#(he has not seen the sun in a week got 2 hours of rest and is already planning 18 ways to either escape them or get them out of his house)

[4sh-n4]

Scenario for a Batman Identity Reveal™-

Takes place before Batman has revealed his identity. The rest of the JL know each other's identities, except Batman's. They've just received news of a threat against Bruce Wayne.

Maybe a rogue or an intergalactic enemy or someone has found out that Bruce Wayne funds a majority of the League and thinks that killing him will severely weaken it. Fair enough, I mean it's easier to kill a civilian known to be an idiot as compared to the greatest heroes, right?

So now obviously the JL feel obligated to protect him. They don't particularly want to do it, and usually they'd just set up police protection, but everyone knows how corrupt Gotham police are, and Wayne is being targeted bc of them. They'd ask Batman, but he only comes out at night and has publicly expressed disdain for Bruce. So they've got to do it themselves.

They take it in shifts, and while Wayne seems very welcoming on the outside, it's a little obvious that he doesn't want them poking around his house. In addition, the first night they were on shift, Batman gave them a very strict warning about what is and isn't allowed in his city. He tried to get them to leave, but they overruled him.

At first, Bruce spends all his time acting like an air headed idiot, flirting with everyone that tries to talk to him and refusing to cooperate bc he doesn't believe the threat. 'Coincidently', he's always in the room every time one of them try to talk to talk to any of his children.

Then as time passes, he lets his guard down. They start to see a gentle, kind, Bruce Wayne whose children are his entire world, not token trophies. He speaks in a soft voice, one made out of cotton and clouds. He cares about the underprivileged in Gotham and genuinely works to make life better for them. He's smart and actually involved in his company. He's also incredibly slippery and tries very very hard to lose their tail at all times. The only reason they can keep up with him at all is because most of them have special powers.

One day, while they're trying to look for him after he's lost them yet again, he gets kidnapped. The entire JL rushes to find him and rescue him before the person they've come to honestly respect and enjoy the company of gets murdered for trying to help them. They search for and reach the place he's being held after 2 days, only to find him tying up the criminals- who definitely all have broken bones- surrounded by the horde of younger Gotham vigilantes.

He turns to look at them and growls, "You're late. Civilian rescue time needs to be much shorter, these people weren't even experienced kidnappers. You're lucky it was me they were after otherwise you'd have found a corpse. We're running drills back at the watchtower."

They're all shocked because... that's Batman's voice?? Coming from the richest man alive, known playboy, not so known gentle father, BRUCE WAYNE??? BATMAN HASN'T EVEN BEEN OFF DUTY SINCE THEY BECAME BRUCE BODYGUARDS????

Turns out his children all ganged up on him and forced him to reveal his identity, especially since the JL had become friends with him both inside and outside the mask.

[fact-dogsarehappiness]

Ranking the Batfam by their sleep habits

Duke: He’s on the day shift so he actually gets to sleep at night. He’s still a teenager in high school so he doesn’t get much rest between the homework and the vigilantism, but he averages a solid 7-8 hours a night

Cassie: She has to stay in optimal shape for ballet so she gets as much rest as she can. She’s also capable of taking time off when she needs it so she can get extra rest to make up for working a harder case. She typically pulls in about 7ish hours

Jason: Do you know how much math is involved in running a crime syndicate? More than you think. Dude’s gotta be able to stay on top of it. He doesn’t have a day job (legally dead and all) so he can pretty much just zonk out after patrol, but he wakes up really easy, so he only typically gets 6-7 hours at a time

Damian: He gets forced to rest even if he doesn’t want to. There’s been a Robin rule since Dick was in the green shorts that Robin has to get at least 6 hours a night

Babs: She would love to get more sleep, but as Oracle, she has to be on call all night. She tried to sleep in between missions, so she got a vibrating alarm and synced it to her mission program to wake her up when something happens. She’s lucky to get 5 hours uninterrupted

Steph: She could get more sleep if she wanted to, but sometimes the adhd just takes over and she spends her precious limited sleep time free time in youtube rabbit holes. She’ll typically get somewhere between 4-5 hours

Dick: Despite always being the one trying to get everyone else to take care of themselves, he’s incapable of seeing bad self care habits in himself, so this idiot voluntarily works the morning shift at his day job. So after patrolling for 8 hours, he only has 3 hours to sleep before work if he’s lucky

Bruce: Bruce gets easily fixated on whatever he’s working on, which makes it hard for him to stop. He can go days without sleep and not even notice. He’ll typically crash and get one night of 8 hours, but the rest of the week, he’ll only get around 2 a night.

Tim: He never knows when the last time he slept was and would actually be glad if you pointed it out for him. He inherited Bruce’s hyperfixations and doesn’t even notice how long he’s been working until the sun comes up. When he finally crashes, he crashes hard and sleeps for almost an entire day

Alfred: No one has ever seen him sleep, they just assume it must happen. No one knows for sure

[plaguedwithlove]

Based on a asmr roleplay i suddenly remembered a while ago, and i can't find it :((

Yan!Werewolf x Fem!reader

summary:  Why you?...All you wanted was to help your sick father, and it costed you your freedom, innocence, and livelihood

Warnings: my first dark romance story and smut so apologies if this is shit, 18+, stalking, non-con, rough first time, virginity loss, non-con touching, kidnapping, breeding kink, monster-fucking?? but y'all fuck when he's in human form, mentions of and inevitable forced pregnancy

—--

Violent coughs erupted from your father’s room, he had barely made any progress to recovery for about 2 weeks. Rushing up to his room, you give him a small smile and re-wet the cloth on his forehead 

“My loving daughter, I’m ashamed of myself that you devote your time to taking care of your pathetic father, you should be enjoying your young adulthood!..” 

You giggle and shake your head “Oh hush father, you’ve taken care of me since girlhood and now it’s my turn to take care of you, I will stay by your side for as long as I need to.” 

With a teary smile, your father grabs your hand and firmly grasps it “Your mother’s spirit lives in you, she too had such loyalty and love.” 

Returning his smile, you nod “I miss her, papa..”

Although your mother died when you were rather young, merely being 9 when she passed. You still remembered the mundane activities you’ve done with her and you all remember them fondly 

One of your favorite memories with your mother was when you both went for a walk in the forest and she reminisced of how she met your father 

“He slipped on his bottom and I came to his aid, I could see hearts in his eyes..” your mother giggles. She then looks at you and strokes your hair, “One day you’ll meet that someone who gives you the butterflies and you’ll know they’re the one you’ll spend the rest of your life with.” 

Going back to reality, your father speaks “As do I, she would be proud of the beautiful young lady you’ve become.” More coughs escaped from his mouth, your eyebrows furrow in worry 

“Here, papa.” helping your father drink the warm tea, his coughing calms down. “You aren’t getting any much better, I’ll head into town tomorrow and get more medicine. But please rest for now, papa,” 

With a weak nod, your father lies back down but before closing his eyes he gives you one more smile 

“Thank you my sweet (Name)..” 

“Of course, good night..”

Making your way out of his room, you look back at your father one last time before shutting the door

Grabbing your bag, you make your way outside, even if you couldn’t go into town at this hour, you still wanted to at least pick more herbs nearby

While the sun was still out, you hastily make your way to the field of rosemary's 

—--

A lone man strides through the forest, he was starved 

Both for meat and affection

He hadn’t had a successful satisfying kill in days, and quite frankly he was on the edge now, and the fact he was sexually frustrated would worsen his state of mind

Frustration and hunger was his drive, and whatever poor decently-sized creature was within a mile radius would meet an unfortunate end 

His ear and nose twitches

He knew this smell all too well, a potential prey 

Hastily, he makes his way toward the source of this delicious smell

The closer he got, the more his hunger enhanced 

Until, the smell of his prey mixed with the scent of rosemary 

He obscures himself behind a tree, waiting for the perfect moment

As soon as his prey got in better range of his sight, he could make out a figure, it was no deer, it was a human, a female human  

Peeking his head out more, his head tilts upon seeing the human

The werewolf has seen humans before, but never this close, nor this beautiful 

He stares at the woman's body, from her docile looking face, her breasts, and plump arse

Now that he thought about it, he was at the ripe age of finding a mate, after all most of his friends have already tied the knot and even had some mini versions of them!

And she certainly looked to be at a child-bearing age

He had to have her...

Upon noticing she was dusting herself off and ready to leave, he moved from his spot in a flash, steadily making way to his mate

HIs sudden movements startled as the woman gasps and looked around for the source of the sound

She was easily startled, cute....

Deciding to play with her for a little, he reveals himself to her, standing on his full height

—--

Your eyes widen at the tall figure in front of you, your breathing quickens and start to panic

"Well..what do we have here?" voice deep and menacing

Looking up, you're met with a rugged-looking man, he was tanned, with dark chestnut messy hair cascading down his shoulders. But what stuck out most to you was his amber eyes, bright under the moonlight, pupils piercing into you. He was far from human...those eyes no doubt belonged to those men who transform into monstrous beasts on the full moon

"Lost little lamb?"

"N-no, I was on my home just now...good night." before you could make a run for it, the tall man blocks your way, for a big guy, he was surprisingly agile, making your fear increase ten fold

"Not so fast, you've crossed into my territory, now you must pay the price."

Your heads suddenly turn toward him, since when did this field belong to anyone? You've been here many times, and there was never a claim on this field. "Sir, please! I have no possessions worth taking from me! I only have herbs for my sick father!"

"Ahh I see, so you're the one stealing from my field?"

"Please forgive me, I needed them to heal my father!"

"Save your pitiful pleas thief.." with a devilish smirk, the man lowers his upper body to inspect you

The man lowly chuckles at how adorably pathetic you looked, all under his mercy

"Hmm, quite plumply cheeks...meaty thighs..." he then pushes his face on the crook of your neck, inhaling your smell "Delectable...you would make a fine meal..." feeling you tense up and shiver with fear made his senses go wild

"But...lucky you, I've been lonely these days... I need something pretty to warm my den.." Hearing what he was implying, you look at the man with fear and confusion

"I'll take you as my mate...and you will bear my offspring." he licks his lips, revealing sharp canines

Your eyes widened in horror. You were in the prime of young adulthood and still had a life ahead of you! Marriage and children were still far away from your plans! "No, no, no! I have a father to look after, I can't and I won't!" pushing away from him, he grasps your wrist in an iron grip

"Oh well that's just too bad for that old fool, you trespassed and now you must pay up by giving yourself away to me, if you keep resisting I'll just have to eat you up and kill that meek father of yours."

Seeing all the spirit and will drain from you, made him swell with pride and triumph "Now what will be your choice, my mate?" he whispers and grabs a lock of your hair, kissing it

Fat glumps of tears build up in your waterline, this was it, your life was over all because of this hormonal and dangerous man beast

"Please...leave my father out of this..."

"Then you know what you must choose, pet.."

Closing your eyes, tears shed down your cheek and you nod "Just leave my father alone..."

The man grins, and grabs your chin, making make eye contact with him "Good choice...but don't you worry, I'll be your family now, along with all the children we will have." He slams his lips on yours, devouring them

You choke and gasp as he assaults your throat, his tongue forcing its way inside all over your mouth

Pulling away briefly, he lets out a raspy chortle. "That's it. Keep crying for me." he turns you around, throwing your bag out in the field to be forgetten. He pulls apart your dress, the tearing of the fabric was the only noise heard in the forest, your cries only worsens

"Erix." He suddenly says

You look at him with confusion

"Erix is my name, be sure to scream it."

With one final pull, your dress is in tethers, leaving you bare only in your underclothes

Erix's large palms pulls on the straps of your brassiere, leaving it to fall on the ground

Immediately, you cover yourself by wrapping your arms around your breasts

Behind you, you hear Erix taking off his trousers

"Tch, your weak struggling is only turning me on more..." With ease, Erix grabs your arms, pulling them away from your chest

As he slowly pushes you down on the grass, your crying starts to silence, quietly accepting your fate

"C'mon, sing for me, pretty.." one of Erix's textured-hands made their way on your breast fondling it, but you turn cold upon feeling something hot and hard rubbing on your ass

You let out a small gasp

"That's right, you'll start making noises again." He then grabs your underwear, pulling them down to your ankles, throwing them away. Erix's large hands grab the fat of your thighs, holding them up to spread your legs, and then grabs his long, hardened flesh, aligning it to your sweet entrance. With ease, he forces himself inside you

You were not prepared for the penetration. You've never experienced intercourse all your life, making the pain all but less painful. It didn't help that Erix's manhood was most likely much larger than an average human male. Your poor body bleeds and suffers from his harsh movements

The cries you suppressed earlier leak out again to a painful wailing

Helplessly, you lie on your side, continuously being pounded from behind

You hear Erix groaning louder and louder along with feeling his pace quickening, he then shifts up from his side to get on his knees and get more leverage and friction, both his hands grabbing the cheeks of your ass, slapping them making you cry uncontrollably

Your face is shoved on the grass. The push and pull was almost hurting your neck and hips. Then you felt it, a sudden feeling of warm fluid coursing inside you, slapping of skin to skin was the only sound heard along with carnal growls in the grassy field

As Erix's pace slows down, the moment you feared commenced, warm thick fluid enters your body, his seed. He keeps the lower half of you up in the air and doesn't pull out instead pushing his hips back and forth on yours to make sure you took it

He then turns you around. "Gotta make sure the job gets done right." This time, he rubs the remaining of his bodily fluids on your vagina, acting as a temporary lube, for your body still refuses to take in his length. Erix continues his violation on you, but this time, the pain lessened this round, and instead, you feel pleasure, turning your cries into moans. Finally, your pussy releases lube

While you watch with lidded eyes on the man fucking you, you get a good look at his naked body, hairy and toned. Damn you for finding him attractive, your eyes trail down to his cock disappearing and reappearing inside you, it was a miracle that you were taking him before you got wet

"Ahh...Erix..." you spoke his name for the first time and wrap your legs around his waist to feel every motion of his dick

"Hah.. you're coming around now, my flower, your body is taking mine in..." Erix firmly grips your hips and throws his head back, groaning each time his hips meet yours. You weren't even trying to match this pace anymore as he did all the work by using your body to his pleasure

He looks back down at you, face covered in dirt with such a erotic expression. He then looks at your bouncing tits, the beautiful mounds of flesh that would feed his children one day

The thought only turns him on more, and he speeds up, your eyes widen, and your moans get louder. Even though you still felt pleasure, Erix's brutal pace sent shocks of pains in your abdomen. The pain was enough for tears to form again. Your cries grab Erix's attention, and then you feel a wet and warm muscle on your cheek, Erix was licking your tears away

You once again feel the warmth from earlier inside you, but you are a fool to think he would stop here or the third time

Afterall, the night was still young. The forest and the stars above would bear witness to the savage violation of your body, the consummation of this twisted union

Hours upon hours passed of Erix's assault on your body, it had been long since you lost the will to fight back as it was useless against this beast who's blood was pulsing with sexual hormones and with the intention of impregnating you no matter what

Round after round, he never stopped, his stamina was endless. Until you finally feel him slowing his thrusting to a complete stop, you were dreading the moment he would start another harsh thrust inside you, but it never came

His slow and heavy breaths match yours, sweat was glistening off his body. Erix leans closer you, slightly pressing his weight on you. He then leaves gentle licks on your neck along with kisses while one of his hands grope one of your breasts gently fondling them

"Mine."

—--

It had been four months since Erix forced you to become his wife

As he planned, you fell pregnant with his child, he really had overdone himself that night, you still remembered the long cruel hours of him using your body as long as he pleased

Getting up from the bed, you've been craving raw meat these days, and Erix had just came back with a fresh kill

"Eat this, then our child will grow strong. It's in our tradition for expecting mothers to eat a deer's heart." Erix hands you a deer's heart, it grossed you out, yet the child inside you begged for it

Despite your child being a product of forced love, you couldn't bring yourself to hate the parasite growing inside you, the poor child had no control over who their parents were or how they were conceived. And so, you endured eating the heart for the sake of your baby

After finishing the heart with great difficulty, you clean yourself up and Erix places his hands on your now large waist

"Such a good mother you are, I knew you'd be the best woman to have my children."

Closing your eyes, you hold yourself from pushing Erix away and run away, you place your hands on your belly too but away from where Erix's hands were

While rubbing your belly, you think of your poor father, had he died? Had he recovered? But considering he was barely in good health while you were around, deep down it was most likely he had succumbed to his illness. The thought sent a tightness to your chest. 'I hope it's bright up there with mother...'

With a kiss on your temple, Erix pats your belly one last time before whispering in your ear "I'll be back, both of you take care." He then pulls away from you and makes his way out of the cottage

Emotionlessly, you waddle your way back to the bed

For being barely past your first trimester, your belly had grown so much already that you suspect your baby will be born earlier than human children. After all, the baby is half werewolf. They will most likely grow faster than the average human child as well.

Drowning in the furs on the bed, your hand mindlessly draws circles on your round belly, and you feel the baby kicking gently as if loving the attention they were receiving from their mother.

"You like that, don't you, little one? Your father did unspeakable things to me that led to your creation, but I will love you nonetheless." You smile fondly as your baby kicks again

Looking out the window of the cottage, the place had been a bit run-down when you first moved in, Erix made an effort to tidy up the place

"If you're a boy, I'm thinking of naming you after your grandpa. But if you're a girl, maybe your grandma? That's only if your father will let me have the naming rights." You chuckle to yourself, you will pull on Erix's ear if he doesn't let you name the child, especially since he's forcing you to have his children, he'd better let you name every child he puts in you

Sitting back up, you lean your back against the headboard, looking at your belly and wrapping your arms around it, the precious life you carry was your only source of joy in life now

While gazing out the window, the field of your front yard reminds of the same field you and mother would leisure in, perhaps you would spend time with your children there too. Then you remembered your mother's words, “One day you’ll meet that someone who gives you the butterflies and you’ll know they’re the one you’ll spend the rest of your life with.”, you close your eyes and take deep breaths

"Mother, he's the one."

He's the one who forced himself into your life

_____

Writing smut is fun wtf

Might make a pt 2 where Erix puts more babies in y/n and mayb fuck her in werewolf form 👀

I made the ending a bit fluffy and whether or not you wanna interpret Y/n having Stockholm syndrome it's up to you, but its good to note that she still resents Erix, but I rarely find fics where the reader genuinely cares for the baby, it's fair why they would resent the child but at the same time I feel bad for the kid 🫠🫠🫠

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Rigor Mortis (part 2)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 1, Part 3

summary: Your new roommate has... interesting habits.

warnings: sexually suggestive, nothing explicit.

a/n: i think i've realised miggy in this fic is a combo of his movie and comic counterpart. Miguel O'Hara: part-time whore lmfaooo

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 4.2k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

lady death, at the cradle of a babe.

You've decided: if Miguel's the Sun, then you're a black hole. Cold and dark where he was warm, to seemingly everyone else but you. Even then, the metaphor didn't carry, and O'Hara wasn't quite the shining centre of the universe you had first thought him to be.  

In the dim gloom of a little lamp on your bedside table, you’re left squinting at a crisp white document. Blank; save for a thousand tabs open, and the blue links of a half-hearted bibliography. You’ve got the bare bones of an assignment; left too late, as usual. The rest lies at the tip of your tongue; nips at the ends of your fingers like the heat of cigarette butts, and as fleeting as wispy smoke in an ashtray. To get yourself through it, you’ve resorted to romanticising it all, pretending you're a wistful poet dipping the feathered end of a quill into ink. Writing something… revolutionary; as opposed to the mish-mash of articles and studies you’ve crammed within the last hour and a half. There’s a pounding at your skull: the dull beginnings of a migraine, most likely. You squeeze at your temples, eyes shut – and the thrum matches the thud at your thin walls. Rhythmic, obscene, and it creates a cruel staccato; shaking the flimsy plasterboard that separates your room from your roommate’s. 

He’s fucking someone. Loud, like it can’t be heard by half the complex. It's the third girl he’s had over in as many weeks. Not that you were keeping count. For a supposed tutor, you hadn’t seen much studying - despite the bright eyed young women that seemed to be at your doorstep most days. Perhaps you're being dramatic, but you couldn’t quite wrap your head around the kind of pupils Miguel had had the privilege to “teach”.

You remember the first time the true weight of Jia’s words became clear: whilst banging on the front door after a draining day of lectures. 

You’d forgotten your keys after rushing out the morning of, and arrived to a locked door in the afternoon. You had been starving, insides churning with the thought of takeout you’d saved the night before; a greasy bag nestled in the corner of your shelf in the fridge. So maybe you'd been antsy, irritable at a stretch; fist on the door like a divorce lawyer, hungry in more ways than one. 

Wasn’t Miguel already home? He had to be, you can hear the low tones of his voice leaking from the gaps at the sides of the door. And.. rustling, the shift of fabric tousled and pillows hitting the floor. It’s then that you hear another voice, higher pitched; gentle and soft where his is baritone. If you’re not mistaken; and something at the pit of your stomach hopes you are, for some reason; he’s laughing, speaking in hushed tones, whilst she giggles at something he said. You bang at the door even harder, hoping the sharp rap-rap-rap interrupts him. It feels like you’ve had half of your college’s senior cohort in the city in and out of your apartment - or, at the very least, the pretty ones. For some reason, this is the straw that breaks the camel’s back; and your knuckles sting against the lacquered wood. You’ve half a mind to shout into the keyhole, to tell him to hurry the fuck up, or else–

Miguel opens, brow tight, and wiping something from his lips with the back of his hand. It’s suspicious; he looks carefully flushed, lips plump and cheeks slightly ruddy. You notice the way his head flops onto the lip of the open door; slightly out of breath like he’s done a dozen push ups. And with the way his biceps flex and tense under his open button up; paired with some slacks in a pitiful attempt to look less slutty; he might have. The image makes you purse your lips to stop inappropriate laughter: Miguel on the floor, brows kneaded in concentration as the woman in your apartment looks on, entranced. It feels more plausible than the reality; making out on your couch, whilst her hands travel to undo the button at his waistband.

What doesn’t help, is the look he gives you; like you’ve interrupted something important.

“Oh.” He says, clearly deflated. “It’s… you.”

You flash him a sarcastic smile and push past into the front room. You’ve seen her before: the girl on your couch. Sarah, a pretty thing in Miguel’s advanced Math class, you’d learned from the last few weeks. It’s not the first time she’d been over, but she doesn’t usually stay; rather, she’d drop something off at the door and twirl her hair whilst she waited. You’d answer, because of course he was never home at the right times, and she’d crane her head in for a glimpse of him. The first time; you were struck by the effortlessness of her beauty. And on your sofa, she seemed hardly fazed; the gentle curve of her stomach and thighs spilling onto the tattered cushions, donned in a patterned sundress. Her lips are pert, curved into a knowing smile as she giggles at the scene you and Miguel make at the door. 

“Hey, Sarah.” You give her a small wave as you make your way into the kitchen, heading straight for the fridge. However, you don’t have the energy to dignify Miguel with a response – so you stay silent. He bristles.

“You don’t have a key, or something?” You’re digging through the shelves as he calls out to you, hands on his hips like you’re in the wrong. You can’t help but hiss under your breath. He’s got an attitude, when only one of you had been left outside the door; starved and exhausted. And the other: getting off on your sofa. Poor Miguel, left with a limp dick and full balls.

 "Forgot." Your answer is curt, and you don't even bother to look up. You can hear him scoff, incredulous - as if the mere idea was so offensive. It makes anger bubble up at your gut, head still buried behind the fridge door. 

"That's convenient." You can't hear the words that come out after, but you're sure it's not exactly glowing praise. You lob a hypothetical grenade over the lip of the fridge door: a middle finger, crisp and clear. 

Takeout in hand, and a bag over your shoulder that feels like a concrete block; you drag yourself to your room, without giving Miguel so much as a second glance. When the door slams, you're hit with the full weight of Jia's words; a moment that seems so long ago. Miguel's probably picky about who he tutors for the same reason people swipe left and right on dating apps: he's an unrepentant whore. 

The thought had seemed somewhat premature, at the time. You had had little to no evidence: a string of pretty women in your apartment did not a slut make, after all. It wasn't quite enough, just a knee-jerk reaction after a bad day. The most charitable interpretations tell you that by all means, your roommate is an upstanding guy. A model student; who left his undergrad with honours and a disgustingly high GPA, head of half a dozen clubs and societies, and currently getting his masters sponsored by a prestigious biotech company in the city. He’s a chronic overachiever, more or less.  All things you've learnt from the people he’s tutored, small talk in between sessions (and they’ve all been nice enough). It seems a little more than convenient that the prettiest ones end up in your apartment - in his bed. And yet, you can’t get a straight answer from the man himself. Favours for a couple of friends, he says every time you complain. 

With the noises you hear from the room over, you wonder how he treats the friends he really likes. 

You think he’s doing it on purpose. That’s the only explanation you’re left with as you massage your temples in desperation. A steady pounding, that makes the shared wall shudder. Interspersed with graphic moans, the higher pitched panting of his partner; Yes Miguel and Just like that; seems to blend with his groans. Sleep pulls at your eyes, and you want to scream into the pillows. It’s muffled, but you can make out his voice beyond the wall; low, hushed tones that makes desire pool at the base of your stomach. And you’d rather die than admit it; but you zone out for a moment, a little lost in the haze of a daydream. God, his stamina. It feels like they’ve been going for hours, obscene grunts and groans spilling into your room. The wide span of his shoulders, the way light is cut at his jawline - and you wonder what he’d look like on top, or the sounds he’d make underneath.

Shaking your head, you try to convince yourself: it's the lack of sleep that makes you think of the way his hands would feel on your waist.

~~~

The honeymoon stage, if there ever was one, was well and truly over. 

In the morning, you’re woken up by the thud of the front door. Laptop cracked open on the covers, you shift to wipe the drool crusted on the side of your mouth. The good news: you remember getting down a couple thousand words before fitful sleep. Not to a great standard, of course, but as your deadline approaches, you’re grateful for whatever you can scrape together. Stretching, your back creaks with the memory of last night: hunched over your laptop, barely able to concentrate. Still in pyjamas from last night, you pad into the front room, looking for water to satisfy your dry mouth. 

The bad news: you’re met with Miguel on the sofa, splayed out on the cushions lazily. There’s a mug of something on a side table, which he’s clearly neglected; eyes closed, and an arm drawn upwards to expose the tan skin of his chest. He’s wearing nothing but loose plaid pants, hair a mess and frustratingly peaceful. For once, he’s not wearing the perpetual frown you’ve been subjected to for the past few weeks, and he looks five years younger as a result. You tilt your head to the side – like a mere 90 degrees would make him look any different – and you can’t believe this was the man who was terrorising you the night before. He looks… cute. Innocent, almost.

The sight makes you scoff. You snatch a glass from the cupboard with a clink-clink, and he stirs. You watch him stretch as you fill it; a mop of brown peeking over the back of the couch. He peers over, groggy and seemingly confused. 

"....When did you get back?" His voice is gravelly, heavy with last night's sleep – or lack thereof. You ignore the feelings it stirs up; pleasant and comfortable and domestic. 

"Good morning to you too, " You say it under your breath but he hears; catches it and holds it at his chest like a songbird. One hand over his heart, he smiles, wide; a lazy, sarcastic grin, but it still makes your face heat up. It's too damn early for this, you think. "I wasn't… for fuck's sake… I came back last night."

"Oh." He frowns, sweeping into the kitchen, and opening up the cupboard. 

"I couldn't sleep." Miguel's not stupid, and you wait for him to take the hint. "There was… too much noise last night."

"So that's why you're up early." He clicks his tongue. "You don't have a lecture to be late for?"

"You don't have another girl to fuck and ignore?" Without missing a beat, you snap at him – too tired and annoyed to entertain it. 

"Ouch." It's blaise, thrown over his shoulder without a second thought. He doesn't even look at you, head buried and eyes scanning the shelves – looking for his morning coffee, no doubt. He finds it, opening the packet and elbowing you in the process, and you give him a glare. Did he have to do that right next to you? 

You catch the ghost of a smile on his face. 

"...Miguel?" You say; quietly, because you can't quite find your next words. 

"Hmm?" He hums, fiddling around with the machine; a ritual you've only caught glimpses of. 

How do you tell your roommate you can hear him have obnoxious sex through thin walls? Well, probably by opening your mouth and saying it, but anything resembling your true feelings dies in your throat. 

He doesn't prompt you to finish the question, choosing to let the silence wash over you both. The clattering of a spoon against ceramic is the only noise in the little kitchen. It's not something you hear too often - never waking up at the same time as Miguel through a combination of coincidence and sheer willpower. Naturally, your routines are asynchronous - a half step, half-hearted jig to crashing music. That is to say: if you and your roommate were partners in a… ballroom, perhaps: you’d be stepped-on-toes and two-left-feet on the dancefloor. Disastrous, to say the least.

And yet, half-asleep, you watch as he pads around the kitchen; poking into cupboards and bringing out the ingredients to a hearty breakfast. Eggs and chorizo and tortillas; your stomach rumbles at the thought of a proper cooked meal. Ever the stereotypical college student, your usual food has mostly been instant noodles and leftovers. Maybe you’re just tired, but he makes the drawers and fridge shelves seem bottomless. It’s clear Miguel eats and he eats well – because of course he does.

“Could you…” You jump a bit when he places a gentle hand at your waist, moving you to the side as he reaches for a chopping board on the counter. “Sorry. Do you mind?”

It’s brief, but the fleeting touch fucks with your head as he cooks. Flashes of the night before run up your spine, electric. You watch his deft fingers fly on the chopping board; slender, a wide palm covering the span of a large pepper. How would they feel on your waist – properly – at the crook of your back, or at your thighs? Sighing, you chew the inside of your cheek and lean your head back against the wall. You feel the whispers of another headache. It's much too early for this.

He puts a pan on the stove. Shirtless, despite the heat of the spitting oil, and he pops a piece of a bell pepper in his mouth with a little smile that makes you roll your eyes. It's smug, somehow, like he knows something you don't – like he knows exactly what he did yesterday (or rather, who) and he’s enjoying your reaction.

Except: you’re exhausted, and he’s giggling like you’ve caught a kid with cookie crumbs on their face, empty jar in hand. 

It’s a quiet he sits with, comfortable; moving around the space with the kind of familiarity that comes with time. It makes you wonder just how long he's been here, which other roommates he’s terrorised over the years. Maybe, Miguel’s got a reputation, and there’s a Yelp review sitting somewhere you’ve neglected to read.

“Did you see her leave?” He still doesn’t look at you. Instead, his eyes are trained at the eggs on the pan, onions and veg making a lopsided smile in the runny yolk. Even his food seems smug.

“Her?” You frown, not quite following. 

“...Katie?” He says it like it’s obvious, as if her name alone should set off half a dozen bells in your head. It’s Katie, this time - not Jia, or Sita, or the slew of other girls he’s been fucking in the past few weeks alone.

Your eye twitches. Involuntarily, of course, but it feels like your body is physically rejecting his bullshit.

“I didn’t know she stayed the night.” A lie, obviously. You heard her well enough through the walls, not even a couple of hours ago.

“S’okay,” He shakes his head, nonchalant. You trace the curve of his shoulders and gentle slope of his plump lips. “I would’ve called her an Uber, or something.”

“You’re a gentleman, Miguel.”

And he laughs, a deep rumble that rings off the tiles. Admittedly, you like the way it sounds, and the way his eyes crinkle up into crows feet. He’s pretty, you think. In an annoying kind of way.

Oh, fuck him. You get closer, and stick a fingertip into the rich red of the pan. Wrapping your lips around it, with the heat of Miguel at your back, and yes, it's fine. Okay, fucking incredible – you know, nothing you haven’t tasted before.

Making eye contact, you watch him blink in surprise. It’s the first time you’ve seen him unsure of himself; not dripping with the arrogance of a few minutes ago. Not wanting to give anything away, you keep your face steady.

"Needs salt, I think."

The spell is broken and he clicks his tongue in disapproval. "I've seen the crap you shovel into that big mouth of yours… ¿mi mamá no me enseñó a cocinar para que vengas a decirme que sabe mal…?"

[My mom didn't teach me how to cook so you can come here and tell me it tastes bad…?]

It's your turn to smile at the sweet taste of revenge. Not enough to fuel the next couple hours of essay writing, but a small victory nonetheless. You flash him pink tongue, and watch as his gaze drops to your lips for a fraction of a second. 

"More salt?" He scoffs. "You wouldn't know good food if it bit you on the ass."

It's childish, but he chucks a tea towel at your head; and you narrowly miss it. 

"Asshole." You spit out, frustrated. Your stomach grumbles, loud, and you watch his face crack, amused. 

His lips curve into a shit-eating grin. "Idiot." 

Face tight, you storm out of the kitchen. 

You're holed up in your room for the rest of the day; only leaving for snack and toilet breaks. Luckily, Miguel doesn't disturb you, except for a full plate left outside your doorstep in the morning. It tastes delicious; warm and homely, but you'd rather pull your teeth out than see that stupid fucking grin on his face. Instead, you give him a grudging thanks, shrugging as if to say: it was somewhat edible. 

And when you hit send on your essay, with a whole 11 minutes to spare, you sigh in relief. You got through it, eventually; even though your roommate is trying to kill you, your new apartment is falling apart and you're failing half your classes already. But you're through the day, and approaching the end of the week with minimal emotional damage. Key word: minimal. 

In the warmth under the covers of your bed, it makes you think. It can't get any worse, right? It won't – it can't. 

Something shifts. Like a rip in the space time continuum or a malevolent god, the universe snatches up that thought; ripe and ready to spit you back out onto the fire. 

