#100% sure i know exactly how to fix last nights fuck up for next time tho

[lily-sinful]

i'm not great at baking pies, it turns out

[yellowloid]

i think one of the main problems of tumblr (and fandom culture, and the internet in general) is that people tend to forget as human beings we are made of multitudes. nothing is ever just black or white - there are infinite shades of grey in between and that is the very thing that makes us, well, human.

sometimes people have contrasting opinions within themselves and - guess what - even contrasting feelings. sometimes people feel strongly about stuff and that is okay. you can love something/someone so much and at the same time find yourself disappointed by something related to it/them. that happens. it's okay.

i'm not gonna talk about what's going on on twitter because tbh i haven't checked so i have no idea wtf they're on about there, but i want to focus on our little tumblr community - which is so special because of the fact that it is (mostly) conflict-free, and if there's something we share it's a kind of visceral love for the boys that i'm sure everyone here can understand.

this is not an indirect @ anyone in particular, but i've seen some posts going around talking about all the negativity on the dash after last night, and i wanted to share my two cents on that.

we all love them. we all fucking love them so much and we know every time they set foot on stage we're guaranteed to be blown away by how fucking good and special and talented they are. they know how to deliver a spectacular performance (even in emergency situations like yesterday, with alex's laryngitis which is definitely far from gone) and they know how to keep the audience's attention fixed on them. they're a special kind of hypnotising, and every show is unique in and of itself *because* of their incredible presence, regardless of what setlist they might give us.

we all know that, and yesterday's show was no exception. it was amazing, powerful and breathtaking like every show they deliver. mindblowing, as always. as simple as that.

and that's exactly what can turn disappointing real quick. they know how fucking good they are. they know how much potential they have, and that all this tour they've been using up to 10% of said potential. they're incredibly talented and smart, and still decide to stick to their comfort zone every. single. night. with few exceptions, obviously, and mostly never from the album they're supposed to be touring. that's what upsets people here - the fact that they're letting their own HUGE potential go to waste.

glastonbury is a milestone. they had nothing to prove, of course, having headlined it already and more than once in the past. everyone knows what they're capable of. but glastonbury is special, too, and instead if felt like just another random show they could then go and tick off their list. done, next. rinse and repeat.

and of course we also all know it was an emergency. alex has been straining his voice for a long time now - the three consecutive london gigs were the breaking point, and i'm so glad they took a bit of time to let him rest, despite the fact that they probably hated having to cancel the dublin show. but they couldn't ditch glasto, and so they showed up and they did a fucking amazing job. alex sounded so good and i think i can speak for all of us when i say i was so incredibly relieved to see he was okay. i was shaking and biting my nails worried sick about him for DAYS up to the moment they appeared on stage and seeing him get up there and kill it with a fucking crazy performance, putting in all that effort and dedication despite the fact that he's no doubt still recovering (no way his laryngitis is 100% gone, and i hope he gets some more rest because he needs it) made me so proud of him, so fucking happy and proud and i couldn't really love him more. i love him so much, i love them all so much and i know everyone here also does. no one here is blaming it on him for whatever happened yesterday. we're all just fucking glad and grateful he could show up in the first place. he's the most special most talented most beautiful little guy ever and we all love and cherish him so much it hurts. and he did so fucking well, as always. i hope he knows that, and i hope he knows he's allowed to be sick and he's not to blame for anything. i would personally fight anyone who dared say anything bad about him because no one fuck's with tumblr's most beautiful most precious babygirlboy. no one!!!!!

having said that, big changes in the setlist - especially a live debut of hello you or other new songs - were highly unlikely and we all knew that. they probably wouldn't have had the chance to rehearse due to alex's sickness. and that's okay! sure everyone would love to see those songs finally make their grand debut. but that can wait, because alex's health is more important.

and let's face it. i don't think it's that big of a reach to say that even if alex hadn't been sick, the setlist wouldn't have changed that much anyway. there's songs that simply cannot be scrapped, songs to which they're particularly attached and songs to which average fans are also particularly attached. then there's songs that have been on rotation, and songs that have finally already made a comeback during the sheffield shows. taking away all that, the songs that have an actual real possibility of coming back aren't that many - as much as it hurts me to say it, they won't be playing secret door or piledriver waltz or batphone or whatever more niche song anytime soon. and we know that, no one *really* expects them to. because they have to gather to the general crowd, and as repetitive as their current setlist might be, it works. could house more new songs - they skipped big ideas? and songs such as mr schwartz and iaqwitia haven't made a comeback in such a long while... but still. it's bomb. it works, and it works fucking well.

however, there were other changes that could have been made to make glasto special - changes that wouldn't have been a risk to alex's health; small things that could have made a difference, even a tiny one. @mrschwartz said it perfectly in her tags (i hope it's okay to show these sbfksjf i just think you put it into words really well):

it WAS a win. the sole fact of headlining glasto, in and of itself, is a win. a big fucking one at that. and little changes could have been made to make it memorable - to make it stand out when compared to every other gig they played this tour. there definitely were highlights - not only with alex's antics but also lyrically, with the jet skis/iwby/star treatment moment, which was OUTSTANDING - but for the rest nothing really spoke GLASTONBURY. nothing else *really* stood out, and that's a shame.

(not even gonna touch on the miles thing because yeah we all know they probably wanted to do it but couldn't for some reason; it's pretty clear rn that him showing up in london was to make up for him not being able to be there yesterday; we all had our suspicions and they were right. still bummed tho because them playing glasto together is a tradition!)

but considered all that, it is what it is. no one is gonna go around unstanning them because of last night. if anything, when they pull this shit they just make us want to follow them even more, to see what they'll be up to in the next shows. what aces they have up their sleeves - because we know just as well as they know that they have many. they're just too comfortable in their routine to pull them all out, and hopefully sometime in the near future we'll get to see more of what they can really do.

again, it was an amazing show. my heart was beating so fast and i kept grinning like an idiot at the screen, just because they were there. just because they showed up in the first place, with their talent and beauty and power and insane energy. just because i love them so much i can't even begin to explain it.

and i was a bit disappointed, too. because we know how much potential they have. because if they can put up an amazing show like that using only a crumble of that potential, we can only imagine how insanely spectacular of a performance they could deliver if they used even a little bit more of it.

but they refuse to, and that's what can be upsetting. but it doesn't take away the love we have for them. the two things can coexist, and they don't take away from each other. if anything, i woke up this morning with even more love for them than i did yesterday, exactly because they frustrate me with how legendary they are, and how bad i want them to show that to the whole world.

i love them, i'm disappointed, and that's not gonna stop me from loving them even more.

[wanduhhh]

Brat

A Drabble, requested by a lovely anon! I have not proofread because I’m lazy. But enjoy bratty Wanda getting what she deserves.

Anonymous asked:

hiiii, could i request a fic with dom! reader where wanda is like super flirty with them all day, and they havnt gotten together yet, but wanda comes off as kinda dominant, but then r just rails her. lol i hope you are having a good day :)

————————————————————————————————

Wanda was driving you mad. For someone you spent every waking moment of the day with, she was sure to kill you one of these days. You knew you and your best friend were close, some might even say too close. But most of the times you relished in it. Pulling Wanda just a little closer on movie nights, hugging her just a little too long before missions.

Your mind was reeling as you sat next to a smug redhead crunching far too loud on her granola. You couldn’t stop thinking of her proximity, trying not to make your thoughts too loud for fear they would accidentally alert the little mind reader.

The issue was, she had decided to tease you relentlessly. Brushing past you as she opened the fridge, pushing hair behind your ear when you were washing your hands. Kissing your cheek when you blushed so hard your ears turned red. It was killing you. It was made 100 times worse when your teammates caught on.

“Ohh the gay panic is oozing from her”

“I think if she gets any more red we might need to take her to the med bay”

It was torturous. And Wanda’s smug face done nothing but add to how warm you were feeling. When your ears tuned into a conversation she was having with Natasha, you knew you were going to snap. “Natasha leave y/n alone, she’s just a baby” your ears perked up at your name but your gaze remained fixed on your uneaten granola Wanda had forced into your hands.

“Oh come on Wanda, let’s see what she thinks instead. Y/n, witchy here thinks she would be the top but I think you have a little dominant streak in there. What do you say?” You choked on the same bite of granola that had been in your mouth for the past 2 minutes. Spluttering as Wanda rubbed circles on your back.

“Shh you’re okay baby. Just ignore Tasha, I’ll protect you” her tone was condescending enough, but the wink she sent your way was the last straw. You stood so abruptly that you heard Wanda gasp in surprise, immediately grabbing her wrist and pulling her with you as you mumbled something about needing to talk to her.

“Y/n are you okay?” You answered her question by pushing her against the wall and pressing your body against hers. Ignoring her confusion as you gripped her jaw hard. “I know exactly what you’re doing Wands, and I guess you’ll get exactly what you wanted” you scoffed as she feigned ignorance and pouted up at you.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about brat, you really think I’m going to let you get away with pretending you’re a top”. You watched as she opened and closed her mouth in succession. Ultimately deciding to silently accept her fate.

“You tell me to stop and we stop okay? Otherwise, you keep your mouth shut. Not a single word, unless you want your friends to come out here and watch me fuck you til you can’t stand”. The second Wanda gave you a nod, your mouth was on her. Teeth dragging down her throat, nails running up her sides.

You were almost sorry that you had forbid her from moaning, because you knew just by her laboured breaths that she would be so whiny but it would have to wait for the next time. You wanted nothing more than to tease her until she was begging to cum with tears staining her cheeks, but the probability of someone walking past soon was in the forefront of your mind.

So you dropped to your knees and immediately got to work. Licking over her panties and smirking up at her guilty face when you both realised just how wet she was. You sucked through the soaked material, slipping your fingers underneath to slide into her. Your pace was relentless and you knew from the hitch in her breath it was bordering painful, but this only made you go harder.

She tried desperately to cant her hips into your mouth, moving her hands to try push her panties to the side; desperate to feel your mouth on her with no barriers. But you pushed her hands away and smirked up at her watering eyes, pulling away momentarily. “No, you wanted to be a slut all day so now you’re going to cum in your panties and ruin them just like the slut you are”.

You punctuated your words with a particularly hard thrust that almost made Wanda break your no noise rule, instead she bit on her lip hard enough to draw blood. When you lifted your eyes to see her tear stained cheeks, with blood dripping from her lip; you stood to kiss her immediately.

Licking the blood from her lips before you finally got your first taste of Wanda’s mouth. It was enough to have you moaning into her mouth. Your fingers not stopping their movements for a second, as you felt her tighten around you she began panting into your open mouth. Begging you with her eyes to just finish her off, you decided to take a little pity on her.

“You can cum baby, come on” the second your words were out she ground down onto your hand, hard. Nails digging into your wrist hard enough that you had to suck in a breath through your teeth. You savoured every breathy moan that she let slip out whilst she came down from her high, and the slight wince she gave you when you pulled out had you ready to take her again right there.

“I hope that was worth it baby, because I’m going to edge you all night until you’re sobbing loud enough the whole compound knows just how much of a top you are”.

[rafescoke]

Maybank ; Rafe Cameron

masterlist

Request: how about y/n is jj’s older sister and shes dating rafe but they keep it a secret bcs rafe is a dick he doesn’t want to be seen w a pogue. jj knows that his sister is dating rafe and he kinda hates rafe for keeping they relationship as a secret. then sarah threw a party n invited the pogues n they play truth or dare n a random kook dared rafe to sniff coke on some random girl’s belly n rafe accepted it without thinking abt what y/n thinks n they fight @rafeswh0ree

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: Rafe would do anything to protect his title, even if it causes the girl he loves to stray away. 

Warnings: Pure angst, mentions of substance!

A/N: you know the drill. . . send requests! 

(Y/N) doesn’t want to remember the day her little brother found out about her relationship with a certain kook prince.

Being a year younger than (Y/N), it’s funny how he acts like a total older brother to her; always so protective, and not letting any boys touch her.

It was a Friday, and (Y/N) had sneaked out to meet Rafe by the beach. The night sky was almost perfect; the moon was illuminating them, and the waves were calming.

Rafe pressed a kiss against her lips, mumbling how much he loves her when the sound of a backpack hitting the soft sand startled them.

“What the fuck?”

(Y/N) scampered from Rafe, fixing her fallen top and running towards JJ who was already making his way back to his bike. His eyebrows were furrowed, his heart banging.

(Y/N) pulled his shoulder, “JJ, stop. It’s not what you think!”

“Wait, wait, what do you mean? Did he drown and you had to give him CPR?” He scoffed, prying his shoulders away and walking backward slowly. “This is so low of you, (Y/N). Fuck.”

JJ noticed that something was different with his sister a few months ago. The sneaky texts under the table, the sudden smile at her phone screen. . . he had thought of the actions as nothing more than (Y/N) contacting her friends.

And when he saw her in Figure 8 two weeks ago, in a fancy restaurant he works part-time in, she had told him that her new friend had brought her there.

As if she would ever have a kook friend.

Of course it wasn’t a kook friend. It was a kook boyfriend.

“JJ, please! Why are you like this?”

JJ turned his heels to look at (Y/N) properly. His nostrils were flaring, and his eyes were wild. Trying to contain his anger, “Your fucking boyfriend is a drug addict and I’m not letting you date someone who choked my friends before!”

He waited, and extended his hands. “It’s me or Rafe. Stay if you want to stay with him, and come with me if you want to come back home.”

“You’re crazy,” she whispered, letting a tear rolled down her cheeks. She thought of many scenarios where JJ will eventually find out about her and Rafe, but this wasn’t in her list.

“Me or Rafe.”

(Y/N) remembers exactly the way JJ walked away disappointedly, his head hanging low and his hands balled up in a fist.

It took her weeks to regain JJ’s trust and fix their relationship, and though JJ still hasn’t accepted Rafe, he’s okay. He’s quiet, sometimes seething at the boy, but he knows how much (Y/N) loves him.

“Hey,” Rafe smiles, placing a kiss directly on her cheeks. Her hot body from the scorching sun slowly tempers down, and she melts into his touch.

Pulling him close, she nestles into his chest. “Sarah’s having a party tonight.”

“Yeah? You’re coming?”

“We’re coming, Rafe,” she sighs. The sprinkling water from the fast motion of the boat hits her on her face, and she wipes them away before looking up to this handsome face.

She rubs her thumb against his cheeks, feeling him soften. “If I ask you something, can you not be mad?”

“Is this about letting everyone know about us?” He asks, his hands resting above her hips. He removes them and wraps his face, sighing.

(Y/N) bites her lips, already knowing the answer to her question. “Never mind.”

“We talked about this, (Y/N).”

“I know, so I’m not going to fight with you on this again,” she sits up straight, inching away from him. “I mean, after almost a year of dating, I think you’d—”

“You’re forcing this.”

“I’m not!” She stands up, groaning. “God, you’re starting a fight again!”

The silence between them grows again, both sulking and shouting in their heads. After a while, (Y/N) moves to the front deck of the boat and Rafe curses silently, knowing that the plan he had about strolling by the stream with the girl he loves is a failure.

But it’s not his fault, is it? He just can’t show her off. It’s bad enough that her brother’s aware of their relationship, and Rafe had to make sure that son of a bitch never opens his mouth to anyone.

“Hey, yo, JJ, got a minute?”

The blonde waiter grunted, eyeing Rafe with so much hatred before placing a cold mineral bottle on the table.

“Rafe, don’t cause any scene,” Topper warned, staring at the both of them. He could sense something was wrong, but he didn’t put this mind into it. He thought of it as nothing more than Rafe’s daily fights with the pogues.

JJ didn’t reply, not wanting to see his smug face what more to talk to him, but as he tried to return back to the kitchen, Rafe gripped his wrist tightly.

“Just a minute,” he smiled.

JJ quirked his head to the back of the kitchen where the workers usually smoke. Rafe nodded, letting go of his wrist, and whispered something to Topper.

“What do you want?” JJ asked once they were in the back alley, watching as Rafe lighted a cigarette and bringing the stick to his lips.

“How’s (Y/N)?”

“Isn’t that your problem?” The blonde boy scoffed, “Hey, man, look. I appreciate this family bonding activity you’re trying to have, but you’re no family. I care about (Y/N), and I’m in no way letting her be with you.”

What angered JJ more wasn’t the fact that he didn’t reply, but it was the superior look he plastered on his face. He felt the urge to slap and hurt him more than anything else.

“If there’s one thing we can agree on—” he said, blowing a puff of smoke. JJ inched backward, not wanting the smell of tobacco to linger on his uniform or he’ll be in trouble. “—is that we both care for her. I understand if you don’t want anyone else to know about me and (Y/N), and I hope it will stay that way.”

“You don’t want me to tell anyone else?”

“Yeah,” Rafe smiled. “It’s bad enough I have to pull you away in the middle of my lunch. Can’t afford to do that with more people.”

“Is it because you’re embarrassed to be seen with her?”

“Can you do that for me?” Rafe asked, ignoring his last question.

“Fuck you, Cameron.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Rafe laughed, patting his shoulder and watching as he flinched away. “I think I’ll see you around more than we both want to, Maybank.”

“Hey,” (Y/N) whispers, placing a hand against his shoulder. “What’s wrong? You’re in a daze.”

“You’re not mad at me anymore?” He asks, tilting his head up. That was quick, but he likes it. She can never be mad at him for more than 30 minutes.

She crosses her arms, “You want me to be mad at you?”

He shrugs and pulls her to his lap. “You’re hotter when you’re mad.”

. . .

If there’s one thing Rafe’s sure of, he hates parties when he will be the one to clean up the mess the next morning.

Ward and Rose are out for the weekend for their anniversary, and Wheezie is somewhere for a summer camp she has been begging Ward to go to.

Like always, Sarah Cameron takes this opportunity as a way to host the biggest party of the year, inviting all of her pogue friends and letting Rafe do the honor of inviting the kooks.

(Y/N) walks in with her best friend, having to pretend to not be so familiar with the whole house as if she’s not dating the son of Ward Cameron.

“Yo, this house is huge.”

“Yeah,” (Y/N) agrees, walking towards the drinks area and grabbing boozes for her and her friend. “Hey, I’m going to see someone, can you wait for me down here?”

Before she can walk away, Sarah Cameron appears excitedly and pulls her into a tight hug. “(Y/N)! What a surprise! JJ’s outside, if you’re looking for him.”

“Trust me, I’m not looking for him,” she laughs, “Have you seen Rafe? I, um, I called him up before for some stuff.”

“Oh, yeah, he’s on the porch,” she replies, and before (Y/N) can make a move, she holds her tightly. “Be careful. He’s got the heaviest stuff with him.”

As if she doesn’t know that.

She smiles, muttering her thanks before heading towards the porch. It’s hard to pretend to not know who Rafe is after spending her whole year with him.

Sure enough, Rafe is sitting by Topper’s side with his other friends surrounding them, his hair messily parted and his nose red. She sighs, knowing exactly what state he’s in.

“Yo, Maybank,” Topper laughs, pulling the empty seat beside him. “Come sit.”

Rafe looks up to the sound of her name, and before she can register the look on his face, he bows down again.

“Hey,” she greets, sitting beside Topper. “You’re okay?”

“This party’s the shit,” he answers, obviously in a drunken state, and pats Rafe’s back. “Yo, yo, you got the same ring as my boy right here.”

Topper grabs the gold ring hanging from (Y/N)’s necklace, bringing it closer under the light and taking Rafe’s hand. “Wow, are you guys soulmates?”

The boys around them laugh, and (Y/N) pulls her necklace away before anyone can guess anything. She watches as Rafe grunts, still so busy trying to separate the powder in lines.

“Wanna try a line?”

“She can’t, Topper.”

All eyes are on Rafe now, who’s rubbing his nose and licking his lips. Rafe never stops anyone from doing a line and even asked Wheezie if she wanted to try one before, so the words that came out of his mouth appear as a shock to all of them.

