her seat in anticipation. "Alright, alright, here's another one," she said. "What is Tom Ryder's favorite move? Fight Club, October Sky, or Pulp Fiction?"

Shit. She really didn't know for this one.

Parker narrowed her eyes at him, turning so they were facing one another directly, shoes wiggling as she tucked them underneath herself. He didn't give anything away; just met her steadfast through the tint of his glasses, no hints given, and when he raised a brow, she just knew that he was expecting her to fail.

"...Pulp Fiction?"

Tom made a face. "Okay, you're looking these up."

"Was that right?"

"Does the napkin have the answer?"

"What—no!"

"Well, you're cheating!"

" Ah—I'm not cheating!" she laughed just as he stretched over to grab the napkin out of her hand. The answers were on the back of the napkins, but she hadn't been looking at them. However, if he saw that, he would never believe her. So, as Tom grappled with her, shoving her free arm out of the way as her back dug into the armrest, Parker stretched as far as she could manage through an eruption of giggles. "You're going to—break my—arm! Ah!"

He was warm—always warm—as his chest pressed into hers, and when his fingers scraped the edge of the napkin, she twisted her shoulder back as far as it would go if only just to make him work for it a little bit harder.

Okay, so maybe she did like to be difficult. Sue her.

Tom pressed closer, stretching, laughing, as she wedged her knee against his chest to push. "Just give me the napkin!"

"No!"

"Because you were cheating?"

His hand skimmed the curve of her waist as he attempted to pull her entire body closer, and she shrieked from the ticklish feeling. That only had Tom trying twice as hard, aware that he was going to come out victorious, and in the energy of a little sister that never liked to lose, Parker pressed her free hand against his chest before chucking the napkin into the air. It caught on the breeze within seconds, and when it angled towards the edge of the balcony, Tom's hand tangled in her hair as he tried to grab it. Of course, she knew that was coming, and with all her might Parker wrapped her arm around his shoulder to pull him down towards her.

"No, no, no—!"

They became a tangle of limbs and laughter as he made a last ditch effort to grab the sailing napkin, and just when she thought he might snatch it, there was a rattle and the sound of a glass shattering against the floor.

They froze.

Together, they glanced down at the floor to find her glass broken in half, water seeping into the rug.

"Are you kidding—"

"Oh my god!" she shrieked, barely able to speak through the laughter racking her chest. "It's just water!"

"That's the second time."

"Both of them were your fault!"

"How was the other time my fault?"

"Oh, I don't know," she said, fulling cackling now, still pressed tightly against his chest; tighter still because every time Tom laughed he edged further into her personal space. The napkin was long gone by now, but neither of them moved besides the way his hand shifted warmly along her waist. "Maybe because I wouldn't have spilled it if you hadn't scared the shit out of me!"

Tom laughed at her accusation. It was carefree, loud, head tipped back to show the curve of his neck where a necklace dangled, the silver chain cold against her own flushed skin.

"I was a little preoccupied," he defended. "And I didn't expect someone to barge in on me!"

"I didn't barge."

"You did."

"I don't barge," she continued to deflect, crinkling her nose at the word. Slowly, their laughter died down as she swallowed. "I, you know, prance. Like women do, but I definitely don't... ahem, barge."

Whatever fire she had fueling her defense seeped away as Parker finally realized just how close Tom was to her.

They were pressed tightly against one another on the small loveseat, hair mussed from their wrestling, sunglasses somewhere on the floor. She could smell his cologne from how his collarbone was exposed to her, buttons undone, skin roiling hot and tan beneath the shirt. Parker's own jean jacket was hanging off one shoulder, her own necklace tangled at the nape of her neck, chest catching with soft laughter and something else too.

She remembered the first time she had ever laid eyes on Tom.

She had been speechless from how handsome he was in real life; thinking of him only as a thing that was flaunted in advertisements and on tv, and not as a person. Then there was when she found him in Gail's bathroom, shirt gone, chest glistening with sweat and rippling muscles. When he had called her in a rough voice, when he showed up at her store to insult it and then ask for a favor, when he had driven her to Colt's birthday party with wind blowing through his fringe as they listened to Sabrina Carpenter's latest hit on the radio, the way he glowed in the firelight.

For a long time now there had been two Toms in her life. The one she met back on day one, with a huge ego and blisteringly white teeth, that she thought was an uptight asshole, who had just lashed out at her for no real reason. And then there was the one that she laughed with, teased in a way she doubted anyone else did, sharing secrets and talking about things like sci-fi books and birthday parties while they sipped coffee and beer.

And now, as she blinked up at him with flushed cheeks, she came to the startling realization that it wasn't two versions of the same person, but one person that had developed a second skin to survive a world that didn't see him as anything other than a dollar sign.

A person who was lying above her, piercing eyes drifting over the freckles on her nose to the curve of her mouth.

"Just tell me," he said.

"Tell you what?"