~~~

You wake up and something feels off, already. For one, light streams in through the blinds, a slight chill from the open window. It’s peaceful, and the first thing you hear is the song of morning birds just beyond the glass, instead of cars and clattering garbage trucks. 

But it’s a Friday, and you’ve got that 9:00am; the one you were insane enough to sign up for at the beginning of the semester. What you should be hearing is the call-for-war of your alarm; the one that slaps you square across the face and wakes you the fuck up. On time, of course, but still the kind of sound that strikes fear into the hearts of grown men. Groggy, you wipe the sleep from your eyes. And then you frown. The lilting chirp of songbirds (well-fed pigeons that shit all over your windowsill, large enough to be classed as biological weapons), instead of your alarm…?

Your hands go cold, and dread creeps in. Reaching for your phone, you click it on and it shuts off just as quickly. You’re met with the red icon of a dead battery. Fuck.

Leaping out of bed, you rush into the hallway. From there, you see Miguel; out of his workout clothes and flitting in and out the kitchen. Except usually, at this time he’s just coming back from his run and banging at the door to hurry you out of the shower. He spots you and furrows his brow in confusion.

“Aren’t you meant to be…?”

You don't let him finish, and call out. “–What’s the time?” 

He looks at his watch. “Uhhh… quarter past 8?”

“Fuck!”  It erupts out of you, and you bite down the rest; opting to dart back into your room.

Miguel gets closer, pops his head towards your door; in the careful kind of way someone might approach a sleeping bear.

“Are you–”

When you open it in a robe and toiletries bag in hand, he’s there; tentative, and slow, and in your way. A beat passes and your eyes widen, incredulous. Like a fucking lump of coal, he’s slow on the uptake.

“...Move.” 

You push past him into the bathroom and he throws his hand up to surrender. You’re the oddest person he’s had the pleasure (?) of sharing an apartment with, he thinks. Mostly harmless, but hard to read.

The shower sputters to life, changing from hot to ice cold in a second. You grit down a scream, powering through it until the suds wash off. Sheer resolve makes you towel off and change in record time. 

You’re grabbing your bag and chucking whatever you can find in the fridge onto bread. Whilst making a crude sandwich, you’re distracted – going through the calculations in your head. You’ve got a train to catch in about 20 minutes, and if you keep a brisk pace you can make the walk in 15. When you switch subway lines to get across town, it’ll be tight, but you can make it up by cutting across the barriers and keeping those elbows sharp on the stairs. God forbid you miss the transfer, because you’ll have to wait another 15 minutes for the next one and–

Miguel watches by the doorway, a little amused. So caught up in your own world, you don’t notice. He takes a sip of a mug of hot coffee, and you look up. Your face, cute and all scrunched up as you concentrate; but he can’t help but enjoy the flash of displeasure on your face.

“Don’t want to hear it.” You’re spreading butter aggressively, if there was ever such a thing.

He shrugs. “...I didn’t say anything.”

“I can hear it, Miguel. You’re thinking out loud, and…” Wrapping up your meal in tinfoil, you stuff it into your bag. “...I don’t have the time to tell you to fuck off.”

With a little gasp, he clutches at hypothetical pearls. He gives you a sarcastic grin before you’re off – slamming the front door in your wake.

_

_

_

[lanadelnegan]

My Past, My Future - Part 1

Negan x Reader x Daryl (love triangle)

Part 2 here

Summary: Daryl is in love with you, but you're in love with Negan.

Warnings: 18+, smut, love triangle, p in v, romantic negan, angst, breeding

Note: this was requested from an anon (Negan saying goodbye to Lucille and confessing his love to y/n.) I decided to spice it up and throw Daryl in there. &lt;3

"Lucille, baby. If you were here, you'd be so fuckin' disappointed in me.... But hell, if you were still here, things probably never would have made it to this point to begin with... Turned into a fuckin' monster when the world took you from me. Hope wherever the hell you are, you weren't watchin'. Truth is? I couldn't stand seeing anyone fuckin' happy because you took all my happiness with you when you left. But baby... I think I've found happiness again... "

Negan sighs heavily as he traces the wood grain of his beloved bat.

"She reminds me of you. So carefree and down-to-earth. If you met her, you'd understand... You'd want me to be happy, right? Hell, I've done enough suffering.. even though I probably deserved it. Anyways.."

Negan brings Lucille to his lips, pressing softly as his eyes squeeze shut.

"What I'm trying to say is.. you taught me how to love, Lucille. I'm forever grateful for that. And you'll always have a part of me. You're my past. But y/n... she's my future."

He tosses the bat into the fire, watching the wood burn bittersweetly as it concludes that chapter of his life.

----------------------------------------------------------

"Hey, where've you been?" Carol asks, jogging up to Negan as he arrives back at Alexandria.

"Had to take care of something." Negan shrugs. "You seen y/n around?"

"On a run with Daryl.. They should be back soon... Why?" Carol scrunches her brows at Negan and his jaw twitches at the mention of Daryl's name.

Daryl has been there for y/n since the very beginning, which is partly why Negan spared Daryl and let him live. Y/n begged Negan to let Daryl come back to Alexandria after Negan took him to the sanctuary, and he allowed it because even then, he had a soft spot for her.

Negan grunts. "No reason."

-----------------------------------------------------------

You and Daryl have been gone for a few hours now and you managed to find some canned goods on your run, weighing down your backpack. The sun is starting to go down just as you see the gates of Alexandria in the near distance and you grunt, adjusting the heavy bag on your shoulder.

Daryl notices your struggling and doesn't hesitate to grab your bag off your shoulder, throwing it over his.

He's been there by your side since the beginning and saved your lives more times than you can count.. helped you when you needed it. Even during the smallest inconveniences, like right now.

"You don't have to carry that."

"I know." Daryl grunts, adjusting your backpack next to his own on his back.

The rest of your walk is silent as the guilt from the secret you've kept for weeks now eats at you.

You started visiting Negan a couple weeks after he got locked up in Alexandria. The first time you did it was to curse him out.. Tell him how you wish he were dead and how your friends didn't deserve what he did to them.

The second time you visited was out of pure boredom. Carol and Daryl had gone on a run without you, and you snuck in to see him out of curiosity.

The third time was because you found that he intrigued you. The conversations you had with Negan had become like no other conversations you'd ever had. You felt like he was the only person who understood you.

Monthly visits to his cell became weekly visits. And weekly visits turned into daily visits. You'd bring him books to keep him company, sneak him snacks, and eventually, one thing led to another.

And now he's your secret boyfriend. You've been sneaking around with him for weeks now, like teenagers scared to get caught by their parents. And while it's thrilling, your feelings for Negan have grown into something much bigger that you ever expected.

"Daryl.. there's something I need to get off my chest."

If there's anyone who hates Negan, it's Daryl. But he's also the one person you trust the most, and he's going to find out eventually. So you decide it might as well come from you.

"Hm?" Daryl grunts, scuffing his feet in the gravel as he walks.

"Promise it won't make anything... different between us?"

He slows down, looking at you suspiciously. "Nah, ain't promisin' nothin'. But now ya gotta tell me."

You sigh, hoping you're not about to make a terrible decision.

"There's... someone I have feelings for..."

His brows scrunch together as he glances at you. When he doesn't answer, you hesitantly continue.

"I... I think I might even love him."

Daryl looks at you again, a softer look in his eyes this time as you continue on rambling.

"I haven't told anyone else. I don't want anyone getting upset with me... Or... judging me."

"Who is it?" Daryl quickly cuts you off as the Alexandrian gates open for the two of you.

"It's.. um.." You sigh as Negan's name stops on the tip of your tongue.

"Y/n.. hey, there you are. We need to talk." Negan is already on the other side of gate as you enter. Daryl stops beside you, refusing to leave your side as he glares at Negan.

"Uh, yeah.. let's go talk over there." You say, widening your eyes at Negan, confused that he's talking to you like this in front of Daryl. You've both done a decent job of keeping your interactions with each other private, so this is out of the ordinary.

"No..." Negan cuts you off. "I'm done hiding. I'm gonna talk and you're gonna listen."

"Negan.." You warn him, noticing the death glare that Daryl is giving him.

"I love you, y/n."

Your mouth drops open slightly at his confession. You want to say it back, because... you do love him. But something stops you.

Negan brings his hand up to rest against your cheek. "That's okay, baby. You don't have to say it back right now. I've waited for you for this long, I've got all the time in the world.. I just.. I needed you to know."

He takes you in his arms, hugging you tightly and resting his chin on top of your head.

"You can't be fuckin' serious." Daryl finally interrupts. "Him?" He asks, looking at you with hurt in his eyes.

You nod, the side of your head pressing into Negan's chest as your arms wrap around his waist. "Daryl... I was gonna tell you sooner. I-"

"Doesn't matter." Daryl grunts, spitting at the ground in front of him. "Whadaya want me to say, y/n? Congrats?" Daryl glares at Negan before angrily walking off.

You glance around, noticing others watching the scene before them. "Negan.. we need to take this somewhere else."

"Okay.. yeah, I know." He drops his head. "I just - I'm so tired of hiding from everyone. I want them to know you're my girl. I fuckin' love you, y/n. More than anything... Why is that so wrong? Why should I have to hide that?"

You search his eyes as a single tear falls from yours. You know you shouldn't want him. You know all of the awful things he's done, but you've grown to know him on such a deeper level over the past few months and you can't help but feel so strongly for him.

If being with him means the rest of the world is against you, then so be it.

You wrap your arms around him and slam your lips to his, kissing him desperately. You're too caught up in the moment to notice the shock on everyone's face around you. You deepen this kiss, savoring the taste of him as your tongues mingle together.

"Negan.. I need you." You say in between breaths as he lifts you up into his arms by your thighs and your legs wrap around his waist.

You can't take your lips off of him as he leads you into your house nearby, not paying attention to the hateful glares around you.

Negan kicks your front door open with you still in his arms and you slam it shut as he presses your back into the living room wall. His lips travel from your lips to your neck as he presses his erection into you. You whine, frustrated at the material separating both of you.

"Negan.. please, I need you.. now."

He carefully lets you down as both of you tear away at each other's clothes until you're naked and he's left in just his black boxers.

He picks you back up, leading you to the couch and sitting down with you straddling his lap. You pull away from his lips long enough to look into his hazel eyes, letting your hands cup his face before running your fingers through his graying hair.

You can't deny that you're head over heels in love with this man, as wrong as it may be. He's changed so much since he was leader of the Saviors, mentally and physically. He's a perfect example that people can change, and you hope that the others and Daryl can finally see that one day too.

"You're so fuckin' beautiful, baby." His cock springs free from the hole in his boxers as he takes your hard nipple into his mouth, sucking lightly.

You hover over him, lining his tip up with your entrance. You slide down slowly, inch by inch until he fills you completely and you feel the tip of him pressing against your cervix. You moan out at the satisfying pain as his fingers dig into your hips.

"That's it, sweetheart. God you feel so fuckin' good." He praises you.

You wrap your arms around his neck to support yourself as you bounce up and down on him and he groans out, looking up at you through his lust-filled eyes. You press your forehead and nose against his own as you continue riding him slow and hard, making sure he hits as deep as possible each time you come down on him.

"I love you too, Negan. So much."

"Yeah? Fuck. Say it again." He says, his breathing unsteady.

"I love you Negan... I'm in love with you."

"Fuck, baby. I'm so fuckin' crazy about you."

You crash your lips to his again as a tear falls from your cheek.

"Baby, don't cry. It's okay, we're gonna figure this out. Fuck everyone else." He wipes your tear away with his thumb as you continue grinding on him softly.

You nod. "I know.. I just.. want them to accept you."

Negan gets up suddenly, laying you down on your back before positioning himself between your legs.

"Only one I need acceptance from is you, darlin'." He says before sliding inside you in one quick motion. He fucks you fast and deep, interchangeably moaning filthy sounds in your ear and sucking at your neck.

After moments of thrusting, he pulls back, settling on his knees as he lifts your leg, placing it on his shoulder. From this new angle, he hits your g-spot perfectly over and over.

"Negan.." You breathe heavily. "I'm -"

"I know baby. Just fuckin' let go."

You come apart at the sound of his words, moaning out his name as your juices rush out of you. Negan looks down between the two of you, watching you soak his cock.

"Goddamn baby, look at that." His voice is low and raspy when he leans over you again. "So fuckin' wet." The sound of his voice right in your ear sends a chill through your body.

"Want you to cum in me.." You breathe out.

"Yeah? You sure, baby?"

You've never let him before, but now that your relationship is public and you've both confessed your feelings to each other, you crave him on a deeper level.

You nod desperately and he kisses you hard, spilling deep inside of you as his hips stop abruptly. He groans into your mouth as his dick pulses over and over and you feel his warm liquid paint your walls.

After a few minutes of snuggling and kissing, he finally pulls out of you and the two of you get dressed.

"Did you mean it?" He asks, pulling his pants up.

"Mean what? That I love you?"

He looks to you, waiting for your answer as you pull your shirt over your head.

Your eyebrows scrunch. "Of course I meant it. Why would I say it if I didn't mean it?"

He shrugs. "Dunno. You coulda been caught up in the moment."

You laugh, walking over to him and sliding your hands around his waist, pulling him in for a long hug. You look up at him to find him grinning down at you.

"Nope... Still love you." You reassure him.

He nods towards the door. "You ready to tell the world that?"

"Fuck this world. It doesn't care about us. Why should we care about it?"

Negan chuckles, kissing your forehead.

Your face grows serious at the thought of Daryl's reaction earlier. "Actually.. I need to find Daryl. Make things right.. He seemed really upset."

Negan nods disappointedly, dropping his head.

"Oh, stop. Don't be like that... You know his opinion is important to me."

"He'll never give us his blessing if that's what you're after, y/n."

"I don't need his blessing, Negan. I just don't want him to hate me. He's been there with me since the beginning. If we want a future together, I need to make things right."

Negan's brows come together as he lets go of you. "If we want a future together? ... So, if he's not okay with us being together, that's it? You're just gonna kick me to the fuckin' curb?"

"Negan.. I didn't say that."

"... but you did." He says.

"Negan, please just.. I didn't mean it like that." You say frustrated, reaching for him again. Your heart drops when he pulls away.

He nods, sliding his hands into his pockets as he waits for your explanation.

"I care about him, too. What he thinks.. matters to me. That doesn't mean I'm going to let it dictate our future. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have worded it that way."

"Okay." He whispers, but the hurt is still clear in his voice.

"Stay here, okay? I want you to sleep here tonight. I'll talk to them.. get them to agree to it. Just give me some time and.. don't leave the house, okay?"

Negan nods as you reach to hold his hands, standing on your tip toes to kiss him. "I love you Negan. This is going to work, I promise."

Part 2 here

[hoodreader]

MY CAT’S CHART 💋

his birth date is approximative. this is what the foster told me and they were monitoring him since he was a couple weeks old, so i went with it.

menu — forms — readings open.

TAURUS SUN.

comfort over everything. and he gon lay on whatever make him feel comfy, he don’t gaf.

grooms himself. naps for like an hour. wakes up. then he grooms again. cycle continues.

he’s very patient. it takes a lot to get him to be upset with u. he don’t hiss or anything, he’ll complain meow when annoyed.

i have a very greedy cat. he is so loud and demanding when he wants to eat ur food.

PISCES MOON.

pretty shy and sensitive. he can be easy to overwhelm if u don’t know him.

he don’t like feeling smothered in any capacity and he don’t like being held too long. pushing him will cause him to hide.

he feels safe when given space (if u don’t know him) and then letting him decide if he wanna be closer. he’s a vibe reader.

very empathetic. when i was or felt sad, he’d always come in and check on me. he’d meow like “what’s wrong?” then just purr and lay with me. cats definitely aren’t always asocial.

because he’s so docile he usually won’t assert boundaries himself. i’d have to step in.

TAURUS MERCURY (Rx).

a real yapper. especially about food. makes sense b/c taurus rules the vocal chords.

makes a wide variety of sounds. chirps, chatters, trills (he sounds like a pigeon).

always purring. sometimes all i have to do is look at him and he’ll start purring.

his voice is light for the most part!

mercury is ur sense of community. Rx mercury people might be more on the shy side, and he prefers a small community.

CANCER VENUS.

a real cuddle bug. his love language is probably quality time or physical touch.

he is very clingy. will walk between my legs as i walk around. and i trip over him often.

he’s very sensuous in my opinion. he loves looking outside the window and loafing as he just takes the outside world in. very zen 🧘🏾

again loves to eat. food brings him great joy.

CANCER MARS.

conflict avoidant, but he can be territorial and defensive about whatever he considers to be his domain. he act like he run shit

the first day he met another dog, i saw a side of him i never seen. he puffed up big and crab walked, trying to dominate the energy.

my cat was definitely like “aight now…” like… i was pretty proud of him for trying!

but in tense situations, he kinda doesn’t hold his own. i remember i got a female cat (i surrendered her b/c the shelter thought it was best). she was lowkey hoeing him. 💀

ARIES JUPITER.

the shelter named him “Superman” because they said he was the bravest out of his litter mates, as he was born to a feral cat mother.

he is very adventurous and curious, despite his shyness. he just isn’t adventurous about people. but he loves to explore otherwise.

“carpe diem” is his expression for sure.

he’s so destructive though. and too curious sometimes. once he jumped on our closet shelf to knock down the muffins we purposefully hid from him. then he ate them

he also bit through my tarot cards

he jumped on the fridge and ate our baguette. imagine my shock when i saw the baguette with a cartoonish bite mark in it.

PISCES SATURN.

he appreciates a good nap. which is something i love. because one thang i know two thangs certain, he gon take a mf nap.

saturn shows how we rest / work. so his being in pisces really shows that he values the rest aspect of saturn.

he so hardheaded sometimes but that’s because (1) he has the comparable of a two year old but (2) he doesn’t believe in rules.

because well… he’s a cat.

but i love the way he doesn’t let my human values stop him from living his best life

and i love our chart energies.

his sun is conjunct my venus (in the eleventh house). like it’s giving best friends, lmao. his south node is conjunct my fifth house moon too, it’s giving we really been besties.

his south node is conjunct my bf/co guardian’s moon too. tbh we all are just super watery (lmao) so it’s a lot of emotion in our trio dynamic. i also love how his venus and mars is in my first house/in my bf’s eleventh house.

it’s wild cuz i deadass feel like this cat can read my mind sometimes. he just knows me. and i wish i could explain to him how much i love him.

i’ll love him to the end of time. he’s my best friend, confidant, and there will never be a cat like him. 🤍 the universe sent u to me. ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

[weministertomonsters]

M Werefox (Harcourt) x F reader - 1

➤ Pairing - M werefox x F reader ➤ Wordcount 1.9k

A lovely reader on Patreon liked Harcourt and asked about a Part 2 for this story and of course I said yes! I had to rewrite Part 1 though, so here it is! Part 2 is coming soon as well.

I don't think I've ever posted this to Tumblr because this story was from my glory days on Wattpad before my book got deleted. (If you’re reading this on Wattpad, maybe you remember it? Idk)

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It's your twelfth birthday and the sun is shining and your friends are due to arrive in an hour for your little party. Suddenly you hear your mother yelling outside.

"Shoo! Out, out!"

You scamper into the backyard to see what the fuss is about and find her chasing the scrawniest werefox kit you've ever seen away from the chicken coop. He's got egg yolk clinging to his chin, an undeniable sign of his theft. His black-tipped ears pin to his head as he deftly dodges the dishcloth your mother is wielding and leaps over the backyard fence, disappearing into the brush.

"I've heard all about him from Pansy down the street. She says she's also missing eggs now and then," your mother says, putting her hands on her hips and blowing her hair out of her eyes.

"But Ma!" You wail, "he's hungry! Did you see how thin he was?"

Your mother pats your head. "He's different from us, darling. Those creatures are half wild. I'm sure there's plenty of things in the forest for him to hunt."

"But he's so small," you reply anxiously. "Not much bigger than me. Maybe he can't catch anything."

"How did he even get in?" Your mother murmurs, checking the latch on the coop, and then tutting in dismay as she sees the side of the coop, where the kit has scratched and chewed through the thin wood planks, making a hole to squeeze through.

"Oh dear. This is going to take a while to fix," your mother sighs and peeks into the coop. "And now I'm a few eggs short for your cake. At least he didn't go after the chickens."

You hardly care about your cake now. "If he comes again, can we keep him?"

Your mother purses her lips together in the way she does when you ask her a question she doesn't know how to answer.

"He might be wild, but he's not an animal," your mother finally replies. "He'll grow just as big as you, and you can't keep him as a pet."

"Why not?" You whine. "He doesn't have a mommy or a daddy, does he? He's all alone."

"You don't know that, darling," your mother says.

"Pleaseee?" You hop from one foot to another and stare up at your mother with pleading eyes.

She smiles, but she doesn't say yes. "My soft-hearted girl," she says and hugs you. "Come, let's see if we can still put together something sweet for your birthday."

You pout for the rest of the week, but she doesn't budge, like any sensible mother. The little werefox has to have a den nearby and you hope the next time you see him, you can follow him to it. The next Saturday your mother is visiting the Pansy down the street with some soup for her sick son. You're alone at home, swinging in the backyard and trying to see how high you can go. Your stomach swoops as the swing brings you down, and just then you see a flash of russet through the corner of your eye.

The werefox boy sits down and pries at the planks on the newly repaired coop, bracing one hindfoot on the wall as he begins to pull. He's stronger than he looks, and you hear the wood beginning to splinter. You leap out of the swing and misjudge your timing, crashing onto your knees in the dirt. The noise startles him and he jumps up.

"Wait!" You clamber to your feet.

He hops over the fence and scurries away, darting glances at you over his shoulder. You grab your half-eaten ham sandwich from the porch and race after him. He's fast and agile, darting into the trees and leaping over fallen branches while you straggle behind, still calling for him to wait for you. You lose sight of him when you're forced to stop and catch your breath. The lettuce has fallen out of the sandwich, but you're pretty sure he wouldn't have wanted it anyway. You walk aimlessly in the direction he went, wondering if you'll be able to find him.

You come across a hole between the thick roots of a tree that looks just about big enough. You kneel and look into the hole. The dirt has been scraped away and smoothed down to make a tunnel.

"Hello?" You call down. "Is this your den?"

There's a rustle, and the werefox boy pops his head out, his eyes alert. You sit back on your haunches and look at him.

"Why are you following me?" He asks, his ears constantly twitching as he listens to the forest.

"You can speak?"

"Duh," he replies.

"I brought you this." You hold out the sandwich, which is crumbly now.

His eyes narrow and he leans forward to sniff your hand. He snatches it from you and scarfs it down, his pupils widening as he tastes the ham.

"Is it good?" You ask.

He nods and eyes your greasy hand. He leans forward and presses his muzzle against your hand, licking the taste of ham away.

You giggle. "You're like a really big puppy!"

He pulls back and disappears into his den.

"Better come inside. It's dangerous out there," he mutters.

You clamber happily in with no regard for your safety. His den is like a secret treehouse, but way cooler. The floor is lined with dry, crunchy leaves and soft downy chicken feathers.

"You might get in trouble for killing people's chickens, you know," you say, crossing your legs and getting comfortable.

There's just about enough room for the two of you.

"I'm not," he says. "I gather the loose feathers when I... You know." He looks ashamed.

"Where are your parents?" You ask. "They should be taking care of you so you don't have to steal."

"I don't know," he says, lying down and curling his tail around his thin body. "I ran away."

"Ran away from your home? Why?"

"It wasn't a home, it was a traveling circus." He stares at the dirt ceiling of his den. "We went to so many different places."

You glimpse a scruffy, dirty collar chafing the fur around his neck.

"Was that from the circus? Why are you still wearing it?"

"I can't work the latch," he says.

"Can I help?"

He squirms and shivers, but tilts his head to let you try. In a few seconds, you've removed it. His eyes brighten and he rubs the fur on his neck.

"Thank you," he says shyly.

You nod. "What was the circus like? Did they poke you with sticks like they do with the lions? To get you to do tricks?"

His shoulders quiver and he makes a barking sound that seems equivalent to a human laugh.

"No, I pickpocketed the crowd. I was small and quick, so nobody really noticed me.

"Where the circus people mean to you? Is that why you left?"

He shakes his head. "They were okay. But we were always in the cities when all I wanted to do was be in the forests and look up at the night sky. I couldn't leave because I had a contract, so I just ran away."

"And now you're here."

He nods, idly scratching the matted fur on his neck where the collar was.

"You can't steal any more eggs," you tell him. "I'll bring you food instead."

"Why would you do that?" His gaze follows you as you crawl over to the entrance of his den.

"Because we're friends," you tell him. "I have to go home now, or else my Ma will wonder where I am."

"Okay."

"You never told me your name. Friends need to know each other's names," you tell him.

"At the circus, everyone called me Harcourt, so I guess that's my name."

"So fancy," you giggle and tell him your name in return. "See you tomorrow!"

You keep your promise, showing up the next day with a whole sandwich this time, and a brush. You show him how to use it and help him pick twigs and clumps of dirt out of his fur. He hates the water, but you convince him to try it. Once he's dry, you brush him until he's fluffy and soft, and the sun dances in his fur. He begins to smile, and you never mind how sharp his teeth are. As time passes you grow apart from your old friends, but Harcourt remains close.

Your mother notices that the eggs are never stolen again. One day as you head out for your daily "walk" she packs some extra food and puts it in your hands.

"How long have you known, Ma?"

"Do you think I'd let my girl leave the house almost every day without making sure you're safe?" She says with a twinkle in her eye.

You wrinkle your nose, trying to picture your mother sneaking after you.

"So you don't mind?" You ask. "Harcourt and I are friends now."

"So his name is Harcourt..." She murmurs. "Just make sure to come home before dark, my child."

That's how you made- and kept- your unlikely friend. You spend most of your free time in the forest with Harcourt, eating sandwiches and drinking cool water from the spring nearby. You taught him how to swim and look for shapes in the clouds and in return, he showed you how to forage for berries and edible mushrooms. You brought some blankets out to his den and on cold days you would curl up together inside his den and you would read to him with the light of a lantern.

He began to put on a little muscle and get taller than you. He was also moodier, and would sometimes growl when he was in an extra bad mood. You got testy yourself, and sometimes you would argue and end up storming back to your house in angry tears. You had always told your mother everything and that didn't change. She listened to you, smiled, and sometimes even shed a tear at your woes.

She never complained about your friendship with Harcourt but as puberty hit she got more cautious, often poking around embarrassing subjects, which embarrassed you to no end. You would tell her it wasn't like that and you were just friends, and then you would run to your room and blush angrily into your pillow, wondering why she even had to bring that up.