“Why?” (Y/N) asks, tilting her head to one side. If he doesn’t want to show her off to his friends, he might as well stop trying to control her life. She looks back to Topper, “I’ll try a line, Tops.”

Topper smiles, giving her a rolled-up 100 dollars bill and pushing his chair back to allow her in. (Y/N) takes the chance to brush her back against Rafe’s front, hearing his ragged breath all the sudden.

She bends down, giving Rafe the perfect view of her back, and snorts a line. She falls onto Rafe’s lap as he pulls her close, breathing into her sweet smell as she throws her head back from the sudden tingling in her stomach.

“Stand up,” he orders in her ears, “Stand up, (Y/N).”

Before Rafe can push her off, she stands up quickly and makes her way back to her previous seat. She only tried coke once, way before she met Rafe, and she had thought of it as nothing more but the last time she tried the substance. She prefers drinking to get her mind off since then.

“You’re joining the game later?�� Topper asks, glancing down at her short skirt. (Y/N) mindlessly pulls her dress down, and throws her head back once again.

“What game?”

“Truth or dare,” he smiles.

“I don’t play children’s games,” she fakes yawn, “Are you playing?”

“I don’t think so,” he replies, licking his lips. “Like you said, I don’t play children’s games.”

Whatever Topper’s doing to get (Y/N)’s attention; it’s just not working. She’s way too head over heels for the boy beside him, who’s still red and flustered from the brief teasing she had for him a few moments ago.

“(Y/N), wanna grab a drink?”

Both (Y/N) and Topper look up to Rafe. He’s trying his hardest not to look at her again and busies himself with the powder. “You don’t look quite comfortable with Topper.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” she replies, watching as his head snaps back to her. She licks her lips, “We’re alright, aren’t we, Tops?”

Topper nods, more than ready to have a fling with the pretty girl beside him, pogue or not pogue.

“Okay,” Rafe replies, “Whatever you say.”

Whatever (Y/N)’s doing to grab his attention; she’s doing a great job at it. Rafe’s jaw tenses at the sound of her laughter, and he has to look the other way when Topper’s hands sneak their way to around her shoulders.

He’s almost glad when Sarah comes to tell them something about the game starting. He sneaks to beside (Y/N), giving her a soft touch on her back, and off he goes to sit on the opposite side of her.

His mind’s still woozy, and he’s struggling to even open his eyes. The booming music still thrums against his eardrums, and the drinks he had earlier keeps every muscle of his active and ready to do anything crazy.

“You’re playing?” Someone asks him from the right.

What else can happen from a silly game of truth or dare?

“Yeah.”

Rafe hopes (Y/N) isn’t playing, because he knows the stupid things his friends would ask her. Always being the topic of his friends’ conversations, he’s clear with their intentions towards (Y/N).

And he’s not making any of it a reality.

“Topper, truth or dare.”

“Truth,” he answers, and Rafe’s eyes snap back to (Y/N). Surprisingly, her eyes are already on him, her stare so pierced that Rafe has to shift his position to ignore the aching in the pits of his stomach.

Rafe doesn’t care enough to listen to whatever his best friend’s saying, and his eyes stay on (Y/N). The girl smiles at him, and his eyes trail down to her chest.

Of course she would wear something like a top that doesn’t cover half of her chest.

He looks away, biting his lips.

“(Y/N)! Truth or dare?”

(Y/N) groans at Topper, crossing her arms and yelling ‘I’m not playing’. Her friends moan at her, pressuring her to keep the game going, and after a few pleas and more groans, she sighs.

She’s so easy to manipulate.

Rafe stares at her again, licking his lips.

“Dare.”

The crowd cheer, but the volume is down to mute to Rafe, who’s too busy having her glued to his brain. She looks wonderful under the dim lights, and Rafe wants nothing more than to have her screaming under him.

“I dare you to make out with the hottest person in the room.”

“Change the game,” Rafe says to no one in particular, sitting up straighter. “Change the game.”

“Yo, what?” Kelce asks, “What’s wrong with you?”

Rafe ignores his friend, and stares at the girl.

(Y/N) stands up from her seat and walks towards Topper, and Rafe can feel his heart stopping. His fear is coming to reality, and she’s so close to Topper they’re practically kissing.

He lays his head against the cushion, his heart aching.

“Yo, Rafe, it’s your turn!”

Rafe sits up straighter, rubbing his eyes and looking around the group as everyone else stares at him. He groans, feeling so tired and not having a clue where he have gone to a few minutes ago.

It might the aftermath of the coke, but it doesn’t feel as good as always.

How long did he pass out?

“Truth or dare, Rafe.”

“I’m not playing,” he mumbles, rubbing his temple.

“If you’re backing out now, you’ll have to pay a hundred bucks.”

What the fuck?

“Since when?” He asks, looking up to the random girl he has seen around the country club a few times. “That’s not the rules.”

“It is now.”

“Fine. Dare.”

Anything to put an end to this game.

“I dare you to do a line on Jessie’s back.”

The room grows silent, and Rafe can feel all stares at him. He blinks, trying to register what he just heard, and laughs. “Just a line?”

(Y/N) bites her lips. He wouldn’t do it, would he?

Somehow, JJ finds his way behind the couch (Y/N) is sitting on. He places a hand comfortably on her shoulder and watches her jerk. “You’re okay?”

She doesn’t reply, but JJ knows the answer all too well.

Rafe’s friends clear the table off from drinks and Jessie lays her bare back against the glass table. Rafe doesn’t look up to her to ask for permission or to give her any reassurances, and it feels as if he wants to do it too.

JJ’s grip around her shoulder tightens, “You should go.”

She shakes her head, staring at the scene before her.

The intoxicating powder is poured by an excited Topper directly on Jessie’s stomach, and (Y/N) feels sick to her core. She feels like screaming, because why wouldn’t he say no?

It’s not like a hundred bucks would be too much for him to stop playing.

Rafe dips his head to the same level as Jessie’s head, and (Y/N) stares at the girl bites her lips the same way (Y/N) does when Rafe’s close to her.

Except he’s close to someone else.

The crowd erupts into a loud roar again as Rafe finally stands up from the lines, his head becoming more bumping and his respiratory rate increasing.

The kook prince doing a line on some hot girl in Figure 8. 

What a headline.

His eyes look up to the people around him, but (Y/N) is nowhere in sight.

“Where is she?” He asks Topper. His hands found themselves wrapped around Topper’s shoulders for balance.

“Where is who?”

“My girlfriend,” he answers, not thinking much. “I have to go.”

“What girlfriend, Rafe?” Topper laughs. “Man, you’re in too deep. The game’s not finished.”

“I’ll pay the hundred,” he replies and makes his way out of the party. His sight is becoming so blurry that he falls by the side of the pool a few times before he sees the sight of her climbing JJ’s bike.

“Hey, hey, where are you going?” He asks, standing in front of the bike and not letting JJ turn to the exit. “The party’s not finished!”

“Fuck off, Cameron,” JJ replies, blocking Rafe’s view of his girlfriend. (Y/N) stares down to her lap, not wanting to look him in the eyes, and Rafe’s breath hitches at the silence.

“What did I do?”

Before Rafe can hear any explanation, JJ pushes him down to the side road and he groans from the sudden impact. He looks up to the blonde and lunges for him, only for them to end up by the side of the road.

“Oh my god, stop!” (Y/N) yells, trying to pry her brother away from Rafe. “JJ, he’s not thinking straight. Let’s just go!”

“Don’t get near (Y/N) ever again!” JJ yells, his eyes flaring up in anger and his knuckles turning purple. “She deserves someone better than a cheating fuck like you!”

Out of all the responses Rafe can give to JJ, he lets out the coldest laugh, and the sound of his voice carries throughout the dark neighborhood.

“I’m cheating? She was cheating on me too!”

“What are you saying?” (Y/N) scoffs, “I wasn’t cheating, Rafe, I’m not you.”

“Yeah? The kiss with Topper?”

“That wasn’t a kiss! I gave him a peck on his cheeks!”

“That doesn’t excuse the fact you didn’t kiss me.”

“Is that why you’re acting like a dick? Because I didn’t kiss you when Tops asked me to kiss the hottest guy in the room?” She laughs. This whole thing seems funny all of a sudden after hearing Rafe’s side of the story. “I thought you want us to stay lowkey.”

“Whatever, can you get your fucking bodyguard off me?” Rafe replies, “And don’t call him Tops. It’s like you’re begging to get fucked by him.”

JJ makes a move again, but (Y/N) quickly pulls him away. She wipes her eyes with the back of her hands, and Rafe wishes he hadn’t said the words out loud.

JJ finally lets go of him and walks to his bike, feeling so tired but pumped at the same time from the brief fight with Rafe. He wanted more than anything for them to break up, but what just happened isn’t exactly what he had in mind. 

“So you’re going?”

“There’s no reason for me to stay, Rafe,” she replies. “You don’t even want to admit that we’re dating. Are you embarrassed of me?”

When he doesn’t reply, (Y/N) pushes his chest that he staggers backward, still so woozy and lightheaded he feels like fainting.

“Are. You. Embarrassed. Of. Me?”

Rafe stays silent, looking down to the ground and wishing the world would just swallow him up.

“Go to hell, Rafe,” she replies, and Rafe inches backward when her gold ring he had bought for her to match his own ring rolls down to his feet. He quickly looks up to her.

She’s not breaking up with him, is she?

If he felt like he has gone through hell before, this feeling is a lot worse. 

Part #2

 -

@okayshoto @joselyn001 @onceuponateenagetrash @dyingsleeping @iwannabeapogue @meaganjm @rafesobxs @flossy2929 @unfortunatekiwitrash @scottybitch @asimpwriter @amaya124 @tommy-tommo @thatshithurted8 @fallincindy @marvelwhor3 @rafeswh0ree @kookap @supernaturallydc-blog @blank-velvet @alaniskauany @kiiim8 @witchywrter @kaitlyn2907 @heyimflo @overcookedpastasause @tsukkiswifeey @spidey-d00d @anonymousobxfan @gotmeinloveagain @chicagoblackhawkslover96 @lexi-writes @classydragonthingknight @belongtoyou-u @badbussylol @savannah-elliott @angelreyesgirl100 @haterpenny @beehappyyy @alwaysclassyeagle @maybankslut @kayleea122 @clearbolts @lovelyxtom @christianaevans @jemimah-b99 @opierdalacz @dangerdolns @wildflowerliv @classygirlything21 @alwaysclassyeagle @rottenstyx @wxn-drlst

[clairecrive]

Hello beautiful person! Do you take requests which ask you to write a second chapter for your writings? If you do, may I ask a second chapter for "Rare"? And if you don't could you please let me know so I can be careful for another time when I ask a request?

I hope this is not something that disturbes or irritates you. I love your writing, it is beautiful and sometimes I read your pieces over and over again. 😁

Thanks for blessing us with your writing. Have a nice day.💕

A/n: First of all anon, thank you so very much for your sweet words! They mean the world to me <3 Also, your request could never irritate me! I love them and I love the fact that you consider me half a decent writer enough to send me your thoughts <3 I'm sorry it took me so long to get around this but I hope you like this and are still around to read it x

I've decided to pair it with a request for juicy time with Eddie. there's no actual smut but it's suggestive let's say.

Warnings: bit of angst, fluff,

Word count: 2.4K

Tags: @mollybegger-blog, @evelynshelby, @br0ck-eddie, @fandom--0verdose, @shadow-of-wonder, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @sopxhiea, @fuseburner, @for-bebbanburg, @crazyclownchick ( fill in this form to be added to my taglist)

Part 1

TOM HARDY MASTERLIST

You weren't exactly new to heartbreak. You had been a teenager after all but your experience with adult relationships had not been that good either.

You knew that you'd be over Eddie even if it may take you some time. It's true that you had only been dating for a few months but you had really grown attached to him. It was one of the things you hated about yourself: the way you got attached way too soon, way too much.

Especially, in this case, seeing as Eddie hadn't been 100% in it in the beginning you had hoped that the more time you'd spend together, he'd see that you weren't so bad and that he'd grow to care for you. At least a little bit.

Turns out you were wrong.

As much as you hated being wrong, the thing that hurt you the most was that despite your best efforts, Eddie still didn't think you were enough for him. And how could you be when the benchmark was perfect Anne?

You stood no chance. You had been a fool for even trying. And now you were experiencing the burn for your foolishness.

This had happened often enough that you had developed a routine for dealing with heartbreak:

1) crying your heart out and indulging your sadness with whatever helped (mostly comfort food and Friends)

2) enough with indulging, it was time to pick yourself up. No more overeating although you still allowed yourself to cry if you felt like it

3) "I don't need him anyway" phase where you'd make a mental list of how your life was before and after whoever you had broken up with to remind you that they weren't as important as you made them out to be

4)"put yourself out there again" phase where you started going out again with the intention of meeting new people or simply having a good time.

As of this time, you were in phase 3. You noticed that there were some of Eddie's things littering around your apartment. So, you picked up a box and collected them with the intention of returning them to him, effectively closing this chapter. As you did, you made that aforementioned list. This time, with the added reason for your break up, it was a bit easier to remind you why breaking up had been the right decision.

When your hands closed on your favourite hoodie of his though, you couldn't help the pang in your heart as a flood of memories hit you.

You and Eddie doing a Friends marathon every Friday night.

Eddie giving this hoodie when you were sick because he knew how much you liked it.

Eddie taking the hoodie off for a whole other reason almost ripping it...

No.

Shaking your head, you pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on the task at hand.

Enough of that. It was over.

It was only a week later that you finally got the time to come around Eddie's apartment. Sure, you could have called him, he could have come himself to pick them up or you could have dropped them at his job but that would have required you to call him. And recalling how that went last time you tried to reach him you decided you'd spare yourself the humiliation of him not ghosting you again.

Taking a deep breath, you straightened your shoulders and knocked on his door.

"Y/n." You were met with a dishevelled Eddie.

He looked like shit but what's new with him. He also looked very surprised to see you at his door and you also couldn't blame it for that. You would have reacted the same way if the roles were reversed.

"Hi, Eddie," you hated your treacherous voice that wobbled when you spoke. Clearing your voice, you tried again.

"Sorry to come here unannounced. I've found some of your stuff in my apartment and I thought you'd like to have them back." You explained as you handed him the box, his eyes taking it in for the first time.

"Oh," he paused as he considered your words. Was that disappointment in his voice? "Thank you, y/n. You shouldn't have." He smiled weakly as he took the box from you, your fingers touching briefly.

"It's not a problem, Eddie. I was just passing by anyway." You and Eddie actually lived far from each other. The truth is that there was no reason for you to be in this part of town if it wasn't for him. Eddie knew that but he was kind enough not to point that out.

He just nodded, accepting your words as he held the box close to his chest.

You awkwardly stared at each other for a while, you didn't know what to say but neither of you wanted to end this exchange quite yet. When you felt that you had been standing like a fool in front of your ex's door, you went to leave but Eddie beat you to it.

"So how have you been?" Your first reaction was to scoff at this attempt of small talk. Neither of you was very good at it. And truthfully, it was rich coming from someone who had not made any effort to keep in contact with you even before your breakup.

The scroll of your shoulders was the only answer Eddie got. You weren't in the mood to pretend nor did you want him to know how you were still suffering for him.

"I should ask that to you." You reverted the question to him. He really didn't look well.

"yeah, it's been a rough couple of weeks," he confessed scratching the back of his head.

"That, I don't find it hard to believe," you hummed as your eyes took him in, really took him in since you knocked at his door. You could also see behind him that his apartment was a mess.

"Yeah, don't have to worry about me though. I'm fine."

"Of course." You nodded at his dismissal, remembering harshly the situation you were in."Well, I'm going to go now. Take care." Cold but still polite you turn around, ready to put this -Eddie and this exchange- behind you.

"Y/n, wait!" he called when you were about to climb down the staircase. "Do you want to have a drink or something?" Stay for a while? he meant but didn't dare to say.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Eddie." You called over your shoulder, hand still on the railing.

"Please, I owe you an explanation." You didn't know if it was the desperate note in his voice or the fact that he really looked like shit but you turned around almost convinced.

"Don't you think it's too late for that, Eddie?"

"Maybe it won't change anything between us but you deserve to know." You knew Eddie and you knew how much he cared about transparency and honesty. This may not mean that you were going to get back together but he was right, you deserved an explanation.

"Okay," you agreed as you walked back and then into his apartment. Eddie closed the door behind him and set the box he was still holding down behind the coat hanger.

The sneak peek you had before was definitely right: Eddie's apartment was even messier than usual.

"Why does it look like a tornado hit your home?" You couldnìt help but point out. You knew Eddie wasn't that bothered by tidiness but this too much even by his standards.

"That would be my fault," a new voice answered you.

At first, you didn't register the difference in tone or accent even though you should have had because Eddieìs voice wasnìt that low or raspy. But then a black tendril entered your vision field catching your attention making you turning your head to better inspect it.

What.the.fuck??

"Eddie?" You asked perplexed, eyes fixed on this thing? even if you were addressing Eddie.

"Y/n meet Venom, Venom meet y/n." He gestured awkwardly with his hands.

"It's so nice to meet you, Eddie's always thinking about you, you know? It's a bit annoying." this time the voice didn't come from a tendril but a face. A fucking alien face with long sharp teeth and wide white eyes.

His words went straight over your head. How the fuck was this true? What were you even seeing? Did this thing come from Eddie's body??

"Fuck, I know I'm heartbroken but now I'm even seeing things?"

"Y/n," Eddie tried to get your attention. You thought you had only thought that but apparently, you had spoken the words. "You're not seeing things, this is part of the explanation I owe you."

"I think it's better if you sit," he said motioning to his couch when you did nothing but stare at Venom. Prompting by Eddie though, you sat down and listened as he spoke.

He told you everything. About Carton Drake about his project with aliens, about Venom and their rather troubled relationship. He even explained how Anne had got involved and how she and Danny had helped him.

It was definitely a lot to take in. But somehow, the thought that he could be lying to you never crossed your mind. The proof was right in front of you, wasn't it? Venom, as he had introduced himself, stood next to Eddie while he spoke. It had never spoken again and you were inwardly thankful for that. That he was giving you space to digest all of this.

"Why didn't you tell me when you came around that day, Eddie?" You asked once you thought you had wrapped your head around it.

"I didn't want you to drag you into this mess," he said with a shrug, head cast down he didn't meet your eyes.

You didn't know how you felt about all of this yet but you nodded anyway. Well, there was nothing you could do anymore, could you? He had already taken care of everything on his own and it wasn't like you had any right to worry about him anymore.

"Thank you for explaining, Eddie. I appreciate your honesty." Did this change anything for you?

"I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like you weren't enough of if Anne meant more to me than you did. That's not true but I didn't know how to tell you that without telling you what was happening." He nervously fiddled with his fingers without meeting your eyes.

You could see his point now that you knew what happened. Still, it hurt you that he decided to just keep you out of it without a word. He could have at least told you that something was going on, that he didn't or couldn't tell you anything - not right now. You would have understood and given him space. Did he really act like this to keep you safe or was it a way to dismiss you?

"I don't know if this changes things, Eddie. You still turned up to her when a major life-threatening event happened. I think this tells me everything that I need to know." You point out after a while, eyes fixed on the end of your shoes.

"She has been involved from the moment we broke up, Y/n. Hell, this was the reason we broke up in the first place." Eddie's head snapped up at your words. He looked surprised at your words like he couldn't believe that you thought Anne's involvement had been something he had actively sought out.

"That may as well be true, Eddie but still, you didn't tell me even after everything settled down. If I hadn't come around to give you your stuff I still would be none the wiser."

"I was afraid, y/n. How could I come back to you after how much I had hurt you? 'Sorry if I went m.i.a. for a while, I was infected with a parasite who knows permanently with me?' Come on, y/n, I wouldn't take me back either." Now upset, Eddie started to gesticulate frantically to prove his point. His eyes flickered between yours, he leaned toward you, his hands a touch away from yours as if he wanted to touch you but was preventing himself from doing so.