He swallowed, gaze pulled back up to meet her eyes. She felt weightless, as if she was drunk, but it wasn't because of the alcohol. Tom licked his lips. "Did you cheat?" he asked.

She huffed. Her breath ruffled the loose fringe on his forehead. "No," she shook her head slowly, knowing just by the look in his eye that whatever she said was important to him. "No, I didn't cheat. I just... you told me your birthday at Colt's party, and you have a hockey jersey hanging in the hallway."

"And Pulp Fiction?"

"I don't know," she admitted quietly. "I guess... it just felt like a movie you'd like."

That look from before returned; the one she couldn't decipher, that had his eyes paradoxically darkening and opening at the same time. Maybe she had been right before. Maybe he was lonely. But as Tom looked at her, breath mingling with her own, she couldn't help but hope that he was starting to realize he wasn't.

"You know you can talk to me... right?" she muttered, licking her lips. "I mean, I know you probably have plenty of other more important people in your life that you can talk to, and I'm not trying to pry, but I just hope that you know that I'm here if—"

And just like that, Tom Ryder kissed her.

[theodorecanaryhood]

Summer Days

Jason Todd x Male Reader

Warning: romance and some language

New years was always the vibe for romance, most people liked the idea of having someone with them for the big event of midnight.

Cold and wet mostly due to it being Gotham City, however, it was worth it as the two of you strolled through the square. Hand in hand and no care in the world.

Jason was in his world when with you, he didn’t care about anything but you.

‘Gonna kiss in the square at midnight dollface?’ Jason smiled as you nodded.

Not a big fan of PDA, Jason made an exception for when the two of you were celebrating something. New year was of course the biggest one.

Midnight chimed quickly as Jason dipped you and gave you a big kiss, a small smile on his face. His lips were heaven, and yours were Jason’s favourite place to escape.

‘I love you so much’ Jason said after breaking the kiss, you smiled and held onto Jason’s face.

‘I love you too’

Before you could even register anything, time had gone so fast that all of a sudden it’s hot outside. You were stuck wearing minimal clothing, heat on your skin with small beads of sweat every so often.

You and Jason had planned to get a weekend getaway, a weekend of the two of you. No patrols, no distractions…nothing.

The long drive in Jason’s vintage car, a blessing given by Bruce for his 21st birthday. The day he met you, being friends with Tim.

A few years younger, Jason seemed smitten and captivated by you. He wanted to try and get you alone.

A family getaway was in need as Batman was taking a break, Bruce urged Tim to bring you along, his friend.

You spent some time with Dick to which Jason didn’t like much, you were friendly towards the eldest son. Jason got jealous but not too much, he held his own and played patiently.

Jason stole his moment to catch his crushes attention, the two of you had a walk by the water alone one morning, Jason taking the chance to get to know you better, steal your heart.

Successful of course, as the two of you stood here together. Jason giving you a sweet kiss as the two of you got into his car.

A drive through the city and then on the highway, skies turning pink from the sun going dim in the sky.

Jason held your hand in his, giving it a sweet kiss as he hit the speeds of the highway roads, loving the touch of his boyfriend’s skin. Jason felt like he was in heaven…again.

The Sun captured the scene complimentary, sun shining off the surfaces, bouncing off the sand. Jason’s skin glowed in the light. Jason’s eyes glowed with the rays, yours being captured by his.

Jason stood on the edge of the path as you snapped a shot of him, being so in love with his form. Every inch of it.

‘Call him Ed Sheeran, he in love with my body’ Jason rapped jokingly as you laughed, giving you a sweet kiss.

‘Ok Doja Cat’ you smiled, taking your shoes and socks off as you tossed them in the car, along with Jason’s.

The two of you took a slow walk along the sandy beach, hand in hand. Jason hummed quietly as he felt the warmth of the air.

Your casual summer wear helping ease the heat from your bodies.

Jason loved wearing shorts now as you helped him embrace his body more, loving him regardless if he had scars or not.

Jason lifted you on his back as he gave you a piggy back along the sand, you smiling as the two of you started singing at the top of your lungs.

‘Rain on me, Rain on me’ you both sang, out of key of course but you didn’t care.

The two of you were like two teenagers in love in a short escape from your parents, it was bliss. Being young at heart and the both of you being able to embrace the craziness you had.

‘Wrestle’ Jason called out as he flipped you off his back, onto the sand.

Laying on top of you as he fluttered your face with sweet kisses. You laughed as Jason teased you with his lips.

‘Shit you’re so cute’ you blushed as Jason smiled ear to ear, kissing you deep in the lips.

‘I love fucking you, I mean I fucking love you’ Jason stuttered purposely to make you laugh again.

A laugh that Jason could listen to all the time, a laugh and a smile that made Jason forget all the bad times he had before.

A perfect end to a weekend, Jason took you both to the nearby carnival.

You waited in a surprisingly short line to get into the ferris wheel. Jason holding you close the whole time.

Getting to the top and feeling the summer night air, it was a release as the days were hot and humid. Jason was still a little sweaty but he didn’t care so much.