Eventually, you had to leave for the capital to further your education. You cried the hardest that day, soaking Harcourt's fur with your tears and promising that you wouldn't forget him. You wrote him letters and asked your mother to read them to him. Your dear mother even wrote back for him now and then. Harcourt's letters were filled with stories about fishing, expanding his den, an incident with a badger, and even working in town to make some money. He had learned to read and promised to learn to write as well.

Half a year later he fulfilled that promise. His handwriting was chicken scratch and hard to read, but you stuck each one to your dorm wall and looked at them often. Your roommate got to hear the whole story from you, and would often tease you and tell you that you were definitely in love. After a while, you stopped denying it.

Finally, you completed your last year and graduated. You could hardly contain your excitement as you packed to go home, looking forward to seeing your mother, breathing in the crisp countryside air, and meeting your good friend again. You headed to the train station and before you knew it, you were on the way home.

[klausinamarink]

One Kid Gone, Another Up and Vanished (part 10)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 next: Part 11 | ao3

time for shenanigans.

Jim’s frustrated.

This whole week has been a major event after another; Joyce’s son vanishes on Sunday, the same happened with Eddie Munson the day after, and the Hollands’ daughter going poof the other day. And then Will’s body had been found in the quarry, which was a cherry pick top on with Benny’s sudden death and the damned MK Ultra stories he can’t get out of his head-

Jim pinches the bridge of his nose. Takes a deep breath. Exhales it out. Yeah, Jimmy boy, exhale some of that shit out.

He’s sitting in his vehicle on the roadside, just at the intersection of Cherry Ave and Cornwallis Road. He doesn’t really have much to do. Theoretically, he should be sitting his ass behind his desk at the station but what is he going to do?

The goddamn suits and rangers of the state had shown up right after Will’s body was recovered and told him to relax because they got it all covered.

Yeah, right.

In a different time, Jim wouldn’t mind shouldering off the responsibility and leave the big hats to finish it. But he’s not that kind of cop. He doesn’t trust the state to place their greasy hands over the cases. At best, they’re going to fuck it all up.

But it seems that they really aren’t kidding about being involved. When Jim had tried to get into the morgue last night to do a better autopsy on Will’s body, the doors were guarded by, not one, but three rangers. He almost punched them all out, but he had simply shared the most polite conversation he can with them before they politely kicked him out.

He had thought about seeing Joyce earlier this morning, but he would be a heartless jackass to accidentally send her to a public breakdown at her son’s funeral.

Now he’s tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, staring at nothing on the road, unsure what to do and where to start.

His mind wanders to the notebook sitting in the glovebox. Having already read it front to back, he can admit that Wayne really has a sharp eye for everything. There’s one particular point about Eddie being last seen with a cut on his hand that’s nagging the back of Jim’s memory cave. But nothing solid comes up so he brushes it aside for now.

“How long it’ll take for you to even care out what happened to my nephew before his body turns up next?”

Jim stops his tapping on the wheel and drops his forehead against it, sighing heavily. Wayne really knows exactly what to say that haunts you for the rest of your damned life.

Not so different to what Joyce had fired back at him few days ago.

Will’s body comes back to his mind again. He hadn’t seen him up-close, not with the coroner being defensive on preventing contamination. But Jim’s not an idiot. He had seen enough of Will’s perfectly intact body to call bullshit on the accepted belief the kid fell into the quarry.

Suddenly, he gets a sinking feeling in his gut.

Jim looks up towards the direction of the laboratory. He’s too far to actually see the building but he feels its presence nonetheless. Enough to conjure up the image of Martin Brenner’s polite smile when he said no, we haven’t seen a child here on these grounds.

He starts the engine.

—

From the way Wayne keeps glancing up at Joyce, she senses that her pacing is getting to his nerves.

It’s fair for him to think that. She’s been practically burning through his kitchen floor for the past thirty minutes. Or she thinks it’s been thirty minutes. Hours were quickly slipping and the sun’s already setting outside. 

Hours without any word from Will or Eddie. Not even a tiniest flicker from the lightbulbs. 

Despite her empty stomach, she can feel bile climbing up her throat. She swallows it down, daring a glance back to Wayne. 

He looks up at her again, his hand rubbing the side of his temple. Joyce tenses when she catches his mouth opening as if he’s ready to say something. She’s already had enough listening to the hauntings of her mother’s scolding in her ear and whispers from the townsfolk (including Lonnie and Jonathan) right behind her back. She doesn’t want to hear another one to her face from Wayne.

Just then, through her anxiety, she gets struck by a realization.

“Of course!” Joyce snaps her fingers in a feign of excitement. “They probably went back to my house!”

Wayne gives her a bemused look. “Your house?”

She nods quickly, already pulling the older man up as she reminds him through a long-winded explanation of how she manages to establish communication with Will and later Eddie at her home. Wayne looks all the more confused, but he hurries along with her to his truck. It’s a quicker drive from the trailers to Cornwallis. Wayne follows her brief directions, soon parking on the driveway. Before he even stops, Joyce jumps out and runs to the front door. 

She realizes a second too late that she should give him a warning about the current state of her living room. But whatever words she’s about to say withers in her mouth when she steps into the house.

The Christmas lights are gone. 

Every one of them that she’s strung up, even a few she had reluctantly pushed to the corners this morning, are nowhere to be seen now. Her only way to speak to her baby, gone.

As she gapes around the room, her eyes land on the suspect, who’s kneeling on the couch and methodically replacing a new layer of wallpaper above it. Right were the letters used to be.

“Lonnie.” She doesn’t know how she finds her voice, but it doesn’t sound like herself. It’s too calm to match the anger burning within her chest.

Lonnie looks over his shoulder, unfazed. “There you are. Thought I had to call the cops when you disappeared this morning. Like mother, like son, huh?”

Joyce clenches her jaw tight at the normalcy of his tone. She glares at him, making Lonnie mockingly throw his hands up. 

“Oh, sorry. Never meant to say that. I was just worried about where you went.” Lonnie chuckles. Then he looks over her shoulder and his expression falls. Joyce dares a quick glance and sees Wayne standing awkwardly in the doorway. She cringes inwardly, motioning at the other man to leave. But Wayne doesn’t move. He just crosses his arms and stares back evenly at Lonnie.

When Joyce peers back at Lonnie, his eyes are darkened. She can hear his teeth grinding as he gets off the couch and towers over her. “Seriously? We just buried our son and you run off to-”

“What did you do to the lights?” Joyce cuts him off. Her voice is still and quiet.

Lonnie raises his eyebrows, his temper briefly quelshed with confusion. “What?”

“The lights, Lonnie. Why did you take them off? And why are you ruining the wallpaper?”

He has the audacity to sigh and shake his head as if his heart is breaking. That liar. “I threw them out.”

It feels like the world just stopped. “What?”

“Because your mind’s not right, Joyce. I can’t see you act like this, pretending that Will’s trapped in the walls-”

“Since when have you ever cared?” Frost drips out of her voice. She hopes it turns into icicles and stabs into her ex-husband’s heart.  “You never gave two shits about me when I had to bust your ass out of jail countless times and take up the night shifts because you couldn’t hold a job anymore. You never cared how hard or loud you’ve hurt me in front of Jonathan. You never, never cared about Will until you thought about hitting him too.”

“Joyce-”

“And now you show your face up, acting like the grieving husband and father so you can make everyone believe you’ve cared. But you never did. Because I bet it’s because of that sweet money the state’s going to donate to your pocket for acting like the way you are. So what gave you the fucking right to take down all of my lights, tear my wallpaper off, and act like it’s for the sake of my sanity?”

Lonnie throws his arms up, his face looming closer like he always does when they fight. “Because you’re sick, Joyce! You’re acting completely irrational and ruining this house-”

“I’m ruining the house? Is that what you care for now?!”

“Yes! Because this is where you and your son live in-”

“If you fucking dare to move back in here-”

Amidst their arguing, Joyce barely remembers Wayne. She just hopes that he had just left already, seeing no point in watching a couple’s dispute. It’ll hurt, but it would be the best for him. He doesn’t deserve being dragged into more of her messes.

Lonnie’s hand suddenly shoots towards her in a blur. Joyce instinctively flinches away, already feeling the phantom stinging of the previous slaps. 

But she doesn’t feel her head snapping to her side or taste sharp copper in her teeth. She peeks her eyes open (she doesn’t realize she had shut them) and sees Lonnie’s arm being held in the air by Wayne’s tight grip.

“If your way to end an argument is to hurt someone, then you’re better to take the loss and leave.” Wayne speaks to Lonnie’s face so softly that his usual gruff tone vanishes for a moment. Oh. Joyce realizes. That’s how his anger sounds.

Lonnie stares at him wide-eyed, a drop of sweat trailing down his cheek. His forearm whitens around Wayne’s fingers the longer they grip into the skin. Finally, Wayne leans away with a curt nod and lets him go, making Lonnie stumble back. He looks at them both before the familiar snarl of displeasure returns. 

“You’re both fucking crazy. You both deserve it together.” He spits just before he storms out, loudly slamming the front door shut. 

Trembling, Joyce glares through the still-open window as Lonnie starts up his car and promptly drives off. 

Wayne scoffs quietly, “Serves him right.”

It should be enough to let her relax and breathe again. But there’s so much of her anger boiling her veins that Joyce grabs her head and curls her fingers into her hair, pulling it harshly so that several strands get ripped out.

This should be enough. But there’s so much of her anger boiling her veins that Joyce grabs her head and curls her fingers into her hair, pulling it harshly so that several strands are ripped off.

She can hear Wayne calling her name. But she doesn’t listen or look at him. She just turns around and stomps her way down into the house. And then there’s a blast of cold air and heavy crunching of leaves under her feet. Before she knows it, Joyce yanks the shed’s door open.

The first thing she sees is a pair of shovels. She grabs them, only for both tools to be somehow tangled with each other. It makes her more mad as she struggles to separate them. But once they’re freed, they get caught against the other tools in the shed.

“You’re kidding me.” She says to nobody in particular except this stupid shed and whatever god is up in the sky who likes making her life miserable. She tries to shove her anger down, but the shovels are stuck again and they’re just banging against the shed, doing nothing but make the buzzing in her head louder and louder and she can’t think of anything other than-

“Joyce.” 

She jumps, her shoulders up to her ears. She whirls around, expecting to see Lonnie crawling back to her. But it’s only Wayne, standing just a few feet away.

She glares up at him. “What?” 

He looks wearily at her and at the shovels in her hands. “What are you doing right now?” Wayne asks, sounding too gentle like he’s trying to coax a scared animal. Thinking of that comparison makes Joyce even more mad.

“None of your damned business.” She hisses. She turns back to what she’s trapped herself in doing and tries to free the shovels. How is it this hard to get a couple shovels out?! 

But she still senses Wayne behind her, even approaching closer. She whips her head back to him, “Leave.”

Just after she says it, the shovels she’s been holding bang against some equipment inside, creating a cascade of metallic crashes.

Her frustration explodes. She drops the handles and kicks at the wall several times hard enough that it almost surprises her it doesn’t collapse. Her hands dig back into her hair as she yells up at the sky. And because Wayne is still here for some godforsaken reason, she yells at him too. 

“Just go! You already know how goddamn sick I am! Just go and spit on me after wasting your fucking time for sitting around and waiting for your nephew-”

Wayne takes another step forward and-

He hugs her. 

Joyce stiffens at first, a second of shock overcoming her. Then she lets go of her hair just so she can pound her fists onto his chest, attempting to twist away from his embrace. Bad women like her don’t deserve hugs like this.

“What did I tell you about using others to comfort your pain, Joyce? Now I’m going to feel awful for wanting to give you a hug. You see what you’ve done? To your own mother, no else?”

Wayne doesn’t let her go. Instead, he smooths her hair down, careful at the aching patches where she’d just abused her scalp. Something about that motion makes Joyce to drop her arms down. Her breath shudders as she lets her face be buried into Wayne’s cardigan. It smells like cigarettes, old oak leaves, and flour oddly enough.

It sends a crack somewhere through her heart.

She doesn’t recognize the wretched sound coming out of her mouth. It sounds like a dying animal, too rough and guttural as if it wants to cut through her throat. Her small body wracks violently with every sob like it’s desperate to rattle her soul out to leave this earth. She wants to leave, but Wayne isn’t letting her. He keeps her arms tight around her, slightly rocking them side to side like a father does to a child. Just like how Joyce does to Will and Jonathan after a bad day and night. 

Thinking about it restarts the cycle of tears again.

After she feels her tears are spent and regains control of her breathing, Joyce taps on Wayne’s arm. He gets the message and unwraps himself from her, though he keeps a hand on her shoulder. The front of his cardigan is nearly soaked through but he doesn’t raise a complaint.

Joyce’s eyes feel swollen. There’s snot and tears running down her face, which she’s quick to wipe away. Once she’s sure she can speak without another threat of tears, she mumbles, “Sorry about that..” 

“No need to apologize. Seems you really needed that.” Wayne tells her softly. She looks up at him and there’s a small sincere quirk of his lips. Not a single ounce of malice or pity is shining out of his doe eyes, just complete reassurance and comfort. 

It almost makes Joyce cry again, but she holds it together and just sniffs her snot back in. 

Silence falls between them, but it’s not as awkward or tense as Joyce expects. It’s more comforting. Maybe breaking down in front of someone who doesn’t immediately taunt her does more wonders than she thinks.

“Do you want to explain why you were wrestling with these shovels?” Wayne asks. A flush of shame comes over Joyce and she looks down to the ground again. Crosses her arms as if it’ll prevent herself from answering.

“Joyce?”

She lets out a shaky sigh. Fuck it. Wayne’s been with her this far.

“I want to go back to the cemetery.” 

There’s a pause. She doesn’t look up as Wayne asks, “Come again?”

She sighs again. Flicks her eyes up to stare directly at Wayne. “I want to see who was that boy they buried as Will.”

Wayne furrows his brows. Then the realization comes over him. “You-”

“I know it’s stupid and very illegal.” Joyce keeps her hands to herself so they don’t flail around, takes a step away from him. There’s something wrong with her in which every time she wants to be taken seriously, another thing happens that keeps testing Wayne’s patience for her.

She continues, “But I can’t stand it. I know in my heart and soul that whoever they found in that quarry just looks like Will, but it’s not him! If it was, they would’ve allowed an open casket or let me stay with him for a bit before-” Her breath shudders again. “I just want to know what the hell is going on!”

Joyce tears her gaze away from Wayne, staring at the ground as if it’ll rip open and spit Will back to her. “If you want to throw me into jail or Pennhurst for this, then go ahead. If you’re fed up with my ‘delusions’-” she spat the word, “then leave and forget about me.”

The silence drags for a horribly long time that Joyce can see their shadows extending before her eyes. Then Wayne’s feet shuffle out of her view. She closes her eyes, shivering from the cold catching up to her.

Then there’s a little nudge on her arm along with Wayne’s gruff voice speaking, “Alright, better now than later.”

Joyce blinks her eyes open, her jaw falling open at the sight of Wayne back to her side and holding out a shovel to her. While carrying the second, no less. “W-Wha-?”

“You’re right on a couple things.” Wayne interjects her kindly. “There’s some strange stuff happening around here these past few days. It has to do with our boys going missing and we both know they’re alive somewhere. If you’re beyond certain that the kid you saw being buried isn’t Will, then nothing hurts to check.”

Joyce almost wants to laugh. She almost asks Wayne if he’s losing it. But she sees that look in his eyes, the hard determination she’s seen in herself too. It gives her a spark of hope again.

She takes the offered shovel. She has to bite the insides of her cheek to keep some hysterical giddiness from showing. Staring into Wayne’s eyes, she says, “If you’re in this with me, for what we’re about to do, then you need to also help me out if we get caught by Hopper.”

Wayne gives out an exasperated sigh, but his mouth quirks up something resembling a smirk. “Let me double check my bail money first.”

—

As they drive up into the cemetery, it’s gotten dark enough that all of the headstones look like lumps. Undead potato lumps. A morbid joke that his sister Suzanna once shared with Wayne when they were kids and has somewhat stayed in his vocabulary. Once he slipped and said it around Eddie few years ago, who had gladly adopted the phrase.

“The grave’s over there.” Joyce frowns, pointing over to a direction behind them.

“And we’re going to stop here.” Wayne says, parking the truck at the very end of the road where the oldest areas of the cemetery start embracing the woods. “Wouldn’t want to park near your boy’s grave and get caught too soon.”

Joyce makes a small ah sound. Wayne cuts the engine and headlights off and they both get out. He takes the shovels from the truck’s back, along with a crowbar and a flashlight. Joyce raises an eyebrow at the crowbar but says nothing as she takes the flashlight and the lead to their destination.

They hurry further in half-crouches, carefully weaving around the other gravestones. The groundskeeper has night shifts for a reason and lord forbid if there’s any sneaking reporters hungry for pictures.

“Here.” Joyce whispers. There’s almost no need for her to point it out with the too-new marble headstone and bouquets of flowers are placed on the recently-buried dirt.

They stand together on the side, staring down at the ground. A little adrenaline rush of I am actually doing this comes down onto Wayne. He should feel ashamed of himself. That he should have listened to his logical side of not helping a grieving woman’s delusions and now it’ll start a landslide effect of following Al’s forbidden footsteps.

But he doesn’t feel anything. A little nerves, sure. But otherwise? He’s just calm. Nothing towards himself or Joyce.

Maybe he’s like this because a part of him already wants to dig up Eddie’s grave in the future just to hold his boy close for the last time.

Or it’s just the Munson thing.

He breathes slowly, repositioning his grip of his shovel and handing the other to Joyce.

She doesn’t take it. She stares down at the still-fresh dirt with a lost expression. “But what if I’m wrong? That all this time, this is Will and everyone was right but I’ve been denying it?”

“Then you’ll cry.”

She looks up, shooting him a baffled look.

“You’ll cry, either out of relief or grief.” He continues, nudging the shovel’s handle to her. “It’s the best any of us can do. And what happens next is up to you.”

Joyce’s eyes well up again but she shuts them tight, her expression shifting to the hard determination Wayne is already familiar with. She opens her eyes and takes the shovel in her hands. Then she gives him a single nod.

Wayne nods back and plunges the shovel’s blade into the dirt.

It’s less back-breaking than he expects. Benefits of growing up south and spending years at the plant, he supposes. The soil’s still loose enough so it might’ve helped easing their efforts. But his arms and knees start to ache after one and half feet in. Joyce’s already trembling at this point, pausing to catch her breath every minute or two.

“I’m not sitting down until we get to the damn casket.” Joyce pants out before Wayne opens his mouth. He wisely keeps it shut.

By the time their shovels hit polished wood, it’s fully dark and a absolute miracle that any groundskeeper hasn’t heard them. Yet. Wayne snatches the flashlight and kneels down to sweep the soil off while Joyce collapses to her feet.

“God.” She tilts her head back, seemingly regretting the motion as it brings some dirt falling on her hair. “I’d almost prefer Mr. Turlington’s gym classes to this.”

“If this was his grave, we would’ve made him proud. Hold this.” Wayne hands the flashlight to her.

“I can barely lift my arms!” Joyce protests, but she takes the flashlight, keeping the beam aimed at the head of the casket. Wayne feels his hands around the edges, shuffling more of the tightly pressed earth away.

He stands up, reaching out for the crowbar above. He moves slowly, feeling conscious of the fact that there is a young boy’s body inside. Any more quicker and heavier movement he and Joyce make might just break the casket itself.

“Did ya get the casket sealed?” He asks.

“No, finding the right casket itself was expensive enough.” Joyce winces right after she says it, as if paying for a casket by itself is the most shameful thing in the world. She eyes at the crowbar in his hands. “Why do you ask?”

“From what I heard, unsealed caskets are easier to reopen.” Wayne kneels back down, roughly scooping out a few handfuls of one wall so there’s a small pocket of space. He looks again at Joyce, silently asking are you sure about this?

She gives him an unwavering stare that all but replies with yes, get on with it.

Wayne wedges the crowbar to the side of the lid. He silently prays that this action won’t taint his memory for eternity and then pushes down on the crowbar with all of his might.

It takes about what feels like hours before a crack resounds and the casket opens. Wayne grabs onto the newly freed lid, pushing it up until the top hits the earthy wall.

Joyce makes a choked noise, almost close to a sob. Wayne himself recoils at the sight of Will Byers’ too-pale face, eyes softly shut as if he was just sleeping.

But the smell…

Wayne sniffs the air. Continues for a moment, unsure if his senses are messing with him. With his eyes still on the boy’s face, he asks, “Do you smell anything?”

A strained chuckle comes out of Joyce. “What?”

“Do you smell anything?”

Joyce falls silent before she starts sniffing. Then again with more consideration. “..No. Just the dirt.”

Wayne manages to tear his gaze away from the boy and back to Joyce. “Doesn’t matter how much chemicals you put in a body for preservation, the smell of rot comes back as soon it’s buried.”

Realization dawns on her face. Then she carefully crawls over next to him, ducking under Wayne’s arm as he still holds the lid up. Joyce looks down at the body and slowly reaches a hand out to the face of her son. She gently cups the cheek, bringing a terrified expression upon her before it shifts into a frown of doubt.

“Do- Do bodies always feel like plastic?” She asks slowly. Wayne looks at her with shared confusion and reaches out to touch the boy’s face. However, his hand must have been too slow or too quick because it instead brushes against Joyce’s.

She gives out a too-loud startled squeal, her head bumping hard against Wayne’s chin. He falls back, hearing a small groan from Joyce. In the process, he loses his grip on the lid and barely stops it from slamming shut by kicking his leg out and holding it up halfway. The weight’s gonna bruise it for days.

“Ow, oh, Wayne!” Joyce is suddenly fretting above him, rubbing the back of her head. “I’m so sorry! You didn’t mean to startle me that bad, it’s just the nerves and-”

“I’m alright.” Wayne means it, even if his chin and leg might not. He’s had worse than beginner’s level grave-robbing. “It’s my fault I scared ya.”

Joyce’s shaking her head. “No, really, I’m sorry-”

Wayne grunts as he slowly pushes himself up. “Would ya get the lid off my leg first?”

“Oh, of course!” Joyce scampers back, groaning with effort as she pushes the lid off. Wayne pulls his leg back to him, rubbing the bone carefully. Yep, he can feel a bruise coming.

“Wayne.” Joyce’s voice is very still.

He sits up more upright. “What’s wrong?”

Joyce doesn’t answer. Her back’s toward him, the flashlight still shining inside the casket. Wayne scoots closer, peering down to see-

Will’s head turned on the side, no longer attached to his body.

It feels like Wayne’s soul is exhumed out of his body all at once. His first thought is, oh lord I just decapitated a dead kid in front of his mother. But somehow through his panic, he notices that despite the damage, there’s not a spot of blood anywhere.

Joyce reaches her hand in again and picks up something. Holds it up close to the flashlight for a closer look.

It’s a wad of cotton.

Wayne checks the head and neck of the body. Thick wads of cotton sticks out of both ends.

“I knew this wasn’t Will.” Joyce whispers, her tone devoid of anything save a hint of triumph somewhere. “None of his moles match and there wasn’t even a birthmark.”

Wayne stays silent, staring down at the body that is not Will Byers. Who that half of the town came and mourned for just hours ago. All of this for a fake body.

“Wayne?”

Joyce’s looking at him, concerned. It feels terribly juxtaposed. A grieving mother sitting atop of her son’s fake body wanting to know if he’s alright.

“Did they tell ya who found the body?”

Joyce thinks for a moment before replying, “Not anyone specific. I think Hopper said it was somebody from the state.”

Wayne swallows but his throat’s too dry. He lifts his gaze up towards the sky at last. The stars are coming out. “Chief told me that the state’s taking over Eddie’s case.”

They both become quiet for a long time. Until they both catch a faint whistling tune of the groundskeeper. Then it’s a mad careful scramble out of there.

—

Brenner studies the new dummy on the table, taking a glance at the reference photographs laid out on the desk besides McNeil, who stands on the opposite side and poorly hiding his fidgeting.

There’s nothing wrong with McNeil’s works. It’s a masterpiece, much like the previous. Anyone who never touched a human body or kept on his payroll wouldn’t notice the difference.

But Brenner always sees flaws in perfection. That’s the duty in being a scientist. Running through the tests over and over until the subjects are one hundred plus ten percent faultless.

It always leaves a bitter taste on his tongue when he skips over a mistake, even for the sake of studying. He’s being more considerate these days after the disastrous cases with Henry and Eleven.

“Is this accurate to the boy’s measurements?” He asks. McNeil stops fidgeting and straightens up with an air of confidence that should be permanent.

“Yes, sir.”

Brenner eyes the small flock of bats and devilish marionette inked on the right arm. “Is this the only tattoos he has?”

“No, sir.”

“Then where are they?”

McNeil clears his throat, almost looking away from Brenner. “It’s difficult to perfect the other designs when there’s bare references of what they exactly look like. Tattoos are heavily variable, sir.”

Brenner sighs quietly in disappointment. He’ll save this discussion of incompetence much later, preferably once Eleven returns. “Then find the exact designs and make sure they match.” He looks down at the blank intimation of Eddie Munson’s face, thinking for a moment. “And give it the impression that it’s been deceased for longer than Will Byers-”

The door suddenly opens and Agent Sterling walks in with an annoyed expression. “We have an intruder.”

Brenner frowns. “I beg your pardon?”

She gestures for him to follow and he’s lead to the screening room of their security footage. One of them shows the police chief Jim Hopper cautiously walking through the basement level, undoubtedly heading to the room with Eleven’s gate.

Brenner can’t help but chuckle. That man truly wants to know more about what they are doing.

“Should we eliminate him?” Agent Sterling asks.

He shakes his head, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “No. Just tranquilize him and send him back home. Place our listening device somewhere in his residence as well.”

“Yes, sir.”

—

Taglist: @unclewaynemunson @steves-strapcollection @hellion-child @sidekick-hero @mmmmwaffles94 @hbyrde36 @princessstevemunson @sirsnacksalot @tartarusknight @lyriclight @kodaik97 @plsdontdrinkmylavalamp @bookbinderbitch @gutterflower77 @soaringornithopher @angeldreamsoffanfic @panicatthediaz @renaissan-vvitch @manda-panda-monium @newtstabber @little-trash-ghost @niniel-karenine @tinyplanet95

[maxverstappensflatbrim]

Show Me Yours | Matty Healy [2]

chapter two, act one: antichrist

May 29th 2010

"You've what?"

"Changed the name of the band."

Comes the reply over the phone, "Why?"

Adam sighs on the other end, "Not sure, think Matty's going through an existential crisis again."

She snorts, "When is he not?"

She twirls the pen in her hand as she leans back, and lifts her feet to rest on her desk, "What's the name?"

"Uh, 19- sorry, the 1975."

She starts laughing, holding a hand to her mouth to hold it back, but the smile can be seen from miles away.

"He's very specific about the."

"Yeah?"

Adam hums, "Is it some kind of inside joke?" He asks, "Your tattoos? I don't get it, he won't tell anyone."

"Our little secret, Ads."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I'm just glad I don't have to describe to girls why we're called Drive Like I Do, anymore."

"What girls?" She teases and she hears him laugh sarcastically on the other end.

It's silent for a few moments, and she picks at a string on her cardigan, "We've got another gig lined up."

"Really?"

"Yeah, a few, you gonna come up soon?"

She sighs, "I don't know, Ads, maybe."

"Matty uh, he bought your book yesterday. Was pissed I got a free one and he didn't."

She scoffs, "Didn't want him stealing my stuff again."

Adam laughs too, "It's great, Tommie, really. You're an amazing writer, you should do something with that."

"Maybe."

"No, you should." He says firmly.

She glances to the side, the little book sitting there staring at her, 75 pages of her own work. Her writing, her words, her poetry.

"Has he, uh, has he read it?"

"About a hundred times."

"Really?"

Adam hums, "We all have. It's good, Tommie." He hesitates a second, then adds, "Song worthy, band worthy."

"I'm not-"

"Yeah, I know. Thought I'd try again."

She wants to get off topic now, and talk about something other than her work. The thought of Matty reading it, understanding it, makes a red blush rise up her neck and across her cheeks.

"Did you hear what Nan and Granch are doing?"

"No." She can imagine his furrowed brows and confused tilted head, one that makes him look so much like their grandfather.

"Moving to France, or Spain, they haven't decided."

Adam laughs, "A place in the sun?"

"All the time, I can't come downstairs and see it on tele anymore, I'm going crazy, If it's not that it's an antique roadshow making him think he can become some sort of pawnbroker."

Adam chuckles again, "I think he's bored."

"I know, being retired doesn't suit him, he's trying to convince Nan to retire but she's still got four years before she's old enough."

"Doubt she will either, she loves her little break from him once a day."

"How is it over there?" He asks then, "At the McDuff household?"

"Great, actually, great."

"Tommie?"

She hums, moving her position so her feet are back on the floor, going back to staring at her notes for her English class, "How's things at the Fern household?"

"Well, dad's pissed he lost the custody battle. But, he did turn up to court drunk four times, so... that's his own fault."

"He seen you?"

"He asked me to go to dinner with him three weeks ago, still waiting for him to pick me up."

"What time was he supposed to be there?" Adam asks.

"Three weeks ago." She repeats slowly.

She hears him sighs, can imagine the pity falling off of him, "Tommie-"

She cuts him off quickly, not wanting the pity, "Nan's calling me, think dinner is ready, I'll call you monday when I get more credit."

"Okay, bye, Tommie."

"Bye, Ad."

Adam turns away as he hangs up, opening up the door again to step back inside Matty's place. Despite the early hour, seven thirty, both Ross and George are passed out on a sofa each. Matty's curled up on the beanbag he'd brought down from his bedroom, book in hand, glasses on, leaving the armchair open to Adam.

"She okay?"

"Yeah, revising for exams."

Matty nods, not tearing his eyes away from the page, "What do you think she means by 'watch my inane tears'?"

Adam looks up, "What?"

"In her one poem, she's written, 'the consequential ignorance, as you watch my inane tears', what do you think she means by that?"

"You know, if there was a poem in there about you, she'd have told me."