"I'm not saying I would have believed you straight away but still- aliens are way better than self-loathing you know?" You scoff at him- why was he so upset? He wasn't the one who had been beating himself up since that fight for being a worthless piece of shit, was he?

"I know I've never done a good job at showing you but I do care about you. Deeply." Almost as if he couldn't bear to not be touching you any longer, Eddie now reached for your hands. His hold on them tightening as he spoke the words.

You looked at him for a moment. Aside from that fight, your relationship with him had been good. The start wasn't promising, seeing as he was still taken by Anne but Eddie had treated you good. He was attentive and caring in his own way. Looking back to it now, you realized that the period where you started feeling him pulling back from you was the time when this whole alien thing had started.

But now you had settled this, right? So, could this mean...

"If I give you one more chance to show you," you spoke tentatively, enthralled by the twinkle in his eyes, "do you promise me to be fully transparent with me this time around?"

"What? Why would you do that?" He looked shocked but his eyes were hopeful.

"Are you trying to talk me out of it, Eddie?" You challenged him, arching an eyebrow.

"Like hell I am." He scoffed, a smile on his lips. "Nono, of course I do. I swear, y/n. You'll never feel like you don't matter to me again."

"Good." You gave him a small smile at the gobsmacked expression on his face. Oh, Eddie...

He does nothing but stares at you for a while. Like he hadn't seen you in a while and now that you were in front of him, he wanted to commit to his memory every little detail of your face.

"So," you said after a while, "do you plan to stare at me or would you like to get a head start on your promise?" you provoke him with a suggestive tone.

Eddie's mouth fell a little at that, Venom said something to him but you didn't understand him. Shaking his head, Eddie smirks at you.

"I would like nothing more." And with that, Eddie's lips are on yours making up for the lost time.

[songbirdstyles]

when the levee breaks

summary: you’re a waitress and harry is being stood up.

warnings: brief smut, angst, fluff, love at first sight <3 kind of

song inspo.: when the levee breaks - led zeppelin

word count: 9.5k

There’s always a particular vibe you get from people going on first dates.

It’s an easy one to notice and you and your coworkers love pointing it out - it’s an air of hope and romance, people arriving dressed their very best yet still holding some sort of awkwardness. It’s sweet, actually, and quite adorable and they’re always the nicest to you, needing to impress their date and make sure they know that they’re respectful. It’s the same reason they leave such a hefty tip - likely wanting to show they’re, at the very least, wealthy enough to tip 20% on a $100 tab and not have it hurt their pockets, or to prove that they respect waitresses enough to help you pay your rent. They’re always the tables you’re desperate to serve, not only for the tip they leave you but because you love getting a clue as to how the date goes, and most times it’s good. Once, you’d heard the guy’s date inquire about kids before their meals came, and they’d left barely minutes after paying their bill. Another time, a couple had arrived at 6 and hadn’t left until 11 on a Thursday night - nearly two hours after closing, and you’d nearly had to shoo them out the door when they weren’t going fast enough.

It varies often, but still - first date couples are your favourite, and when you see him walk up to the host stand, you know he’s another one.

The uncomfortableness is what tips you off, fiddling with one of the numerous rings on his finger as he leans back and forth on the balls of his feet, waiting behind an elderly couple hoping to grab a table outdoors for some drinks. He’s dressed well, tucking a loose curl behind his ear and rolling up his sleeves and when he makes it up he’s confirming a reservation f’two, under th’name Harry Styles, please. And the girl at the host stand - the youngest host your boss has hired, you reckon, though you’d need to fact check it to be sure - picks up her pen and crosses his name out in the reservation book, a thick line running through his information and phone number before she’s grabbing a stack of menus (specials, wine, beer, and general, respectively) and telling him to follow me this way, sir as she leads him outside.

Well, you don’t see exactly where Brianna takes him before you remember the four waters that table 306 had asked for, and it’s not like you to get distracted like that by a customer - you’ve been a waitress for nearly three years since starting college and yet, no patron has ever caught your eye like Mr. Harry Styles. It’s a damn paradox, really - you only see attractive guys like him when they’re on dates and, by that point, they’re spoken for. There’s no room for you to mosey in and you wouldn’t do that to another girl, anyway, but still. You suppose it doesn’t matter (he looks wealthy enough to leave a good tip with or without a date, truthfully) but it still has you sighing as you grab four glasses, scooping ice into them and beginning to fill them with water.

Distraction is a bad look on a waitress, your manager had told you the last time you’d gotten distracted by a pretty girl and nearly dropped the plate of pasta you were holding. It makes your smile seem forced. And that was the first month you’d started working, before you’d realized that most customers treated the staff like objects to use to make themselves look or feel better - you’d seldom had to use her advice since then. But there’s a first - or second - time for everything, isn’t there? And he is your second time.

 --

 After you’ve delivered your waters, though, you’re made uncomfortably aware of the fact that Brianna had, indeed, seated Harry in your section. And it isn’t a bad thing, per se, except he is the most attractive man you’ve ever met and you can only imagine what his date is going to look like when they show up - probably dressed to the nines like he is, just a tad too fancy for an establishment like this and you’re sure you’ll feel insecure in your work-issued shirt and jeans but you suppose there’s nothing to do about it.

You try not to make it too obvious as you fix your hair, tying your ponytail higher up onto your head because it had been slipping down and you’re really not a huge fan of low ponytails. Normally you don’t mind but - sometimes the circumstances change. 

He’s at table 305, leaning over his phone, fingers drumming against the table when you walk over to him, clutching two coasters in your hands and he looks up at you with a smile as you approach. And it’s easy - giving the same introductory speech you’ve given thousands of times before, telling him your name and how I’m going to be taking care of you tonight. “Can I get you started with something to drink?” you question, eyes flickering inconspicuously to the empty seat across from him. He’d pulled it out slightly, angling it out towards the sidewalk in clear anticipation of when his date enters so she can gracefully sit down without having to make a fuss about pulling the chair out - so he’s a gentleman, and it only worsens your moral dilemma at the situation. 

“I’ll jus’ have a water, f’now,” he responds, smiling up at you and you nod, reaching down to rest one coaster in front of him and the other in front of the other seat. “M’waiting f’someone - then I’ll get somethin’ else.”

“Sounds good,” you tell him, giving him a smile as if you had no idea he was waiting for someone when, in fact, you’d known the second he walked through the doors. Quickly your eyes dart up and down the sidewalk, checking to see if anyone’s walking with their sights set on your restaurant but there’s nobody - perhaps she’s late, or he’s early, but it’s not your place to speculate anyway. “I’ll be right out with that.”

And so you make your way back inside - you have to stop at table 303 because their daughter, so small her legs barely hang off the seat she’s sitting in, has finished her Coke and wants another and you take their dish of risotto balls with you, practically licked clean (in your opinion, they’re the best appetizers on the menu, and you’ve tried just about everything.) 301 got up, leaving nearly half a plate of polpo sitting there and a full untouched bottle of wine and you can recall them specifically declining your request to take their plates earlier, claiming they were still picking at it and clearly they changed their mind - but Brianna’s rushing out to clean everything up before you tell her to, and that’s good of her. She’s new - it’s always good to see the new workers doing well. You’ll tell your manager the next time you see her, you reckon, though you hope it’s not too soon. And then 306 waves you down, seconds away from screaming for you to notice them because the man wants some red pepper flakes to sprinkle onto his pizza and it all stacks up in your mind, but you just smile and nod and turn to rush inside before anyone else can flag you down.

You don’t notice Harry’s eyes on you, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

One Coke and one dish of red pepper flakes later and you’re returning to Harry’s table, resting his drink on his coaster. It’s barely been two minutes since he last requested the water and his initial look of hope and excitement hasn’t faded, even when his eyes flicker down to his phone as though to check for a notification when he thanks you for the water.

Oh, well. Dates are late all the time, and you don’t have time to ponder on it as 304 noisily stacks their plates on top of each other, and you swoop over to grab them before taking them inside. No, it certainly isn’t your place to wonder about the status of his date because you know that you’ve been late to dates too many times than you should’ve, what with classes and work and everything else you have to do in life. You barely have time to date anymore - when you’re not studying so late you can barely keep your eyes open you’re picking up shifts, working your ass off for a paycheck that goes straight to your landlord. You hardly even hang out with your friends anymore and you’re not sure if it’s a healthy sacrifice, giving up your friends to work and study and get far less sleep than the average 22 year old but you don’t quite have a choice, do you?

Maybe his date is in the same situation - you can’t fault her for it. It certainly makes her more relatable to you.

 --

 It’s been fifteen minutes and Harry still sits on his own, nails tapping against his phone screen, turning his head to glance up and down the sidewalk like you had before but there’s no one there to join him. Part of you feels bad as you rest a plate of mozzarella agnolotti in front of the two men at 302 and they dig into it like fucking heathens who haven’t eaten in months, and when you tell them to enjoy they call out thank you with their mouths full, bits of food flying onto the table, and you feel bad for when one of the hostesses has to clean it later.

It’s times like this that you’re thankful to be a waitress and not a host. Those times are few and far between, but they still come.

303 got their entrees and 304 has their check and you don’t have an excuse not to stop back at Harry’s table, even if feeling his eyes on you has your stomach turning and your face heating. Hopefully he can’t notice (and you have gotten fairly skilled at hiding your emotions with a wide smile that’s just about as fake as they come) and your prayers seem to answer themselves when you walk to his table, ducking beneath the umbrella that hangs above the two-top and meeting his eyes.

“You want a refill on that water?” You ask, motioning with a nod down towards his half-empty glass. It’s certainly not low enough to warrant bringing out the water pitcher but you’ll deal with the hassle - going table to table asking if they need refills and all the other shit you have to do because it seems discriminatory when you only offer it to one table. 

He looks up at his glass, tilting his head and screwing up his eyes as though he really needs time to decide whether he needs more water before shaking his head, curls flopping in front of his face as he pulls his glass closer to him. “S’alright.”

“Is your date running late?” And the second the words are out of your mouth you want to smack yourself - you know it’s unprofessional to comment like that especially when it’s that fucking obvious that you’re right. You may as well have asked him if the sky is blue, or if the time really is 6:15. Irrefutable facts are embarrassing to state aloud, especially when it would get you a stern talking to if your manager were to overhear.

But Harry doesn’t seem bothered by it, nor does he seem fazed by your sudden expression like you’d just bit into a lemon. In fact, he takes the comment in stride, resting his palms on the tabletop as he squints up at you - the sun shines behind you and you’re sure it’s in his eyes, and the fact that he took the sunny seat just adds another reason to consider him perfect. “Yeah, she is,” he confesses, twiddling with his rings again, and it’s nearly impossible not to drop your gaze to his fingers and watch him go. “But - y’know - she’s a nurse, an’ all that. Probably just had t’work late an’ forgot t’text. S’alright.”

You’re not sure what to say to that and for a second you stand there in silence as Harry taps his phone, surely checking to see if he’d received a text that hadn’t lit up his phone with the notification but there’s nothing except for the lockscreen - a blurry shot of a black and white cat, face close to the camera and tongue sticking out just so. Instead you clear your throat before saying, “I’ll go grab you some olives.”

“Olives?”

“Yeah - we give everyone assorted olives.” And suddenly, it sounds stupid, like giving your customers olives is something embarrassing when, in fact, it’s customary, but Harry’s looking at you with a certain curiosity, eyes bemused as if you’re entertaining him. “They’re actually quite good. I’m sure you’d like them.”

(In truth, you tried the olives once and had hated them, but you tell your customers that every single thing your restaurant offers is your favourite and the olives are no exception.)

“Oh.” Harry shrugs, then, leaning back in his seat as you duck back out from under his umbrella. “Well, if y’say so, m’sure I’ll like ‘em.”

You smile in agreement and there’s nothing left to add so you head towards the door, wiping your palms on your apron the second you’re inside. You’re sure you’ve had that exact conversation about olives of all things with ten other customers since you’ve worked here but it feels so different with him and it nearly scares you. There’s no reason you should feel so conflicted about a patron on a date who you’ve never met nor seen before but you suppose some things truly are unexplainable.

306 is ready for their check and as you grab a ramekin full of assorted olives you call to ask Brianna to print it out - there’s nobody at the door, anyway, and you need to find an empty dish for the olives, anyway. When you’ve got that and stashed the check in your apron you head back out and Harry’s sitting craning his neck glancing down the sidewalk and you hope, for his sake, that he’s right and she just got caught up at work. (And, for your own very selfish sake, you hope she doesn’t come.)

“I’ve got some olives for you,” you tell him, resting the two ramekins on the table in front of him and he glances down at them with an air of disgust that you most certainly relate to, and your face nearly splits open in a grin. “Well, they’re complimentary, anyway, so if you don’t like them, it’s not too big of a deal.”

“They look divine,” he says, and you know he’s lying but it still makes you smile. “I’ll tell y’how they are.”

“I’ll be waiting,” and that sounds like such a schoolgirl crush response and your face briefly tightens in a cringe before you walk off to 306, pulling their check out and depositing it on their table. None of them even drank their waters that they requested - assholes.

 --

 Holy shit.

You’re really feeling for Harry, now. There’s a new young couple sitting at 301 (certainly not on a first date, you’ll add), holding hands across the table and giggling loudly and they don’t break eye contact even when they place their wine order, and when your eyes flicker over to where Harry’s sitting he’s watching them with an expression that looks just a little like envy. The men at 302 lean over and share a kiss over their pasta and you wish it were socially acceptable to ask every single couple not to fucking look at each other until his date arrives because you can tell it’s killing him - and suddenly, you’re wishing you hadn’t manifested his date not showing up. You’d rather feel the slight tinge of jealousy at watching him woo a girl than feel your stomach turn with every minute that passes without someone taking a seat across from him.

You can practically see the hope leaving his body as a half hour goes by since he’d arrived and he’s still sitting alone, tapping his nails against the condensation that had formed against his glass of water, feet tapping the sidewalk beneath him. The olives sit untouched in their ramekin except for one lonely green out that sits, half eaten, in the empty one you’d given him and after you’ve finished grating parmesan cheese over 301’s calamari and bruschetta, you wrap the cheese back up in its napkin before making your way over to him, ducking beneath the umbrella and sending him a smile that he reciprocates, albeit smaller than it had been before.

“Do you want to put in an appetizer to be here when she arrives?” you ask, pulling your pad and pen out of your apron and watching as he glances down at the menu he clutches in his hands. You know what the answer’s going to be before you’ve even asked the question but it’s unbearable watching him sit doing nothing, and you’re sure he’s hungry. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to eat before a date though you’re not totally positive what kind of guy would - anyway, it’s easy realize he’s yearning for food by the way he’d been sucking on his straw just moments before when you’d been taking 301’s appetizer order, even though all that’s left in his glass are a few measly ice cubes.

“S’fine,” he insists. “I don’t want t’order somethin’ and then have her not like it - y’know?” And he trails his finger along the appetizer section of the menu as if to showcase the amount of options, chest rising and falling in a sigh. You nod, giving him a tight lipped smile as you shut your notepad and slide it and your pen into your apron, smoothing your palms over the front of it again.

“Yeah, I know.”

Then he pushes the olives away from him, ramekins sliding against the tabletop and you grin as you look down at them before glancing back up at him, raising your eyebrows with mock surprise. “I guess you didn’t like the olives, then.”

Harry shakes his head, bringing a hand up to wipe his hair out of his eyes and you almost want to recommend that he put his hair in a ponytail (it seems to get in the way of a lot of stuff for him) but, truthfully, you love seeing his hair down. It looks so soft and luscious and you’re sure it smells spectacular, though you’ll never truly know. “I hated them,” he confesses, and you miss the way his lips turn into a smile as you giggle, sticking the full ramekin into the empty one to make it easier to carry. “D’you seriously like ‘em? They’re horrid.”

You’re supposed to say yes, but you can’t lie to him - not when he’s already having a rough night. “I don’t like them, either,” you agree, scrunching your nose as you look down at the variously coloured olives in your hands. “But, according to my manager, I love everything at this restaurant.”

He laughs at that - a genuine one, too, tossing his head back so his hair falls off his shoulders and you can’t stop yourself from laughing along with him. He’s contagious in every sense of the word and you’ve never met anyone like that - you’re smiling with him and feeling your heart break for him all at the same time and you’re not sure you’ve ever experienced it before. “Well, s’good t’know,” Harry says when he’s stopped laughing, swirling his straw around his glass so the ice cubes clink together. “I’ll take your advice wit’ a grain f’salt, shouldn’t I.”

“I’ll be honest with you,” you insist. “You’re special.” Your tone is teasing and to anyone listening in it’s clearly a joke but you gnaw on your tongue after the words are out anyway - he just smiles down at the table, scratching the surface with his nails.

“M’glad.” And your eyes scan the rest of your tables on instinct - 306 is up and there’s a stack of plates at 303 that you need to bring inside, but if it were up to you, you’d spend the rest of your day ducked into Harry’s umbrella, listening to him speak. But - well - you’re not being paid to talk to a pretty boy, most unfortunately, and you step out from under his covering to check out your other tables when - “Wait!”

You turn back around and Harry’s leaning back, holding his hand over his eyes to look at you and you take a step back over to him, bending down ever so slightly so you can hear him over the shitty music your boss insists on playing too loud to your outdoor guests. “Could I have a coke, please?” he questions, and you nod. “Thanks.”

Your other tables can wait - you scurry back inside, heading to the service station because you’d rather die than make him wait an extra second longer for his coke. Lauren - the other waitress on duty tonight - stands unwrapping a cheesecake to prepare for one of her tables and she looks at you with an arched eyebrow. “Who were you talking to?”

You shrug and you hope it isn’t painfully clear how your heartbeat thumps against your chest like a damn drum. “Just the guy at 305.”

“Oh.” Lauren pauses where she’s mixing the tupperware container of homemade whip cream to place on the cheesecake as you fill your glass with ice. “What’s his deal?”

“I think he’s being stood up,” you tell her.

 --

 Your suspicion is confirmed the next time you drop by Harry’s table, when he’s chugged his entire Coke and the rest of his water and he simply sits there, scrolling on his phone, and it’s like you can see how his battery has drained.

“Hey,” you call, voice soft as though you’re talking to a child, but you need to assess how upset he is about the situation before speaking in any other manner. You’d made the mistake before, started chatting too cheerfully to a lady being stood up and she’d shouted at you, called you a wench and a bastard and all other sorts of names you couldn’t recall before storming out, leaving a $20 for her three glasses of wine.

It’s always better to be safe than sorry.

“Has she texted you?” you ask, motioning down towards his phone. It’s certainly not allowed to speak to customers in such a casual manner about things other than the menu and whether they’d like to split the check but nobody’s around to reprimand you for bending the rules a bit - why not? 

He shakes his head - it’s what you’d expected but your heart still aches for him and you wish you could reach out, perhaps give him a hug if he’d want it or listen to him rant about the situation. Anything to make him feel better. “S’okay,” he insists, and to his defense he can play the part well. Doesn’t seem entirely too torn up about it and he’s looking at you like you’re a friend rather than his waitress and it makes you feel comfortable. “But - f’you don’t mind - can I order an appetizer now?” You smile, already fishing for your notepad and your pen (a sparkly black one, just for the sake of being fun.) You’re glad he’s getting something and if his date happens to show up, she’d ought to eat whatever he chooses simply as an apology for being over a goddamn hour late. “Sure.”

“What’s your favorite?”

The question takes you by surprise but you regain composure quickly, feeling your face and neck heat up because Harry’s staring at you as though you’re some sort of God - like you hold the answer to the meaning of life instead of the best thing on the menu and it makes you feel good. Appreciated. “I love the risotto balls,” you admit, shifting to stand next to him so you can trace your finger along the menu in his hands, pointing to the very first appetizer listed on the page. “And the shrimp and broccoli rabe is delicious.”

“I hope you’re not lying t’me.”