The two of you kept greeting each others lips until it was time to go to sleep. Once you were allowed to after Jason wanted your bodies to collide in bed.

The drive home was always a shorter journey, which is always the way. For some reason.

Jason opted to be the passenger princess as you drove the two of you home, Jason falling asleep a little in the passenger seat, with a slight snore.

Once you were home, it was a nice time to relax and enjoy each other’s company, as the two of you settled on the couch.

[loveemagicpeace]

💍Star Notes💍

🧸Taurus also represents chilldhod but in a different way. This is usually childhood, which always accompanies you or something you always have with you. Let's say love for movies, music, food. Childhood friendships. It's usually something pretty that stays in your memory.

💍Saturn is also the planet of vows. So when we commit to vows and things related to that, it is saturn. So how well you keep your promise depends on where you have saturn and in which sign.

🐬Saturn in 9th house- can give you a lot of pessimism, a negative view of life, it can happen that you lose the meaning of life or see no faith in anything. Saturn can be quite difficult here because the 9th house represents optimism, happiness, being alive, the moment, the world, enjoying life. And saturn here can take that away from you. That's why many people with this placement have trouble finding meaning. You want to find the meaning, but saturn keeps putting you before the lessons.

🖤Saturn in 8th house-These people can become overly concerned with death and become obsessed with it. Many times they fear death - but saturn here gives them long life.

🌊Pluto in 11th house you prefer to choose friends who will give you the feeling that you can trust them, have depth in them and with whom you will know that you are always their priority.

♟️Saturn in 11th house you like to gather friends who give you the feeling that they will stay and that they are stable. You often find yourself in situations where you are the one who can drive others home, help them and be the one responsible

🩸Mars in 11th house you find it hard to keep friends or you always fight with them. Mars can make you quite aggressive and angry.

💕Neptune square MC- don’t ever let other people ruin your dreams! Always follow what you want and what you see value in. You have to always dream and dreams are real if you believe in them.

🌶️Scorpios are often surrounded by dark things in life. 8th house placements or scorpio placements - people are obsessed with you, you can attract a lot of possessive people, people who are jealous, and many times people pursue you. Also things related to weapons. A lot of strange things can happen to you. It is worth always paying attention to the people around you, because you never know who might be the one who wishes you ill.

🍓Mutitable placemets are often prone to doing things that are not legal. They tend to do things that are not thought through. They often have problems with the police and are also capable of killing someone.

🎈Venus retrograde in the natal chart has commitment issues. These people want to have someone but on the other hand they are afraid. Because you can have problems with trust and problems with the fact that everyone will always hurt you. So even when you really like someone, sometimes you show a different energy than you would like.

💜People with pluto in 4th house have a mother who controls them and tells them what they have to do. Ever since childhood, you can feel that you can do everything your mother tells you and you don't have your own personality. Many times these people grow up prejudiced or jealous of other people because they themselves never got what others have.

🛁People with uranus or neptune in 6th house many times they have strange health problems. And many times they do something spontaneous or reckless on their body (tattoo, piercing, etc.). And then they regret it or they don't like it. They have a very strange attitude towards their body. And they are many times more sensitive than others. They can, for example, have a headache from ringing in the ear.

🔥Mars gives you energy and shows your energy outwards. How energy do you give to others or how others feel when they are with you. For ex.: Mars in Sagittarius gives you energy for life itself. You can find something positive and alive in all things. You like fun things, crazy things and spontaneous moments. At the same time, you also emit childlike energy. People feel like they can dream around you. And they feel relaxed, fun, alive with you. Because you can bring out the best in people. At the same time, you are a person who does things in the moment: for example, spontaneously diving into the water, looking at the stars, staying up all night. Mars in Pisces people can be impressed by your spiritual energy, fantasy dreaming, calmness. You can awaken the dreamy side in people. You are a person who is in your own world and likes to do things that are magical and beautiful. Mars in Virgo- you are an organized type of person and you can quickly make people feel more organized around you. you are an organized type of person and you can quickly make people feel more organized around you. Being around you can make people feel like they want to do more for themselves. Mars in Libra- you have a taste for fashion and beautiful things. You bring out a beautiful side in people. People feel comfortable around you.

1st house represents your appearance, self-confidence, energy, beauty, figure and everything related to your personality. So Uranus here can make a person unique, different and unforgettable. People can look up to you and you can make a big impression on them. Usually these people have a special style that some people would never wear but it looks amazing on them. But it depends on the aspects. Neptune makes you dreamy, artistic and at the same time a person who can be like a character. U can be who you want to be and people will believe it. Sun makes you confident , proud. U can light up the room when you walk in. Moon makes you moody but also very warm person. People can find you very safe when they are around you.

🌅I think that sun in 9th house is the most beautiful placement for sun to be. Since you shine above the whole world here, traveling brings a lot of light and inspiration out of you. You can inspire people to become something they've always dreamed of. In places you can find something that others may never will. It's a gift!!

-Rebekah🎨🧸