Matty closes the book, sending him something between a glare and an embarrassed look, "That's not what I'm trying to find out. I-"

He sighs looking away, "Your cousin is a very private person. She only reveals things she wants to, and I'm very nosy." The other boy just raises a brow slowly, "I'm trying to understand how her mind works, she's- so, I don't know, her mind is just- amazing."

"But," Matty asks, "What do you think she means?"

"Which poem is it?"

"The art of eye contact."

Adam remembers their conversation where she talked about it, "It's about her father, ignoring her and moving on to the next child. So, I guess she means like- I don't know." Adam shakes his head then looks at Matty, "But I have a feeling you think you do?"

"Well, I had to use a dictionary, no idea what inane means, or how to pronounce it. But according to the dictionary, it means, 'lacking sense'." Matty sighs, "I think it's her saying that her tears are worthless because they make no sense, she's been holding them back for so long at this point she's crying over things she doesn't need to cry over."

He looks up at Adam, "Is she okay? When you talked to her?"

"She's fine, Matty."

"Really?"

"Yup."

He nods, then he looks down at the page again watching his scruffy handwriting in blue ink beside the printed words as he reads the poem over and over until it's engraved in his head.

, by Tommie McDuff

-poem has been removed for ‘real life’ reasons-

(poetry competitions lol)

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

June 3rd 2010

Sixteen.

She thought maybe it would feel different but as she rolls over, noticing the yellow post-it note that's been placed on her pillow she sighs.

Happy Birthday, sweetheart. Working late tonight, see you then x

As she scrumples the paper up and tosses it into the plastic bin beneath her desk she lays back down in bed.

She thought being sixteen would be different, thought being sixteen would make her mother try and stay around for a birthday.

She sighs then checks the time, eight-thirty. She doesn't have an exam today, next one is on the eight, history and maths. She hates maths.

Hearing her grandfather tottering around downstairs forces her up, she smiles when her foot hits something and recognises her nans terrible wrapping skills lying at the bottom of her bed.

When she unwraps it she smiles at the soft fabric. A little knitted green cardigan lays inside and she lifts it up.

Her nan's been really into knitting lately, reading books on it until she perfects the little thing.

Tommie had asked for a new cardigan, the one she'd bought got caught on a door at school and ripped, she'd been heartbroken. It was her nannie's, the only thing she'd had of her after she died.

She pulls on some grey sweats, an old Stereophonics t-shirt then her new green cardigan over the top and heads downstairs quickly.

"Morning."

The dog, Taffie, is the first to greet her, the little Jack Russell that's still like a puppy despite her age of fourteen.

She leans down to pat the dog's side, smiling as she turns to lick at her hand.

"Good morning."

She stands quickly turning to the settee, "Hey."

"Cute slippers."

She rolls her eyes, looking down at the little cow slippers on her feet, "What are you doing here?"

Matty grins, looking up as her nan walks in with a cup of tea in her hands, "There you go, Matty."

"Thanks, Mag."

She settles beside him and then notices her granddaughter, "Tommie, happy birthday."

She gets back up to kiss her on the cheek and she smiles, "Thank you, and thanks for my present."

"Granch has got some pancakes on."

She goes back out into the kitchen with a promise of a cup of tea for her and then Tommie goes back to looking at Matty.

"Happy birthday, Tommie."

She smiles sitting beside him, "Thank you. But seriously, what are you doing here?"

"Fulfilling my life goal."

She rolls her eyes a little and shakes her head, "Matty..."

"What?" He shrugs a little avoiding her burning gaze.

She plays with the sleeves of her new cardigan, "It's four hours here from Manchester, and it's only nine."

"Actually, it's three hours and fifteen minutes, and I've been here since eight."

"Matty."

He shrugs, "I couldn't sleep, then I thought to myself, 'Wow my amazingly talented and funny best friend has her birthday today, I should go see her'."

"Thank you," She says again, "But you didn't have to."

"But, I wanted to-"

"Breakfast for the birthday girl."

She smiles at her grandfather as he walks in, he places a kiss on her forehead, "Happy birthday, my little flower."

"Thanks, Granch."

As he hands her the plate he checks his watch, "Oh shit, I've got to go. Late to go to the station."

He kisses her head once more, "Happy birthday."

"See you tonight."

"Tomorrow," He says as he leaves, "I've got to pick up a night shift."

Her nan shakes her head, "He's supposed to be retired. Always running off to 'look after' the engines."

Her nan sticks around until lunchtime, pestering both her and Matty to make sure they eat something before she leaves for her shift at work.

"What do you usually do on your birthday?"

"Sit around, watch tele, eat, cry, eat, watch more tele, eat."

He groans loudly, "Right, get up, put some actual trousers on, and some suitable footwear, we're going out."

"Out? Where, you've been here twice before. And got lost trying to find ASDA."

"I've been researching."

"You asked, Adam?"

He blinks at her slowly, "Get dressed."

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

"Gonna tell me where we're going?"

He sighs, fingers drumming the wheel, "I have to, I have no idea where I'm going." She chuckles, "I was going to take you to that ice cream place, in Brecon."

She smiles to herself, "Third exit on this roundabout."

She turns back to look at him then with a smile, "You're taking me for ice cream."

He nods, looking over at her with his own little smile, "Gonna make it the best birthday ever."

"No need," She says, leaning forward to mess around with the radio, "Already is."

"We haven't done anything yet."

She shrugs, "You're here, I've left the house and we're on our way to get ice cream," She turns back to look at him as Katy Perry fills the car, "It's already the best birthday I've ever had."

His smile only gets bigger as he keeps driving forward, taking in the beacons and the sunlight peeking through the trees as they go.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

"Where are we going?"

She laughs and keeps running, dragging him behind her through the field until finally, they stop, she turns walking backward then falls flat on her back.

He chuckles, walking closer, "What are you doing?"

"I used to do this as a kid with Granch, star gaze. He's a big constellation freak. Come here."

He sits beside her then slowly leans back into the grass, "Bet you've never seen stars like this, Healy, huh?"

He tilts his head, "They're so much brighter."

"That's 'cause the street lights in the city put all the stars to death."

"Wow." He chuckles and she turns to look at him, "How poetic of you."

"Shut up, it's true."

He sighs looking up, "Okay, what are the constellations?"

She snorts, "I don't know, never really paid much attention."

He tilts his head, "That one looks like a blunt."

She snorts, "You're such a junkie."

"A junkie wanna-be, baby."

She scoffs, "A sycophantic junkie."

He raises a brow, tilting his head down to look at her, "Really? Sycophantic? Thought I'd at least be like prophetic level."

"Since when could you see the future?"

He turns fully onto his side, "I can predict the future."

"Go on then, read me, Healy."

He closes his eyes, hovering his hand over her face and she giggles, he peeks one eye open to look down at her, "Shh, I need to concentrate."

She purses her lips, looking up at him as he closes his eyes again, his curly dark hair falling across his forehead causing him to try and blow it up out of the way.

"I see... a band-" She pushes his hand out the way but he fights back to keep it there, "And- an album. Loads of money, big houses, parties, celebrities, red carpets-"

"Wow, like living an actual nightmare."

He opens his eyes now, "You wouldn't want that?"

She shakes her head, "Not for me. I'd rather have enough money to get by and live in a little house with a dog or two alone, for the rest of my life."

"That's a sad life." She shrugs her shoulders, closes her eyes, and lays down again.

Matty sighs, shifting a little. He's the opposite of her, never one for silence whereas she thrives in it.

"What would your superpower be?"

"Um..." She sighs, brows furrowed and eyes still closed.

"Reading minds."

"Boring."

She elbows him in the rib and he dramatically cries out, rubbing the area, "Why is that boring?"

"It's such a basic answer."

"You don't even know why."

"Okay," He nods, turning to her, raising his one eyebrow in a challenging way, "Why?"

She flicks his forehead, "So I could see what's going on in there." He catches her wrist moving her hand away.

He shakes his head laughing and she laughs too, moving up onto her elbows, "What? I'd love to see inside your mind."

"Why? It's a scary place."

"Oh, I don't doubt it. But so I could see how you come up with your songs,. Like Lost Boys, ooh, and sex, where'd that one come from? I know for a fact little Matthew Healy never asked anyone to meet them in the back of his van."

"I did, actually."

"Lies." She calls him out immediately, then giggles to herself, "You sound like a paedo in that song."

"Gee, thanks."

"You're welcome."

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

Matty stops the car, pulling up the handbrake then looking over at her with a huge smile. "Home."

"Thank you." She says sincerely as she shrugs off the seatbelt.

"Happy Birthday, Tommie."

"Uh, you wanna stay? I can set up the spare room, it's in the attic and a little creepy but I'm not staying in there, so it'll have to do."

He chuckles, watching her pick at a string on her jeans, "I'm okay, I've got to get back anyway."

"This late?" She asks, she glances at the little watch on her wrist, brows furrowed and he chuckles at her confusion.

"Two twenty."

"At twenty past two in the morning? You've been here since early this morning, Matty, surely that's not healthy."

"I'll be fine."

"Healy."

He grabs her hands that pick at her thumb and squeezes it, "I've gone longer and further with no sleep, at least I've had a couple of hours."

She sighs, knowing he's too stubborn and she won't win. Nodding her head she opens her door and smiles as she leans down but he jumps up, unbuckling his seatbelt, "Wait, wait..."

He runs around to the back of the car, opening up the boot and calling her over. He takes a big case out and hands it to her but she hesitates, "Matt..."

"Happy Birthday."

"I-"

"Just open it, please."

She unzips the bag slowly gripping the guitar by the neck and then looks up to him. That adorable pout and head tilts of hers staring up at him.

"Matt."

"It's the one Alex Turner plays."

"I know." She smiles and nods quickly, looking down at the Fender Stratocaster in her hands. It's a dark green colour, her favourite.

She rubs her fingers over the colouring, plucking a few strings, briefly playing what he recognizes as a tune of crying lightning.

"I can't-"

"You can, it's a birthday present, can't give them back."

"It's too expensive."

"It's not just from me, it's from all of us."

Her shoulders drop quickly, "Is this some kind of ploy to get me in the band?"

"No, I think it was Adam's idea to get you to stop stealing his when you're over."

She looks down at the guitar again, she turns and sits on the edge of the boot, resting it on her thigh, "Play me something." He requests, hands in his pockets as he leans against the side of his car.

"What?"

"Anything."

She thinks for a moment, hands moving as she plays around, plucking a few strings here and there.

She finds herself doing a favourite of hers, C'est la vie by Stereophincs, she hums the lyrics a little as she goes on.

"See? Natural." He says.

After putting it back in the case, swinging it over her shoulder and looking up at him she smiles once more up at him.

A big toothy smile that has the corner of her eyes crinkling and cheeks tinting red in the cold air of the night.

"Thank you, Matty."

He nods hands still in his pockets as he turns away from his now closed boot, "Happy birthday, Tommie. Did I do it?" She raises a brow, asking him to explain, "Prove birthdays can be good."

She shrugs, "Not really." His whole demeanour changes, shoulders sagging and his smile falls. "Everyday with you is like this. Fun, adventurous, happy..."

His head lifts again, and he lifts a hand quickly to wipe away the curly dark hair that has fallen across his forehead.

She steps closer, lifting up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, "Thank you."

He nods, watching her step back again before turning to go into her house. As he gets in he doesn't see her turn back to watch him drive away. Or hear her mutter warnings to herself about having a crush on her cousin's best friend.

Who not only lives three hours away but is a good few years older too.

"Stop it, Tommie," She says, quietly closing the door, "He's your friend."

~thanks for reading! x

[godesssiri]

Mum and I drove to Hawkes Bay yesterday to take supplies to our rest home. We got home to Wellington like 2 hours ago.

It's bad.

What you're seeing in the news is just touching on things, it's worse.

The gangs are bad. I've seen a dairy, that I know has had multiple hold ups in the past, boarded up. Either they've been hit again during this or they've just gone fuck this and nailed the door shut. A Gun store was broken into and all the guns were taken. They have stolen generators both from private homes and ones that Vodafone set up to get the cell towers going so that people can communicate. I have a friend in a rough area that has a little generator for her campervan and she's keeping a machete to hand at all times. I dropped supplies to another friend with a gang house across the road and could hear a generator running there, she is very dubious that they got it legally. There are so many rumors swirling around you don't know what to take with a grain of salt but the above are all confirmed.

The community has pulled together amazingly. We've had a massive problem at the rest home, we produce a dumpster worth of rubbish from incontinence products every week and were due for a pick up on Tuesday. Our dumpster is half under a tree but half under the blazing sun. I went out the back today and there were 2 dumpsters worth of rubbish. The staff had just had to start stacking it around the dumpster. I had to move about 20 rubbish bags so at least they were under the tree in the shade instead of festering in the sun. Then we had the daughter of a former resident who died 6 months ago come in and tell us she'd organized a truck to come tomorrow and take it all away. We keep having members of the public come in with jerry cans of petrol for our generators, a spare gas bottle for our BBQ, a flat of slightly storm beaten but perfectly good pears, home baking they've made when they've been visiting family in areas with the power restored. They've set up a donation center at the hall down the road and they lady running it bought in incont products that had been donated from people who had them left over from when an elderly family member was still living at home (it's pretty common, they're provided free to people who are being cared for at home and when those people pass the families don't know what to do with the left over packs and we often have them turn up on the doorstep) we almost cried because she bought 4 packs of XL which we were almost out of and not sure when our supplier could get more, she's going to bring us any that get donated. Toilet paper is hard to get, the supermarkets are limiting it to 1 pack per customer. We called the local 4 Square and they let us buy 12 packs of 18. One of our generators broke down and a local motorbike mechanic came around and fixed it for free - he's been doing that for anyone with generator problems. We've been giving anyone who turns up with help some fresh grapes for a snack, the home is built around a central courtyard and we we have grapevine in there that was sheltered from the storm and the grapes are perfectly ripe right now.

[korgbelmont]

Part 3

Callum, Sarah, and Emily are stuck together in a cave while Emily's wing heals, and Callum waits for the sun to set, giving the three of them a chance to get answers about a few things...

Part 2

Written in the present tense

Warnings: Talk of injury detail, swearing

Word Count: 1214

Notes: Title was made on cooltext.com

Kneeling down next Emily, Sarah works to set the broken bone in her wing. Emily seethes through her teeth at the pain.

Sarah - That should speed things up.

Emily - Thank you.

The two look over at Callum as he sleeps, and Sarah's expression softens. She then returns her attention to Emily, giving her a very serious look as she needs to know.

Sarah - Why did you attack him?

Emily - I was ordered to by Hrild.

Sarah - What?!

Emily - After our run in a few weeks ago, I went up to inform Regildr about the two of you, but I never got the chance to speak with her. Hrild was insistent that she was busy with other matters. Then yesterday she came to me and said that Regildr had ordered that he be killed. And you if I absolutely had to.

Sarah - (What the fuck?)

Sarah frowns.

Sarah - Hrild was with me last night at the hospital looking over a body but didn't say anything about why. I went back to have a look for myself after she left and the wounds weren't anything I'd seen before. There were bite marks, like a Vampire, but there was four rather than two. And two wounds in the shoulders like he had been pinned, but I don't know what with.

Emily - Looks like the Hand of the Queen has some secrets.

Sarah - Looks like it. Which means being careful of who we can trust. Right now, I think the only people I can trust are the two people in this cave.

Sarah extends a hand to Emily as a gesture of peace and Emily returns it, nodding.

Emily - I trust you. Him not so much given that I don't know him.

Sarah - I promise you can trust him.

Emily - He broke my wing!

Sarah - You attacked us.

Emily opens her mouth to argue it, but nothing comes out. Sighing, she looks around at their temporary hideout.

Emily - How did you know about this place?

Sarah - Callum and I used to come here a lot when we first got together.

Getting to her feet, Sarah goes over to where a carving has been made, trailing her fingers across the heart, smiling at it as she reads the "C + S" carved inside the heart.

After a couple hours, Callum finally comes to, sitting up to see Emily staring at him. He gives her a nervous wave as Sarah returns from the waterfall. She kneels down by him, checking the side of his face to see no sign of any burns. She traces her fingers along where they were and he rests his hand on top of hers, giving her palm a light kiss along with a smile.

Callum - One advantage of being a Vamp.

Sarah - You're not the only one who heals quick.

Emily - Thankfully.

Callum looks between the two of them.

Sarah - We can trust her. In fact she's the only one we can trust at the moment.

Callum - I guess I missed some stuff.

He gets to his feet, looking to Emily.

Callum - Sorry about the wing.

She responds with a scowl and Callum walks over to the water pool, kneeling down and splashing some on his face. Turning round, he finds Sarah going through his bag. Taking one of the photos out, she smiles fondly, remembering the moment. He sits with her, taking her hand in his and resting his forehead against hers.

Emily - You two want me to leave?

Sarah smiles, parting and getting to her feet.

Sarah - I'm gonna see if I can grab some food. You two are stuck here for a while yet. Try not to kill each other.

Emily - No promises.

Emily winks and Sarah rolls her eyes before giving Callum's cheek a quick kiss and taking off through the water.

Unsure of how long has passed, probably not that long, Callum looks over at Emily.

Callum - Who were you before?

Emily - What?

Callum - Before you were a Valkyrie.

Emily sighs with an eye roll but does smile a bit at his attempt to be nice.

Emily - I was a teaching assistant at a middle school. Mostly with Science, and also P.E. sometimes. What about you?

Callum - I was a freelance artist. Took commissions online and that kind of thing. And now here we are.

Emily - Here we are.

They share a smile that doesn't reach their eyes. Emily looks over at the waterfall for a moment. And when she speaks, there's a distance in it.

Emily - You want to know the worst part about being a Valkyrie?

Callum - What's that?

Emily - The only chance you get to see your family again is from a distance. With the exception of the undead, we're seen as completely different people. The only chance they get to see you is when you collect their soul.

Callum - That's... I'm sorry. I can't imagine what that would be like.

Returning to the cave, Sarah sets down a bag filled with a few snacks.

Sarah - Not much, but it'll see us through to tonight. How's the wing doing?

Emily - Should be good soon. Any run ins?

Sarah - No, only other wings out there are the birds.

Callum - I guess that's something at least...

Emily - I don't like it. You'd think she'd be looking for us. Or me at least to find out what's happening.

Sarah - Right now we need to figure out what to do once we find her. It'll take the three of us to stop her.

Emily - Two Valkyries and a Vampire. Not exactly great odds.

The three of them share the same look, wondering if this is something they can actually win. If they will come out of it alive.

Sarah - We can hope. We also still have a few hours before sunset, which gives us time to come up with a plan. We outnumber her, which'll give us a slight advantage.

Killing the tension, Callum's stomach growls loud enough that it echoes in the cave slightly. The two Valkyries give him a look and Sarah raises her eyebrows at him.

Callum - Sorry.

Sarah - Let's have some eats first. Then plan.

As night falls, Emily stretches out the wing that Callum broke to find it back in working order. She gives Sarah a nod and the three gather everything.

Sarah - Right then. Shall we?

Callum - Yeah.

Emily - Lets.

The three of them leave the cave, and Callum bats a glance at the carving he made years ago, smiling lightly. Sarah looks back and joins him, lacing her fingers with his.

Callum - Things were a lot simpler then.

Making their way through the forest, Callum stops, looking up.

Emily - What is it?

Callum - A heartbeat.

The familiar sound of a Valkyrie's wings soon grabs their attention upwards. Emily draws both her swords, as does Sarah. Callum's eyes turn to their blood red colour as Hrild lands. She looks between the three of them, easily figuring out that they know who their enemy is...

[stealingyourbones]

DP + JLU crossover prompt: I wanna see Flash as Danny's mentor, so--

Danny has survived (Sorta?) 2 years as a ghost without being discovered. Until their field trip to Central City. First day there and immediately Flash catches him phasing out of some locked container (Thank you, Dash). Danny thinks he's screwed, "Hello GIW, dissection tables, and ecto-uranium cages for the rest of my life", but Flash just asks "Meta?" and Danny rolls with the out, figuring he can just let the hero believe he has some sort of intangibility ability and not get caught doing anything else for the week. The League hero even asks if he's out about his ability and helps him with a cover story for where he was when Mr. Lancer asks.

Cue Danny getting a surprise mentor. Turns out, it's something of an open secret that Flash likes to help out young metas with their abilities. He's willing and able to set things up so he can visit Danny in Amity Park regularly, so Danny doesn't have to move. He's got a ton of experience helping kids feel out different abilities safely (and Danny's almost a little disappointed he only told the guy about intangibility because he wishes he could get this level of guidance on other abilities. Like duplication. Or teleporting.). And he's not afraid of acting as a go between for kids who want to keep their identities secret while learning their abilities and other heroes with similar powersets, either.

Flash is aware there is a lot more to Danny's powers than he's been told, but he's willing to let the kid come to him with the full story in his own time.

ooooooooo alrighty okokokokok. sO.

this brings me so much seritonin I love Flash x DP crossovers, I simply haven't read much stuff on Barry since the guy since he was dead for like a solid 25 years irl time for comics. It's a good thing that I can write this since Justice League Unlimited Flash is Wally West. Barry straight up just doesn't exist in JLU and sO:

Wally damn well knew the kid had something else going on. He's not sure exactly what but he's seen enough to know that this kid is more powerful than he's making himself out to be.

He's spotted Danny's foot almost on reflex turn invisible when his hands slipped and he dropped a knife on the ground. The knife clattered to the floor harmlessly and Danny was fine. The flickering of his lower limbs was for less than a second. Flash can think as fast as 100 attoseconds in one second. That's what a second is to 300 million years. He may not be able to perceive just as fast but it's still far far quicker than any meta he's ever known. He watches the boy for what seems to be days but to Danny it's quick as a flash, how he realizes that he's invisible and hastily flickers back to reality. No one should have spotted it, but Flash saw. He knew. He kept it to himself. It was not his secret to tell.

Danny thinks he's subtle. He might be for the average human, but not to fellow Supers. Danny's drinks are somehow always perfectly chilled even when its been sitting in the sun for hours. The kid's nightmares cause him to yell in his sleep. Wally had to ask Batman for some custom glassware made out of the same stuff the Batmobile's windows are made of cause the kid keeps shattering every new set he buys.

The other day Danny showed Wally that he could turn invisible. On his own terms. Wally acted as if the dozens of times he's seen Danny blip out of existence never happened and accepted the new development with ease. He knew he gained even more of Danny's trust when the young meta laughed and for the first time didn't worry about hiding his sharp canines from his sight.

Progress is slow going but eventually he'll get this boy to open up so he can get the proper help he needs.

[lovincherries]

yeah i am going to need part 2 of just the tip omg

Just the Tip Pt. 2

summary: part two of my other imagine, Just the Tip, kind of angsty but not really. reader comes off obnoxiously pure, i know. BUT it’s to go along with the innocent theme

A/N: omg you read my mind!!! I still haven’t edited the first one lmao, so there are still grammatical errors; however, someone has to write Elvis smut. I’m not gonna lie, I have no plan, I just make stuff up as I go along. NOT PROOF READ! Sorry I just wanted to make sure I got it out today.

Warnings: maybe dubious consent? kinky, dirty, nasty, freaky, all the good stuff! breeding kink

Part Three

It had been days since you had last seen Elvis, since he took your innocence. You would be lying if you said your heart didn’t hurt a little at the thought. You understood he was working on some songs at the Sun Studio, but you wished you could meet up for even just an hour. You had been walking around with this guilt in your chest, that you had done the worst thing imaginable in the world. He said he would marry you, said he would love you for the rest of his life. Could he though? His career was just beginning and there’s no way a girlfriend could be good for it, let alone a wife. 

It was 12 am and you were wide awake with your thoughts in your room, you missed Elvis dearly. There was a faint knocking sound coming from your window that distracted you, you looked over and of course it was him. Although you were happy to see him, you were angry too. He didn’t even call you, didn’t even ask you how you were the next day. Nonetheless, you let him in your room. That was something you would always do, let Elvis in no matter what.

“Hey baby, I missed you more than anything in this world,” he said, reaching in to grab your hips and kiss you on the cheek. “I love this little night dress number you’ve got on, can make a man go week in the knees.” He smirked, that god damn smirk, you just looked away in disbelief. 

“What’s the matter baby? How are you feeling?” He cupped your cheeks in his hands, engulfing your face. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes as you thought of how you’ve been feeling.

“I can’t believe you, now you ask? I was in pain the next day and there was no one there for me,” you managed to choke out, your voice cracked but you were not going to cry.

“I’m so sorry darling, I know I messed up. I should’ve called, should’ve been there for you. I’ve been working so hard so I can put a ring on the pretty little finger,” he said, pulling you into a hug. You felt guilty now, he had been working so hard for you. He promised he would marry you after taking the one thing that society deemed you valuable for, your virginity.

“Really?” you asked, looking at him through your eyelashes. 

“Yes, I wanna give you my last name. Y/N Presley has a pretty nice ring to it, don’t you think?” He asked, looking down at you. You nodded your head in agreeance.

You sat with him and talked for an hour listening all about his songs, letting him lay his head in your lap. He was letting his hand get dangerously close to your private parts again, a part of you longed for him to touch you there but the other part of you knew it was bad news.

You moved his hand away from you, letting the moral part of you win.

“C’mon darling, it ain’t nothing we haven’t done before. It felt real good for you the first time, right?” He asked, but it came out as more of a statement. 

“But, Elvis, you know I wanted to save myself for our wedding night. Plus, if we do it again, I could get pregnant,” you countered. He had convinced you that since you never had sex before that night, you couldn’t get pregnant. Your parents had guarded you from everything, you knew bits and pieces but all your information came from him. And you trusted everything he had to say fully. He lied straight through his teeth; he didn’t want you to worry with the very real possibility. 

“We have to practice to get good, I want our wedding night to be perfect. Don’t you?” He rhetorically asked, he knew it would only take a little convincing. Deep down you wanted it just as much as he did. “Plus, I won’t finish in you. I promise.” Another lie, he just couldn’t help himself. You looked down at his pants and you could see his penis rising. You now knew what that meant, he wanted you. It felt good for him to want you like that.

His hand was under your dress now, his fingers playing with the hem of your underwear as he talked. As he convinced you.

“Okay, but we can’t wake up my parents,” you demanded this. If they walked in on you and Elvis, you would never be allowed to see him again and you would probably be sent to live with your aunt who never got married.

“They won’t hear a thing,” he smirked again, you knew that look on his face. It was always trouble. He kissed you, grabbing the back of your neck and bringing you in. It was a slow and passionate kiss, so very different from the other night. You don’t know what came over you, but you moved so you were sitting on top of him. Your most sensitive part placed on his. He deepened the kiss now, his hands finding their way to your hips. He used them to guide you, to grind on to him. You let out a moan, you could feel him through his pants. Your shear underwear had no real coverage, he just kept bumping your clit.

His hands now moved to grab your butt, gripping it harshly as you now mimicked the movements. “So perfect, Y/N. Never in my life,” he said as he flipped you over, so he was now on top of you. It felt all too familiar like this.

He hovered over you as he began to lift your night dress up over your head, you weren’t wearing a bra, so your nipples were hard as they felt the cold air. The bruises he left on your breasts were still there from last time, marking you as his. 

“When we’re married, you won’t wear clothes around the house. Want to see you like this all day, every day,” he whispered as he was kissing down your neck. He pinched your nipple in his hand and it caused you to squirm. You felt bold now, and you began unbuttoning his shirt with shaky hands. Despite last time, you were unfamiliar with everything like this. You knew it felt good, but you knew it was so, so wrong. His tan skin was smooth to the touch, just seeing him like this was so erotic. His dark hair fallen over his face, his lips swollen from kissing you.

He began to kiss down your body till he was face to face with your prívate parts, something to obscene. You didnt know what he was going to do next, but you knew no matter what he did it would feel good.

He slowly took your underwear off, and his face lit up like he was looking at gold. “Such a pretty pussy baby, can’t believe you kept it from me for so long,” he mumbled as he got closer and closer. You gasped once his lips reached your clit sucking on, lightly tugging at it with his teeth.

“T-that’s a bad word,” you managed to moan, it was the nastiest word out there and he said it. He just smiled and continued on, but he brought his finger to your entrance. It was still slightly sore from last time, it was such a big stretch in such a tiny hole. He began to slowly push one finger in, pumping it in and out slowly. Making sure you were accustomed, that you could fit him this time too. You were more tense this time, you knew what he was going to do.

He pulled away from you clit, “so tight baby, holding onto my finger for dear life,” he joked. Joking did not seem appropriate to you in a time like this, it wasn’t funny.

“O-oh my god, Elvis,” you moaned as he continued pumping his finger into you, faster and faster. He began to play with your clit as well. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to this feeling, the pleasure, or the feeling of being invaded. You began to buck your hips as he continued to press harder into your clit. If you could open your eyes, you know what you would see, a smug look on his face. And then, all of the sudden he stopped.

The sudden absence of his finger cause you to open your eyes, you were slightly agitated if you were being completely honest. He was off the bed now, and he began to unbutton and unzip his pants, god in that moment you felt just completely in awe of him. That smug look he has on his face, how he looked so hot with no shirt on, and just how dominating he looked. He was unbelievably attractive.

He was completely nude now and you were able to really look at his penis. Only one word came to your mind, beautiful. You had no clue what anyone else’s looked like, but surely it would never compare to his. It was unbelievably, intimidatingly big. You hadn’t had time to worry the last time you and him did the do, but now you do.

He began to slowly crawl on the bed, kissing up your body as he did. Peppering you with his love. Once he reached your ear, he whispered, “jus’ aching for ya.”

He had no idea how you were aching for him, you had never thought you would feel this way for anyone, ever. How could you resist him though?

You watched as he guided his shaft between your folds, letting his tip meet your entrance. Your breathing picked up, nervousness arising.

He began to kiss you as he entered, both of you releasing a gasp from the feeling. He had only put just the tip in, giving you a moment to adjust before continuing.

“It was like you were made for me,” he moaned in your ear as he pushed in more, it was still stinging as he continued. Your walls were engulfing him.

He soon bottomed out, staying in the position for what feel like hours but it was just mere minutes. It was a sting, but nothing compared to the last time.

“Elvis,” you whispered.