“I told you,” you begin, meeting his small smile with a wider one of your own and it achieves its desired effect - his spreads wider, and you wonder if he thinks that you’re as contagious as you consider him to be. “I’ll never lie to you.”

“And why’s that?”

He’s full of questions. “Because you’re a nice customer.” It’s sort of the truth, though you think you’d scare him away if you told him the full entire truth is that he’s the most gorgeous man you’ve laid eyes on in your life. “When some customers are assholes, I tell them to get the vongole - it’s horrible.”

He raises his eyebrows at that with another grin, resting his menu down on the table and gazing up at you with his full attention. “Well, I trust you. I’ll get the risotto balls, in tha’ case. An’ then - whenever she gets here, I’ll get something else.”

You murmur sounds good and you don’t have to write it down in your notepad to remember it. You’d nearly gotten carried away with the conversation, nearly forgotten that he’s being fucking stood up and probably doesn’t want you to flirt with him like an idiot because you’re sure acting like one. God, no other waitresses act like this with their customers and you really, truly never have before - yet it’s something about him. You can’t fucking help yourself.

You take his Coke to refill it - he doesn’t ask and you won’t charge him for it. He simply deserves it, and you think that’s reason enough to bring the glass back inside, fill it to the top with soda and deliver it back on top of his coaster the next time you go outside to make your rounds. Harry’s appreciative, naturally, and has no reason to question why you gave him another drink to begin with. For all he knows, your restaurant has free refills, and you’ll let him think that. There’s no reason to make him pay for another drink - he’s having a bad enough day already - even though, when you’d glanced down at the watch adorning his wrist as you’d given him his drink and seen that it’s Gucci. 

No amount of money can buy a first date, you suppose, and you hate yourself for thinking it. You’d give him a first date. A million, in fact. And it’ll never happen but you can certainly dream, and you hope it doesn’t show in your eyes as the men at 302 order a panna cotta and cheesecake for dessert - 301 is digging into their pizza, looking so hopelessly in love with each other, and you catch Harry looking at them again.

The risotto balls are ready for him when you’ve delivered the desserts to 302, and you grab the plate and a block of parmesan and head right out to him. His eyes are on you the moment you step out the door, gaze looking ravenous and he’s most certainly just excited for his appetizer but you still let his watchful eye make your stomach turn.

No parmesan cheese for him - well, that’s fine. You tuck the block under your arm and tell him to enjoy, and he tells you he most certainly will before digging in and it only confirms your suspicion that he was fucking starving. In fact, by the time you’ve finished chatting to 304 about how delicious their gamberetti pizza was, one of the balls on the plate is gone and he’s staring at the second one like a man dying of hunger, but he doesn’t touch it. Surely waiting for his date to arrive to feast on it while he can talk about how nervous he was that she wasn’t going to show up that he was even entertaining the flirtatious waitress.

Gentleman.

 --

 The next twenty minutes are a blur - 304 is up and two tables in Lauren’s section are, too, and you don’t have much else to do so you help Brianna clear and wipe and set them all. By the time you’ve finished and returned the hostess’s grateful smile 302 wants more drinks and a chocolate mousse to split, and you pick up their empty panna cotta and cheesecake dishes and rush them back inside. 301 decides they want their check and they look like they’ve gotten into some sort or argument and you’re almost glad - though you’re sure they’ll be too angry to leave a good tip, you’ll take it if it means it may make Harry feel a bit better about being alone.

It’s 8:15 PM the next time you risk a glance at your phone. Only forty five minutes until you close and there haven’t been any new table sat for the better half of twenty minutes and you pray it stays that way - or, at the very least, they go to Lauren’s section instead of yours. Brianna is clearing 301 (they got up and left in a hurry and, as you’d expected, your tip is a few measly dollars) and your other tables have no need for your assistance yet so you make a beeline to Harry’s table the second you get outside and he’s watching you, sad smile toying at the corner of his lips.

“How were the risotto balls?” you inquire, drumming your fingers against his table. It’s a silly question because anyone with eyes can see how he’d gobbled half of the appetizer up, the other still untouched in their bowl of sauce, ricotta lazily tossed on top of it. You’re sure it’s cold now but you don’t quite mind them when they’re chilly - may even taste better than having them sizzling hot. “Looks like you liked them.”

He nods, pushing the plate away from him as though he can’t stand to be near it. “It’s really good,” Harry tells you and pats himself firmly on the stomach twice to prove it. It’s a silly motion that brings a smile to your lips anyway and you really, truly can’t help it. “M’gonna save the other one f’when she gets here.”

Hope is a good thing to have, you decide, and he’s clearly still holding onto it. You’d never been stood up before but you’re sure you’d have given up on the idea of a first date long before he had and you applaud him internally for that - he’s patient and kind and understanding, you decide. Much more tolerant than anyone else you know would be in this sort of situation and it only adds to the growing desire you have for him, but you push it down - for the sake of professionalism. “Well, that’s nice,” you tell him and he smiles, the expression tight and complimentary. “Can I get you anything else?”

“M’good,” Harry says, “but - can y’show me where the bathroom is inside?” He motions with one swirling finger to the empty glasses in front of him and his grin looks rather embarrassed when he looks back up to you. “Think I drank m’drinks a bit too fast.”

You laugh out loud at that and if he notices that your giggling goes on for just a beat longer than  appropriate, he doesn’t acknowledge it and wow, don’t you feel like a damn schoolgirl with a crush. Laughing at his joke-that-wasn’t-a-joke and feeling your face burn up when you look at him and having your stomach turn when he stands up to follow you into the restaurant and holy hell, he’s tall. You feel embarrassed walking in with him behind you because you’re not sure what he’s looking at, and what if you have a stain on your jeans? Or the back of your shirt? He’s dressed so nice and your face is fucking flaming and you avoid eye contact with Lauren as you point him towards the restroom.

“Thanks, love,” he says, voice thick and heavy as he maneuvers through the indoor tables to get to the restroom and you send him off with a small wave - just a jerk of your hand - and the second he’s out of sight you wipe your palms on your apron again.

Lauren’s making a cappuccino and so you flock over to her, naturally. You can tell she just redid her ponytail because it sits higher on her head and you think you should do that too, so you pull your black scrunchie out of your hair and work on assembling it into a better ponytail.

“That’s the guy from 305, isn’t it?” she questions.

“The guy I took to the bathroom?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh - yeah.” You swallow, bending down to glance into the metal of the espresso machine to see your blurred reflection, making sure your ponytail is as smooth as possible before tying it up. “Yeah, that’s him. He’s nice.”

She hums softly, grabbing a small spoon and stirring the coffee once then twice before resting it inside the cup, already reaching for another cup to begin another. “Are you sure he’s being stood up?”

You scrunch up your nose, leaning back against the counter and tilting your head in slight confusion. “I’m pretty positive - he’s been here for, like, an hour and 15 minutes waiting for a girl and he’s still hopeful that she’s going to come.” And then you sigh, the noise overly dramatic and your coworker rolls her eyes. “Why?”

“He was checking you out, babe.”

You raise your eyebrows, head turning to the side so fast you swear you nearly get whiplash as you stare at Lauren. She simply stands, making her cappuccino as if she hadn’t just blew you away with her observation and you’re sure it meant nothing but it still has your heart thumping violently against your chest and you exhale. “No, he wasn’t.”

“Girl, I was watching - he was. His eyes never left your ass. He almost ran into the door, too.”

“You’re lying.” “Why would I lie? He’s cute, isn’t he? Aren’t you happy?”

“Laur, he’s being stood up. I know he is. He’s not focusing on my ass - he’s probably crying in the bathroom right now.”

She laughs at that, hooking her finger in the handles of the two cappuccinos, steam billowing from both of them like a fire. “Well, maybe he is being stood up, but - I swear to god - he’s into you.” And then she’s walking back down the aisle between tables to reach the front of the restaurant, headed out the door without another glance as if she hadn’t just dropped a bomb on you and you stare after her, mouth agape and palms sweating and you wipe them on your apron once more.

 --

 Harry returns to his seat and, for a while, you don’t check on him.

He seems fine, anyway. Decently enough. Sure, his drinks are still empty  in front of him and he leaves that one risotto ball alone and, every so often, he glances up and down the sidewalk before bringing his gaze back down to his phone but it doesn’t quite look like he needs anything.

Anyway, it’s 8:30. Even if she shows up they wouldn’t be able to stay very long and, no matter what, he deserves a fulfilling first date. Maybe she did get caught at work and, when he leaves, they’ll laugh about it. Reschedule it for a different day where he picks her up from her house, and then who knows? Maybe they’ll go ice skating or see a movie. And this entire situation will be something they’ll laugh out and forget and they’ll probably get fucking married, with your luck.

You’d be happy for him, of course. And even though you’ll likely never speak to him again after he leaves for the night, you do want the best for him, though you think the best for him would be you and not some girl who stood him up with no text.

303 is gone after spending entirely too long sitting and chatting and you wave them off with a goodbye and a bright smile, grabbing their check just as Brianna runs out to begin clearing it off. Full glasses of water are dumped into the plants and you help her bring them inside before going to deposit the check - it’s a nice tip and you’re thankful. They’d been a kind enough table but sometimes those are the type to screw you over with the tip and you’re beyond glad they hadn’t - you’ve had a strange enough night without the added weight of no tip.

You head back outside with 302’s check and drop it at their table, returning their grateful smile with one of your own. There’s nowhere else to go or visit besides 305 and so you head over to him, ducking underneath his umbrella for what seems like the thousandth time that day and it’s then that you can see his face, ever so slightly crestfallen as he stares at his phone and your heart just about drops into your ass, and without a second thought you pull out the empty seat across from him and sit.

“What’s wrong?” you ask and you’re fairly certain you already know, but there’s no shame in inquiring further - his phone is clutched in his hand and he looks up at you before clearing his throat and that’s enough confirmation for you.

“She’s out wit’ her friends - they’re at a bar.” And, as if to prove it to you, he slides his phone across the table to you and you crane your neck to glance down at the screen and it’s an Instagram story - a boomerang of four girls clinking their drinks together, and you scrunch your nose. “She’s the one on the right.”

The one on the right is decently pretty - blonde hair straightened and falling down her back, drink spilling over the edges of her glass when she clicks it too enthusiastically with her friends. Her dress is tight and sparkly and nearly overpowers the entire story and you can already make your mind up about how you feel about her and, needless to say, it isn’t good.

“Oh.” You watch the boomerang for another couple of seconds before pushing his phone back over to him and he gives you a tight lipped grin. “I’m sorry, Harry. That really sucks.”

“S’alright.” He shrugs and you can tell it isn’t alright but you don’t say anything else until he adds, “I wasn’t tha’ into her, anyway. M’friend wanted to set us up. I guess she wasn’t really into it but - I wasn’t either. S’all fair.”

Your heart hurts for him - she wasn’t into it but you know he was and before you can think to stop yourself you reach over, resting your hand over his and holy shit. You shouldn’t do that. He can lie and say he doesn’t mind but you know he does and you’re still his fucking waitress - you shouldn’t touch him like you’ve known him any longer than two hours. Just as you go to pull away with a frenzied apology he’s turning his hand around so your palms are pressed together and then he squeezes your hand with a soft sigh and you’re nearly paralyzed at the motion.

It can’t be more than a few seconds that you two sit like that, his hand tight around yours and you can hardly breathe, heart thumping in your chest before he says, “What time d’you close?”

“Uh -” you clear your throat just as he releases your hand and you withdraw it immediately - your hands are sweating and you press them on the table. “We close at 9, but - I only have one more table, and they’re about to leave … so …”

“What else d’you have t’do?”

“All my closing stuff,” you begin, sticking up your fingers as you list each one. “I need to roll silverware, get ice, put the glasses away, take the trash from the bathroom. And then I’ll probably get something to eat.”

Harry nods, gazing almost wistfully into the night as though he’s some sort of philosopher and you lean in, waiting to hear whatever he has to say next - “Could y’eat with me when y’get your food? If y’don’t mind.” And it takes you a moment to react as he adds, “S’just - you’re nice t’talk to, an’ all tha’. But y’don’t have to.”

You swallow thickly, already feeling your stomach flipping and your knee jiggling and you nod - first a quick jerk of your head, up and down, and then faster. 302 is arranging their stuff to leave, grabbing their boxes and shoving their credit cards into their pockets and you wish you could tell them to get the hell out because you can’t start closing until they leave and now you really have a motivation to leave. “Yeah. That - that sounds good.”

It sounds more than good, in fact, and you don’t even care if you’re some sort of rebound to him in this moment - you’ll take it. You’ll eat your dinner with him and then whatever comes after - you don’t care. You just want tonight, or, at the very least, right now, and anything after that is simply a bonus and you’ll deal with it later because he wants to eat with you. He wants to hang out with you. He likes you, and maybe even in that way, too.

You’re standing up uncomfortably fast, nearly tripping over the seat you’d inhabited as you rub your palms together. “Well - um. My other table is getting ready to leave, so I’m gonna - gonna start doing my stuff.”

“Sounds good,” and he’s so casual with it that it sends heat blazing up your cheeks, and you turn to head back inside with a newly found skip in your step that’s too full of joy to be embarrassing.

Brianna’s already begun the silverware when you get inside - with only 2 tables left, there’s no need for her to stay, but you tell her that you’ll roll if she does the other closing duties and she accepts because she’s horrific at rolling silverware. They’re always loose and lumpy and too big or too small and none of you want to tell her because it’s easier to just make pretend like it’s your favorite closing duty to do - well, whatever. She’s gone downstairs to get a bucket of ice before she can ponder on your insistence and you settle in your seat, grabbing a knife and two forks and resting them in the middle of your linen to begin to roll.

You have the motion down nearly to an instinct and it gives you time to glance outside. Through the windows you can see just the side profile of Harry’s face, only slightly illuminated by his phone screen as his lips wrap around his straw, surely sucking on the dissolved ice cubes in one of his glasses and it makes your heart beat faster in your chest - you nearly drop a fork when you go to begin a new roll.

 --

 Your pasta is ready entirely too soon.

You’re finished rolling silverware and the ice is filled and the bathrooms are stocked and clean but you hadn’t emotionally prepared yourself enough to eat with him. But your fettuccine sits, steaming on the counter ready for you to pick up and you stab the ticket once you’ve confirmed it’s yours, grabbing the burning hot plate with your one hand and grabbing a spoon with the other.

You can still see Harry’s side profile when you peer out the window and he’s glancing around, eyes darting from the sidewalk to the door as though he’s waiting for you and you know you can’t keep him alone for another second, so you inhale a deep sigh and walk out the door, pasta in hand.

He just about perks up when he sees you, back straightening and dropping his phone onto the table. You swear he’s about to get up and pull the chair out for you, too, but you beat him to it - duck underneath the umbrella and rest your plate on the table, slipping into your chair with ease and a soft cough into your fist.

(You’re not sick - not in the slightest. It just alleviates your stress, you suppose. Eliminates some awkward silence.)

“Hey,” Harry says, elbows resting on the table so he can look at you in full and you can already feel your body flaming as you pick up your spoon, sifting it through the thick pasta on your plate. Alfredo - God, it’s your favorite. You’ve been trying to branch out and try more things on the menu but it always takes you back to your damn fettuccine alfredo. “I hope this isn’t weird.”

“It’s not weird,” you insist, collecting a spoonful of pasta and bringing it to your mouth. The smell is intoxicating and you pause when the spoon is just an inch from your mouth. “I’m sure you had a rough night.”

He shrugs, leaning back in his seat as you take a bite, chewing slowly and thoughtfully as though you’re pondering something important. “It wasn’t too rough,” he tells you, and you raise your eyebrows. “It would’ve been bad - but you helped.”

“Really?”

“Sure y’did.” You take another spoonful of fettuccine as he continues. “It sucks t’be stood up, but you were nice.”

“I could tell you were upset.”

“An’ you couldn’t tell you were makin’ it better?”

You think for a moment - think back on the countless interactions you’d had with the near-stranger sitting across from you, pulling the plate with one lone risotto ball over to him - and then shake your head. “I just thought you were being sweet.”

He laughs, reaching for his abandoned fork resting on the side of the plate and cutting in to the second risotto ball - you can tell how much he’d been longing to eat it simply from the expression on his face when he takes the first bite - with a shrug. “Sure I was,” and you laugh at that, ripping the piece of bread on the side of your plate and half and dipping it in the sauce, “but you must’ve realized I like you - didn’t you?”

“Well, I did think it was curious that you held my hand.”

“Y’did it first.”

“Well, the technicalities don’t matter.”

It brings a grin to your face to hear Harry laugh at you, curls flopping in his face, crossing his arms over his chest as he chews on a particularly large bite of his risotto ball. Your pasta is already nearly gone (you’d vastly underestimated how hungry you were) and you scrape the sides of the plate with your bread, collecting all of the excess sauce on the dough. “Was feeling a bit guilty,” you confess, drumming your fingertips on the tabletop, and he tilts his head at you, “‘cause I was starting to feel a bit thankful you got stood up.”

For a moment you wonder if you’d said the wrong thing - if you’ve ruined this entire thing before it’s even started, because it’s an uncomfortably real risk -, but then he’s reaching out to rest his hand overtop of yours and your body overflows with relief. “I agree,” he murmurs, squeezing your hand, and you swallow. “Y’had me prayin’ she wasn’t going to show up.”

You smile, looking down at the table and your empty plate and his half eaten risotto ball that he’s already taking another bite of and it all seems so surreal - like you’re going to wake up in your bed an hour before your shift starts, cursing yourself out for creating such an immersive reality - but nothing about his touch on yours is fake. It’s all so spectacular - so real - and you exhale. “We’re closing in 5 minutes,” you tell him, and his eyebrows scrunch together like he’s seen something he regrets. “Reckon we should take this someplace else?” “Someplace else?”

Your stomach flips and you wonder for what feels like the millionth time this evening if you’d made a mistake - read him wrong - took things too far. It’s an unfortunate habit you have and you certainly wouldn’t be shocked if you’ve put your foot in it this early into the relationship - you’ll regret it, but you regret a lot of things. In a couple of weeks, you’ll forget about it, won’t you? You’ve done it before. But you simply shrug, motioning with your free hand to the empty tables among you both. “I live - um - a couple blocks up the road. If you want to come over. And - it’s fine if you don’t - just putting it out there.”

Harry stares at you, expression nearly blank, for a beat too long and you shift in your seat - but then there’s a smile stretching across his face, and he pushes his half-eaten risotto ball in towards the center of the table. “That sounds perfect,” he tells you, and your heart thumps in your chest once more.

 --

 For the record, you hadn’t anticipated having anyone over to your apartment tonight, and it shows.

There’s dirty dishes from the previous two days piled in the sink, shoes strewn all over the entryway and when you peer your head into the sitting room, your pajamas are strewn over the couch next the wine stain you’d spent hours trying to scrub out. Your face burns as you turn the lights on and Harry steps inside, head turning left and right as he examines your living space and you wish you’d cleaned up after yourself before you left for work - you’ve been meaning to do the dishes - why hadn’t you done them?

“It’s - um - not much,” you begin, shutting and locking the door firmly behind you and motioning with your arms to the entirety of your apartment. “And it’s kind of dirty. I just didn’t expect anyone to come here, or I would’ve fixed it up a bit.”

He smiles, peering at the photos adorning your walls. “Don’ worry ‘bout it,” he insists, bringing his finger up to trail along the high school graduation photo you’d taken with all of your friends until he spots you, smack in the middle, holding up your diploma with a wide grin - you don’t speak to half of the people in that photo anymore, but you love it. Love reminiscing on a time before college and work and rent, where you could just relax with your friends. “Y’look awfully pretty in this photo.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, clasping your hands behind your back as you watch Harry examine each photo. None of them are interesting enough to warrant his level of attention and you’re sure he’s simply trying to be polite but you still appreciate it - it’s nice to imagine that he has that much interest in a photo your mother had taken of you and your dog on a hike. “Do you want me to - to pour some wine or something?”