“Hmm,” he replied, eyes closed tight in concentration. He was trying not to move, “tightest pussy I’ve ever had. never in my life, feels so good,” he rambled.

“Start moving,” you interrupted, bucking your hips trying to push him to start moving.

He did, slowly he pulled out so he was just barely in you, and then he thrusted back in, hard. You gasped as his tip hit your cervix, it was a crazy, full feeling.

He reached down between the two of you and continued to play with your swollen, sensitive clit. The feeling combined caused you to see stars, it was overwhelming and powerful. It was so overwhelming you didnt even hear what he was saying, “gonna be my wife and have all my babies, want you to be full of me. Let all those other boys know youre taken,” he murmured mindlessly, drunk off of you.

He kept thrusting harder and faster, continued to play with your clit just the same. “Talk to me baby, how you feeling?” He cockily asked, he knew how you felt. Your head thrown back in pleasure, you truly couldn’t talk. Thank god your bed wasn’t loud or else you would be screwed.

“I-i,” was all you could manage, you wanted to tell him this was even better than last time but you couldn’t.

“Tell me or I’ll stop,” he thrusted harder, played with your clit more if it was even possible.

“A-amazing,” you breathed out, you were stuttering and barely managed to form a sentence. He just kept going, and going. You began to squeeze him with your walls, milking him, tempting him. This threw him off his high horse.

“G-god,” he moaned as you continued to squeeze the life out of him. You both looked down to see how you were connected, how easily he slid in and out of you, how it looked like you were made for him.

A ball was forming in your stomach, just like last time. This was a feeling you wish you could experience all the time, how you lived without it before you didn’t know.

“Gonna fill you up, try my best to make you a mama. You’d be such a good one, tend to my babies,” he whispered in your ear. You were too into your own pleasure to even begin to acknowledged what you were saying. You felt him quickening his pace, you were on the verge of spilling over.

He started thrusting harder too, hitting you at just the right spot. He began moaning in your ear, you knew he had to be close. You forgot about your parents, your parents be damned. This felt too good to stop.

“Bout to bust,” he grunted. Sweat was dripping off of him onto you. You pulled his face to kiss you down to you, both of you moaning as it continued. It was dirty, raw, and messy. Everything you came to love about Elvis, he was the polar opposite of you.

“I-I’m, bout to finish,” you managed to moan as he kissed down your neck. Sucking at your skin, lapping at it.

Then it hit you, a raw, pleasurable feeling. It was like you were seeing stars, totally, blissfully unaware of anything. You were just moaning uncontrollably. You were so into your own pleasure you didn’t even notice Elvis had finished as well, didn’t even notice the warmth overflowing. He had promised not to, so why would you think otherwise?

He collapsed on top of you, head laying against your breast. You didn’t even think about him finishing, the thought never crossed your mind. He stayed inside of you, making sure nothing escaped.

You played with his hair as he slept, you knew you couldn’t stay like this. Your parents were bound to come in your room in the morning, and if they found Elvis in here, it would be the end of you and him.

You could no longer keep your eyes open either, blissfully unaware of what the love your life did. Now you were bound to him, nothing could come between you. Not your daddy, not your momma, and certainly not your morals. Your ring laid in his pocket, which is what he came over to give you; however, he got a little distracted.

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@kittenlittle24

[cali-holland]

Shot Me in the Heart- Tom Holland One Shot

Pairing: Soccer Player/Frat!Tom X Reader

Prompt: The soccer rivalry between the Cornwall Bulldogs and the Illyria Tigers is an intense one. So when you, the sister of the Cornwall team captain, hit it off with Tom, the captain of the Illyria team, a twisted scheme is concocted by your brother to break Tom’s heart and the Tigers as a whole.

Word Count: 22k

Warnings: language, some steamy scenes, alcohol, tom gets injured (not severely), mentions of cheating

A/N: very heavily inspired by She’s the Man (hence the school names) ; and big thanks to H because without them, this fic would’ve never seen the light of day (love you H)

~~~

Days until the Illyria v. Cornwall Tournament Game: 115

The sun was hot, the beer was cold, and the sand was everywhere. With the start of spring classes tomorrow, all university students were at the beach, clad in varying styles of swimwear with a pair of sunglasses to top it off. You had ditched your coverup top over an hour ago, leaving you in just your swimsuit and jean shorts, as you joined your brother and a good majority of the men’s soccer team in a game.

“I’m open!” Someone shouted out to you, but you were too preoccupied dribbling the ball down the sandy, makeshift field to really hear him. Passing by the last two defenders on the opposing team, you shot the bright yellow ball at the goal and smiled triumphantly as it went shooting past the goalie into the net. Your team cheered, and you caught a few high-fives from your nearby teammates.

“You’re up.” You said to your brother, Nick, as you ran off the field, seeking a much-needed water break.

“You made 2 goals? Guess I’ll aim for 3.” He chuckled, patting you on the back in congratulations before heading into the game.

A tired smile crossed your face, and you started to walk towards a palm tree in a more remote area with your best friend sitting beneath it. You unceremoniously flopped onto your spread out beach towel, happy to finally get in some rest. Taking off your sunglasses, you wiped the sweat away from your face. “I don’t know how you can keep your nose in a book on a day like this,” you teased. “This is the last day of break!”

“I’m studying. You know Dr. Anderson always has quizzes during the first week.” Augustine sighed, and you shook your head at her before grabbing your insulated water bottle and taking several gulps from it, your body welcoming the cool liquid. “How’s your game going?”

“Well, when I left, it was 2-0, but we’ll see if Nick actually makes any goals.” You laughed.

“You really should try out for the women’s team next year.” She stated, but you shrugged, noncommittally.

“College soccer is a job, and one that I don’t want.” You explained, just as you had explained it to her several times before.

“Whatever you say.” She hummed, turning back to her textbook. You let out a small huff before finishing off your water.

Standing up from your towel, you looked around for the red cooler that Nick had brought specifically for beer. You smiled when you spotted it on the other side of the field, standing by the ocean, yet it was quick to disappear when you came up empty-handed at the cooler. Not a single beer was left in the pile of half melted ice.

“Why the long face?” You heard someone ask, making you whip your head up from the cooler. As the lid slammed shut, you were met with a sun kissed surfer. His wetsuit was half pulled down, exposing his toned waist, and, while he clutched a surfboard under one arm, his free hand shook through his wet, brown curls.

“There seems to be a beer shortage on my brother’s end of things.” You replied with a light sigh.

“Well, that just won’t do.” He shook his head in dramatic disbelief, “I’ve got some with my group. The blue tent, just over there.” He pointed to where at least a dozen people were lounging around in the sand, with a few individuals playing spikeball nearby.

“As tempting as that sounds, I don’t believe I’m supposed to accept alcohol from strangers.” You told him, skeptical of his advances but still taken by his charming smile.

“I’m Tom and not a stranger anymore. What’s your name, love?”

“Y/N.”

“So, Y/N, would you like to come grab a beer with me?” Tom asked. You spared a quick glance over to the soccer game nearby, knowing that they’d probably call you back over in a bit. As you turned back to Tom, you smiled with a nod.

“Do you surf often?” You asked, casually trying to make some small talk while you two walked the short distance to his group.

“Nah, I just bought all the surfing gear to help me pick up girls.” He said with a lighthearted chuckle. “Tell me, is it working?”

“Ask me at the end of the night, and I’ll let you know.”

“Truth be told, I don’t surf nearly as much as I’d like to.” Tom began to explain as he planted his surfboard vertically in the sand, letting it stand and dry off under the warm sun. “Between school and other sports, I just don’t have the time. Do you surf?”

“No.” You shook your head, “I can paddleboard, but that’s about it when it comes to sea sports.”

You watched as Tom opened up a blue cooler, identical in all but color to Nick’s, and pulled out two beers. He handed you one, “For you.”

“Thank you.”

“I saw you out there earlier, playing soccer with that team.” He pointed in the direction of your fellow students, “You’re really good. Dare I even say better than the whole men’s soccer team at Cornwall.”

That’s when you noticed it— the blue tent with the massive tiger on the side. With the array of cleats and a few soccer balls scattered under the tent, you knew this had to be the soccer team’s tent for Illyria. You weren’t just talking to any random surfer; no, this was a soccer player at your rival university, Illyria.

While you were flattered by his compliment, it seemed far too generous. You were better than half of the soccer team, that was for sure— maybe even 75% of the players, but not all of them. Hell, your twin brother was on the team, and he could hold his own against you in a scrimmage.

“Are you sure you’re not only saying that because you’re a Tiger?” You asked him before taking a sip of your drink.

“Of course not. I hold no automatic prejudices against anyone based on their poor university choice.” His cheeky smile turned into a playful smirk, making you roll your eyes in faux offense.

“And I hold no negative preconceptions about you for your poor university choice either.” You said, stepping closer to him until you two were nose-to-nose. He bit his lip, his brown eyes darting between your lips and your eyes.

The moment was interrupted when a bright yellow soccer ball smacked Tom in the upper arm. Immediately, his guard was up, turning to face his opponent. Tom stepped in front of you as your men’s soccer team stood at the edge of a palm tree, forming a human barrier between where you stood now with the Tigers and the rest of your university students. Nick stood in the middle of his men, like the captain he was, and there was no doubt in your mind that he had been the one to so aggressively kick Tom with the soccer ball.

“Lose something, Y/L/N?” Tom asked bitterly, picking up the soccer ball that was at his feet. He threw it back at your brother, making his way over to him with his head held high and his jaw tightly clenched. The other soccer players from Tom’s team got up and began to form their own line to match your brother’s, the whole thing turning into one big stand-off. “Got a problem?”

“You stay away from my sister, Holland, or you’ll regret it.” Nick threatened him, and you took that as an opportunity to step in.

“This isn’t necessary.” You said, grabbing your brother’s arm. He looked at you before caving, deciding to leave the topic alone for now and spare any metaphorical or literal spilt blood, but he couldn’t leave without one final word.

“In two months, you’re going down, Holland.” He spat.

“In your dreams.” Tom’s voice was just as venomous as Nick’s. As everyone began to disperse back to their respective areas, Tom quickly grabbed your hand, effectively halting your own plans of recession.

“Call me.” He whispered in your ear, and you felt his fingers dip into your back pocket. As he headed towards a spikeball game, he blew you a quick kiss, and you smiled to yourself. Who knew the rival team’s captain could be so endearing?

“Y/N!” Nick shouted, drawing you back to the reality that was your beach soccer game. With a sigh, you adjusted your shorts and headed over to continue the game.

As the sun set a few hours later, everyone began to disperse from the beach. Glancing over to where Tom had been with his classmates, you bit back a frown to see the large spot on the beach completely vacant.

“I think the boys are going to the bar. Wanna come?” You asked Augustine while you tugged on your shirt to cover your swimsuit.

“Sure.” She nodded. “What was that all about earlier? With the Tigers?”

“Apparently I was flirting too heavily with their soccer captain for Nick’s liking.” You explained, packing up your things around you.

“Tom Holland? No way.” She said in disbelief, making you pause your actions to look at her quizzically. “Y/N, stay away from him. He’s never good news. He’s a total dick and the biggest player you’ll ever meet.”

“How do you know that?” You questioned. You didn’t doubt her, but hearing her, your goody-two shoes best friend, talk about him in such a way seemed strange.

“My cousin goes to his uni, and she hooked up with him last year. He was a good fuck, but an absolute dick the next morning when he kicked her out. He said he’d call, but never did. All he cares about is soccer and getting laid.” At her words, you thought back to the slip of paper that seemed to burn a hole in your pocket.

“Relax.” You told her with a smile. “It was harmless flirting.” So far.

While she was distracted, you slipped the paper note out of your pocket and looked it over for the first time. You didn’t even know when he had the time to write it out, but maybe if he was a player, he just happened to have a stash of pieces of paper with his number on it. You put the paper in your bag, deciding it was best to not discuss it with Augustine or Nick or anyone else.

Half an hour later, you and Augustine arrived at the sports bar, where your brother and a good portion of the soccer team were already gathered. An old professional soccer game played on the TVs, and, despite knowing the score at the end of the game, you all joined in on yelling over fouls and cheering for goals.

“God, that ref does not understand the game. How the fuck was that not a handball?” You grumbled, helping yourself to some hot wings that had been placed at your table. Augustine stayed silent, knowing better than to disagree with you.

“Don’t hate the ref. He’s helping my team win.” Nick countered as he came up to your table, sliding into an open high seat. Though he was smiling, you could tell he still seemed pissed off about earlier.

“If they didn’t suck, they wouldn’t need the ref to help them win.” You stated as if it was obvious.

“Speaking of teams sucking,” He started with a sigh, “Johnny tore his ACL.”

Your jaw dropped as you looked at your brother, knowing exactly what that meant. Johnny, the team’s best forward, was absent from today’s beach day and for good reason apparently. With their second best defender, Caleb, out for the season with a massive concussion, the team was weak and Nick knew it— you all knew it.

“What are you going to do?” You asked, solemnly.

“Train harder. That’s all we can do.” He shrugged, before he looked up at you, expectantly, “There is something you can do though.”

“No matter how good I am, I can’t join the men’s soccer team.” You laughed, trying to brush off whatever proposition he was about to throw at you.

“No, but you could weaken the other team.” Nick explained, “Remember last year, when we played the Tigers at the beginning of the season and we absolutely annihilated them? Holland couldn’t shoot for shit because he and his girlfriend broke up an hour before the game.”

“Nick,” You warned as you began to understand where he was going with this.

“You saw him today— he’s into you. Date him for a couple months, get him to really fall for you, and then, right in time for the tournament game, break his heart.”

“That’s cruel, Nick.”

“Look, we play Illyria twice this season. Next week, then at the end of the season. And then, we play them for the first week of the final tournament— whoever loses that game is out of the tournament. If you break up with him at that point, he’ll be shit again and we’ll beat Illyria. We can take out our strongest competitor and win the tournament.”

“I’m not going to exploit someone like that.” You said definitively.

“Oh come on,” Augustine piped into the conversation, “Breaking his heart? It’s nothing he hasn’t done before.”

“You know we have no chance at winning the tournament without Johnny and Caleb. As much as I hate to admit it, Holland’s too good of a striker for me to be the only line of defense.” Nick reasoned.

“Your team’s shit. That’s not my fault.” You argued, standing up from your table, suddenly no longer wanting to spend your time in the lively sports bar. 

As you left you heard your brother call out to you with one final comment, “If you don’t do it, our loss will be your fault.”

When you got back to the safety of your apartment, you let out a frustrated sigh. You could just go on with your life and your studies by not getting involved in Nick’s rivalry. Who was he anyway to tell you to do something so morally questionable? Your brother and the team captain who actually was reliant upon you to pull this off, you reminded yourself. Besides, if you didn’t do this, the whole soccer team and every school-spirited soccer fan would hate you— Nick would be sure that everyone would know of your betrayal. The team was just as much yours as it was his, even if you weren’t on it; you were the unofficial student manager of the team, a friend to all of the players and present for every game, party, practice, pep-talk— if the team was there, you were there.

On the other hand, if you did do this, then Tom and his entire team (and their supporters) would hate you. You didn’t particularly care about their opinion of you; hell, they probably didn’t even know who you were, but you were concerned with what Tom thought about you. If Nick hadn’t gotten involved, you would’ve enjoyed yourself at the beach with Tom and perhaps elsewhere too. You knew it’d break his heart, if he did actually fall for you, but, taking into account what Augustine said, maybe he did deserve it. Maybe it was time that the player gets played.

Without a second thought, you added Tom’s name and number into your phone. You’d text him later.

~~~

Days until the Tournament Game: 108

For the next week, you did your best to not think about Tom, but, with the soccer season kicking off at full-speed, you could hardly escape Nick. With the first match of the season today, Nick was on heightened alert about his plan. While the rest of the team trickled out of the locker room, ready to go warm up for the game against Illyria, Nick came over to you and threw an arm around your shoulders.

“You should text him now.” He told you, “Or else you’ll never do it. Besides, it could throw him off for the game.”

“Why don’t you focus on playing soccer and I’ll focus on my thing, okay?” You asked, rolling your eyes at him.

“This game sets the precedent for this season.”

“I know.” You let out a small sigh, shrugging off his arm while you two made your way down the concrete hall to the field. “Good luck out there.”

“Thanks, sis.” Nick smiled at you before running after his team. You stood in the hall for a moment, checking to see if Illyria was out yet. Spotting Tom across the stadium, checking his phone, you pulled out your own phone.

‘Good luck, Tiger. See you tonight?’ you sent the text with a small smirk on your face. You watched as Tom looked up from his phone, searching the stadium for you. He locked eyes on you and winked, before typing out a reply.

‘You’ll know where to find me, Bulldog.’

You slipped your phone back into your pocket and made your way to your seat while Tom started to warm up with his team. Sitting in the first row of the stands, directly behind your team, you were as close to the action as possible (and you could even yell out tips to Nick when he wasn’t playing). Augustine was already seated right beside your spot, sporting your team’s merch even though she was indifferent towards soccer.

The game began soon after, and your eyes fixated on Tom, watching him move about the field. You’d seen him play before, but you’d never actually noticed him playing. With the way he controlled the ball, dribbling it down the grass, he owned the pitch, and, with how he made sure to always pass it to his open teammates, there was no doubt in your mind how he became captain; he was simultaneously a stellar solo and a team player.

Despite the excitement buzzing in the crowded stadium and the energy radiating off the players on the field, the game itself was rather uneventful. There were no cards, no goals, no fouls— even though you knew any objective ref would’ve called them. In the eightieth minute, the hype came back in the crowd; everyone wanted to see the players actually make a goal.

One of your forwards had shot the ball at the opposing team’s goal, and the white ball ricocheted off the goalpost and practically landed at Tom’s feet. He took off down the field, his feet dancing with the ball beneath him. He was fast—the other players on your team could barely catch him. Nick was ready at the goal, ready to block any shot. You watched with bated breath as one of your defense players came speeding up behind Tom. Before Tom could kick the ball for the final time, the defender slid for the ball, effectively tripping his opponent. It was a fast, swift movement, but with how Tom reacted, tripping and falling to the ground in pain, you knew exactly what move your player had just pulled.

“That’s a foul!” You shouted angrily. No one in your section seemed to pay any mind to your words; they were too busy cheering on the defender that had just taken down the other team’s star player. You looked over at Augustine, wondering if she thought the same as you, but she just shrugged and continued to cheer. Wanting a fair game, you weren’t about to let it go. Turning back to the field, where Tom’s teammates had gathered around him and the defender was having heated words with the ref, you continued, “Foul! His cleats were up!”

“Y/N, stop.” Augustine urged.

“No. That defender always does slide tackles with his cleats up, and he struck Tom first, not the ball. I guarantee it. Tom needs to get a penalty kick. It’s only fair.”

“If he gets a penalty kick, he might make a goal and win.” She argued, making you roll your eyes at her. 

“I just want a fair game.” You crossed your arms, turning to face the field once more, just in time for the ref to call it a foul. He drew a yellow card on your player as Tom stood up, with the help of his teammates. Tom limped for a moment, and you wondered if he was really injured or if he was just being a soccer player. Judging by how he shook it off and got ready for his penalty kick, you assumed the latter.

“Come on, Nick.” You mumbled, eyes darting between the two captains. You mentally murmured words of encouragement for Tom, not wanting anyone around you to pick up on it. After waiting for another moment to pass, Tom kicked the ball with full force. Nick jumped to the left, but the ball went soaring into the upper right corner of the net.

Their fans erupted in cheers as your fellow students booed. Tom celebrated briefly with his teammates. As he made his way down the field to the middle to start again, he smiled up at you, offering you a quick wave. Smiling, you waved back, much to the disgruntlement of the students around you.

“Gotta keep the rouse up.” You said to Augustine, but you couldn’t deny the flutter in your heart at his action.

The game ended shortly afterwards with Tom’s one goal as the only goal, securing his team the win. Normally, you’d make your way down to your team’s locker room to talk to the team. Today, though, you made your way to the far side of the stadium to the Tigers’ locker room. Leaning against the concrete wall, you had your head down, scrolling through Twitter while you waited for Tom to emerge. Players began to trickle out of the room, all in various stages of dress as they cheered, conversed, and even shouted their ways down the hall to the exit.

“Someone’s on the wrong side of the stadium.” You heard Tom say as he stepped out of the locker room. In a simple grey t-shirt and jeans with wet hair, you could tell he was freshly showered. “Did you enjoy the game?”

“I was probably the only Bulldog calling for a foul when you got slide tackled.” You replied, nodding down to his leg, “How bad is it?”

“Scratched up. The fucker used his cleats.” He grumbled as you two started to make your way down the hall towards the exit.

“He always does. I don’t know why Nick keeps him on the team.” You stated. “Nice shot though.”

“Thanks.” He let out a small laugh, “You know, I’ve actually always hated PKs. There’s too much pressure with them.”

“Don’t you hold the record for most scored PKs?” You hadn’t meant for the question to slip out, and you tried to bite back your embarrassment as amusement crossed his face.

“Been Googling my record?” Tom teased, nudging your arm with his elbow.

“I’ve got to size up the competition.” You answered with a smirk.

“Love, if you wanted to size me up, you could’ve just asked.” 

“So,” You started, effectively changing the topic, “Where are we going for dinner?”

“It’s a surprise.” Tom answered. A cheeky smile spread across his lips as he stopped in front of a motorcycle.

“Is this really your ride or is it a ploy to pick up girls like the surfboard?”

“Careful. You might be onto something there.” He teased as he fished a helmet out of his soccer bag. He handed it to you, your fingers brushing against his during the exchange. After you put it on your head, Tom wordlessly helped adjust the helmet, making sure it was on properly. He attached his bag to the back of the motorcycle, strapping it in place.

“Do I get any hints for the surprise?” You asked as Tom sat on the bike and you climbed on behind him.

He pondered it for a moment before shaking his head, that same carefree smile on his lips, “No. Hold on.”

You wrapped your arms around his waist, hugging yourself close to him as he started up the bike. As he took off out of the parking lot, you felt an exhilarating pit build up in your stomach. Whether it was from the adrenaline of being on a motorcycle or from being so close to Tom, you weren’t sure, but you loved the feeling. After a few minutes of driving, he pulled into a parking lot, lit by a neon sign. The brand was half burnt out, but perhaps the most important word, “Taqueria”, was lit up perfectly.

“Tacos.” You said, biting back an impressed smile at him choosing perhaps the best cuisine.

“Only the best.” Tom nodded, satisfied. You got off the bike and he followed. He grabbed his bag while you took off the helmet.

“I don’t know. The taqueria across from Cornwall’s stadium is pretty amazing.” You stated, making him scoff playfully.

“Tell you what, next time we get tacos, we can go there, and you can prove to me how wrong you are.” He laughed as he led you into the little taco joint. The tables were empty, but yet again, it was a bit late for a taco run.

“Holland! There’s our fútbol star!” The man behind the register cheered. Clapping, he asked, “Did we win?”

“Of course.” Tom smiled at him, and the man did a happy clap again.

“Ah, then it’s drinks on the house!” He looked over at you and his old brown eyes lit up, “What can I do for you? It’s been a long while since Holland here has brought such a lovely lady friend in.”

“Oh, is it now?” You laughed, feeling you were sharing an inside joke with the stranger.

“I’m Marco, and here we make the best tacos, especially for the best Illyria player and his friends.” Marco winked at the word ‘friends’.

After you ordered your food, Tom ordered his usual. As another employee fixed the food, Marco talked to you about Tom like he was a legendary Illyria player. You saw a more bashful side of Tom there; you began to wonder if maybe the soccer star had some reservations about openly discussing his achievements.

“Here’s your food. And, Tom, upstairs is open.” Marco said, handing over a plastic bag that smelled like Mexican food heaven.

“Thank you.” Tom smiled as he grabbed the bag with his free hand. Confused by Marco’s comment, you were about to ask Tom about this mysterious upstairs (to your knowledge, the building was only one story high), when Tom led you to the back. Marco stayed at the counter and the sole cook paid no mind to you either. A door in the corner was marked “roof access”.

“So, the soccer star gets special privileges.” You remarked, impressed by how his Illyria captain status literally opened doors for him. He shrugged with a small laugh as he led the two of you up the stairs and onto the roof.

“Does Nick’s status get him views like this?” Tom asked, walking over to the edge. You found yourself speechless as you stepped up besides him. You hadn’t realized how much you had changed in elevation, but the taqueria was nestled so perfectly on a hill that you got an almost completely unobstructed view of the city below. You could see Illyria’s campus just a few blocks away, and, even further in the distance, Cornwall was visible, too. It was magnificent, completely unlike anything you’d seen at Cornwall.

“No, I can’t say it does.” You said, breathlessly.

“Hold this for a second,” Tom handed you the bag of food, and then began to search in his bag. He pulled out a towel and frowned a little. “Okay, it’s a bit damp, but I figure a damp towel is better than nothing.”

“Learn that from experience?” You asked with a laugh.

“Bird shit is not fun to sit in.” He replied, laying the towel out so you two could sit down and enjoy your meal.

“Words of wisdom.” You nodded, taking out one of your tacos. You were about to bite into it when you noticed Tom watching you intently. “What are you doing?”

“I want to see the look of pure ecstasy on your face when you first taste this divine taco.” Tom said as he leaned in closer to you. His voice was so smooth, you nearly forgot how to breathe.

“Are you going to etch that look into your memory?” You asked with a cock of your eyebrow. If he wanted to play a flirting game, then so be it. Not that you minded anyway. You only had two months for Nick’s twisted plan to work, so you had to move relatively quickly to wrap Tom around your finger. 

“Doubt I’ll have to.”

“You think very highly of this taco… and of yourself.” You joked.

“Cheers?” Tom held up his taco to you, and you clinked yours against his.

“Cheers.”

As you bit into the taco, you couldn’t even attempt to describe how delicious it was. Every aspect of it rolled together in harmony, and it was, by far, the best taco you’d ever had. You weren’t sure if your face was as orgasmic as Tom was hoping for, considering the sauce from the taco dripped down your chin, but you couldn’t care.

“Good, huh?” Tom asked, and you nodded, reaching for a napkin to wipe yourself off. Dripping in taco sauce wasn’t the best way to spend a first date.

“Incredible.” You agreed before taking another bite.

“Do you still want to go to your place next time?” He laughed.

“That’s the second time you’ve brought up a next time.” You pointed out.

“And? You haven’t told me this is a one time thing.” Tom countered.

He was right, and he knew it. Still, you were curious about what Augustine had said about her cousin. Tom was a player, wasn’t he? “At Cornwall, you have a reputation. A glorious fuck, but for one night and one night only. Are the girls at Cornwall lying, or is there more to soccer star Tom Holland that meets the eye?”

Tom laughed, finding your inquiry comical. He picked at his taco for a moment, trying to think of a response before he finally found the words, “I was a player. It was a long time ago, though.”

“What changed?” You asked, and he shrugged.

“I got bored? I don’t know.” He replied, a sudden seriousness settled between the two of you. “I had just gotten out of a relationship. It really fucked with me, and so for months, I took the easy way to finding a connection with someone. Then, I hit the point where I didn’t like it anymore. All the girls drooled over me, and yet none of them wanted to date me because of that reputation.” He was silent for a moment, and a cocky smile graced his lips again, “The girls at Cornwall got one thing right, though. I am a pretty glorious fuck.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, “You almost had me pitying you, Holland.”

“You can still pity me. I’m just saying— I’m too fuckable for my own good.” He laughed.

“Those girls got another thing right, too. You’re an egomaniac.” You smirked, and Tom gasped in faux offense.

“Am I now?” He asked, and you nodded, “Well, what about you? What are you?”

“Not an egomaniac, that’s for sure.”

“A smart-ass.”

“Maybe.” You played along. “I’d like to think I’m a good fuck. I don’t know about glorious, though.”

“You’d like to think that?” Tom questioned, his eyebrows furrowed together.

“I’m not an egomaniac, remember? I don’t self-identify as fuckable.”

“You didn’t deny it about me though.” He smirked, “You are fuckable, and you know I’m fuckable. What’s stopping us?”

There was a playfulness in his voice. Despite all this talk of how “fuckable” he was, he hadn’t even attempted to make a proper move on you, not in that way. You shrugged, unable to think of a witty response.

You weren’t sure how serious he was in his question, but as he turned back to focus on his taco, you realized it wasn’t worth it to answer. He’d opened up, partially, about his ex and his own sex life; you didn’t want to pry for more. He was already letting you in, and you knew it was only a matter of time until you broke him, just like she did.

Just as you two finished your meal, Tom’s phone began to ring. He sighed as he looked at the contact and didn’t even bother to answer it.

“Everything alright?” You asked, and he nodded.

“The frat’s throwing a party ‘in my honor’. My absence has been noticed, to say the least.” Tom said, but he made no effort to get up.

“You should go.” You encouraged him. He stood up and offered you his hand.

“You should come, too.” He stated. With your hand in his, he helped you up— which was a lot more forceful than you expected, and you ended up crashing into his chest. Neither of you made any move to separate as you looked into his eyes. When you felt like your heart was about to burst from the close contact, one of his hands crept up your arm, caressing its way to your cheek.

“Is this a ploy to get me in your bed, Holland?” You questioned teasingly, leaning in closer to him. He smirked, cupping your cheek in his hand.

“And if it is?”

“We better get going then.” You said as you turned away from him. You picked up the towel, rolling it up, and Tom was momentarily too stunned to move.

“Such a tease.” He breathed out, almost in awe of you.

“Come on, Holland. Show me how glorious you are.” You winked at him before heading to the roof door. 