“That’s alright,” he says, turning around to face you and you glance up at him with a soft smile as he rests his hand on your shoulder, fingertips trailing up and down your arm and sending goosebumps popping up over your skin. You can’t remember the last time you’d felt like this about a boy and it’s making you fucking crazy, torn between wanting to wrap your arms around him or have him bend you over the counter - you can’t quite decide. 

“Alright.” You roll on the balls of your feet as Harry steps into your kitchen, leaning against the counter with an air of casual arrogance and adoration as he stares down at you. You pad into the kitchen behind him and press your palms to the countertop, lifting yourself up to sit beside him, and you hum softly. “Well - we could talk, then.”

“Y’wanna talk?”

“I wanna do whatever you wanna do,” you confess, and it’s the truth.

He hums at that, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth and you watch him, breath caught in your throat, as he pushes himself from the counter, doing nearly a full spin before landing directly in front of you and your knees part to allow him in between them like an instinct - your face heats as he pushes himself closer to you, thighs closing around his waist. “Y’seem nervous,” he says, palms pressing to the counter on either side of your body and you inhale a shaky breath, shaking your head.

“I’m not nervous,” you tell him, even if it’s a little white lie. “I just haven’t done this in a while -” and that isn’t a lie in the slightest.

“Ah,” and then Harry nods like some sort of therapist, hands already dropping to your waist, fingertips scratching at zipper of your jeans as if testing the waters. “An’ you’re sure y’want this?”

“I’m positive - please, Harry, I really want this. Wanted this from - from the second I saw you.”

It’s all the approval he needs, undoing the button and zipper of your jeans with ease and you loop your arms around his neck, using him as leverage to lift your hips up and he pulls your jeans off and down your thighs, leaving them bunched up by your knees. The next step is your panties, so damp you can tell he feels it through the fabric when he pressed his fingers against you and your hips jerk into his hands, dropping your head into his shoulder as he exhales.

“I’ll go slow,” he tells you, voice low and raspy and you’re not sure if he’s trying to make it sound like that or if it just naturally happens - well, you can’t decide which one is hotter, truthfully. “Jus’ wanna make y’feel good, love.”

“Mhm,” you nod, gnawing on your bottom lip as Harry hooks two fingers in the crotch part of your panties, pulling them to the side and the cold air of your apartment hits your cunt in a way that has your breathing picking up and he pauses, fingers so dangerously close to where you need them. You know he’s going to ask if you’re okay - if you want him to stop - and you don’t, not by a fucking long shot, and you push your hips into his hand as way of answering his unasked question.

Harry takes the hint, of course. He isn’t stupid.

Two fingers circle your clit, spreading your moisture along the sensitive nub like he’s been wanting to do it all fucking night - there’s some sort of desperation to his movements that has your legs tightening around him, head burying further into his shoulder, and his free arm hooks around one of your thighs, hoisting it further up his waist. His breathing is hot against your head as his digits slide up and down your folds and you’re not sure if he’s attempting to tease you or not but, no matter, it’s working. You’re ready to get on your knees and beg for him if you need to, but just as the thought crosses your mind, his fingers dip down to slide in between your folds.

A soft moan emits from your throat as his hand smooths up and down your thigh, fingers dipping just barely into your cunt before pulling out - and he does it a few times, giving you a bit of what you want and then tearing it away and you whine, thrusting your hips into his hands and Harry presses a kiss to the side of your head before sliding his fingers inside of you. Two to start, just to ease you in, pushing them in slow and steady until you can feel his cool rings pressed against your pussy and you throw your head back with a moan.

He pauses, lip still between his teeth as he stares at you, your chest heaving beneath him and body fucking quivering in his gasp. “Tell me how it feels,” he breathes, tongue darting out to lick at his lips, and you swallow your desperate whine for him to move.

“Feels so good,” you murmur, smoothing your hands up and down his neck as he stares at you as though daring you to break his gaze. “Please, Har -”

“Please what?”

“Fuck me - with your fingers, Har, please - make me feel so good -” and just to top off your request you lean in, crashing your lips so violently against his that your teeth clash and tongues collide, and you can taste everything you’d served him that evening and holy hell it tastes delicious. Perhaps it’s just him, dropping your thigh against the table so he can grab onto the back of your neck and keep your face attached to his, lips parted and wild and dominant as he pulls his fingers out and pushes them back in with a newfound vigor -

The levee breaks, then, with your lips mashed together, and you’re more than thankful for it.

[barnesbabee]

[B]reeding Kink || C.S

[ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴇɴᴄʏᴄʟᴏᴘᴇᴅɪᴀ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ʙ]

Summary: He broke into your house, and now he’s breaking you. (it's not fucking consentual non-con it's just inmate!San istg)

Pairing: Choi San x Reader

Words: my fairy godmother said it was 4311 words

Genre: Smut

⚠ mention of drugs, breeding kink, mentions of blood, mentions of violence, inmate!San ⚠

  You woke up with loud banging on your door. It was so sudden, you didn’t know what time it was, what was happening, or where you were. It took you a quick second to scan your surroundings. 

    It was 2am, or so said the clock on your bedside table, and you were sitting up in your bed, startled and confused about the booming sound echoing through your house.

    You got up from the bed and hurriedly wrapped your robe around your body, however, just as you were getting to the living room to look through the peephole, the door burst open. You covered your mouth with your hand to prevent any noise from coming out and hid behind the sofa, praying to whatever wanted to help you that he hadn’t seen you.

    You closed your eyes tightly and started breathing heavily as you heard the loud footsteps roam around your house. 

    It was hard to breathe and you felt as if someone was pressing on your chest. 

    You opened your eyes slowly and peeked behind the couch. You could see a man… His appearance wasn’t clear as the whole place was dark, the only thing illuminating the room being the moon. He had a broad back and dark hair, that you noticed, and he wore heavy, black boots, that left a trail of dirt wherever he walked. 

   Who was he? What did he want? Why was he in your apartment?

   You hid back and waited until you could no longer hear him.

    The silence of his steps felt unsettling… Your chest rose and fell rapidly, and it took all of the courage you had to peek around the couch once more. 

    However, this time you were met with a man’s face. He wore a wide, Cheshire Cat-like smile on his face as he stared right at you. You could almost feel his warm breath hit your face…

    “Hello, doll!” 

    You opened your mouth to scream but the male was faster. He slapped his hand over your face, preventing you from yelling for help or anything of the sort. 

    The male approached his lips to your ears.

   “I’m gonna need your help doll…”

   You took a look at his appearance. He had on a white, stained, and slightly ripped wife-beater, along with a flashy orange jumpsuit. You examined his body carefully. His hair was damp and his inked, very well-built arms were shiny, he had been running. You were inspecting everything as carefully as you possibly could.. when you noticed.

     Was that blood!? 

     There were little spots and splatters of dried, red liquid all over his clothes, which made you widen your eyes. What the fuck had he done!? 

     He noticed your sudden change of emotions and realized you had seen the state of his clothes.

     “Listen, I don’t wanna hurt you. I need you to hide me, I’ll explain everything but you’re not in danger, yet.”

     The ‘yet’ at the end of his sentence sparked something in you and you began struggling under his hold. He gripped your arm and forced you to stop shifting.

    “Calm. Down. You’re not in danger, but if you call the police on me, if you yell for help, you will be. All you have to do is be a good girl and cooperate, because if anything goes wrong, all you need to know is that there are eight of us, if I get caught it won’t be looking too pretty for you.”

    You looked at him, eyes still widened and breathing very heavily.

    “You got it?” He asked.

     He slowly removed his hand from your mouth and placed it on his thigh. You were full-on crying in fear at that point. 

    The male said nothing, he just sighed and ran his hand through his sweaty hair. He also didn’t know what to do. He had no idea where the other seven were, he had no idea if they were still alive and he honestly didn’t know what happened next.

    “Y-you should take a shower.” You told him, as you finally felt the reek coming from him. 

   He looked down at himself and nodded. The male stood up and looked at you.

   “I can’t trust you though.”

   “W-what then? You’re just going to stink forever? Are you going to make me sit in the bathroom while you wash?”

   You were just mocking him, but from the way he shrugged you could tell he didn’t mind one bit to have you in the bathroom with him. You refused at first, but you didn’t really have much choice as he dragged you around looking for the bathroom.

    You sat on the toilet, facing the wall as you crossed your arms in front of your chest.

    “I can’t believe you’re okay with this.” You complained. 

   “I was in prison, doll, I had hundreds of men looking at my ass every day when I showered, having a girl in a bathroom with me isn’t exactly a nightmare.”

    You were both silent. The sound of the water hitting the floor echoed in the room and the water was so hot that the atmosphere around you two became foggy. 

    “Fuck, this is heaven…”

    You would’ve chuckled if you weren’t so scared and uncomfortable.

    “You know, we have warm water in there, but there are so many people taking showers at the same time so it just ends up being cold all the time. The showerheads are also really old, so they get clogged all the time and there’s barely any water coming out… You come out looking mustier than when you went in.”

    You smiled at that. You could tell he was a people person, he was comfortable enough in this situation to tell life stories and maybe that was the purpose, but you started slowly feeling a little at ease. So much so that you gained the courage to ask the question you were scared of. 

    “What were you in there for?”

    You had to know. You couldn’t have a conversation with him, you couldn’t not feel uncomfortable and uneasy without at least knowing. 

    There was silence, and the water turned off.

    “Murder.”

    Your eyes widened from the nth time that night and you felt all blood be drained from your body. The sense of fear and anxiety washed over you once more, and you didn’t know how to react. Should you run? Should you stay? Should you speak, or should you be quiet? 

    A little childish giggle sounded in the bathroom almost forcing you to look behind. He pulled the shower curtain to the side, and although this man was naked from head to toe right in front of you, your eyes were glued to his face. The giggling was creepy, you hated it.

    “I’m joking, I went in for drug abuse and distribution.”

    You took a deep, shaky breath and closed your eyes, letting your head fall forward. You shed a couple of tears out of stress and relief. 

    “You… fucking idiot.” You cursed at him, still feeling a little lightheaded.

    He giggled once more and wrapped a towel around his waist, after roaming about the bathroom looking for one.

    “Why… Did you have blood all over you then?” 

    He pointed at his abdomen, where a deep cut that your eyes had completely missed stood.

   “It was mine. Mostly… Listen escaping prison isn’t that easy and there’s trap wire and people shooting, if you’re not bleeding it’s because you’re Michael Scofield, and sadly we’re all kind of stupid.”

  Although he moved like the wound didn’t hurt, you couldn’t help but worry about it. You pointed at the ripped flesh.

  “Can I… Can I fix it for you?”

  He cocked his head to the side as he looked at you, silently questioning himself as to why you would want to help him. He shrugged, nevertheless. He wasn’t about to decline help…

   “I’d like that.”

    He tied the towel tighter around his hips so it wouldn’t fall, and sat down on the toilet you were previously resting on. You reached for the cabinet over the sink and took the medical supplies from it.

   “This is going to hurt a bit so just, distract yourself by telling me about you.”

   The male scoffed at your words.

   “I’ve been to prison, I don’t think I’ll be hurt by- oh f-fuck!”

   You giggled at his little curse as you pressed the gauze with hydrogen peroxide against his wounded skin.

   He rested his head against the wall and flexed his abdomen.

   “O-okay so, my name is San I’ve been in there for 2 years and- fucking Hell go easy on me!”

  You giggled and mumbled a soft ‘sorry’ as you listened to his stories. You tried very hard to focus on your job, but your eyes would sometimes wander around his torso and covered thighs.

  “I uh, I started selling drugs when I was eighteen, I got thrown out of the orphanage and my little sister came with me, and I wanted to make good money so she could go to university.” he paused for a second, wincing as you switched products “It was fine for a while, I made some friends there which was nice. I never really had friends, cause I kept moving from the orphanage to foster houses back and forth, so I never stayed in one place long enough to make lasting friendships… B-but it didn’t go so well cause I got caught in a swoop and the eight of us went in.”

  When he finished the story you had no idea what to say… You felt a little bad about what he had just told you. 

   “I’m sorry…”

   “It’s fine, life isn’t always kind. Plus,” he stopped to grab your chin and bring your gaze up to his “I never said I was a good person, doll. I just said I was tryna get my sister to a better place.” 

   You stared into his eyes for a second, before snapping back to reality. You stood up and mumbled something along the lines of ‘I’ll get you some clothes’ as you walked off.

  Some of your larger garments fit him quite well. A pair of large, black joggers and a yellow hoodie that looked stupidly big on you. He had to go commando however, since you didn’t happen to have a pair of boxers lying around.  

   You set up the couch for him to sleep in as you weren’t about to give up your bed for an inmate that had just broken in, but he seemed pretty content in the comfort of your couch. 

    “You sure you don’t need some company in there, doll?” 

    You chuckled at his bold attempt and pressed your tongue against the inside of your cheek. 

    “Yes San, I’d rather keep the convict at least one hallway away.” You joked.

    Although you felt a little more comfortable around him, knowing that he wasn’t 100% a scumbag, you couldn’t let your guard down. 

    Your theory was proven when you woke up not much later after you fell asleep with a shadow looking straight at you from the doorway. Not remembering that you had a guest, you yelled. 

    He immediately came rushing to your side and shut you up with his hand.

   “Why did you scream!?” San asked, panicking.

   You removed his hand from your face harshly.

   “Because a huge shadow man was standing in my doorway like a lunatic! What are you doing!?” 

  “It’s… It’s 7am I’m hungry.”

 You shot daggers at him through your sleepy, hooded eyes.

  “Do you not sleep?”

   “Not really…  We have a lot of sleep deprivation in there.”

   Somehow he had this habit of making you do things by making you feel bad. And this was no exception. 

   You groaned and dragged yourself off of the bed, feeling kind of embarrassed about how terrible you looked compared to him. Although his hair was messy, it still made him look good, as it further defined his jawline.

  You didn’t know what he wanted to eat, so you just pointed at your cabinets and began teaching him what was inside of each of them.

   As you did all of this, you realized how often he’d brush his dark locks back, in order to get them out of his face. You looked at your wrist and surely enough there was a spare hair tie on it. You offered it to San, who gladly accepted the item and tied his hair in a small ponytail.

  You started walking back to your bedroom, to resume your interrupted sleep, but a pertinent question popped in your mind, and sleep was no longer your biggest preoccupation.

   You turned around and walked back to the kitchen, to find San shoving his hand down the cereal box and eating it dry.

    “San… What’s your plan here? I mean, in the long run. You can’t just crash in my sofa forever.”

    The male in question looked at you, a suggestive gaze playing in his eyes.

   “I can always crash on your bed.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you as he said this.

   “I’m serious, San. This can be really problematic for me! Do you realize the trouble this could put me in? If someone finds out you’re here I’ll have so many legal complications! I’m on the fourth floor, why did you even choose my apartment!?”

   San went quiet for a second and looked at the floor.

   “You’re the 69th apartment…” He replied quietly.

   You rolled your eyes and turned around, stressed out about his response, while rubbing your temples.

  Before you could get very far, however, the man grabbed your wrist and made you turn around.

   “You’re right, I’m sorry… We agreed to meet up in an abandoned building a couple blocks down from where we lived. We needed to lay low for at least a couple of hours. I got lucky I managed to lose the coppers, but I don’t know about them…”

    He had sat down by the dining table and buried his head in his hands. For some reason, 

you felt as if you should comfort him, so you approached the male softly and pet his head slowly.

    “I can try to help with the smaller things!”

    But little did you know that that statement would soon come back to bite you in the ass, when you came home later in the day, after your very tiring night shift, and found eight very big men sitting around your living room, just chatting it up as if it was their own house.

    Ignoring the possibly dangerous men sprawled on your floor and couch, you closed the door and walked towards San.

    “What… The fuck.” You said through gritted teeth, trying to remain calm.

    “Well, you said you could help with the smaller things, and that side of the town was flooding with cops looking for us, so I figured we could come here to lay low!” He said, gesturing to his friends.

    You closed your eyes and inhaled deeply. 

    “When I said small things I meant maybe food or warm water to shower with. I didn’t mean I’d be the shelter for eight hooligans!”

    “What did you just call us?” One of them calmly asked. 

   You looked behind San to face the bleached haired male, who had a mixture of angry and offended on his face. It suddenly hit you that all of these escapee inmates were in your house, staring at you as you insulted them, and nervous tears started brimming in your eyes.

    “I-I’m sorry Sir, but you are sitting on my rug and you came from jail I think I’m entitled to be upset right now.” You told him, holding up your index finger.

     “Listen I’m sorry but overstaying my welcome-”

     “Oh, you think you’re overstaying!?” 

    Already sick of your snappy attitude, San gripped your arm and pushed you back against the wall, causing you to wince and drop your keys. His face was millimeters away from yours, so close you could feel his breath on you.

    “Listen doll, I don’t think anybody wants eight wanted criminals in their living room but you don’t have a choice, okay!? Neither of us would be here if we had a better choice but we fucking don’t, so why don’t you make this easier for all of us and cooperate?”

    You had no choice but to nod, as you swallowed nervously. San let go of you and sighed, disappointed that he had to resource to violence.

   There was an awkward silence, that the male you had known the longest felt the obligation to fill. 

    “So, uhm, these are my friends… “ He said and began introducing them one by one.

    Some of the men remained expressionless, only giving you a nod as a greeting, while a couple smiled politely and the rest chimed a small ‘hello’. 

   “Did you… All go in for the same thing?”

   “Friendship goals, right?” The male you now knew to be named Mingi said, stealing a smile out of you. 

   There was the heavy silence again… And you searched deep in your head for what could solve the awkwardness.

    “Are you guys hungry? I don’t have enough food here but I could go out and buy some chicken. I don’t think it’s safe to have people deliver.”

    They all agreed and so you went on your way, to buy food for all the unwanted guests. It was probably a bad idea to go out on your own and carry all this chicken and alcohol (that you bought hoping that the eight men would become bubblier and less threatening after consuming it) but you still thought that was a better scenario than being caught in public with a wanted criminal. So after about forty-five minutes of struggling, you managed to get into the house with three huge bags: two for the chicken and one for the drinks. 

    Their eyes all lit up once you stepped foot inside of the house and suddenly they resembled little kids. The men instantly attacked the food, proceeding to hurriedly unwrap the chicken.

    “Damn Y/N, were you in jail too?” San asked when he saw you hungrily devour the food. It seemed like you too hadn’t eaten anything that good in years.

    You quickly flipped him off and continued eating. 

  Your speculations were correct, and as the empty alcohol bottles started piling up, the room started echoing with happy chatter and laughter. 

   All of the stress and panic about the situation started washing off from them as the hours passed by and you had to admit, hadn’t they been wanted criminals you wouldn’t have minded being a part of their odd friend group.

    “H-hey Y/N, you should sit here, it’s more comfortable.” San joked with a sly smirk, as he patted his lap.

     “Keep trying, lover boy.” You told him as you rolled your eyes.

     San then placed his hands around your waist and pulled you to sit on his lap, keeping a slight grip on your body, soft enough for you to leave if you were uncomfortable. 

    “Was this a good enough try, doll?” He whispered in your ear.

    You said nothing, and your silence made him chuckle as he pulled you back, until your back hit his chest. Somehow he was right. It did feel more comfortable… And maybe it was the alcohol, or the fact that San was actually insanely hot, but all of the tension left in your body evaporated, and you felt yourself melt into his touch. 

    All of the sounds started fading into the background and you didn’t even acknowledge the rest of the boys, as all you could feel was the way San was drawing shapes on your thighs with his long fingers, and how you wanted them a little farther up your body. You pressed your thighs against each other, and this action didn’t go unnoticed by San, who squeezed them tighter in his hold and groaned in your ear. 

    You could feel a hard-on beginning to form in San’s pants, as it began poking your ass. You shifted in his lap, causing his boner to harden by the second. He gripped his waist tighter and pressed you down on his growing problem. 