You didn’t catch him mumbling under his breath, “Fuck, I’m in love,” before he grabbed his bag and adjusted the growing boner in his sweats. He rushed after you, wanting to get back to his place as soon as possible.

~~~

A short while later, you and Tom arrived at the frat house. People were all over the place, dancing, shouting, drinking, overall having a good time. You could tell there was rage cage going on in the living room and alcohol was being downed in copious amounts from the kitchen, and you could tell exactly where the bathroom was based on the line of girls waiting to use it. The music pulsed through the house, making it seemingly come to life.

“Welcome to my place.” Tom shouted over the loud music. No one had noticed your arrival yet, too involved in their own parties to care. Tom slipped his hand into yours. You barely heard him say, “Come with me,” before he took you up the stairs and away from the crowd.

He paused at the closed door at the end of the end of the hall. With his house keys in hand, he fiddled for a moment to find the right key for the lock. When he succeeded at unlocking the door, he held it open for you, letting you into his bedroom.

It was a decent sized room with one double bed pushed into the corner. There was a TV propped up on a cardboard box (of all things) with a beanbag chair in front of it. There was no nightstand by the bed, but there was a mostly-full bookshelf and a dresser, both littered with miscellaneous objects and trophies. Medals and photos decked the walls.

“Ah, I’ve always wanted to look at the entire Illyria soccer team while banging.” You joked, pointing out the team photo hanging decently close to his bed.

Tom wordlessly wandered across the room and took it off the wall, setting it on his bookshelf, out of view. “Do you want to keep redecorating my room or should we finish what you didn’t want to start on the roof?”

“I don’t know…” You trailed off, turning to keep taking in his room. Tom grabbed your hand in his, spinning you around to face him. He trapped you in his warm embrace, a wicked smirk on his face. His lips were just mere nanometers away from yours when his door burst open. Apparently, he’d forgotten to lock it again.

“Holland, are you going to come down or what?” His interrupting frat brother and teammate questioned. “This party’s for you.”

“I’m kinda in the middle of something.” Tom said, nodding towards you, not even bothering to step away from you, and his teammate just looked at him skeptically.

“Doesn’t look like there’s much going on. Come on, man, we need you for rage cage.”

As Tom looked at you, you smiled reassuringly, “You can go. I’ll wait up here.”

“You sure? You don’t want to come too?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I don’t think the Tigers will want a Bulldog down there, not after what our defense tried to pull.” You laughed lightly. As much as Tom didn’t want to admit it, he knew it was true; both of your teams struggled with the concept of “forgive and forget”, especially when it came to purposefully attempting to injure another player.

“Alright, bulldog. I’ll be back in a bit.” Tom leaned down and pressed a kiss to your cheek before he left you alone and followed his teammate out of the room.

You let out a small sigh, wondering what to do now. Your problem seemed to be solved when your phone began to ring.

“Are you still alive?” Nick asked almost immediately when you answered his call. His words were slightly slurred, and, based on the loud music in the background, you could only assume he was calling from his own team’s massive party.

“Yes, I’m still alive.” You replied. Mindlessly, you walked around his room.

“You ran off so fast after the game, I had to make sure Holland didn’t kidnap you.”

“Because we couldn’t possibly have gone on a date instead.” You rolled your eyes at his words, even if he couldn’t see you. Your eye roll only doubled when you heard Augustine chime in.

“Holland? Taking you on a date? You’re really not putting out, aren’t you?” She questioned with a giggle.

“What’s it to you two if I am or not?” You scoffed.

“Nick, baby, who’s on the phone?” You heard someone ask in the background. You already knew who it was— Monique, Nick’s shitty girlfriend that you quite frankly hated.

“I have to go.” Without another word, you hung up the call and slipped your phone back into your pocket.

Just as you were about to sit back down on Tom’s bed, his bookshelf caught your eye. There were a couple textbooks and other nonfiction business-centered books on the lower shelves, but the top half held various momentos— a plastic award for best player (an obvious gag gift from his team), a couple medals for running, soccer, and even golf, and a black polaroid in the far corner. You smiled to yourself, having never taken him for the sentimental polaroid type.

Noticing the faint traces of dust across it, you carefully picked up the polaroid. To your surprise, a single photograph was stuck underneath the camera. You curiously took off the picture, wondering what it could be if Tom had forgotten about it. In the photograph, he was with another girl; her back was to the camera, and Tom half-turned away, smiling at her beside him. The handwritten date on the bottom of the polaroid told you it was taken a year ago, and your heart sank when you realized that this had to be his ex-girlfriend, the same one who functioned as inspiration for Nick’s scheme. Whoever she was, Tom was obviously in love with her, and it was no question to you why it hurt him so much when she left.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t find that.” You jumped, hearing Tom’s voice from the doorway.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” You replied sheepishly. You reached to put the camera back, but Tom stopped you, gently taking it into his hands.

“I’d nearly forgotten about this camera. I used to take it with me everywhere.” He admitted. His eyes drifted from the camera to the photograph still in your hand. Scoffing lightly, he shook his head and put the device back onto the shelf, “I think that was the worst day of my life.”

“Want to talk about it?” You offered. Despite knowing you were setting him up for the same heartbreak, you still felt the need to act as a listening ear.

“What is there to talk about?” Tom shrugged as he took the picture from you. He balled it up and threw it in his trash can without a second thought. When he sat down on the bed, you found a seat beside him. It was silent as you let him find his words, “We dated for two years, and I found out the day we took that picture that she had been cheating on me with—“ he paused, “with another soccer player. And we had the big Cornwall and Illyria game that day. I nearly gave up on playing because I could not score for shit.”

“Do you know who the other guy was?” You asked quietly.

“Yeah, but he’s not worth it anymore.” He said, “And she’s not worth it anymore either.”

“Definitely not.” You smiled softly. You tentatively reached up and traced a few fingers through Tom’s hair, “She must’ve been blind to cheat on you.”

“You don’t need to flatter me just because we’re talking about my shit ex.” Tom laughed.

“Fine.” You teased, trailing your hand down to the collar of his t-shirt. “Is there something you’d rather do?”

A smirk crossed his lips, “More like someone.”

“What are you going to do about it?” You raised an eyebrow challengingly, feeling his hand ghost over your hip.

The next thing you knew, Tom’s lips came crashing onto yours. It was rough and heated, yet still passionate and soft. If he kissed all of his hookups like this, then you could see how they all ended up heartbroken when he’d ask them to leave. Hell, you didn’t want him to stop. Tom hooked his hands underneath each of your thighs and flipped the two of you, laying you down on the bed.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this.” Tom mumbled as he trailed his lips down to your neck, rotating between kissing, sucking, biting, and licking your exposed skin.

“A week?” You asked teasingly, tugging on his hair when he sucked particularly hard on your sweet spot.

“Feels like an eternity.” He admitted, and he pulled away. You helped him hurriedly tug off his shirt and yours before his lips were back on yours.

The next morning, you woke up to the frightening sound of an alarm. You worried for a moment that you’d missed a class, but then you realized it was only Sunday and snuggled back down into your pillow… your very warm and human-like pillow. You blinked your eyes open and looked up to realize you’d been using Tom’s bare chest as a pillow.

“Morning, love.” He smiled at you, his voice still thick with sleep and his eyes still partially closed. He kept one hand firmly on your waist as he reached out to grab his phone from the nightstand with his other. With a yawn, he shut off his phone’s alarm.

“What time is it?” You asked, resting your head back on his chest, enjoying the warmth that radiated off him.

“8. I have practice.” Tom said sheepishly, “You can stay here and sleep some more, if you want.”

“I wish I could, but I should probably go. I’ve got team stuff to do.” You stated. 

You looked up at Tom, and he gently cupped your cheek before pulling you in for a good morning kiss. It was a lot less rushed and steamy than the kisses you shared last night, but it wasn’t any less passionate. You smiled against his lips, letting yourself get wrapped up in this moment of pure bliss.

“So, what do you think? Am I pretty glorious fuck?” Tom questioned, wiggling his eyebrows playfully at you.

You paused, acting like you were thinking hard about the question, “I might need more convincing.”

“Well in that case,” Tom’s hands drifted to the bottom of your shirt (really, it was his) and glided underneath the cotton fabric, smoothing his palms over your bare skin.

“What about practice?” You asked.

“I can be late.” He replied, unbothered by the thought, before crashing his lips to yours with a newfound hunger.

~~~

Days until the Tournament Game: 101

You stood in the warm stadium hallway, nervously trying not to make eye contact with the various staff members and assistants around you. You didn’t even recognize these people, but they didn’t recognize you, and that was enough to send them into a judgmental spiral. It didn’t last much longer as loud footsteps made their way down the hall.

The men’s soccer team of Illyria was singing an off-key tune, pumping themselves up for their second game of the season. A smile crossed your face as you caught the attention of a certain brunet. Tom said something to his friend before running over to you.

“You’re at the wrong game, Bulldog.” Tom teased, his hand resting on your waist.

“Maybe I’m here to see a different Tiger.” You replied, making him playfully roll his eyes. He leaned in to kiss you, giving you a proper ‘no one else can kiss you like this’ snog.

“I missed you.” He whispered into your lips when he finally pulled away.

“You saw me this morning.”

“I know.” The smile didn’t leave his face, but his voice dropped even quieter, ensuring that no one else could hear it, “Who knows, maybe mind-blowing sex is my good luck charm?”

“You’re so full of it.” You laughed, before kissing him again.

“Holland! Get over here!” The coach shouted from the stadium entrance where he and the other players were waiting for their team captain to lead them onto the field.

“Go win this one, Tiger.” You told Tom, and he winked at you.

“I will.”

As Tom left to make his big entrance, you hurried to your seat in the stands. In a crowd of Illyria students, you stuck out like a sore thumb with not one piece of Illyria gear on you.

“Get lost?” Harry asked from beside you. You’d met Tom’s brother last weekend when you stayed over at his place, and, while the walk of shame was a strange way to meet your lover’s sibling, the curly-haired freshman didn’t seem fazed.

“Just about killed me to come on the home side of these stands.” You joked. The crowd cheered as Tom kicked the ball, signaling the start of the match. Harry looked at you quizzically for a moment, and you asked, “What? Do I have something on my face?”

“Here.” Harry took off his beanie and handed it to you. “You need some proper school spirit.”

In his Holland jersey and with blue stripes across his cheeks, he was already spirited enough for the game today. Smiling, you tugged the beanie on, “How do I look? Like a traitor?”

“Like you belong.” He laughed, nudging your elbow before turning back to the game.

You wondered what Tom would say when he saw you wearing his brother’s blue beanie. You and Tom weren’t officially dating, but it was well known across the frat that you were off-limits. Harry’s offer was completely platonic, but still, you wondered if maybe the beanie could spur Tom into making it official between the two of you.

It was nearing half-time when Tom finally caught a moment to look over at you. He did a double take, spotting the beanie. His tired smile widened, and he blew you a kiss. You ignored Harry’s teasing nudging, too content with Tom’s reaction.

The game ended 2-1 with Illyria winning. You waited outside the locker room with Harry, who had driven both you and Tom to the game (Tom’s bike was, sadly, in the shop for routine maintenance). The beanie still rested on your head, shielding you from the cold that now flooded the concrete stadium.

It seemed to take Tom ages to get outside, but you and Harry kept each other company, talking about your upcoming assignments. With your back to the door, you didn’t realize Tom had emerged from the locker room until someone took the beanie off your head.

“Hey!” You protested, but before you could turn around Tom put his sweaty jersey on your head. You immediately took it off— as much as you loved Tom’s husky scent, you didn’t need his sweaty stench suffocating you.

“My girl, my gear.” He said, putting the beanie on Harry before giving his brother a noogie. Harry was helpless to his brother’s actions.

“Next time, you’re walking,” Harry threatened as he fixed his beanie and walked ahead of you two.

Tom threw his arm around your shoulder and smiled at you. You countered his smile by covering his head with his jersey. He let out a huff, “Hey, I gave this to you. It’s a gift.”

“I’ll have it after you wash it.” You teased. Tom removed the jersey from his head and slung it over his shoulder— luckily, not the one you were leaning into.

“So demanding.” He let out a faux sigh of annoyance. His attitude changed a split second later as he casually pressed a kiss to the side of your head, “I think my good luck charm worked today.”

“It was one game.”

“And we won.” Tom stated, “Why don’t you and I celebrate? You know, I’m going to need a shower when I get home.”

“Someone’s hopeful.” You laughed, shaking your head, “Don’t you have a midterm on Monday?”

Tom’s face dropped, and he let out a long, almost childish groan. “I hate my life.” Another groan escaped his lips, “You know, my frat’s having a party tonight.”

“In your honor— as always.” You teased.

“And you know, I won’t get any work done if I go back there tonight.” He trailed off, hoping you’d get his message. When you didn’t respond, he asked, “Can I stay at yours tonight?”

You wanted to say “yes” with no hesitation, but something kept the word in your throat. Augustine was your roommate. If you brought Tom over, he’d meet her. As much as you loved her, you didn’t really want to wrap Tom up even further in this scheme. Yet again, maybe you’d already overstepped by being friends with Harry. ‘What the hell’, you thought.

“Sure.” You nodded, knowing he already had his backpack in Harry’s car.

When the three of you got to Harry’s car, Tom informed his brother of the new destination. Harry just shrugged it off, not really caring either way— that’s how it goes when Tom offers to buy him coffee for a week for taxiing him around.

It wasn’t until you and Tom were dropped off and were making your way across campus to your dorm that you remembered about Cornwall’s home game today. Judging by the excitement of your fellow students on campus, you assumed they won.

“Everyone’s staring at me. And not in a good way.” Tom mumbled in your ear, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to pull you in closer to him.

“Maybe if you weren’t sporting Illyria merch on Cornwall grounds, they wouldn’t be sending you dirty looks.” You teased, your own arm sliding around his waist while you two walked. “Besides, you have nothing to worry about. The drunk idiots wouldn’t dare hurt your pretty face while I’m here.”

“Ah, well, I’m so glad my girl’s here to protect me.” There was a lighthearted humor in his voice, but you still stopped in your tracks at his words.

“Your girl?” You asked, turning slightly to face him. “You called me your girl earlier tonight, too.”

Tom smiled almost nervously at you. He began to ramble, confirming your suspicions of his feelings, “Yeah? Unless you don’t want to be my girl. I just thought, since we’ve been going good for a week now— I guess I never asked, so will you go out with me? Officially?”

You barely focused on his words, too enamored by how adorable he looked all flustered. He was the suave player kind of guy, not the bashful “will you go out with me” kind of guy. Biting your lip, you attempted to refrain from laughing as you nodded, but Tom saw right through you.

“I’m trying to ask you out here— the least you could do is not laugh while I’m still here.” He fauxed offense, dramatically turning on his heel. He began to walk off, and you quickly grabbed his hand to stop him.

“Wait, wait, I didn’t say anything.” You said, through some more laughter. You spun him around to face you and cupped his face in your hands. “Yes, I’ll officially be your girl.”

“Glad we worked this out.” Tom stated, leaning in to kiss you. As he wrapped you up in his embrace, in the middle of campus, you felt the rest of the world fade away. You knew in your heart that this would end all too soon, but you kinda liked the thought of being Tom’s girl, exclusively.

You were pulled back to reality as you heard Augustine call out your name. Tom kept an arm around your waist as you turned to see your friend. Forcing your most believable genuine smile, you introduced them, “Oh, Tom, this is my best friend, Augustine. Augustine, this is Tom, my boyfriend.”

“Nice to meet you.” Tom said with a polite smile. She looked him over and forced a smile before turning to you.

“Did you forget about the game today?” She asked, throwing you off guard. She’d never really cared about sports— only ever attending games with you by her side, so why is she suddenly questioning your lack of appearance?

“No, I, uh,” You glanced at Tom beside you, “I was with Tom. He had a game today, too.”

“Oh, it’s just not like you to miss a game.” Her voice dropped at your words, and part of you wondered if she was just acting ignorant to this whole facade or if she was genuinely concerned over you missing the game. “Are you heading back to the apartment?”

“Yeah, Tom’s going to stay the night. He’s got a midterm on Monday, but his frat’s going to be partying all weekend.” You explained to her.

“Partying? Wonder why.” She mumbled under her breath, and you decided it was best to just ignore her words.

The three of you continued the walk to your shared apartment. Tom kept his hand lazily draped around you. Back at your apartment, you got Tom situated at the desk in your room. You wondered how long he’d actually study before getting distracted or falling asleep.

“You’ve abandoned us.” Augustine said quietly while you fixed a late dinner for you and Tom. Tom was busy upstairs, and you could even hear his music blasting down the hall.

“Oh come on,” You rolled your eyes at her words. All you wanted to do was focus on your pasta, but she had other ideas.

“Just be careful. He’s untrustworthy.” She stated.

“He’s actually not that bad of a guy.” You countered, making her scoff softly.

“So, you’ve fallen for his charms. It’s no question that you’d rather support Illyria than Cornwall now.”

Your head shot up, looking at her for the first time since you’d gotten in the door. Your eyes narrowed at her, “Don’t forget for a second that this was all because of you and Nick.”

“I didn’t forget that. Did you?”

She left the room without another word, leaving you to be alone in the kitchen. Frustrated, you sighed and turned back to your pasta. You didn’t forget— how could you? How could you forget that the practically perfect soccer player upstairs wasn’t actually your boyfriend? It wasn’t real; it was all fake, and it was ending in almost a hundred days.

“Babe, is dinner ready?” Tom called down to you, momentarily turning off his music.

Okay, there was one thing that was real. You liked Tom, and you had no clue how you’d live with yourself when this came to an end.

“Almost!” You called back. You heard a satisfied clap from your room, making you smile to yourself.

Yeah, you really liked Tom.

~~~

Days until the Tournament Game: 88

“Come on, love, you know you can make this shot.” Tom said in encouragement. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he watched you.

“You’re distracting me, Holland.” You quipped back, keeping your eyes fixed on the final red solo cup sitting on the opposite edge of the table. Two of Tom’s teammates stood on the other side, one crouched down and ready to blow the ball out of the cup. It was an intense moment. They had two cups remaining, set right in front of you, and you and Tom only had one. If you made this, you two would win.

A few more of his teammates and a large number of partygoers surrounded the table, wanting to see if the frat president and his “Bulldog babe” (yeah, you were known on Cornwall’s campus now) could beat the reigning champions in the frat. After almost four weeks of dating, you had found a home with Tom and his frat, and by extension his team too. It definitely helped that you could keep up with them on the field and at parties. Sporting Tom’s jersey, you were nearly unrecognizable as a Bulldog.

You tossed the little white ping pong ball through the air, watching as it soared into the cup so fluidly that his teammates’s attempts to stop it were in vain. As Illyria’s best defenders, it was a good thing they were better at blocking soccer balls.

As everyone cheered around you, you jumped into Tom’s arms happily, your legs locking around his waist as his hands held you up by your butt. He was very publicly copping a feel as you kissed him victoriously, but you didn’t care, too intoxicated and caught up in the moment. As the party moved on around you, you found yourselves in your own world. Tom pulled away, smiling proudly, “You’re the best beer pong partner.”

“You aren’t too bad yourself.” You gave him one final kiss as he set you back down on the ground. “Let’s get a drink.”

Tom intertwined his hand with yours, and he led you through the crowd of people. Strangers shouted praises at him, hyping him up for tomorrow’s game, and you felt a sense of pride overcome you. He wasn’t just the life of the party, he was the party. Tom went to grab out some beers, but froze as he noticed a few others in the far side of the kitchen, enjoying some body shots.

“Wanna do some body shots?” Tom asked, and the smile on your face shifted skeptically as you noticed the already slight glazed look in his eyes.

“You’ve got a big game tomorrow, hot shot. You can’t be hungover.” You teased.

“I’m fine.” He reassured you. You watched as he grabbed the salt shaker and a few wedges of lime before coming back over to you.

“You forgot the tequila.”

“The good tequila is in my room, darling.” Tom laughed, grabbing your hand again. You followed along behind him as he took you past all the other drunks to his secluded room. 

As Tom balanced the salt and limes in one hand and got out his bottle of tequila with the other, his black polaroid camera caught your eye. While he was distracted, you took the liberty to grab it down. You smiled to yourself when you discovered it still had film. 

“Alright. I only have one double shot glass up here, but we shag almost daily, so are we really worried about germs?” Tom said, his voice sounding a bit muffled. When he turned around to face you, he had a slice of lime set between his lips, one hand holding the tequila and shot glass, with the other awkwardly clutching the remaining lime wedges and salt. Without a second thought, you snapped a picture of him.

“Hey, now, what was that for?” He chuckled, taking the lime out of his mouth and blinking his eyes from the harsh light.

“You said you used to love this thing. So why not make some new memories with it?” You smiled as you started to shake the new photograph. You laid back on the bed, waiting for it to develop.

“Off with the shirt, love. We’re doing proper body shots.” Tom smirked, and you blew a kiss at him before removing your jersey.

Feeling his gaze darken over your body, you teased, “Is this the real reason why we came upstairs?”

“You know we’d end up here eventually. And my brothers don’t need to see what is so beautifully mine.” The smirk never left his lips as he made his way over to you. “How’s the picture turning out?” He asked, and you paused mid-shake of the Polaroid picture to examine it. You shrugged; it still needed more time to develop. “Right, while you’re doing that, don’t mind me.”

You opened your mouth to ask what he was doing, but couldn’t get a word out before he licked a line from the top of your belly button to the underside of your bra and then sprinkled salt along the line; the tiny crystals sticking to your body with just his saliva. He smirked as he poured the tequila shot while you just laid still underneath him, save for your hand shaking the photograph. He settled the shot glass between your breasts and grabbed a lime wedge.

“For me?” You smiled before he slotted the wedge between your lips.

“Gorgeous, love.” Tom grinned proudly as he grabbed the camera from beside you. He quickly snapped a picture, handing the photograph off to you. “I’ve got my hands full.”

He winked at you before he licked the salt line on your abdomen. Then in a fluid motion, he took the shot from between your breasts, and then his lips barely brushed yours as he took the lime wedge from you.

“Delicious.” He sent you a cocky grin as he removed the lime from his mouth.

“Such a tease.” You grumbled, dropping the photographs. Tom took off his shirt and made himself comfortable on the bed, switching positions with you. He took another picture of you as you poured the shot, a look of concentration on your face. With the shot set on his chest, he was careful not to move.

“You are quite possibly the most beautiful thing I’ve ever photographed.” Tom said with a dazed smile.

“Am I now?” You questioned. You licked a line for the salt along his happy trail, your fingers running teasingly over his jeans.

“I don’t recall the salt going there.” He laughed lightly.

“Are you complaining?” You asked, pouring salt over the wet line.

“No, no, continue.”

You placed a lime wedge on his lips. As you licked the salt up from his lower abdomen, another flash went off, and you rolled your eyes playfully at him. Next was the tequila, and it burned down your throat before you settled the shot glass back onto his chest. Your lips came to his, seeking the sweet taste of lime, and you triumphantly sucked on the lime.

The fruit was barely out of your mouth before Tom was sitting up and crashing his lips on yours. He tasted of lime and tequila, as expected, and it was overwhelmingly intoxicating. You moaned into the kiss as he shifted you to sit comfortably in his lap, his bare torso pressed against your barely covered chest.

Tom pulled away from you, his forehead resting against yours. Breathlessly, he smiled at you, “You gonna be my good luck charm tomorrow?”

“You ask me that every week.” You giggled because you both knew it was true.

“And?”

“Yes.” You nodded. He went to kiss you again, but you stopped him, “Wait. We should do something.”

“Is this not something?” He asked, unsure of what you meant.

“No,” You laughed and shuffled out of his lap to stand up, “I mean something for the game. A real good luck charm.”

“I don’t know. Mind blowing sex seems to do the trick.” Tom shrugged with a lopsided smile. His gaze followed you curiously as you looked around the room. A smile broke out on your face when you spotted a sharpie on his desk.

“Here.” You grabbed the pen and settled back into his lap. You took his right hand in yours, drawing a little black heart. Kissing it, you smiled, “If you win tomorrow, this will be your good luck charm.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I only date winners.” You replied, your voice dripping in seriousness, and his smile immediately turned into a pout. Your hands cupped his cheek as you placed a soft kiss to his lips, “I’m kidding. You’re going to do great, Tiger.”

“You hurt me, Bulldog.” He laughed. “You good for another?” 

As you nodded, Tom shifted to lay you back down on the bed. He sat between your legs and pressed another somewhat sloppy kiss to your lips before he went to work organizing his second tequila shot.

“Coach Hendricks is going to be so mad at you tomorrow.” You said, running a hand through Tom’s hair as he licked along the center of your abdomen once more.

“Eh,” He shrugged, sprinkling the salt on you. “As long as I win, he won’t care.”

You laughed, nodding. It was a true statement. The head coach had a strict “no hangovers on game day” policy, but, as long as the team won, he didn’t really care if Tom was hungover or not. Besides, Tom knew himself. Unless he downed another ten shots in twenty minutes, there was no way he’d be still hungover at 3 o’clock tomorrow afternoon. As for his other teammates, who would get in trouble, win or lose, he couldn’t say.

Tom poured the tequila shot next and set it between your breasts. He cupped them cheekily before leaning in to kiss you again, careful to avoid the shot glass and the salt. You were about to wonder if he’d forgotten about the body shots when his lips were replaced with a lime wedge.

He took longer with the body shot this time, almost as if he was worshipping you as he went. His tongue went trailing over the salt, ravishing in the tiny crystals, before his lips wrapped around the shot glass. As he threw his head back, downing the shot, his hands grabbed your waist, pulling you into his lap. You let out a surprised shriek, partially muted by the lime wedge between your lips. Tom’s lips crashed to yours for the millionth time that evening.

He laid on top of you before rolling so that you were on top, his back flat against the bed. Lost in the euphoria of the kiss, you smiled happily. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was just Tom being intoxicating, but you couldn’t think of a better moment than this. You’ve never felt closer to someone.

Your sentimental thoughts soon left you as you felt Tom’s fingers start to dance across your hips, tickling you. You laughed into the kiss and tried to squirm out of his grasp, but he just chuckled manically and effectively used one hand and his legs to keep you trapped. His other hand continued his devilish work.

“Stop! Stop!” You squealed, succumbing to your tickle monster of a boyfriend. You were helpless, unable to control your shrieks and giggles.

“Never!” 

BANG!

Faster than you could even process what had happened, Tom’s hands had stopped their assault and grabbed you by the waist, and he rolled the two of you over so he was closest to the door, doing his best to block your half-naked body.

“Harrison, get the fuck out!” Tom shouted, mad that the moment had been interrupted (though you were partially grateful for the reprieve from the tickling). You peered over Tom’s shoulder to see his best friend and vice-captain look over at the two of you with heavily dazed eyes.

“Tom, why are you in my room?” Harrison questioned, his words slurred. As if his eyes and stature didn’t give away that he was very drunk, he was obviously lost. And there was another reason for that. He leaned on the wall, pressed up against a brunette that he had clearly been making out with on the way to his room.

“This is my room, you div. Get out!” Tom just about growled in frustration at his friend.

“Oh,” Harrison looked down at the girl in his arms, “Sorry, love.” He turned to leave, leading her to his room, which was right next door, but not before calling out to you, “Nice tits, Y/N!”

“I’m going to murder him one of these days.” Your boyfriend sighed as he got up to lock the door once the drunken couple had left.

“Always, always have to lock the door.” You teased, “Looks like he’s having a good night, though.”

“Where were we?” Tom asked, stripping out of his jeans and making his way over to you.

“If you think you’re tickling me again, you’re not getting the other half of your good luck charm.” You warned as you took his hand in yours and kissed the black heart.

“I can do with fastforwarding to the mind blowing sex chapter of tonight.” He smirked, his hands moving their way around your back, heading straight to your bra clasp.

~~~

Days until the Tournament Game: 8

The wind rippled through your loose summer clothes as you clung on tight to Tom’s torso— it was a feeling you’d become all too familiar with since meeting him. He maneuvered his motorcycle along the busy streets, making his way down to the beach. The rest of his team would meet you two there, ready for a scrimmage in the sand.

Tomorrow was the last day of the season with the last match between Illyria and Cornwall. According to Nick’s plan, you had one last step to complete before Tom brought the Illyria team crashing down, just in time for the biggest soccer tournament of the year to begin. You weren’t even sure you could do it now— no, you knew you couldn’t do it. No matter what Nick and Augustine said, Tom was still human.

You were in love with him. You couldn’t break his heart just for the sake of a soccer tournament that wasn’t even your own. A part of you wondered if you should tell him, tell him that this was all originally for the stupid tournament game, but then he captured your heart so you couldn’t possibly go through with the original plan.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when he came to a stop in a small, sandy parking space just off the beach. Stepping off the motorcycle, you removed your helmet, and Tom did the same. He pressed a quick kiss to your lips before he smiled at you, “Ready to win this game?”

“Of course.” You said confidently. Tom wrapped an arm around your shoulder, and you subconsciously lifted your hand to intertwine with his as you two made your way to his team and his other fellow students.

Tom laid out a couple of beach blankets a bit further away from the team’s tent, and you set your bag down on the covered ground. As you stripped off your shirt, revealing your swimsuit, Tom dug out a pen from your bag. He held it out to you expectantly.

“I need my good luck charm.” He stated, and so, just like you did before every game now, you drew a black heart on the back of his hand. You weren’t one to be superstitious, but he was undefeated this season, and you liked to think the heart was working some kind of magic (especially when they won with only ten players last week).

“Do I get one today?” You asked with a smile.

“Not that you need it.” Tom teased, “You know you’re better than half of them.” Still, he took the pen from you to draw a small heart on your own hand. He kissed the back of your palm before putting the pen away.

“As captain, I don’t think you should be saying that.” You laughed, your fingers tugging on the bottom of his t-shirt. 

He got the message, pulling it off as he continued, “It’s because I’m captain that I can say that.”

��Come on, let’s go before they start without us.” You took his hand in yours as you two made your way over to the makeshift field.

The scrimmage was exhilarating, even with the sun bearing down on all of you and sand flying up in the air with almost every kick. You and Tom worked in tandem— with the other three players on your team, and together the two of you scored all four goals of the game. When the round was up, you two exited the field with cheers from Tom’s fellow students.

“Race ya back?” Tom asked you, his elbow brushing yours.

Despite feeling tired from the intense game, you weren’t one to back down, “You’re on.”

And you two took off, running for your spot on the beach. You were ahead of Tom, and you thought you’d secured the fair win until he practically tackled you to the ground and onto the blankets. You let out a shriek as you fell on your back and he landed on top of you, chest to chest.

“I won.” You announced, triumphantly.

“No, no, that was a tie.” Tom insisted as he leaned in closer to you.

“Nuh-uh” You rolled your eyes, unconvinced, but still cupped his cheeks and brought his lips to yours.

As you shifted your legs to give Tom more room between them, he pulled back just enough to mumble into your mouth, “This is a public beach.”

“We’re not doing anything.” You whispered innocently before kissing him again. Slowly, the kiss turned more and more heated, both of you closing your eyes and getting lost in the moment completely.

“Hey, Bulldog, you lost?” Someone shouted from above the two of you. You broke the kiss first, grimacing as you knew exactly who that was.

Tom scoffed, barely even looking at your brother above you, “You’re on Tiger turf, and Y/N here is an honorary Tiger. She cares more about our soccer team than yours anyway.”

“Does she now?” Nick questioned. Tom rolled off of you, so you could sit up to see your brother. With his arm around your waist, Tom didn’t leave your side.

“Nick, what do you want?” You asked, feeling defensive about him being here. This was your time with Tom, and you weren’t about to let your loud mouth brother ruin it.

“Just saying hi. You haven’t been around much lately.” His words were simple, and yet they still sounded like an attempt to irritate Tom. “You’ll be rooting for us tomorrow, right, sis?”

“Does it matter?” Your hand subconsciously made its way to Tom’s, lightly brushing over the little black heart that you’d drawn on it earlier.

“Nick! Come on, we can’t play without you!” Nick’s girlfriend, Monique, came running up to the three of you.

She seemed oblivious to you and Tom as she kissed Nick like her life depended on it. Feeling Tom’s grip tighten on your hip, you glanced at him in concern; he didn’t respond and, instead, just pressed a kiss to your exposed shoulder, looking anywhere but at Monique. Monique and Nick finally broke apart. She smiled tensely at you, and her smile shifted almost into a sneer as she looked over at Tom. It took everything in you to not roll your eyes at her— you’d always thought of her as a callous person, and you didn’t appreciate her treatment of you or Tom.

“Nick, can I talk to you for a moment?” You asked, getting up from your spot in Tom’s arms. Nick looked at you questioningly before nodding, and you followed him and Monique back to the Cornwall students.

“I have to say, I’m impressed.” Nick said to you as he got himself a beer. “I didn’t think you’d have it in you to make Holland fall for you, but, damn, sis, he’s smitten.”

“I want out.” You stated, making him choke on his beer at your words. “You know that this is wrong. I can’t do that to him— not for the sake of your team.”

“My team? What happened to our team?”

“It was never mine, and I should’ve never taken you up on this deal in the first place. I’m not going to break up with him when the tournament comes around.” You crossed your arms definitively.

“God, you love him.” He laughed in disbelief, “He’s in love with you, and you’ve fallen for him too. Y/N, he’s no good. He’s a player, he doesn’t actually care about you.”

“I don’t love him.” You all but scoffed in response, though your heart hurt at the denial. You grabbed a can of beer from the cooler, trying to distract yourself. “And he’s not in love with me.”

“You know that Polaroid he has?” Monique piped in, stepping up to the two of you, “He once told me he only photographs things he loves. And his motorcycle? No one is allowed on it, no one except for his girl. And then you have his jersey, he doesn’t share clothes with his casual flings, even the long term ones. So, tell me, do you really think he’s not in love with you?” She asked, her voice dripping with cruelty as she grabbed your hand, showing off the black heart.

You yanked your hand out of her grip. And that’s when it all clicked for you.

 In disbelief, you mumbled out, “You’re his ex-girlfriend.”

“And?” She laughed callously.

Turning to Nick, you were now furious, “You’re sick, you know that? Not only using me as a pawn in your twisted rivalry, but fucking his ex and parading her around here? Of all places? And right before the game, too.”

“Tom broke up with me, and no one breaks up with me. I call that vengeance.” Monique stated as if it was obvious, crossing her arms.

“My two best players are down. What was I supposed to do?” Nick asked you.

“Play your own damn game.” You scoffed at him. You looked down at the beer in your hands and you turned back to Monique, taking in her pristine white summer dress. “And you,” You shook the beer can a bit, “You can go fuck yourself.” Opening the beer can, you aimed it at her and let it spray all over her. She let out a shriek as the liquid ruined her dress. 

“Good luck tomorrow, Nick. You’re gonna need it.” You told him, taking a sip of the remaining beer as you walked away back down the beach to Tom. He was in the middle of a spikeball game with his frat brothers. You sat down on your blanket, knowing he’d come back once he was done.

As you looked down at the black heart on your wrist, you couldn’t help but question if you’d made a mistake letting yourself get this far with Tom. Was he really in love with you, or was Monique just saying that to get a rise out of you? 

Tom returned to you a few minutes later, triumphantly smiling about his game. Knowing you were upset, he asked, “Everything okay with Nick?”

Your boyfriend had asked you variants of that question before, always being able to tell when you’re just feeling off, but he’d never asked about you and Nick. If Nick was brought up in the conversation, it was always in a negative light. You’d never seen Tom care about your relationship with your brother.

“He’s just being an ass.” You replied, wanting the conversation to die there. You wanted, more than anything, to tell Tom about your stupid deal with Nick, but you knew that he wouldn’t handle it well— who would though? Who could bear to hear that these past few months started out as a cruel scheme?

Tom let out a small sigh, unsure of what to say. He’s never liked your brother, and your brother’s never liked him, but Tom felt obligated to comfort you. After all, he didn’t like to see his girl upset. Doing his best, he tried to steer the conversation away, “Well, I think the boys want to play another game. Are you in? Or should we go home?”

“We can play.” You reassured him with a nod. You gave him another quick kiss before standing up, ready for a rematch.

“No, no,” Harrison said, holding the soccer ball under one arm as you and Tom walked over to the scrimmage field together. “You two have to split up.”

“What? Me and my girl are too powerful on the same team?” Tom asked. Still, he let go of your hand and made his way to Harrison’s side of the field.

The vice captain shook his head, “We want Y/N.”

The Illyria section of the beach went dead silent. Fellow students and soccer players who hadn’t even cared about the previous conversation all stopped their actions, eyes darting between you and Tom. Tom’s eyes were on Harrison, contemplating if he, as captain, should smack his friend for implying that you were a better player.

You smirked, gladly taking Harrison’s offer. You and Tom had never played soccer against each other— it was about time to figure out who was the better player (or at least, who had the better team today). Holding your hands up, you nodded to Harrison, and he threw the ball over to you.

Tom was stunned as you walked over to him, putting a little more sway in your hips than necessary. You tapped Tom on the chin, “You’ll catch flies.”

He was brought out of his daze as he heard a few cat calls from the onlooking crowd. He leaned in closer to you, a smirk playing on his lips, “You’re playing a dangerous game, love.”

“I know.”

Tom leaned in like he was going to kiss you, just to pull away and retreat to his side of the field. You handed Harrison the ball, “He’s so going to increase your practice time this week.”

“Eh, it’s worth it. The boys and I have made bets on who’s the better player between you two.” Harrison shrugged as if it was simple.

“I hope your money’s on me.”

Harrison sent you a cheeky wink before going to meet Tom in the middle of the field for kick off. The game began, and Illyria spectators were flooding in for the casual beach scrimmage.

Tom had the ball first, a trail of sand behind him. He maneuvered his way around Harrison quickly and passed another one of your teammates. You could tell by the look on his face that he was getting cocky, and your feet moved faster than you could think. You basically slide tackled him, effectively passing the ball to Harrison.

“Cheap move.” Tom grumbled, though he wasn’t really annoyed.

You just laughed and re-adjusted your shorts quickly before running to help your team out. Harrison had to be the fastest player on the Illyria team, whether the game was on the actual field or in sand. Lucky for you, the field was short on the beach, and you were quick to catch up. He had two of Tom’s teammates on him, but when he spotted you, he shot the ball towards you. With the ball flying high in the air, you jumped for a header, just for Tom to attempt the same move at the exact same time.

“God, fuck, you’re the worst.” You groaned as your boyfriend landed on top of you. “That was mine!”

“I told you, it’s a dangerous game.” Tom pecked your lips before hopping off you, careful not to kick sand into your eyes.

You couldn’t be mad at him, not really. He was just playing like it was any other dirty scrimmage. Being on his team all of the time meant that you never had to be on the receiving end of his “tricks”. As you got up, Harrison managed to score a goal. Your team shouted happily, and Harrison was quick to pick you up in a victory cheer.

“Hey! None of that.” Tom called out, eyeing the two of you with a jealous frown. Harrison put you down, before running over and picking up Tom. Nothing like a good ol’ bromance ft. rivalry. Disgruntled, Tom said, “I’m not even on your team.”

“I’m sharing the love that we got a goal and you didn’t.” Harrison stated, letting go of his friend before grabbing the ball and heading back to the starting line. Tom huffed as you blew him a kiss, retreating to your side.

The game started back up almost immediately. You and Tom pretty much stayed on each other— in soccer terms. He never let you catch a break when you had the ball, and you never cut him any slack either. He managed to score on you once with a lucky nutmeg, but you were quick to retaliate by scoring a goal, making the score 2-1 with your team in the lead.

“You know, only 5 more minutes left. Don’t you wish you could make another goal?” You asked Tom teasingly, shifting the ball between your feet and passing it to your teammate, just before Tom could kick it away.

“As far as I’m concerned, we’re both at 1. Harrison scored that first one.” He stated, cockiness laced in his tone.

“Don’t get technical. My team’s still winning.”

The banter between you two continued while you played the game. Tom managed to steal the ball from you at one instance though, and you let out an annoyed huff. You considered slide tackling him again, but you still had sand god knows where in your swimsuit, so that was an automatic no-go now. You ran ahead of Tom, risking leaving him open for just this once. Confidently, he shot the ball at the goal, but you jumped in the way, taking possession of it.

He was quick to chase after you as you rushed down the field, kicking the ball between your feet. With a clear shot, you kicked the ball, sending it soaring into the net. Tom didn’t have time to process your sudden stop, and, for the second time that game, your boyfriend landed on you.

“Damn,” Tom breathed out, too defeated to even attempt to get up. He just laid there, on top of you, while you laughed and panted, exhausted from the game.

“I won.” You smiled triumphantly. You carded a hand through his messy hair, your fingers ruffling it even more than the wind and the exercise.

“I know. And you only date winners, so I guess—” You cut him off, bringing his lips to yours. You didn’t even mind that a good portion of Illyria’s soccer team and fanbase were around, witnessing the two of you.

“I can make an exception.” You said as you pulled away.

“Oi! If you’re done snogging, we’re going to get some drinks.” Harrison shouted at the two of you as he and some other players took the tents down.

“Alright, alright.” Tom waved off his comment before standing and helping you to your feet.

The two of you cleaned up your own spot, shaking out the sandy towels and dusting each other off. Satisfied, you both slipped your actual clothes back on, and Tom stuffed the towels unceremoniously in your beach tote. After a short ride on Tom’s motorcycle, you two arrived at the familiar bar. Despite its close proximity to Cornwall’s campus (it was just two blocks away), the Iron Tiger stood as a comforting sight with its bright blue sign, accompanied by another sign of a neon tiger.

Tom kept an arm around you as you two walked in the bar, ensuring that everyone in there knew you were his. There might as well have been a cloud of smoke and a spotlight following the two of you as you walked from how everyone seemed to stare. The looks from the Illyria students (and even some young alumni) never failed to make you feel both embarrassed and smug. Tom walked with an air of confidence, taking no notice of how the crowd parted for him.

“What would you like, love?” Tom asked you as you stopped at the bar. He pulled out a barstool for you, and you slid into the offered seat. As he sat down beside you, you ordered from the bartender with a smile.

You two enjoyed your bar snacks (they had the best wings in town) and your drinks, only occasionally brought into a conversation with a passing soccer player or Illyria student. Word had spread fast about Tom’s defeat in the scrimmage, and, while he knew he’d never live that down, he was glad that it was you of all people to beat him. In his mind, there was only one thing better than winning: watching you win. You two had already had a few drinks, buzzing lightly with alcohol, when the bartender came back to ask about another round.

“Two cherry moons, please. With the stem.” You said, making Tom laugh lightly.

“You got it.” The bartender replied, nodding and heading off to make your drinks.

“With the stem?” Tom teased. He had one hand intertwined with yours, while his other hand held up a half eaten wing. “Love, if you forgot what I can do with my tongue, the bathroom’s just back there.”

“I don’t need help remembering.” You shook your head, smiling at him as he finished his chicken wing. “It’s fun. Besides, you might actually win something tonight this way.”

Tom didn’t hate cherry flavored drinks; if anything, being with you, who loved them, made him like them more. You had re-introduced him to the fun of tying cherry stems with your tongue, and now, seeing who could tie a cherry knot the fastest had become a contest between the two of you. Once, you two had tried french kissing and tying a single cherry knot simultaneously, but that led to Tom almost choking on a cherry stem… Needless to say, you didn’t need to try again.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about tomorrow.” Tom started, just in time for the bartender to return. You both thanked him for the drinks.

“I’ll be sitting with the Illyria side, wearing your jersey.” You reassured him. At this point, you had absolutely no desire to support your cruel brother. For all you cared, he could lose tomorrow and the tournament game next week, if it came to that; if his team wasn’t good enough to beat Tom’s, then so be it.

Tom smiled at you, and for a moment, you got lost in those heartwarming, caramel eyes. He turned his attention to the drinks in front of you two and plucked his cherry from the drink. You watched as he downed the sweet fruit instantly, leaving just the stem behind. You did the same, though you savored the sweet maraschino flavor.

“Ready?” You asked, looking at Tom as you both held up your cherry stems.

“Ready.” He nodded. A second later, you both popped your cherry stems into your mouths. Your tongue worked fast, trying to curve the stem just right. You faced Tom the whole time, who was insistent on making over-the-top faces. There was a hint of concentration in his face, his brows creasing the same way they always did around the 80th minute mark of any of his games. You held back your laughter, trying to focus on the task at hand… or in your mouth.

You let out a whine as the stem broke in your mouth. Grabbing a napkin, you spit out the sad symbol of your defeat. You took a sip of your drink, waiting for Tom to finish.

“Any day now.” You teased, and he held up a finger to wordlessly tell you “one more second”. You bit your lip in anticipation.

“Eh? Aye,” Tom stuck out his tongue, proudly showing off the cherry knot resting on top of the wet muscle. His lips turned up in a smile, knowing he won this contest.

“Impressive.” You nodded, and he took the cherry knot out of his mouth. He leaned in to kiss you again, his lips always seeking a way back to yours. You felt his tongue trace along your lips through the kiss, but before he could go any further, the two of you were suddenly aware of a silence overcoming the bar.

The crowd was parting, just as they had for you and Tom, but there was no awe in the way the onlookers stared— no, it was only confusion and hatred. The Cornwall Bulldogs soccer team strutted in the door, like they owned the place, like it wasn’t Illyria’s turf. Tom tensed beside you as Nick sauntered over to the two of you, an arm draped around Monique. The rest of his team, or rather his posse, followed him.

Quick to Tom’s side, the Illyria soccer team gathered around. Some players crossed their arms angrily, some sported hardened looks, but they all stood to defend their team and their bar. Even you narrowed your eyes seeing Nick and Monique. It was an unwritten rule for the Bulldogs and Tigers to stay away from each other’s territory, and the Iron Tiger was no exception. Nick knew that— he was here to stir trouble.

A sickening feeling hit you as Nick’s eyes looked at your intertwined hand with Tom’s. He wouldn’t— not here— would he? Doubt and worry overcame you. Your eyes drifted away from your brother and over to Tom, but he wasn’t looking at you. His brown eyes were trained on your brother, and they were stone cold. Would this be the last time he lets you this close to him? Would this be the end?

“You lost?” Tom asked Nick with a scoff.

“Nope.” Nick shook his head, “Just reminding my sister of her place.”

He continued past the bar to an open booth. He kicked his feet up on the table, and Monique cozied into his side. His team, once your closest friends, filled in empty spaces around them.

Tom’s team kept their ground, staying close to their captain. Tom studied Nick for a moment before turning to you. “What’s all that about?”

There was no malice in his voice when he spoke to you; there was never malice in his voice when it came to you. The question broke your heart. The words were caught in your throat. Without even attempting to squeak out a reply, you got up and ran. You bit back the tears as you fled to the bathroom, pushing past the Illyria players in your way. Tom called your name behind you, but you ignored him.

Once in the safety of the bathroom, you locked the door. As you silently cried, Tom repeatedly knocked on the door. “Y/N, please, love, what’s wrong?”

You wanted to tell him, but that would be admitting all of this was because of a scheme. Hell, you’d barely admitted that to yourself the past few weeks. When you didn’t respond, the knocking stopped, leaving you to cry alone in the bathroom. As you sobbed, you were aware of some commotion from outside in the bar, but you didn’t have it in you to care. You needed to cry this out because maybe then, you’d finally be able to tell Tom and hopefully he wouldn’t hate you forever.

After another few minutes of self-pity, your tears dried, and you cleaned yourself up with some paper towels. Your eyes were red and puffy, but your ruffled state just reflected your heartbroken mood. As you unlocked the door and stepped out, you were immediately aware of the emptiness of the bar. Everyone was gone, except for the bartender, who muttered to himself as he cleaned up broken glass. And yet, despite its emptiness, you could still hear a loud commotion coming from somewhere.

“Your friends are outside. Don’t come back.” He stated, not even turning to look at you.

You finally recognized the sounds outside people were shouting— or rather, they were fighting. Anger washed over you; of course, your brother would start a fight. That feeling dissipated immediately, replaced with worry.

Tom would be on the receiving end of Nick’s taunts and violence.

You rushed out of the bar, following the trail of sound. A group of students, Cornwall and Illyria alike, were yelling and cheering, forming a tight circle around the main event in the center. You didn’t think twice about wrestling your way into the crowd (which was oddly triple the amount of people who were in the bar mere minutes ago).

There were about eight soccer players fighting each other, four from each team. You felt sick and heartbroken and angry when your eyes laid on Tom and Nick. They were both sending punch after punch and kick after kick at each other. The other players stopped fighting when they realized you were there, and the crowd fell silent. Tom’s eyes found yours. You thought you saw a flicker of relief in his face, before Nick landed one final punch across Tom’s face.

“Nicholas!” You shouted, fully letting your anger out as you stomped over to him. Tom stood his ground, wincing from the bruises forming on his face and knuckles. Suddenly all fears of Nick outing you as a pawn vanished. Nothing mattered, nothing but making sure Tom was okay.

“Your boyfriend started it, sis. I was just finishing it.” Nick sneered, and, before you could even process your actions, your hand went flying across his face. The sound of the harsh slap seemed to echo off the walls of the full alley. Nick looked at you, surprised.

“Leave me and the rest of Illyria alone.” You snapped.

“Or what?” He scoffed in response. His teammates stepped towards the three of you. You looked back at Tom, who just subtly nodded to his team to stand their ground. Turning back to your brother, you narrowed your eyes and tilted your head to the side, as if thinking of a good threat. “There’s nothing—”

Nick’s words were lost in his throat. Only the harsh sound of your palm striking across his face echoed in the alley. “Next time, I’ll go for your kneecaps. I’m sure your soccer scholarship will count for something when you’re in a wheelchair.” He didn’t reply, and his posse was quick to help him scurry away. 

“Y/N,” Tom started from behind you, and you were quick to turn back to face him, throwing your arms around him and holding him tightly. He seemed to melt into your arms, content despite his current bruised state.

“I’m sorry, he’s such a dick.” You mumbled, feeling ashamed of your own brother. The crowd started to diminish with no more fighting to see. Some of the Illyria players stuck around, but most left with the student onlookers.

“It was my fault—” You cut Tom off with a soft, chaste kiss as your hands delicately cupped his face, careful of the bruises and scrapes.

“Let’s go home.” You told him reassuringly. He took one of your hands in his and pressed a kiss to your palm. Smiling softly, he nodded and intertwined your fingers.

It was silent between the two of you until Tom finished his shower later that night. While he was out of the room, you took a few moments to appreciate the eclectic collection of polaroid pictures scattered on the wall beside his bed. There were a couple pictures from when you two first used the camera, doing body shots together. And then, there were pictures of you two eating tacos on the roof of the taqueria, you in Tom’s arms as you watched the sunset at the beach, you kicking a soccer ball towards the camera (which may or not have hit Tom in the shoulder, but, hey, at least you missed his face and the camera), both of you dressed up as Spider-Man and MJ for a themed frat party, a selfie of you two wearing matching onesies while watching Ted Lasso, and shirtless Tom making you pancakes at three in the morning. There were also a couple attempted selfies of the two of you, but one ended up being just a boob shot of you and the other ended up a blurry mess of your faces. Nonetheless, they were all pictures of the happiest moments of your life over the past few weeks. 

You were waiting on Tom’s bed, in nothing but your underwear and one of his big t-shirts when he came in, sweatpants hanging low. He let out a sigh as he fell in bed beside you.

“Coach won’t be happy.” He muttered, wrapping an arm around you.

“Do you think he’ll believe you if you say you ran into a wall?” You teased quietly, your fingers brushing over the prominent bruise on his eyebrow. It already had that little cut, but now it was taken over by a bruise. It wouldn’t be completely noticeable, not while he was down on the field, but up close, you could see it clearly.

“He might.” Tom laughed lightly, which quickly turned into a yawn. “Damn, I’m so tired.”

“No mind blowing sex tonight, then?” You joked, “After tonight, you have to win tomorrow.”

“You’re my good luck charm, not the sex. Though, it’s a nice bonus.” He smiled, leaning in to kiss you softly. There was no rush in his kiss, no desperate heat in his lips; just a tender type of softness, as if he was trying to wordlessly tell you those three little words you’d been aching to tell him.

But then, you remembered what you should tell him. Even if it ruined the moment—

“I love you.” The words fell quietly from your lips before you could stop yourself. That hadn’t quite been what you should say, but that was what your heart was yelling. Your eyes were still closed from the kiss, and you didn’t want to open them as you were met with silence.

“Open your eyes.” Tom told you, his voice just above a whisper. Hesitantly, your eyes opened and were met by his warm, brown ones. He smiled at you, “I love you, too.”

You didn’t have to question if he meant it, if he felt pressured by your confession, because you knew— you knew in your heart that he loved you, too. With a new found surge of weightlessness, your lips found his again.

In his arms, you were home.

~~~

“I think they’re scared of you.” Tom mumbled to you, a tone of amusement in his voice.

You shrugged, holding the bag of ice to his bruised knuckles. “I don’t know why it took them so long. I’m terrifying.”

“Frightening on the field.” He agreed.

The locker room was filled with buzz, just half an hour before the warm up would start for the game. Today was the second biggest day of the season— the second match against Cornwall. You already knew the stands would be buzzing with a full crowd. News of last night’s little fight got out, and that seemed to spur even more spectators for today’s match. Apparently, the two rival teams fighting the day before a game was good advertisement.

You were only slightly embarrassed by your heated actions last night, but Nick deserved it. Your time with Tom was limited now. You knew your brother, and you knew he wouldn’t just drop it, not when you humiliated him last night. Since he didn’t already tell Tom, you could only wait for when he’d spring the surprise on your boyfriend.

All concern over Nick left you as you looked at Tom across from you. Sitting on a crappy locker room bench in his Illyria jersey with a couple bruises on his face and slightly purple knuckles— he simply reminded you of how much you loved him. He looked at you with a dopey grin, the same sort of look when he was about to say something stupid just to humor you.

“What is it?” You asked.

“Nothing. I just really love you.” He said, making you laugh lightly.

“Oh, we’re one of those couples now?” You teased, and he frowned in faux offense.

“We’ve always been one of those couples.” Tom defended himself. He leaned in to kiss you, but you blocked his lips by putting the ice on his face. He let out a frustrated huff, but didn’t shy away from the cold.

“It was time to switch.” You stated, innocently.

“Uh-huh.” He replied, unconvinced. His voice was slightly muffled by the ice covering most of his face.

“If you hadn’t taken on my brother, you wouldn’t be in this position.” You joked. One of his hands reached blindly for your free hand, taking it in his.

“You know why I did it though?” He asked, quietly.

“He’s an asshole?” You suggested. Tom chuckled.

“No.” He answered, “You were upset, and I thought maybe he’d been a part of the reason why.” He paused, “I was the one who walked over to him, looking for a fight. I decked him in the middle of the bar.”

You were quiet for a moment, processing his words. Tom fought for you, even though he had no clue why. Your heart fluttered— that was how much he cared about you. “What did Nick say?”

“He was just trying to get a rise out of me, which worked clearly. He was saying some shit about knowing something I didn’t know. Do you know what he was talking about?”

“No, I don’t.” You shook your head, even though you were obstructed from his view.

“You’d tell me if you did know, right?” He asked, not out of doubt, but out of reassurance.

“Of course.”

A whistle rang out through the locker room, and the players began to gather together. It was time to go. You took the ice from Tom, and he pulled you in for a “good luck” kiss.

“I love you.” He repeated, just for the sake of saying it.

You pressed a kiss to the black heart drawn on the back of his hand. “I love you, too. Go get ‘em, Tiger.”

Tom sent you a wink before he left with the rest of his team towards the field. You put away the ice and made your way to the stands, knowing Harry would be waiting for you at the very front of the student section. Front row seats to the game was a benefit of being the captain’s girlfriend.

“Half of the players have bruises.” Harry snickered to you when you stood beside him at your seats. The players were getting into position, ready to begin the match.

“Only slightly my fault.” You replied with a playful smile, though you felt a twinge of guilt about the statement. 

The game started soon after you sat down. Tom had the ball first, and he went speeding down the field. He passed it back to one of his open teammates, right between the legs of a Cornwall player. Despite most of the players sporting some type of bruise or cut to their hands or faces, they were all energized, as if last night’s fight hyped them up for this very moment. Tom was across the field from you, but you could tell that he was already seeing red, ready to spill (metaphorical, hopefully) blood.

In the first 40 minutes, no one scored, but the refs were calling all sorts of fouls… against Illyria. Frustration from the players and the supporters grew as, at the 44th minute, Cornwall got a penalty kick. The air was tense in the stadium as everyone watched the forward prepare to kick the ball. As he kicked it into the air, two players, one from each team, went in for the header. Billy, the Illyria player, headed the ball, but, with the other opposing player pushing against him, the angle was wrong.

The Illyria side of the stadium went silent as the ball went soaring into the net. An own goal on a penalty kick— anger, shame, pity all surged through the tiger fans as the Bulldogs cheered happily.

“For fuck’s sake.” Harry grumbled beside you.

“It’s okay. We have another half.” You said quietly. Your voice was tight, as was the rest of your body. With your eyes trained on Tom, you watched as he kicked the ground in frustration. He didn’t say anything to Billy, though his surrounding teammates definitely did. Tom shook his head and looked up to you in the crowd.

“You got this.” You mouthed to him, and he smiled, though you weren’t even sure if he understood you. He got the encouraging memo though, and that’s what mattered.

“Oh, that’s not good.” Harry muttered, nodding toward the middle of the field.

As Tom and his fellow teammates made their way off the field for half-time, Nick was sauntering towards Tom. You couldn’t tell what he said, but it was enough to get your boyfriend’s attention. You watched with bated breath, hoping another fight wouldn’t break out… and that Nick would be quiet for the remainder of the game. Tom didn’t say anything, and Nick snickered at whatever he had said, thinking he was the funniest person on earth.

Then you heard the whistle. Both Nick and Tom looked over to the ref in question, who pulled out a yellow card. You let out a cheer as the ref carded Nick, who looked taken back by the action.

“Unsportsmanlike behavior.” You laughed in disbelief.

“No way.” Harry muttered, but the crowd around you broke out in cheer about Nick’s yellow. Even though it was half time, he was still given the warning. Tom tried to bite back his cocky grin as he walked off the field after his teammates.

You and Harry chatted during the break, making predictions about the game as you tried to settle your nerves. Tom and the other players made their way back onto the field as half time ended. Eyes fixated on your boyfriend, you leaned against the fence railing as the game began again.

Though it took a while for a goal to occur in the first half, Harrison managed to score within the first two minutes of the second. You and the rest of the Illyria side of the field cheered happily. The score was tied now. All the Tigers had to do was score another goal and keep possession of the ball— easy, right?

The game continued on, getting more and more aggressive as the clock ticked on. Tom got a yellow for an attempted slide tackle, an Illyria player got a red card for cleating an opposing player, a Cornwall player elbowed an Illyria player in the neck (yet somehow managed to not get a card), and two players head butted each other while going in for a header, as if all the players weren’t beaten up enough.

“C’mon, Tom,” You mumbled under your breath as he got the ball. Your eyes flickered to the clock that read 12:38. Twelve minutes left for them to score at least one more goal.

You watched Tom run down the field towards the Cornwall goal, towards Nick. Harrison appeared open on the far side of the field, and Tom kicked it to his teammate. He came to a stop just outside of the goalie box, ready to strike if needed. Harrison shot the ball at the goal, but Nick blocked it with his arm. The ball ricocheted to Tom. He shuffled around, getting ready to shoot it, but, before he could, Nick came running at him.

Nick rammed into Tom hard enough to knock him to the ground, and he picked up the ball, just to kick it as far from the goal as possible. The ball was still in the air as the ref’s whistle rang out.

“Is he getting a red-“ Harry started, but his voice was drowned out by cheers as the ref pulled out a red card. You were shocked. Nick had gotten plenty of yellow cards, but never any reds.

“Shit just got real.” You said in disbelief. Tom lined up for the penalty kick, and you crossed your fingers, hoping his record wouldn’t let him down.

Cheers erupted once more as Tom kicked the ball straight into the goal, as if the other players weren’t even there. You yelled so loudly, your voice felt like it would break, but you didn’t care. That was your boyfriend out there, and he was kicking ass on the field.

Fifteen minutes later (including overtime), Illyria won, 2-1. You practically elbowed students out of the way as you squeezed your way through the buzzing crowd to the familiar locker room. Harry left to find the rest of his family, leaving you alone to see your soccer star. Your foot tapped impatiently as you waited for Tom to exit the exclusive locker room.

The second he stepped out of the room in fresh clothes, you threw your arms around him, hugging him tight. “I’m so proud of you. This whole season— undefeated.”

“Well, my girlfriend only dates winners, so…” Tom trailed off, before kissing you. Just as he went to pull away, your hand caught the back of his neck and you continued to kiss him some more. He didn’t oppose, content with his reward for a good game.

“Congrats on your victory, captain.” You told him when you finally separated. Your hand slipped into his, your fingers intertwining, as you made your way to the exit.

“It’s nothing. Just another game.” He replied, smugly, before teasingly adding, “Your team’s really gone to shit.”

“Well, they’ve got a shit captain. And besides, they’re not my team. I’m your Bulldog babe, but we both know I’m a Tiger at heart now.”

“Very true.” Tom hummed in satisfaction. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head as the two of you got to his motorcycle. “What do you say about getting tacos and then beating Harrison at beer pong?”

“I say that’s our post-game ritual.” You teased, and he started up the motorcycle before taking off for the Taqueria.