     “I really want you, doll, I think you want me too…” He whispered in your ear. 

     “You’re imagining things San.” 

      He rolled his hips up and held you in place, so you could feel every curve of his fully hardened member press against you. Of course he noticed the way you inhaled shakily and giggled. Giggled. 

     San was indeed an intriguing person…

     He kissed a couple of spots on your neck, and bit down on an area he found softer, managing to steal a small whimper out of you. 

     A couple of heads turned towards you and they smirked, acknowledging what was happening, but not wanting to bother or steal the moment away. They turned their attention back to the other men, leaving you two isolated once more. 

    “Please, let me fuck you, doll… I wanna feel how well you clench around me. Will you let me do that?”

    Your mind was clouded by pleasure and curiosity, and so you stood up and grabbed his wrist, pulling him towards your bedroom, not even bothering to give him a verbal response.

    The second the male heard the door click, he pushed you against it with his body and smashed his lips against yours. His hands were obsessed with your hips and thighs, constantly squeezing them as you grinded against his crotch. 

     He tapped the back of your legs and you wrapped them around him. San carried you to the bed as if you were made of feathers, and even though his tongue was harsh against yours, the way he let you down on the bed was soft.

      The two of you only pulled away when the confinement of your clothes started becoming unbearable. You peeled the work clothes (that you had never changed from) hastily from your body. San undressed just as quickly, and he couldn’t believe his view. After all that time being incarcerated he managed to have someone so good looking so willing to fuck him… He smirked and slapped your thighs, proceeding to grab them as he kissed your jaw, then your neck, then your chest, then your stomach, only stopping when his lips were dangerously close to a place you’d be wishing for him to touch you. He stopped and looked up at you. God, he wished he could take a picture of you right now… All jittery and messy, needy and aching for his touch. 

   "F-Fuck San, please!“ You begged, finally, when the teasing became too much. 

   "Anythin’ for you, doll." 

  He teased your entrance with his tongue before entering two fingers, as to prepare you for what was to come. San squeezed and bit your thighs as his fingers entered you in a high speed. 

    "Oh my G-God, San- I want you in me." 

    He groaned at your neediness, and shoved the fingers that had previously been in you past your lips. 

    You maintained eye contact as you sucked slowly on his digits.

    San lined up his cock with your entrance and pushed into you slowly, causing you to wince slightly and bite his fingers. 

    The male immediately removed his hand and moved both his hands to rest on your waist. 

    "Y-you okay, doll?” He asked, afraid he’d hurt you. 

    "Yes- yes, move…" 

     San bottomed out inside you with a loud groan. He didn’t move for a second, trying to take in how tight you were and how good he felt. And even though he tried to hold back by starting to thrust into you slowly, he soon lost control. His hips snapped against yours uncontrollably fast and neither of you cared if the moans and whimpers could be heard in the next room. 

    "S-shit, look at you doll, taking my cock like a good girl-“ 

     You gripped his arms, digging your nails into his skin, loving the way he talked to you. 

    Something about seeing all of those artworks in san’s body made you feel more attracted to the male. 

   "You feel so good inside me Sannie.”

    The pet name and the little praise caused his cock to twitch inside of you, and you could tell he was almost there, by the sloppiness of his thrusts. 

    You wanted to see what he looked like in pure lust, you wanted to do the dirtiest things with this man, his sinful figure bigging out someone you didn’t even know you had in you. 

     "I-I need to cum doll, where do you want me to-“ 

    "Inside me! Please, please cum inside me San!” You begged as you clung onto him for dear life. 

    His cock twitched once more, and he looked at you with a mix of surprise and lust in his eyes. 

    "Y/N are you sure cause-“ 

    "Fucking breed me, San! I want your cum dripping out of me, please!" 

   The intensity of his thrusts increased as did the grip he had on you. 

    "You want me to breed you? Hm? Make you mine forever? Turn you into a bad girl for me? Y-you’re so dirty…”

   "Y-yes! God yes!“ 

    "Oh f-fuck!” Was the last thing he managed to yell as he buried his member deep inside of you, shooting white spurts of cum that covered your walls. 

    It was the way his body trembled and the way his mouth fell open with small whimpers that caused you to climax right after him. 

   His sweaty body collapsed on top of yours as he slowly pulled out, and you could feel the cum drip out of your hole. 

   For a couple of seconds all that could be heard was the heavy panting, until San lifted his head and looked at you. 

    "Fuck, I guess you belong to me now…“

[whythinktoomuch]

recovered in time

(pt. i)

“From what I can tell, the implant seems to be interrupting the connection between your visual cortex and your emotional center,” Brainy says, eyes narrowed in concentration, two fingers pressed against the incision point at the base of Kara’s neck. “As well as inhibiting your frontal lobe and sending distress signals to the amygdala.” 

“What does that mean?” Kara asks. 

“It means that... you weren’t feeling like yourself,” Alex says, and Kara nods hesitantly at that. 

“So, can you rid of it or not?” Alex asks, fixing Brainy with her most hardened stare. 

“I’ve already determined five different ways to extract the device—”

“Great! So, we can—”

“—but none that wouldn’t immediately prove fatal or result in permanent brain damage.” 

Eventually, Alex releases a long-suffering, shuddery sigh. “... You could have fucking led with that.” 

“I did feel like myself though...” Kara interjects, suspending what was surely about to result in another very unproductive argument. “And I still feel like myself now. It’s just...” She ducks her head, fiddling with the sleeves of her shirt, already frayed from anxious attention. “... I felt so alone? Like, I’d been abandoned, or was suddenly in a world where I’d lost everyone all at once. Again.” 

Kara shifts uncomfortably in her seat, now able to feel everyone’s eyes on her, burning holes into her skin. She has long since traded in her super-suit for comfy clothes, and her scarf has been upgraded to a pair of heat vision resistant blackout goggles, but it would take more than 24 measly hours for her to adjust to, well... everything. 

“You’re not alone though,” Alex says, giving Kara’s knee a firm squeeze as if in reminder. “You know that, right?” 

Kara rubs at her nose, sniffling herself back into some semblance of composure. “Yeah, I know.” 

But of course, knowing something hardly ever outstrips the feeling of it, and Kara kinda just wishes that she still had Lena’s scarf on her. 

//

“Hey Lena,” Kara calls out softly from the bed. She doesn’t lift her head from her pillow, but still offers a small wave in greeting. 

“What gave me away?” Lena asks, and it’s almost playful, which makes everything that much easier. 

“Well... Pretty much everything, actually.” 

“Ah.”

Then the smell hits her, overwhelming her senses in an unexpected rush of heat and spice. Kara sits up right away, startled. “How did you...” is all she manages to get out, then pushed into her hands is a considerably sized takeout box of potstickers. 

“I wanted to surprise you, so I might have created a hermetically sealed lunchbox just to sneak these in,” Lena says, and Kara’s already laughing softly. “The food’s still good though! I literally just slipped them inside right before walking into the building, so...” 

“... Thank you,” Kara says. She inclines her head to the spot next to her, and feels the bed sink with Lena’s weight accordingly. 

Kara starts eating, but does so with only one hand. The other just fidgets at her thigh, tugging at her sweatpants, lying in wait so impatiently. Then Lena takes the hand and holds it firmly in her own, and finally, it feels like Kara can breathe freely again. 

“I never thanked you,” Kara says, “for, you know... everything.” 

“You already did,” Lena reminds her, squeezing Kara’s hand. 

“I... did?” Kara feels Lena nodding beside her. “Okay... so then, why does it feel like I still have so much left to owe you?” 

Lena tries to hold her breath quietly, but Kara hears it; of course, she hears it. “I can’t answer that for you.” 

A couple of hours later, when Alex pops into the room for her usual check-in, she stumbles upon an unexpected sight: Lena sitting up on the hospital bed, her legs tucked beneath the sheets as she answers emails on her phone, and Kara fast asleep, curled up around her. 

Kara’s still holding Lena’s hand, her face buried in Lena’s shirt where it smells most like her, apparently, besides her hair. 

Lena blushes a little, but can’t find it in her to regret her position. 

//

“Alex says it’s because I didn’t see your face,” is the first thing Kara says the next time Lena visits. “I pretty much saw everyone else’s, but... never yours. So, I’ve imprinted on you, or something.” 

Lena recovers quickly, “Well... what do you think?” 

“I don’t know,” Kara admits, running her fingers down the back of her neck, feeling the tender skin still raised in jagged lines. “There’s still so much I feel like I can’t trust right now.” 

“But you trust me...” 

“Yeah.” 

Lena carefully cradles Kara’s hand in both of hers, and it feels like a thank you of sorts. Then Kara draws their joined hands closer and closer, pressing her lips gently to Lena’s knuckles, and sighs in a way that could only ever be an expression of deep gratitude. 

//

Kara’s days all seem to unfold the same way, with Alex and Brainy running tests, Lena stopping by once per day for company, and Kara just trying to break up the monotony of it all with podcasts, books on tape, and tossing a tiny bouncy ball around the room to test her reflexes. 

For that last one, she has to stop the moment she hears Alex approaching her room, of course, because of all the broken glass and knocked over plants, and such. 

Until one day, she overhears a couple of DEO agents discussing some urgent mission—not exactly a rare occurrence, given her super-hearing, but she perks up, ears honing in at the mention of Lex Luthor. 

But when they also mention how Lena might be in danger, Kara is already out of bed and flying out the window.

Kara hasn’t flown since donning her blackout goggles, but she remembers enough to travel at a height that would be safe from any threat of collision. And before long, she’s hurtling straight for the source of all the distant commotion now pounding in her ears. 

She practically crashes in landing, the earth cracking beneath her bare feet. She whips her head toward where Lena’s heartbeat is fluttering the loudest, then hears low chuckles coming from the same direction. 

“You’re all so pathetic and predictable,” Lex crows. “At least try to make it somewhat of a challenge for me. God, it’s all just too easy.” 

“Kara, get out of here!” Lena’s voice shouts out to her, muffled and desperate. “It’s a trap!” 

But Kara takes a step toward them anyway, and immediately, the entire world seems to scream in protest. 

Kara falls to her knees, hands clapping over her ears but to no avail. The excruciating sound is coming from her own head, akin to hot spikes scraping at the inside of her skull. She calls out to Lena, but can’t even make out her own voice over the pain. 

She crumples over, helpless, her teeth gritted as she pushes her face into the dirt and shakes uncontrollably. She knows she has to get up; she’s a sitting duck like this. She can’t save Lena like this. 

And so, Kara does the one thing that she can do. 

She rips the goggles off her face, hurling them somewhere behind her, and jerks her head up. 

She sees a blur of colors, then a single hand outstretched towards her, clutching onto something silver and vaguely rectangular. 

She fires a burst of heat vision right at that hand, and feels the back of her head explode. 

//

“Man... she couldn’t just put them down gently?” mutters a voice that’s not unfamiliar. “She just had to throw the goggles like a goddamn shot-putter or something? These things cost a fortune!”  

“All right, that’s enough, Demos,” says Alex, a much more familiar voice. “I’ll worry about the budget, okay? You just get everyone else back to headquarters.”  

“’M’sorry,” Kara says, or at least she tries to say. “My bad...” Her eyes still shut tight, she flashes a thumbs up, then lets her arm flop back down to the ground. Alex stops her when she attempts to sit up. 

“Hey, not so fast, you jerk,” Alex says, somehow keeping Kara grounded with a single hand pressed against her shoulder. “We’re getting a stretcher for you.” 

“I don’t think I need a stretcher.” 

“Yeah, well... nobody asked you,” Alex sighs, before grumbling, “God, what’s taking them so long? Ugh, hang on... Hey, can you watch her? I’ll be right back.” 

Lena’s there now, and Kara can actually feel herself grinning without even meaning to. “No, don’t... You shouldn’t have come, Kara.” But there’s a smile in Lena’s voice, and Kara’s grin grows wider for it. “I’m serious!” 

“Okay, me too.” Kara then winces as a sharp pain gradually surfaces, trickling into reality. “The back of my head is killing me...” 

“Yeah, you’re bleeding.” 

Kara scoffs. “I don’t bleed; I’m Supergirl.” 

“Okay, Supergirl... but somebody got blood all over my shirt, and it sure as hell isn’t me, so...” 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“Then check for yourself.” 

Kara goes rigid, her humor dashed and her brow furrowing heavily.

“... You know I can’t do that.” 

Soft fingertips brush down Kara’s face, tucking her hair behind her ear so tenderly. “Listen,” Lena says. “You destroyed Lex’s transmitter, along with most of his right hand, and I think you blew out the implant in your head in the process as well.” 

There are thoughts then—the kind that Kara is unwilling to say aloud lest they develop reasons to be true. Thoughts like, what if the explosion damaged parts of her brain permanently? What if it severed that neural link between her eyes and everything else for good? And, how can she risk losing the one person who she believes to be absolutely, 100% real? 

Lena draws Kara’s attention with a gentle hand squeeze. “Hey, where’d you go?” she asks softly.

“I’m still here,” Kara says. “Still just right here.” 

But Lena seems to understand Kara’s concerns, unvoiced or not, because she leans a bit closer and asks, “Do you trust me...?” 

And, yes; yes, she does.  

With a deep breath filling out her lungs, Kara slowly opens her eyes. Everything’s a blur at first, just like before. But then little by little, bit by bit, the night sky comes into focus. She stares up at the darkness, counts as many stars as she can to put off the inevitable. 

Then her hand is being tugged and squeezed in the gentlest reminder, so she turns her head, blinking her eyes in preparation before looking up to see Lena Luthor smiling down at her. 

“Hey,” Kara says. 

“Hey yourself,” Lena returns. 

Kara nods thoughtfully, then gestures to Lena’s shirt. “Sorry, but I can’t afford dry cleaning,” she says, squinting at the various splashes of red—light but unfortunately prominent against the very white material—and Lena just laughs and laughs. 

[eclipsedpascal]

Making Daddy Proud

Stepdad!Duncan x Female Reader

After moving in with your estranged mother and her new husband, Duncan Shepherd, you started to grow very close to your new stepdad. The two of you had a great relationship and he was doing his best to be a good father figure for you, knowing you missed your dad so much. But there was a problem, you found yourself insanely attracted to him and were starting to notice little things indicating he might feel the same way.

Warnings: very inappropriate relationships, Stepfather/stepdaughter relationship, Cheating is ofc implied, 20+ year age gap, daddy kink, unprotected sex (but I kinda imagined the reader to be on birth control so is okie😌) fingering (female receiving), choking, vaginal sex, oral (male receiving) and face fucking😃

Notes: Okie sooo I know some people will hate this fic and ofc I understand that, but if you do hate it then please don't send me any hate!! just don't read it🖤 anywayss I got dis ask saying "Concept: Stepdad Duncan x naive reader😉" nd omg i LOVE the whole concept of Stepdad!Duncan sm, like if you've been in the fandom for a while you'll probably know the fic "The Hand That Robs the Cradle" by Langdonsrapture nd that fic was my holy grail when it came out!! so you know I just had to go all out here nd get carried away writing it hehe:')

word count: 5.4k

●●●●●●●●

The opportunity to study political science at American University in Washington DC had been one you simply couldn’t pass up on, but unfortunately it meant moving away from your father to stay closer to campus grounds. You knew it was worth it in the long run, I mean you had been waiting on this chance for years and wanted to make your father proud, but you would miss him.

He was never home too much, always busy working, but he meant the world to you. It had been just the two of you for a long time now. Your mother had moved away once their divorce finalised 7 years ago, impulsively leaving you in his custody as she ran off and gallivanted around the world, meeting all sorts of interesting men she would tell you about.

Luckily for you, she had settled down with one of those interesting men in DC recently, and upon discovering your acceptance into the prestigious university she had offered you a place to stay whilst you studied.

It was a frightening move to make, but staying with your mother in DC had actually been pretty interesting. You hadn’t spent time with her in so long and it had been nice to catch up with her, I mean sure she had been a little distant, but that was expected with having not spent any real time with her in so long.

You were just grateful she had let you stay with her in the first place, thinking she would have probably preferred to be left alone with her new husband, Duncan Shepherd.

They had been married about four months when you moved in and from what you could see, things were going well; especially considering she had sprung the engagement on everyone pretty fast. You were just happy knowing she was happy.

Though you had only met the man in question once before moving in, he really seemed like a perfect partner. He didn’t have a single obvious flaw to him, but see that was the problem. He was completely flawless to you.

You had tried to find things you didn’t like about him, even just tiny things, thinking hating him would be far better than thinking of him the way had been, but no matter what you did, you just couldn’t seem to fault him. And the longer you stayed with them, the worse your little problem became.

You weren’t 100% sure of how old he was. You only knew he was in his early to mid forties. But being at least 20 years your senior, you knew he was definitely old enough to be fulfilling the role he was as your stepfather. It felt strange to have a new stepdad at the age of 20, (almost 21) but it was even stranger with you being so blindly attracted to him.

And it wasn’t even just his looks. Though, yes, they were quite the spectacle, it was more than that. He was confident and cocky, always knowing exactly what to do and say to make the people around him do whatever he wanted them to. He could make you laugh until your stomach was in cramps, and not just through telling dad jokes. Charisma rolled off of him in waves.

He was intuitive and crafty; smart to put in plainly. And his interests appeared to be more intellectually based than anything else, which was quite the opposite of your mother, so it baffled you as to how your mother had managed to snatch him up so easily in the first place.

Now it’s not that you were jealous, really. It was more that you didn’t understand how these two polar opposite personality’s had ended up colliding together in the manner that they had.

Whenever the three of you would sit and have an evening meal together, Duncan always made you feel welcomed in the conversation, which was a great comfort to both you and your mother, being the relationship you had was so strained. Because of this and the fact you both had quite a lot in common when it came to your interests, Duncan and you had become almost good friends in the small time that you had been living there.

It was obvious he was doing his best to be some kind of fatherly figure to you. knowing that you were missing your actual dad, he did his best to help you with the things he knew your dad usually would. Whether it was school work or just having someone to joke with from time to time. He was there.

Sometimes when he was there, though, you felt like maybe, just maybe, he felt something more too. Such as the moments where his stares would linger on your form for just a little too long, or the way he would sometimes fix your hair for you if it had strayed across your face the wrong way. Just small things he did that fatherly figures didn’t typically tend to do with their daughters; especially when his wife, your mother, was right there. Sure, she seemed oblivious to it, but you certainly weren’t.

●●●●●●●●

Taking your now lukewarm cup of coffee from the breakfast bar counter, you brought it to your lips and gulped the bitter liquid down, fighting viciously to stay alert. It was nearing 3am and you had been writing for hours. Concentrating was no longer your most favourable asset and your half lidded eyes were growing wearer by the minute, but you just had to finish this paper.

It was 17 percent of your grade and due in two weeks. A persuasive essay on propaganda within the current American political climate and you had been slowly working at it for weeks, but you knew if you left it hanging over your head any longer it would drive you insane.

Sitting back in the stool you resided on, you took quick solace in the many noises coming from the ajar kitchen window, listening to a low rumble of thunder, accompanied by the constant pitter patter of rain falling from the gloomy DC sky above. It had been hot and humid all week, eventually cultivating into large clouds that had now given in, spilling out showers for almost the entire day past.

You recalled all the time you’d spent by the pool with your mother and Duncan in the past week, enjoying the current heatwave by sunbathing next to it on one of the many loungers. The house was kind of set up like a hotel that way. With Duncan always needing to be prepared for any events he may have to hold for his company’s business associates or press, he had furnished the home with what was to the three of you, unnecessary seating and tableware; amongst other things.

You stirred, returning your eyes back to the last few lines you had written and attempted to go over them in your head, but quickly realised you couldn't even manage that without stumbling over them or jumbling the words up beyond comprehension.

Abruptly interrupting your confused stream of thought, was the kitchen door groaning open. So with a frown plastered to your face, you shot your head up to recognise the intruder. But your frown was quickly blown away at discovering that it was Duncan who had entered the balmy room, and he was in more glory than you had ever seen him.

You had seen his silhouette whilst he showered before. Having gone into his and your mother’s shared bedroom whilst searching for earrings, you had seen him through the whited out, frosted glass of the on-suit bathroom door. But this was something entirely different. This was him, stood in kitchen doorway with nothing on but his grey Calvin Klein boxers.

“Y/N? I didn’t know you were still up.” He quirked a brow at you, wondering why you were still sat in the kitchen so late at night. You swallowed deeply at the sight of him. Your eyes magnetised to his body, dilating with such a sultry image before them. Pulling your eyes back up to his face, you hoped he hadn’t seen their little detour down to his crotch.

“Uhm.. i’m, uh.. w-working on an essay.” Fuck! He’ll definitely know how nervous you are now. You looked away from him, too embarrassed to face him and cringing at your own attempt to speak. “It’s due in next week and I wanted to get it finished.” Okay that’s better, you thought. Maybe he’ll just think you’re just too tired to have a proper conversation or something.

“Oh, right,” he trailed off, looking you up and down a bit as he walked further into the room. You watched the back of his head as he opened the fringe, holding it open and scanning the contents of it. Deciding on a small bottle of water, he retrieved it from the middle shelf before closing the door and walking over to lean on the opposite side of the counter from you.

He didn’t seem too bothered by the fact he was practically undressed in front of you. Of course, you weren't complaining, but it was interesting. You tried to think of something else you could add to your open word document, wanting to distract yourself from his displayed body. But thinking as hard as you possibly could, your mind still brought you nothing.

You awkwardly pulled at the sleeve of your oversized ‘American University” sweater and hoisted it back up onto your shoulder. It had ridden down your arm whilst you were aggressively fiddling with your fingers - a nervous habit you had developed in your early teens. People would often point it out to you, but it was just one of those things you couldn’t stop doing.

There was a deafening silence stuffed between the two of you. So looking around the room, you tried to focus on anything in your line of vision that wasn’t him. It was just too hard seeing him like; his plump lips wrapped around the bottle’s mouth as he drank, his sleepy un-styled curls falling just above his perfectly manicured brows and wearing nothing but those fucking grey boxers. He was making it unbearably hard not to stare.

Deciding to speak, you cleared your throat. “So did you just wake up? Or could you not sleep?”

“Just couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about the most random shit.. and you know how your mom is, she snores a lot.” He chuckled. His eyes never leaving you, beginning to feel as if they were boring holes into your soul as you kept full eye contact with him.

“Yeah, that must get pretty annoying.” You nodded slowly, thinking about how many nights you had spent wide awake when you were younger, all due to her roaring, loud snores passing through the paper thin walls of your childhood home.

“It does.” A smile played on his lips, taking another swig of water before speaking again. “so what’s the essay about?”

“It’s that one I was telling you about a few weeks ago, if you remember. it’s a persuasive on propaganda within the current American political climate.” You reminded him of the conversation you had about it when he dropped you off to class one morning not too long ago. The two of you often carpooled together, with the University campus being so close to his office, it made for an easy drive on the days he was needed in.

You guys would listen to playlists together on the drive and make fun of each others music taste, that was when you weren’t too busy being amazed by how similar they could be.

“Are you struggling with it? I mean, it is getting pretty late now.” He turned to check the clock which hung on the wall behind him, then looked back at you questioningly.

Duncan was good at helping you with this kind of thing. He was extremely well versed in politics, with his family’s background and all. Your mom had told you he used to be very involved with the white house, saying when he was younger he even went to prison for a short time before president underwood had pardoned him.

“I just can’t concentrate, but I really need to get it done or it’ll stress me out.” You lifted your bare feet up onto the stool seat, your knees coming up to your chest so you could rest your chin on them. You were only wearing panties with the sweater, it being too hot to wear anything more.

“Can I come over and check it?” He closed his bottle of water, tightening the lid with his muscular arms as he spoke. You had almost forgot he wasn’t wearing much before he said this, but watching him screw the bottle cap on as he asked to could come round to your side of the counter? It had you weak for him all over again.

“Uh.. yeah, course.” He padded his bare feet over the white, tiled flooring towards you, placing the bottle down on the counter and moving behind you to read the most recent paragraphs you had written. His hand was stretched over to the other side of you, resting on the edge of the breakfast bar as the skin of his arm grazed across your back.

Even with you being sat on such a tall stool, he still managed to tower over you. His hight was usually intimidating as it was, but with the added factor of him being almost completely undressed it was even worse. A small waft of air blew his expensive cologne towards you, creeping past your nostrils and possessing your senses completely before you started to feel his breathe on your upper neck. It wasn’t heavy, but it was enough to make your cunt start pulsating.

You were disgusted by yourself. He’s your mother’s husband! And your Stepdad! What the fuck was wrong with you? You could only imagine what people’s reactions would be if they knew of the truly sinful thoughts you had about him, and you hated yourself for it.

He was your type, yes. A rich, older man who wasn’t actually an asshole, and they were hard to come by, but that wasn’t relevant. You needed to control yourself. No matter how hard that may be.

“What you have so far is really good. Your argument is strong and as always with your work, it’s written well. You’re smart, Y/N. It’s impressive.” He humoured himself with a scoff, his voice interrupting your lewd thoughts.

You blushed at his compliment, hiding your face behind your knees slightly and looking up at him. “Thanks, Duncan.” You knew he was just trying to be a good dad figure to you, but you couldn’t help being attracted to the way he was so caring for you. Maybe it’s fucked up, but it’s not your fault all you need is an older man’s approval to become turned on.

“I mean it.” He looks so sincere as he talks to you. His face would be intimately close to yours if you hadn’t hidden it from him earlier. You notice his eyes flicker down to your lips for a split second, and then back up to your eyes again. His stare no longer felt friendly, but more.. lustful. Were you crazy or was he really doing this?

Suddenly he looks away from you, moving his eyes back to the laptop’s screen. “Maybe you should just get some sleep. I know you said it’ll stress you out, but if you get some rest you’ll be able to get back into it tomorrow with better concentration.” He does his best to steer the conversation back to where is once was, reminding himself that you’re his fucking step daughter and that he has a beautiful wife sleeping just upstairs.

“I know that, its just..” You sighed, blinking up at him. You brought your legs back down you hang over the edge of the seat, but you couldn’t stop thinking about how close he was to you, wanting to do nothing more than to drape your arms behind his neck an-.

“Nope I won’t listen to it. From what I can see it’s an incredibly strong piece of work already, so just go get some sleep and come back to it in the morning, okay sweetheart?” He laughed a little, looking down at you again.

That nickname. Sweetheart. He called you it all the time and yet it always managed to take your breath away. But the thing is, he usually wasn’t this close to you when he did. So when you squeezed your legs together and bite down on your bottom lip, doing your best to ease the overwhelming desire you felt for him in that moment, there was no way he hadn’t seen it.

You were frozen staring at him, his face static and unreadable. You hoped he didn't choose to shout at you for how repulsive your behaviour was, or maybe he would kick you out? Your mind began spiralling, wrapping itself in intricate knots as you held your breath, awaiting a reply from him.

“Do you like that? When I call you sweetheart.” His voice was deep, sultry and dripping with desire. Shock coursed through you. That was definitely not what you had expected him to say. He seemed even larger now, his confidence making you feel small in comparison as your mind scrabbled to find the words you were supposed to use in your current predicament, but it never found any.

"You like it when daddy gives you nicknames?” He moved his hand up and delicately grasped the skin where your neck met your jaw, his eyes half lidded with lust. Your heart was beating so fast now and your breathing had grown shallow. You were so lost for words, only able to whimper out a weak “yes” before looking down to his boxers, trying to avoid his eyes but still wanting him just as much as he now appeared to want you.

He lifted your chin and kissed you roughly, drinking in your lips as if you were the water he had ventured down stairs for all along; and you began to wonder if you perhaps were. Maybe you were what he had been craving, just as you had been craving him.

He pulled the stool closer to him with his spare hand, leading you to wrap your legs around his torso as you tangled your tiny fingers through his sleep rustled hair. It was passionate. His kiss was sloppy, yet perfectly executed as his tongue slipped past your lips to glide over your own. His greying stubble dug into your skin, burning it with pure contact.

You parted to breath; and for just a moment, though it felt like hours, you stared into each others eyes with a ferociously neither of you could nor wanted to tame.

He tuts. “You really shouldn’t drink so much coffee little one, it’s not good for you. And it’s all I can taste.” He couldn’t help but reprimand you for the little habit, he had just gotten so used to doing it over the past three months, and using it to tease you sounded even more appealing.

You opened your mouth to speak, but were cut off when he lunged at you again, kissing you viciously. He began to move his hands all across your body, his fingertips grazing over every inch of you they possibly could as he started to undress you, pulling your oversized sweater above your head and taking handfuls of your breasts. He was kneading them, leaning down to kiss and suck on them whilst he watched you throw your head back, completely enthralled by him.

You were taken aback by how quick things had escalated, your sense of control had deteriorated far too rapidly and was ebbing away even further with each little kiss he left on your skin.

His large hand slid down to your panties, playing with the lacy bow that was centred on the waist band. He hovered his hand over your heat, cupping it and feeling just how sticky you had become for him. You let out a moan, all sense of wrong and right leaving you completely as you uttered a soft “Daddy” and ground your cunt into the palm of his hand.

“That’s right. So desperate for daddy.” He mused, ripping your thin underwear off and dropping it down onto the floor beneath you. Bringing his face to yours again, your noses bumped and leant on each other for some kind of purchase, the both of you watching his hand as he rubbed his fingers through your folds, gathering a fair amount of slick on them before pressing two inside you.

“Ahh!!” You let out a moan, it was louder than you expected and reminded you of what was really going on here. Having been too caught up in the moment, you hadn’t even thought about how being complete fucking naked with your step father between your legs would look if your mother had decided to come downstairs.

“Ah, ah, shh baby. We don’t wanna get now caught do we?” His breathe was hot on your lips, whispering as to not alert anyone. “So tight.”

You whispered back. “I’m sorry daddy, it was an accident- mmph!” You muffled your moan.

“That’s it. Who’s my good girl?” He lay a gentle peck on you lips, only stopping as to allow you to answer his question.

“I am daddy!! I’m your good girl!” You spoke with urgency, but did your best to keep the volume low, which was quite the struggle in between moans. Duncan could see this, so he pressed your lips together. Kissing you into a muffled silence.

You felt his spare hand on your neck, squeezing it just enough for you to still breathe okay when he pulled away from your mouth, moving his lips to the shell of your ear and biting the lobe. He murmured in your ear. “Do you know how hard it was, this week? Having to sit there next to your mom at the poolside and see you just lying there like that?! That fucking bikini. It took everything in me not to cum right there.”

His fingers were moving slowly, going in deep and curling up against your g spot, making you cry out and lean on his shoulder, biting it to keep yourself quiet. he started to rub your clit in hard circles. He was so experienced. It was mind-blowing.

“Would it have served you more pleasure to know, I only wore it for you?” It was true, you had only worn it for him and it had obviously worked. You certainly had his attention now. He growled at this, pulling his fingers out and slapping your cunt.

He yanked your neck closer to him, speaking down to you. “Just for that? Get on your fucking knees.” As soon as he let go of your throat you were climbing off the stool and onto the floor. The heat of the room, and of your acts too, made the marble tiling feel like ice pressed onto your flushed skin. But you didn't care.

You watched him pull his boxers down, cock springing free, adjacent to his stomach. Never having been with anyone of this size before, you had never seen a cock this big. You reached out and touched it, feeling just how hard he was. He hissed at the contact, looking down at you as you watched his facial expressions with wide eyes.

You played with it in your hand, stroking it with one and palming his balls with the other. He stroked his fingers through your hair, giving you a reassuring look as you licked the tip. The salty taste hit your tongue, making you crave his cock even more. So without another second going to waste, you took him into your mouth as far as you could.

“Ahh fuck!” You began bobbing your head, your eyes fixed on him as a groan left his lips. He was watching you intently, threading his fingers through your hair and onto your scalp to get a good grip on your head. You let your jaw go loose, knowing what he was about to do and preparing yourself for it.

He started thrusting his hips into your face, his cock hitting the back of your throat with almost every shove. You had honestly impressed yourself, I mean you knew you gave good head, but taking a cock this big as it fucked into your throat was something to be proud of.

“Mmm that’s it sweetheart.” Your stomach fluttered at his approval. The gagging noises you were making giving him even more pleasure. “You just wanna make daddy proud, don’t you princess?” You mumbled a wet “yes daddy” around his cock, sending sweet vibrations through it as he pushed himself as far as he could into your throat.

You couldn't even fathom how this was happening. You had pictured this moment late at night with a vibe pressed to your clit far too many times to count, so it finally happening was something hard to comprehend. Somehow he looked even more handsome from down on your knees than you had ever imagined he would. His stubble contouring his face perfectly with the ‘o’ his lips were forming.

Suddenly pulling you off of him, you gasped out for oxygen and tried to wipe away some of the saliva dribbling down your chin. It was like a snapshot from one of Duncan’s wet dreams. You looked so incredibly fucked out. He thought it was beautiful.

“Come on little one, stand up. Daddy wants to fuck that tight little pussy of yours.” You moaned as he talked down to you, stroking his calloused thumb over your bottom lip and pulling it down just to watch it bounce back up again.

You stood up, finally wrapping your arms around his shoulders like you had wanted to all this time. He pulled you in for a kiss, one much slower than the rest, communicating something more to you than just pure sexual carnality. His embrace was comforting, making you feel protected and small in his arms.

His hands grabbed at your ass as he picked you up, sitting you back down onto the bar stool and adjusting the hight while his lips stayed connected to yours. Once the seat was low enough for his liking, he picked up your thighs, shelving them onto his hips and laying you back just enough so that you could lean on the backrest.

The room was sweltering, your body hot against his and anticipating having him buried inside you was getting too much to handle. He dragged his cock through your lips, teasing your clit and moving back down to almost enter you, but he never would. Just wanting to get you all worked up and loving the way you would squirm when he did.

“Daddy.. please.” You steadied yourself by holding on to the sides of the seat, hoping he would end his tournament and fuck you already.

He slid the head barely into you. “Hmm… Since you were so polite, suppose daddy should reward you.” He spoke calmly before snarling and stuffing himself into you, pushing as deeply as he physically could. He felt your walls clamp around him as he set his pace. It was a lot. Having never taken a cock this big and the fact he didn’t even let you adjust, you couldn’t help but wail out.

He shot his hand up to cover your mouth, needing to keep you quiet and seeing you clearly couldn’t do it yourself. “Wouldn’t want to wake up mommy now, would you baby?” you attempted to utter a “No daddy”, but his hand kept your lips glued shut.

He fucked you. Like really really fucked you. He was making the stool shuffle underneath you, the powerfulness of his thrusts causing you to slide down in the seat. The only reason you didn’t slip off completely being the barbarian hold he had on your hips.

It actually surprised you how rough he was. A pleasant surprise, of course, but he had been so delicately caring towards you since becoming your step father and now here you were, receiving the best of both worlds.

The closer you grew to your high, the more incoherent your thoughts became. His eyebrows were scrunched together, lips trembling as he picked you up off the seat and held you closer to him. Supporting your ass, his hips ricocheted up and off yours as he tried desperately not to yell out.

His thumb was brought back down to your clit as he pressed you up against him, swiping at it hellishly, trying to hurry up your release upon feeling your legs begin to quiver; and knowing his own was approaching rapidly.

“That’s it sweetheart, come around daddy’s cock… Gonna cum so fucking deep inside your cunt. Would you like that?” You could see a thin line of perspiration cascading down his cheekbone, he was almost breathless and his thrusts were messier now.

“Yes da-AHH!“ you whipped a hand up to your face, holding your mouth shut as you came. You dug the hand you had placed on his shoulder deep into his skin and was quickly reminded of his marriage to your mother. You hoped you hadn't left any nail indents she might see.

You felt his hot seed spurt onto your walls as he rested his head on yours, mouth open wide and letting out a silent groan. His release was long and powerful. The both of you were left panting, the only noise in the room being your own breaths and a small creak from the stool when he softly set you down onto it.

He pulled out, your mixed juices gushing out of you along with the sexual haze you had been overcome with. The severity of what you had just done began to settle in. His head still resting on yours as you started freaking out, contemplating what would happen if your mother was to ever find out what had just occurred.

You wrapped your arms around his back, needing his comfort and squeezing him in an urgent hug, which he returned. his fingers stroked the sweaty skin of your back, trying to ease the thoughts he too had running through his mind. He lifted your chin up, the look he had in his eyes telling you everything would be okay.

Kissing you cautiously, he savoured the feeling of your lips on his and prayed he would get a chance to feel them again. “Are you okay?” He whispered

You didn’t really know if you were. On one hand, that was something you had wanted for a long time and it had been far better than you ever imagined, but on the other you had just helped your stepfather cheat on your mother. “I don’t know. I think so.”

He stood up, grabbing your sweater and panties, handing them to you before putting his boxers back on. “Well, at least that paper won’t seem like such big problem now.” He chuckled, doing his best to find humour in a humourless situation.

You giggled a little, hurrying to throw on your sweater and being reminded of how he had ruined your panties. “True. Now this can hang over my head instead.” You wiped any left over salvia you had on your face onto your sleeve and thought about how you would probably need to shower after this. “At least the sex was worth it, right?”

He sent you a dark smirk, picking up his bottle of water and walking towards the kitchen door. “It was. hopefully it'll be just as good next time too.” You opened your mouth, faking shock at his confidence as you watched him open the door.

“Goodnight Y/N” He gave you one last look as he sauntered through the door, getting ready to close it behind him and leave you alone in the kitchen with no one but your thoughts. The thoughts of your acts. Remembering all the little moments you had just shared together.

In that last moment before he left, you struck eye contact with him, chewing your inner lip and speaking.

“Goodnight, daddy.”

●●●●●●●●

Thank you sm for reading!🥺🖤

Tags: @dark-mei-rose @sojournmichael @ntxoza @blakescoven @ghostangels @jimmason @fernfiction @brattylovee @7-wonders @angelicmichael @melodylangdon @instincts-baby i'm so so sorry if you don't like this kinda fic or it has triggered you in anyway, but just let me know if it has and I won't tag you in this kind of thing ever again! You can also let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list too:)

[adorethedistance]

Party Hard - Owen Joyner x Reader

JATP masterlist

Warnings: drinking, partying, intoxication, non sexual stripping, swearing probably, 

Words: 6343 (which, if you know me, is a FUCK ton)

Summary: Going from tipsy to full on drunk is a terrible idea, but especially when you’ve got a secret to hide that could mean the difference between preserving and ruining your relationship with your best friend.

A/N: A couple items before we get started: I think I’m back on my bullshit? I mean I wrote this fic and it’s three times the length of my normal fics. Also I wrote this headassery as a literal self insert me(ace) x someone and so there are a couple flaws here and there that make this something I’m not 100% proud of. Owen picks the reader up a few times and I’m aware this kind of thing can really effect someone’s experience with this fic so I do apologize for the lack of inclusivity in regards to body type/ableism. I’m falling really behind on school work because I just can’t find the motivation which either means y’all will be seeing a lot more of me soon or absolutely nothing at all. Not sure which yet.

“You’ve got it so bad.” Charlie rests his left arm on his best friend’s shoulder, tipping back the half-full angry orchard bottle he’d been nursing for the better half of an hour. Owen’s stare is immediately broken and he crosses his arms defensively.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” Turning to meet his friend’s smug stare, Owen shoots Charlie a glare of annoyance before returning his attention to the girl on the dance floor. Surrounded by a gaggle of her closest friends, Y/n is dancing and singing her heart out to Fergalicious with Chelsea, Leila, Savannah, and Carolynn. The bunch of them share in sporadic laughs as they exchange ridiculous dance moves just to add to the fleeting moment’s laughter. An assortment of screeches and squawks blend together as they all prepare to sing the rap section of the song. Observing the level of excitement the girls have over the verse, Owen can’t help but laugh at the spectacle.