~~~

“Ah, fuck you!” You shouted as Harrison placed the tall stack of red cups in front of you. You hurried to try to get the white ping pong ball in the cups, stressed by the tense ending of rage cage. Tom was to your left, trying his best as well to land his ping pong ball in his stack of cups.

“I’m going to get you, babe.” You chuckled, and the crowd cheered incoherently around you. If you landed your ball in your stack before Tom did, then you’d win and he’d be forced to chug the bitch cup. You didn’t know what was in it besides pure alcohol, and you didn’t want to find out.

“Not going to happen.” Tom replied, keeping his focus on the task. It was hard enough being tipsy, but even harder now that the cups were stacked so high; and, Tom was just a tad bit drunker than you. You squealed in excitement as your ball landed perfectly in your stack.

“No, no, no!” Your boyfriend groaned as you slammed your stack of red solo cups on his, effectively ending the game.

“Love you.” You laughed, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Tom wrapped an arm around your waist, keeping you close to him, as he chugged the rest of the beer in front of him.

The crowd around the table began chanting, “Chug!” at Tom when his fingers wrapped around the bitch cup. You joined in, much to Tom’s dismay. In a blink, he chugged down the mystery drink.

As everyone clapped around you, Tom pulled you in for a steamy kiss. His tongue slipped between your lips, and he held you tighter against him. You didn’t need to ask what was in the bitch cup— you could distinctly taste the tequila, beer, and even rum that tainted his tongue.

“Oi, move along, lovers. We wanna keep playing.” Harrison said, smacking Tom’s shoulder to pull the two of you out of your drunken and lovelust haze.

While Harrison led the others in setting up a new round of the favored drinking game, Tom’s hand held yours as you two made your way back into the house.

“Ooh, I love this song.” You stopped abruptly on the outskirts of the makeshift dance floor in the wide living room. Tom pouted, wanting to make an undisturbed beeline for his room. “Let’s stay down here for this song.”

“Just this one.” Tom mumbled, shifting behind you to dance with you. He kept one hand firmly on your hip as you drunkenly swayed to the upbeat music and sang along to whatever words you actually knew. Tom dropped his head to your neck, his lips immediately finding your sweet spot. As he pulled you closer into his body, you let your hips grind back against him.

“Someone’s impatient.” You tutted, turning around in his arms.

“Can you blame me?” He asked with a mischievous smile. Before you could react, he maneuvered you into a corner, pushing you up against the wall. His lips crashed onto yours momentarily as the music cut out throughout the house.

Confused, Tom pulled away and looked around for the source of the change. 

“Hello! Can you all hear me?” A chill ran down your spine. Nick was here, and he was standing on the table, as if there was some big announcement to make. A lump grew in your throat.

“Right. Before the Illyria team wrestles me off the table, I have to say a few words about Tom Holland’s own girlfriend and my sister, Y/N.” Nick continued.

“What is this about?” Tom whispered to you, but you couldn’t reply. Tears welled up in your eyes as Nick looked over at the two of you, a wicked grin on his face.

“So, Holland, remember last year? When I fucked your girlfriend and she left you for me? And then you were shit at soccer?” Your brother taunted, and Tom tensed beside you. You held his hand tighter, afraid of letting him go. “Well, you see, Cornwall was about to have a shit year at soccer. And I needed someone to break Holland the same way Monique and I broke him last year.”

“Y/N, what is he talking about?” Tom asked, stepping slightly away from you. You met his eyes, only to wordlessly shake your head and cry harder.

“And the Oscar goes to… Y/N for her outstanding performance as Holland’s loved-up Bulldog Babe.”

The room filled with whispers, everyone trying to decipher if there was any truth in Nick’s words. Your eyes remained on Tom, though it broke your heart to see him looking at you so coldly.

“Is it true?”

“Tom, I-“ You started, but he cut you off.

“Is it true?” He repeated.

“Yes.” You said quietly. You had so much more that you wanted to say, but the words died in your throat.

“Leave.” Tom stated, dropping your hand and backing away from you. He raised his voice, but still remained seemingly emotionless, “Both of you, leave now.”

Nick triumphantly hopped off the table and strutted out the door. With your head hung low, you followed him. You looked back one last time at Tom, just to find that he was gone from his spot by the stairs. You left the frat house without another word.

“I’ll drive you home.” Nick said, coming up to you on the sidewalk, his car keys in his hand.

“Fuck you, Nick. I don’t want anything to do with you. You just ruined the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” You shoved him away from you and started walking down the dark, cold street.

“So what? You’re just going to walk home?” He called after you. When you didn’t respond, he turned and got into his car. He drove off without another word as you continued your walk.

You knew your house at least 15 miles away, but you were too heartbroken to care. You couldn’t call Tom or Harrison or Harry to come get you; you couldn’t call Augustine either. It seemed that everyone either hated you or you hated them right now. With tears in your eyes, you clung tightly to yourself. A car came to a stop beside you, and your whole body tensed up.

“Hey, let me give you a ride.” You turned around at the sound of Harry’s voice. He smiled softly at you, and you wiped away a few tears before climbing in the passenger seat of his car.

“I thought you’d all hate me now.” You mumbled quietly.

“Not all of us.” He replied. “I’ve seen how you look at my brother. Set up or not, you really do love him. I can sit here and tell you how much you fucked up, but I have a feeling you already know. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be walking down the streets alone right now— you’d be living it up with your brother, happy that your plan worked.”

You fell silent at his words, unsure of what to say. Quietly, you corrected him, “It wasn’t my plan.”

“Whose was it?”

“It was all Nick’s. He wanted me to use Tom. The only reason he thought of it was because two of our best players got injured and I had just officially met Tom that day and we really hit it off. I would’ve gone out with Tom, no matter the circumstances of Cornwall’s team.” You paused, your voice breaking as the tears returned. “You’re right, though. I truly love Tom, but I don’t think we’ll get a second chance.”

“Give Tom time. He’ll come around and listen to you. You shot him in the heart.” Harry said insightfully. He chuckled softly, “I don’t actually know where you live. Last time, I just dropped you off at Cornwall’s main entrance.”

“I’ll give you directions.” A smile ghosted your lips. Though you didn’t feel at all deserving of Harry’s kindness, you certainly appreciated it.

~~~

Days until the championship game: 0

It had been over a week since the last Illyria and Cornwall match, a week since Tom pushed you out of his life. You’d tried calling him, only to be met with his voicemail. With each “you’ve reached the voicemail of Tom Holland”, you felt your heart break impossibly more.

The tournament game was starting in a little less than an hour, and, in your blue jersey, you felt like an outsider. The jersey, complete with “Holland” written on the back, didn’t feel right anymore, but you’d much rather support Tom than Nick. With one final lookover in the mirror, you left your apartment.

Even in a stadium full of people, you’d never felt more alone. You didn’t belong to either team, though the jersey you were sporting said otherwise. The Illyria soccer fanatics all knew about Nick’s twisted scheme, so you were once again ostracized from that group. The Cornwall fans, on the other hand, could care less. You found yourself nestled in the front row, between the home and the away portion of Cornwall’s stands. It felt strange to be on the end of the field, not right behind a team, deep in the action.

That odd feeling left you when all the players made their way onto the pitch. Your eyes were fixated on Tom, who looked just as broken as last weekend. Your heart panged as you watched him look up at the Illyria stands and then the Cornwall stands. A part of you wondered if he was looking for you.

You didn’t have to wonder much longer as his eyes scanned over to your section of the crowd. His brown eyes met yours, and, after a moment, he looked away, his eyebrows creasing and his facial features hardening.

The game began shortly thereafter. Harrison had the ball first and maneuvered it swiftly down the field. Normally, Tom would be the one to grab the ball right away, but he seemed five steps behind everyone else on the field.

Nick’s plan had worked. Tom was lost out there on the field.

By half time, Cornwall was winning by 2 while Illyria sat with no goals. Tom had missed both penalty kicks of the game so far. It was painful to watch.

When the second half started up, the teams switched sides and you were now sat right behind the Cornwall goal. Tom booked it down the field with the ball, just to get slide tackled by an opposing player. The ref let him have another penalty kick. Your breath caught in your throat as Tom lined the ball up and his eyes drifted to the stands.

He turned quickly to the ref, holding up a “T” with his hands as he called something indistinct out. The ref nodded, blowing his whistle “Time out for Illyria.”

The ref had barely finished his call when Tom ran over to your section of the stands. He climbed on the fence just enough to reach you in the raised audience section.

“I need my good luck charm.” Tom said, his eyes soft as he looked at you. You were speechless, heart beating faster than you could process. You nodded and hurried to grab a pen from your bag. Tom held out his hand and you drew your signature heart on the back of it.

“Harry told me. Meet me after the game?” He asked, leaning up to press a quick kiss to your cheek. He hopped off the fence before you could react.

A hopeful smile crossed your face, “Go get ‘em, Tiger.”

Tom sported a new found smile as he triumphantly returned to the pitch. The ref blew his whistle, signalling the end of the time out, and the players all gathered into their positions. Tom looked from the white soccer ball up to you in the stands and sent you a wink. With a swift kick, the ball went soaring into the left side of the net as Nick dove for the opposite side. His teammates tackled him in excited and lively hugs. Illyria was still losing, but hope had reinvigorated the team.

The cheers for Tom’s goal were deafening, but he only seemed to care about you. He held up his hand, tapping the back of it, as if to say “It worked”. You cheered proudly. Your smile never left your face, even as a few happy tears trickled down your cheeks.

As the game continued on, you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket, signalling a phone call. You picked it up immediately when you saw it was Harry.

“Are you lost, Bulldog? I have an empty seat next to me.” He said, and your eyes drifted over to the familiar Illyria fan section of the stands. Waving across the stadium in his blue beanie, Harry smiled at you.

“I’m on my way.” You told him. Hanging up and shuffling out of your spot. You hurried through the concrete stadium’s halls, not wanting to miss anything as you switched spots.

Loud cheers erupted through the stadium as you finally got to Harry’s section. You didn’t need to see to know you’d missed a goal, and, judging by the sounds from Illyria’s side, it was an Illyria goal, too.

“Harrison scored!” Harry announced proudly as you elbowed your way through the crowd to be beside him. You joined in on the cheering, eyes drifting over the field to Tom. He frowned, looking over to where you were before his eyes scanned over to where you now were. His signature smile was back on his face.

“Thank you, Harry.” You said, hugging him as the hype for the goal died down.

“You make him happy.” He stated. “Plus, We can’t let Nick win. Not again.” 

“Not again.” You laughed lightly and turned back to the game.

Not even five minutes later, Tom scored another goal for his team, bringing Illyria into the lead. With a fourth goal at the eightieth minute, it was safe to say that Illyria was dominating the second half.

“I guess your good luck charm actually works.” Harry teased, impressed by Illyria’s sudden momentum.

“Of course it works. We’re undefeated right now.” You smiled at him.

He went to respond, but the words died in his throat as the crowd around you began booing loudly. Your eyes darted away from Harry and to Tom on the field.

Tom was down. Clutching his ankle, he looked to be in real pain. The refs paused the game, and commotion circled around Tom for a few minutes.

“What did he do?” Harry asked you quietly.

“I don’t know.” You shook your head. Neither of you had seen whatever caused his injury.

After a minute of discussion, Tom hobbled off the field with the help of a few teammates and the coach subbed someone else in. You didn’t even process your actions before you were shoving your way back through the crowd. You made a beeline for the all too familiar corridor, leading straight to Illyria’s locker rooms.

“You can’t go in there.” The security guard stopped you from reaching the door.

“I have to see Tom.” You insisted.

“You’ll have to wait until the game’s over.”

“No, you don’t understand. I’m his—” you paused. Were you his girlfriend? His friend? You weren’t sure where you stood now.

“Girlfriend, hopefully.” Harrison said, opening the locker room door. “She can come in.”

“Thank you.” You breathed out in relief, happy to get past the security guard.

As you stepped into the room, you fell silent. Tom was on one of the red benches, talking to a medic as another one prodded his ankle. Tom wasn’t aware of your presence yet. Harrison stood beside you and mumbled to you, “Think he’s sprained it. He rolled it pretty bad out there.”

“What happened?” You whispered, not wanting to interrupt Tom’s discussion.

“He just slipped. It happens.” Harrison shrugged. “He’ll be okay.”

You waited in silence as the two medics finished up their check on Tom before leaving. When Tom turned to finally face you from his spot on the old bench, Harrison cleared his throat. The blond made his way towards the field, “I’ll leave you two to it.”

For a moment, you just stayed there, standing across the room from Tom, unsure of what to do. Nine days ago, you would’ve run to him and peppered him with kisses, telling him how proud of him you are. Even with the little black heart on his hand now, you didn’t know where you stood.

“I won’t bite,” Tom said, cracking a smile at you as he adjusted the ice on his ankle, “Unless you want me to, of course.”

A small giggle escaped your lips. There was the old cheeky Tom, always making some sort of comment to get a reaction out of you. As you stepped towards him, you replied, “I seem to remember you having the biting kink, not me.”

“You never complained.” He winked as you sat down beside him on the bench.

“What exactly did Harry tell you?” You asked, quietly.

“He said it was all Nick and that you wanted to go out with me even before he stepped in.” Tom explained, “Why didn’t you just tell me before?”

“I didn’t want you to leave me.” You confessed, looking down at your hands in your lap. “I really, truly love you, Tom, and I’m sorry that I didn’t say anything. I was just so scared. I didn’t want to lose you, and I’m terrified that I have now.”

Tom was silent for a moment. He slipped one of his hands into yours. It was cold at the touch from the ice he’d been holding, but you welcomed the small embrace. “You haven’t lost me. I love you, too.”

Your eyes found his, and your heart fluttered at his words. It was everything you needed to hear.

Cheekily, he added, “I’m glad the surfboard and motorcycle worked. I was afraid I’d have to get some puppies or something.”

“Are you thinking of how to pick up more girls right now?” You asked, your eyes playfully narrowing at him.

“No,” He laughed, his hands coming up to softly cup your face, “I’ve got all I need right here.”

“You gonna kiss me, Tiger?”

“You bet, Bulldog.”

As Tom’s lips found yours, the stadium erupted in loud cheers with the announcer proclaiming “the Illyria Tigers have won the game!”. You expected Tom to pull away, to celebrate his team’s grand victory, but, instead, he just kissed you harder, not wanting to let you go. And you didn’t want to let him go either.

[ghastspidergwen]

Hermits as family dynamics

Bdubs-the one uncle who crashed at your house for a week, took you to the movies and out for ice cream, then you didn't see him until a year later when he crashed at your house again

Cub-cousin that's way older than the most of the cousins, could sit at the 'grown-ups table', but chooses to hang out with the rest of the cousins

Doc-neither side of the family know how he's related, but both sides say he is the 4th cousin-twice removed or something

Etho-family cryptid, everyone swears he is in college somewhere, he was somehow present at every birth of every child in the family, and always has really weird stories to tell

False-aunt who shows up at your house and says 'c'mon, we're going to get lunch, then go rock climbing, then I'm teaching you taekwondo and how to sword fight,' and you go along with it because she is so excited

Gem-really cool older sister who moved off to college, but still visits very often and gives you all her old clothes and teaches you to upcycle them

Grian-uncle that is more often seen hanging around the cousins, teaching them how to prank the parents and steal food when no one is looking

Hypno-is in the awkward age group, similar to Cub, where he's too old to be a cousin, too young to be a parent, so hangs out with both groups

Impulse-the uncle who remembers your name and doesn't mix you up with your siblings

Iskall-showed up with Stress one day, was accepted by everyone, is definitely related somehow to someone, no one knows how, though

Jevin-tells the best jokes and stories, that he swears are 100% absolutely true, nothing fishy about the time he went to the moon, it really happened!

Joe-favourite uncle as a kid because he would tell fun stories, still favourite uncle, even as a teen, for reasons you can't explain

Keralis-shows up 1/2 an hour late, and calls it 'being fashionably late', but you can see his car smoking behind him

Mumbo-uncle that gets really nervous around little kids, but still likes them a lot 'sure, I'll hold your baby, it's so cu-wHY IS IT SCREAMING? DID I DO SOMETHING WRONG? WE MUST CALM IT DOWN'

Pearl-designated herself family photographer, so there are very few photos with her actually in them

Ren-shows up to family reunions with a child and goes 'I had another baby!' and everyone's like '???? another???' then he shows a picture of his dogs

Scar-another cousin at the in-between age, like Cub and Hypno, is the default person called over to babysit, has the best cat and will talk about anything

Stress-lets Ren borrow her kids so he can show off his dogs, brings food to any event like it's a pot luck, and it's always the best food

Tango- at family gatherings cousins default to 'if mom and dad say no, ask uncle Tango,' because he will either say 'no, here are many good reasons you shouldn't do that,' or 'that will be so much fun! let's find impulse and zedaph, we're doing it!'

TFC-everyone's grandpa, even the cousins on the other side of the family see him as grandpa

Beef-shows up to a family gathering and immediately gives everyone hugs, even if he doesn't know you, especially if he doesn't know you

Wels-travels a lot and brings back enough cheesy t-shirts, snow globes, and personalized keychains to last everyone 2 years worth of Christmases and birthdays

xB-that one cousin who you haven't seen in years, but still remembers your name and what you enjoy doing

Xisuma-brings casserole to everything, doesn't matter if it's a pot luck, family reunion, birthday party, or holiday, if you invite him, he's bringing a casserole

Zed-will answer any question you ask him, 'uncle zed, what's the moon made of?' 'it's a pepperoni someone stuck in the sky' 'why's it grey?' it's been hanging up there so long, it's got all mouldy, but we can't smell it because it's so far away' 'then what's the sun?' 'a sphere of burning plasma in the middle of the solar system, sending off multiple kinds of light and radiation'

Cleo-no one knows how she's related, she just started showing up to family events with Joe, everyone has accepted her as the wine aunt

[serendipity-writes]

Boys Will Be Boys (That's the Way That This Thing Goes)

Written for Harringrove Week July 2022! No prompt, just silliness

Fics for this event: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Rated Gen, 2.2k

Summary:

“Isn’t it strange, how they get along so well now?” Martha whispers to the group one day as Steve takes up his new usual position by Billy’s side. “I thought they were at each other’s throats.”

Karen hums in agreement. She’s seen Steve around; it’s nice that he’s making more friends his age, considering how much time he spends with all the kids. Why it has to be Billy, she doesn’t know, but she supposes it’s not her place to make value judgements on that sort of thing.

read on ao3

--

Karen Wheeler doesn’t spend an inordinate amount of time at the Hawkins community pool. It’s just that it’s so hot in the summer, and there really isn’t much to do in Hawkins at any given time. So unless she wants to be slow-roasted in her own house, which isn’t particularly appealing, her only option is the pool.

The presence of a certain… attractive young lifeguard is just a lucky bonus.

The other one, Heather, Karen thinks, uncrosses her legs and hops down from the chair. “Ladies,” Karen murmurs, because it’s time. She hears the faint rustling and muted whispers that come with her friends adjusting themselves for the main event, but she keeps her eyes glued to the door Heather disappeared through.

Sure enough, he emerges mere moments later, toned arms and bronzed chest sparkling in the midday sun like a Greek god. He strides out onto the concrete, pausing on his way to the chair like does every day.

“Hello, ladies,” he says, the low rumble of his voice entirely too smooth and sultry for their location.

“Hi Billy,” they chorus back. He grins at them, all teeth and charm, nearly blinding in the sunlight.

“You’re looking hot today,” he tells them. “Remember to stay cool out here.” It would be an innocent enough comment, if not for the look in his eyes.

Karen swears he’s staring straight at her as he winks and walks away.

The rest of her “coven of wine moms,” as Nancy so elegantly describes them, titter behind her, but she doesn’t bother to engage. Every once in a while, Billy will toss a smile her way.

Yes, the pool is the place to be.

* * *

That Tuesday is shaping up to be a real scorcher. Ted barely blinks an eye when Karen tells him she’s headed to the pool. Bitterness rises in her chest like bile for a moment before she puts it out of her mind. She’s got bigger, better things to focus on.

She times her arrival perfectly, having just settled in when Heather’s shift ends. Billy takes her place as usual, with his customary greeting to Karen and her friends. He looks so relaxed up on the lifeguard’s chair, like he knows he can handle anything that’s thrown his way. Something about that easy confidence makes Karen hot under the collar, so she settles back against her pool chair, magazine held up in front of her face so she can watch Billy over the edge of it.

About half an hour later, something strange happens. Namely, Billy shadows his eyes with his hand, squints into the sun, and shouts, “Harrington! To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Karen looks toward the gate to the pool, where Steve Harrington has appeared with five children in tow. One of them is hers, she realizes as Mike elbows Will’s arm and leans close to whisper into his ear. Dustin and Lucas are there too, as well as a redheaded girl Karen vaguely recognizes as Billy’s sister.

She turns back to Billy, a little wary. His voice was laced with a challenge, and everyone in Hawkins has heard the rumors about their fight last November. Karen hadn’t had the misfortune to see the aftermath herself, but from what little she’d picked up from her kids, it wasn’t pretty.

But Billy doesn’t seem like he’s going to get up from his perch, and Steve doesn’t look particularly threatened either.

“The brats wanted to come to the pool,” he calls back, because they’re still at opposite ends of it, “and I had the day off. So, you know, here I am.” He says it with the kind of weariness that Karen associates with parenting preteens, a weariness she knows well. Steve’s turned into a good kid.

“Lucky you,” Billy sneers. Steve’s too far away for Karen to really see his expression, but she’d put money on him rolling his eyes so hard he sees his brain.

He ignores Billy after that, turning to the children and speaking to them softly before letting them free. He doesn’t swim himself, just takes a seat in a chair across the way from Karen, fully shaded by an umbrella, and slides a pair of sunglasses over his eyes. After a few minutes, Karen’s pretty sure he’s asleep.

Billy dons sunglasses as well, and doesn’t flash her a single grin until Steve’s gone.

* * *

It becomes something of a regular occurrence after that, Steve showing up with a varying number of other people’s children a couple of days a week. Usually he claims a chair and immediately passes out on it, although sometimes he brings a notebook along and spends hours with his head bent over the pages, scribbling away like he’ll die if he stops. And once or twice, he arrives in swim trunks and slathers more sunscreen on himself than Karen makes Mike wear, which is really saying something. Somehow, he still comes out the other side looking mildly burned.

Whenever Steve is there, it’s like Billy forgets Karen even exists.

* * *

Maybe three weeks into this, Billy calls Steve out like he always does, but instead of shooting some thinly veiled aggression his way and leaving him be, he beckons Steve over. The hesitation in Steve’s movements is painfully obvious, but he walks over to the lifeguard’s chair anyway, coming to stand under the umbrella. Billy starts talking to him, quietly now that they aren’t separated by a hundred feet of splashing water and screaming children. With a sigh, Karen drops her eyes to her Cosmo and actually reads it for the first time in her life. When she glances up about an hour later, Steve is just walking away from the chair, Billy staring after him as he goes.

He doesn’t come by the next three days, and Billy’s back to being his usual charming self.

* * *

The next time Steve shows up, he’s brought someone his age in addition to the ever-present children. She’s somewhat tall, with sandy brown hair and a slightly awkward gait. Karen can tell just by her posture that she’s not thrilled about being here. She pulls Steve aside to talk to him while the kids gleefully jump in the water, swatting him gently on the shoulder when he says something she evidently doesn’t like. But then she shakes her head and flaps a hand at him, collapsing into a chair when he walks away. Karen hasn’t heard anything from Nancy about Steve dating someone new, but she thinks they make a nice couple.

The redheaded girl seems to like her too, taking the chair next to her rather than joining the boys in the pool. The older girl ruffles her hair like Nancy used to do to Mike when he was younger. It’s cute.

Steve, strangely enough, heads straight for Billy. He crosses his arms over his chest, obviously more at ease than the last time they had spoken. Karen’s all for mending bridges, but she has to admit it’s a bit unexpected.

* * *

Billy starts keeping a closer eye on the gate. Karen only knows because she still keeps a close eye on him, like Ted keeps a close eye on his newspaper.

* * *

“Isn’t it strange, how they get along so well now?” Martha whispers to the group one day as Steve takes up his new usual position by Billy’s side. “I thought they were at each other’s throats.”

Karen hums in agreement. She’s seen Steve around; it’s nice that he’s making more friends his age, considering how much time he spends with all the kids. Why it has to be Billy, she doesn’t know, but she supposes it’s not her place to make value judgements on that sort of thing.

* * *

Billy absolutely roars with raucous laughter, slapping his leg and drawing every eye in the pool to him. “Full of surprises, Harrington!” he shouts, loud enough for the Carsons down the road to hear him. “Who knew!”

Next to him, leaning against the arm of the lifeguard’s chair, Steve is smiling like he’s holding back his own mirth. Karen rolls her eyes. Boys.

* * *

On the rare occasion that Steve is off doing something else, Billy’s gaze follows him around the pool.

* * *

Billy and Steve are sharing a cigarette by the end of the pool.

Billy smokes all the time, despite the No Smoking signs posted everywhere. But he’s the kind of guy who will chew out anyone else trying to light up with his cigarette still dangling from his lip. It’s alluring, his flagrant disregard for the rules combined with the obvious double standard.

But now, Karen thinks as she watches Billy hand the cigarette to Steve, watches Steve take a long drag before passing it back, that double standard seems to extend to the other boy.

It’s almost funny, when Billy yells “Hey!” and points threateningly at a kid that probably went to school with them. He’s got his lighter halfway to the cigarette held between his teeth, frozen with confusion rather than fear. “Can you not fucking read?” Billy shouts, gesturing with the hand holding his own cigarette at the sign on the fence just behind the offender.

“But—you—” the kid starts, pointing back at Billy, then at Steve, who plucks the cigarette from Billy’s fingers and inhales deeply, blowing the smoke out with a smug smile. “Him—”

“Ah,” Billy cuts him off. “Put it away. Rules are rules.”

The other kid looks like he’s going to keep protesting for a moment before the fight drains out of him and he shoves his hands in his pockets, kicking rocks as he flees with his tail between his legs. Billy and Steve share a look before cracking up silently into their fists, Billy leaning dramatically against the back of his seat and Steve nearly bent double.

Steve’s girlfriend, who’s been accompanying him to the pool more often recently, rolls her eyes with her whole body even while sitting. Karen is inclined to agree.

* * *

Billy hasn’t looked her way in days. It’s starting to feel like she’s back in her own home.

* * *

Heather slides down from the lifeguard’s chair to the excitement of every woman at the pool. Karen positions herself carefully on her pool chair, casually showing off the new bathing suit she bought at the mall yesterday. Ted hadn’t said anything that morning, of course, but Billy’s always been very observant and liberal with his praise. It’s harmless, really. Just a bit of an ego boost.

Except Heather leaves the locker room with her things and Billy still hasn’t come out to take his station. Which, truthfully, is surprising, because whatever else one might say about his professional demeanor, Billy is always punctual.

Two minutes pass, then five, and the concerned whispers around her are just starting to grate when she feels a touch at her shoulder. When she turns, Mike is standing next to her, dripping wet and shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“Hey Mom,” he starts, returning her slightly confused smile. “Can I have some money, please? Will and I want popsicles.”

“Of course, sweetie,” she replies, reaching into her bag to pull out a couple of neatly folded dollar bills. “Is Steve here with you?”

Mike shrugs, taking the offered money. “Yeah, he brought us here, but I don’t know where he went. Thanks!” He runs off before she can question him further, looping his arm over Will’s shoulders as they walk to the concession stand. There’s still no lifeguard on duty.

“All right, ladies,” Karen says, unfolding herself from the chair and standing up. “I think it’s about time for someone to check up on this public safety violation.” She makes for the locker rooms before the rest of the women have a chance to respond. At the very least, that bitch Doris would try to convince them to let her go instead.

Inside the building there’s a clear sign indicating that the men’s locker room is to the left and the women’s is on the right. Karen knocks on the wall outside the men’s side, hovering awkwardly in the doorway. “Billy?” she calls.

His response comes almost immediately. “Karen?” he asks, sounding startled. She supposes it’s a fair reaction.

“Heather went home for the day,” she explains, “and there’s no lifeguard on duty right now. Some of us parents are a little concerned.”

It takes him a moment to reply this time. “You’ve caught me at a bad time,” he says, voice quite steady if that’s the case. “I’ll be out in just a moment.”

“Alright,” she says slowly. When he doesn’t offer anything else, she pads out of the building.

True to his word, Billy strides to the chair after barely thirty seconds have passed, tossing her a suggestive wink as he takes his seat. She smiles back over the top of her Cosmo, licking her lips briefly.

Several minutes later, Steve comes out of the locker room, rolling his shoulders like he was just lifting something. He slides onto the chair next to his girlfriend’s, popping his sunglasses on and leaning his head closer to her so they can talk. Billy keeps glancing over at them as they laugh together, and even though Steve’s eyes are obscured, it’s clear enough from the tilt of his head that he’s looking at Billy too.

Karen doesn’t really understand their friendship, but stranger things have happened in Hawkins, Indiana.

* * *

(She realizes pretty quickly after that that trying to draw Billy's attention away from Steve is an exercise in futility.)