“Why don’t you just ask her out already?” Charlie inquires between sips of his cold drink.

“What?”

“Y/n. Why have you not asked her out.”

“We’re just friends.”

“Yeah. Because you haven’t asked her out.” Owen rolls his eyes before turning 90 degrees to fully face the smug guitarist. He turns about-face to prove a point, but another symphony of squeals at the next song choice drags his attention back to his other best friend on the dance floor. “You’re so whipped.”

“Am not.”

“Are too! Look, if you don’t ask her out tonight, I will.”

“You’re not even into her,” Owen protests unceremoniously. Setting the molasses colored bottle on the counter next to Owen, Charlie steps back and copies his position of crossed arms and a relaxed stance.

“You’re right, I’m not. But you are, and if that’s what it takes to light the fire under your ass then I’ll do it.”

“She wouldn’t say yes.”

“Are you sure? I mean, the only way to know for sure is to ask.” And with that, Charlie is off, speeding toward Y/n at a pace that launches Owen into an impulsive chase. To prevent his friend from doing something stupid, Owen shoves him in the opposite direction from the group of girls on the dance floor. What he hadn’t anticipated was Charlie moving so far so fast. Owen has longer legs, he’s supposed to be the faster one, not Charlie. That’s why he hadn’t anticipated turning away from his musical friend to come face to face with a very flushed Y/n. Her lip-gloss coated lips are parted as she catches her breath from all the dancing. They look so soft and inviting that Owen can’t help but stare, and doesn’t realize the several looks of confusion among the girls around him.

“Everything okay, Owen?” Snapping out of his hyper focused stare, Owen blinks a few times, trying to generate a reason for coming over.

“You’ve been dancing for a while.”

“...Yeah?”

“Let me fix you a drink?” His statement comes out as more of a question but the breathless girl agrees nonetheless. Owen extends his hand to her which she gladly accepts but not without a quick word to her friends.

“I’ll be right back, I’m getting a drink.”

Her friends aren’t stupid, quite the opposite actually. And they see right through Owen’s facade of fixing her a drink because she’d been ‘dancing a while’. Please. As if they didn’t know a desperate attempt at flirting when they saw it.

The pounding music from the backyard begins to fade and muffle once the pair step into the Shada’s beautiful kitchen space. Owen leads her to the kitchen island where he has her take a seat on one of the barstools in front of the high countertop. Stepping around the fixture, Owen busies himself with whipping up a drink for Y/n at the makeshift bar on the island. He doesn’t even have to ask what it is she wants. Ice, pink whitney, club soda, and a splash of lime juice mixed together in a red solo cup Owen had considerately written her name on before going all mixologist-mode.

“Your usual.”

“Thank you, sir. You know, I’ve only had a handful of barbecue chips since I got here, and I’m already tipsy, so this actually might get me completely drunk.” Taking a sip, Y/n hums out of pleasure, “Why do you make my favorite drink better than I make my favorite drink?”

“So you have a reason to keep me around.” At the sound of Y/n’s laugh, Owen cracks a smile in time with his favorite sound in the world. The blonde haired man leans forward to rest his weight on his left forearm. He stares at her with adoration seeping from his gaze, before lifting his own cup to drink with her.

“What is that?” she asks, sitting up taller to try and see into Owen’s cup over the island.

“Jack Daniels.”

“I want some.”

“No,” Owen answers swiftly albeit softly. Y/n, however, is not feeling as conciliatory.

“No?”

“Have you ever tried whiskey before?”

“Well, no-”

“You’re drinking a fruit flavored cocktail that’s like 30% nonalcoholic. A sip of this would knock you off your little ass.” Y/n frowns at his words and employs a fake pout of anger to guilt her now laughing friend. Despite her smile, she whines,

“You suck.” Owen merely shrugs unapologetically before sipping and wincing at his drink of choice. “So… how did your date go- with Amy?” And there it is. The question that’s been at the forefront of Y/n’s mind for the last 24 hours.

Owen met this girl Amy at a more professional house party type of event and they hit it off right away. They spent the night invested in conversation, sharing in a cacophony of laughter. Y/n had no right to be upset, but she was. Amy was drop dead gorgeous in that Mini length red, velvet dress that hugged her curves in all the right places. Her figure was snatched to the gods, and she was about 5’3”; a seemingly irrelevant thing to notice, but Y/n knew that was the height Owen loved in a partner. At least, based on all his previous flings. And not to mention, her beautiful golden blonde hair that extended all the way down her toned back. Amy was perfect to all standards including that of any straight man with eyes and undoubtedly Owen’s. They spent the entire night together, Y/n long forgotten despite having been Owen’s plus one.

Y/n on the other hand didn’t exactly view herself as the drop-dead gorgeous supermodel type. Seeing how Owen took an interest in her at that event, it was no wonder Y/n was jealous. In fact, she had been so jealous that she allowed their flirting to ruin her entire evening.

She had been invited platonically as Owen’s guest, but Owen didn’t feel guilty about leaving her alone once he saw Charlie was by her side the whole night. Little did he know Charlie was only there for her because Owen wasn’t. It was pity company. Pity company that she was grateful to have as she cried into a few gin and tonics. Y/n avoided telling Charlie about her feelings for the adorable drummer, but with the way events transpired, he had figured out what it was that had upset her.

Charlie so badly wanted to give Owen the guilt trip of a lifetime. And he did once he and Owen were alone, heading home in Charlie’s orange hatchback car. He did so by telling Owen about how his best friend had spent the entire evening crying into gin and tonics. ‘Y/n doesn’t even like gin and tonic’ was all Owen could come up with.

When he inquired about why his best friend was crying, Charlie said he didn’t know, but it may have had something to do with the fact that the person who invited her spent the whole night ignoring her; he left it at that, leaving Owen to connect the dots, sort of. Owen had come to the realization that Y/n must have been crying over him, but why? Unable to comprehend a reason, he pushed the situation to the back of his mind. So far back that when Amy texted him that same night, he immediately responded and eventually set up a date for them to get dinner alone Friday evening.

The date was fine. Objectively there was nothing wrong with it. But every time Amy took a sip of the gin and tonic she had ordered, he couldn’t help being reminded of Y/n that night. It took Owen a solid thirty minutes to finally conclude that maybe Y/n was... jealous? Of what? Of Amy? Quickly reviewing a long list of qualities, identical to the one that Y/n had thoroughly checked through when she first saw the blonde, Owen realized she was indeed jealous of Amy. But why? What did Amy have that Y/n didn’t?

Oh.

His initial conclusion in the car with Charlie had to be right. Y/n was crying over him, and seemingly jealous of Amy, all because Amy had his attention. Why was that a problem?

Oh… no. No, Y/n does not have feelings for him. Y/n is... well, Y/n. His best friend, his partner in crime, his confidant, there’s no way she’s in love with him. There’s a different reason as to why she’d been crying into drinks she didn’t like. And that different reason is why her text replies have been short and cold when he had asked for date night conversation pointers. And that different reason is why her smile kept faltering on FaceTime when he was asking for fashion advice for his date.

Y/n is not in love with her best friend.

Owen had spent the past year pushing down his feelings for the girl that threatened to bubble over the top. If Y/n was truly into him, he would’ve acted on them. But she isn’t, so he didn’t. At least, that’s what Owen told himself…

“It was alright,” he offers lamely as a reply to her inquiry. Y/n simply nods and takes another swig of her drink to dull the ache in the center of her chest.

“Just alright?”

“Okay, it was better than alright. She was great.” There’s a hole burning in the center of her heart, and against her better judgment, she expands the deficit by asking for more information.

“What does that mean- that she was ‘great’?”

“You know…” Owen trails off in search of the right words, some words, any words, but nothing comes to him. To sell her nonchalant demeanor, the hopelessly devoted girl is staring down into her cup as if it’s the most interesting thing in the room. She didn’t expect Owen’s eyes to be boring into hers when she looked back up, so she quickly musters a polite smile. Maybe the average onlooker couldn’t tell it was fake, but Owen knows something is off. He just knows. Because he knows her.

“How did those conversation pointers pan out?” She’s deflecting, he thinks.

“One of them worked.” I’m just feeding into it, he thinks.

“Only one of them?” He’s holding back something, she thinks.

“Well, yeah. We didn’t really do much talking if you get what I mean.” I don’t think I can handle this, she thinks.

“I see…” The pair stands together in a silence so tense they felt like strangers. It’s awful. Y/n and Owen hate every second of it, but what could they do? In a moment blinded by upset, Y/n reaches across the island to grab the newly opened bottle of grey goose and pours what must’ve been no less than three shots of liquid into her cup. No club soda or lemonade this time, she chugs down the rest of her drink in a flash; Owen stares at her in disbelief and shock.

Y/n hates being drunk, she likes being the designated driver, she’s never had straight up liquor in her life, and she’s a lightweight, that’s for damn sure. Owen knows all of these things and is even more surprised to see her reaching for an almost empty bottle of gin.

“Hey. Maybe you should take it easy, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re a lightweight and you know it. Put the cup down.” When Y/n shakes her head no, something in Owen snaps and his desire to be gentle is long forgotten. “Y/n. Put the drink down.”

“Why do you care, Owen?” In taking time to respond, Owen sees the opportunity and goes for it, taking the cup from her loose grasp and splashing it down the drain of the vegetable sink. “What the fuck?!”

“I think you’ve had enough to drink. Come on.” It’s only a matter of time until Y/n becomes an incoherent human being that’s impossible to wrangle, so Owen is very aware he’s on the clock. Snagging two Arrowhead water bottles in one hand, he takes Y/n’s hand in the other and brings her into the Shada’s den. There are only a few other people in the room, one is a couple and the other a pair of pining idiots, to which Owen becomes slightly wary. Not that the dynamic would change much. He and Y/n are practically a couple according to everyone around them.

Chelsea and Charlie are sitting fairly close together for just friends, on the chocolate brown loveseat facing the couch that Owen has plopped his increasingly intoxicated friend onto; Leila is sitting in a single armchair that a very tipsy Taylor is hanging over the back of to hug her shoulders. Upon seeing Y/n’s pouting expression Chelsea seeks more information,

“You good, fam?”

“He threw it down the sink!” She’s fading faster than Owen had hoped.

“I did. I poured what would’ve been her fifth and sixth shots down the sink.”

“Jesus, Y/n, are you trying to kill yourself?”

“What are you, a cop?” Even tipsy she’s still sharp as a tack. If Owen wasn’t frustrated with her at the moment, he would’ve probably laughed. But he is, so he didn’t. Slipping back into caretaker mode, he hands her one of the water bottles he snagged from the cooler on the way out. In her typical stubborn and petulant fashion, Y/n weakly throws the unopened bottle onto the couch cushion next to her. All their friends laugh but Owen isn’t having it.

“Y/n.” And it only takes a firm call of her name for the slumped over lightweight to glare at him but oblige. She retrieves the bottle and sticks her arm out straight toward Owen’s still standing figure.

“I can’t open it.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this fucked up,” Leila comments.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you fucked up period,” Chelsea adds on. Charlie laughs lightly before resuming whatever conversation the four of them had going pre-Owen and Y/n’s entrance.

Satisfied with the small sips she’s taking of her water, Owen relaxes and takes a seat next to her on the couch. The temporary break in her temper tantrum allows Owen to save his breath; he opens his own water bottle, taking a few drinks which ended up being half the bottle. He’s given her a good bit of room on the couch but it isn’t good enough for Y/n. It takes her a few failed attempts to screw on the cap of her water but once it’s properly sealed, she moves closer to her best friend. The water has acted like some magical temperament cure as Y/n’s previously permanent pout has disappeared.

Owen knows he and Y/n are close enough to where cuddling wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. But the way she’s burrowed into his side, picking up his seemingly ‘heavy’ arm to place it around her own inebriated frame, laying her head high up on his chest, and unintentionally resting her hand on his lower abdomen, something feels off. Her hand isn’t dangerously low, but low enough that the side of her limp palm has met the waistband of his jeans. Owen can’t help but feel his skin tingle and burn under her touch. Why is he so affected by her touch all of a sudden?

Owen is pulled from his snowballing thoughts by the sound of Y/n’s muffled voice against his chest. He leans down as far as he can which places his head on top of hers gently.

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey, you don’t need to be sorry,” he whispers just loud enough for her to hear. A tiny drop of warmth on his shirt under her head triggers Owen’s memory: Y/n’s an emotional drunk. She doesn’t get drunk often but when she does, she goes all in and becomes somewhat manic as a result. That accounts for her previous anger. Now it’s sadness, so in about ten minutes, she’ll be easily excitable and bouncing off the walls.

Y/n had carpooled with Leila and Chelsea to the party, and though Owen was upset about her not picking him up like they’d briefly talked about at first, he’s suddenly thankful for the arrangement.

“Let’s get you home, yeah?”

“Unhhh.” The lack of a coherent response is enough for Owen, and after finishing the rest of his water, he sits up on the couch.

“Where’s your house key? Hm?” The prospect of losing her key is absolutely devastating to Y/n as she begins to weep. Her imminent distress in response to Owen’s question has all their friends laughing once more; Leila speaks up,

“Check the left chest pocket of her jacket.”

Owen nods, noting the directions, and gently rolls his friend over on her back. Deciding against using her strength, Y/n flops over onto her other side which still allows Owen access to her pocket. His long fingers dwarf the button fastener on her jacket that she often struggles to open, and sure enough her sky blue house key is in her pocket just as Leila said.

“Thanks,” he acknowledges Leila before taking Y/n’s cold hands in his own larger ones to help her stand. It’s a bit of a struggle to stand and as a result, the fading girl leans a bit of her weight into Owen’s side. “You gonna say bye to our friends?”

Y/n nods a goodbye to each person in the room, moving from left to right naming Leila, Taylor, Chelsea, and then Charlie. Upon saying bye to Charlie the small girl starts to cry again, harder this time, much to everyone’s confusion.

“What’s wrong?”

“Charlie looked a-at me like he didn’t l-like me.” The entire room bursts out laughing, Owen included this time, but she’s still crying. “It’s no-not funny.”

“I know. You’re right, it’s not funny.” Owen’s exaggerated sympathy goes undetected by the very emotional Y/n as she presses her face into his grey long sleeve shirt. She reaches up to hug her arms around Owen’s neck for stability as she adds more tears to the tiny spot from before. “Can you walk?” He asks genuinely as more of her weight leans into him. The only response Owen gets is a few soft sobs, and in reaction to her messy state, lets out a subtle eye roll. He shakes his head before bending down to place one arm under her knees and the other behind her shoulder blades, sweeping her off the ground before she can protest.

“Would you guys tell Jer thanks and that I had to take her home?” A symphony of affirmations and goodbyes usher him out of the house, and once outside Y/n’s crying diminuendos into short sniffles and the occasional sigh.

“Here, be careful,” Owen panics as his friend nearly bangs the front of her head against the roof of his car. Once he cautiously places all her limbs in the passenger side, Owen shuts the door and hurries over to the driver’s side as if Y/n could hurt herself in the next five seconds. He places the key in the ignition but before he even touches the gear shift, he turns and looks quizzically at his best friend. The sniffling and sighs coming from her puffy face have lulled her into an almost unconscious state; Owen puffs out a frustrated sigh as he reaches across the entire car to grab Y/n’s seatbelt for her.

Another thing about drunk Y/n is that her emotional state makes her more likely to give in to physical impulses. So after she registers Owen leaning across her lap for the seatbelt, she grabs his shoulder so he doesn’t move away. The action surprises Owen and he turns his face to look into her half-lidded eyes. He’s trying to make sense of the action but his trailing thoughts are interrupted when the girl in the passenger’s seat leans forward slightly to put her face against Owen’s neck.

“I like your smell.” Owen tries so hard not to laugh in fear of upsetting her again, but he can’t conceal the smile growing on his face. He then gently pulls away from her grasp in order to actually start driving,

“Okay. Thank you.”

The car ride is composed of mostly comfortable silence with the occasional inebriated comment or nonsensical sound from the girl in the passenger seat; Owen had been so captivated by Y/n’s uncharacteristically relaxed state, he’d been driving on autopilot and instead of turning left to get on the highway that runs south to where her apartment is, he’d gone north to go to his own place. No big deal, Owen didn’t plan on leaving her intoxicated and alone, and she’s stayed the night plenty of times before now. What’s one more night? It isn’t until he puts the car in park and helps her out of the vehicle that Y/n clocks her surroundings.

“I don’t live here.”

“You don’t, no, but I do,” Owen replies simply before he slides out of the car. Y/n stays in the car as if Owen told her not to move, and looks up at him confusedly when he opens her door. In her tipsy state, she is able to recognize what Owen is doing and smugly places her hand over the buckle of her seatbelt. With her tiny palm over the red button, she begins giggling maniacally.

“What are you doing?” Owen asks with a frustrated sigh although he can’t help the small smile overtaking his features at the sound of her growing laughter. He doesn’t get a response, just more giggling which lets him know he’s going to have to do things the hard way now that she’s in a lifted mood. “Kid, you have to get out of the car.”

“You can’t make me.”

Owen takes a step back from the open door to reevaluate. Y/n always tells him to work smarter, not harder. Another one of her many bouts of wisdom is that you can keep the attention of children and adults alike with a vastly dynamic change in volume. The question is will she notice Owen using this tactic on her in her drunken state?

“Hey, Y/n/n,” his speech drops to a low whisper. “I’m sad, can you hold my hand?” The change in volume works exactly as described; completely convinced by the sincerity of his whispering, Y/n gives him her right hand. “Can I have the other one?”

When she nods a small ‘yes’ and gives him both of her hands, Owen finds himself fighting the urge to laugh at how easy that was. He takes both of her cool hands in his larger left one to reach across her body and release her seatbelt with a swift CLICK.

Luckily Y/n didn’t tangle herself up in the seatbelt, but she had other ideas for causing trouble. Owen helped her out of the car but once she was standing on her own two feet, she began running away from him. With a slam of the car door and a string of breathy curses later, he chases after his best friend before she can hurt herself on literally anything in the parking garage. The sound of Y/n’s laughter carries through the vacant space, and despite all her best efforts, Owen quickly catches up to her. Her giddy intoxication allowed for the suspension of disbelief that she could outrun the much taller Owen Joyner, but she’s sorely mistaken when his strong arms wrap around her waist and lift her feet off the ground. Y/n’s bouts of laughter are contagious; Owen finds himself laughing alongside his best friend. Setting her feet back on the ground he asks,

“Are you going to run away again if I let go of you?”

“Yeah,” she chokes out through the tail end of her laughing fit. The candidness of her reply prompts Owen to throw his head back, shaking it as if in disagreement with the universe itself,

“I appreciate your honesty.” And with that, Y/n screeches in glee as her best friend maneuvers her body in his grip to lift her over his right shoulder.

“Owen!”

“You did this to yourself, kid.”

The silent elevator ride up to his flat is comfortable relative to the current position they’re in. Y/n’s no longer fighting being carried but instead entertains herself by tapping out an intricate beat on the surface of Owen’s back.

“Guess what song this is.”

The beat she’s playing is close to incoherent and Owen tries to stifle his full laugh in fear of making her cry again. He’s been successful so far, but now having Y/n over his shoulder, she can feel the movement of his abdomen that was unintelligible by sight alone.

“Your favorite song,” he guesses insincerely.

“No, my favorite song doesn’t sound like that. It was sicko mode.”

“That was not sicko mode.”

“Owen, how come you don’t wear a badge?”

“What?”

“Because you’re the song police?” Owen can’t help but snort out a laugh even though the comment was made at his expense. Still sharp as a tack.

Once the pair reach the front door of Owen’s ‘bachelorette pad’ as Y/n liked to call it, he sets her back on the ground albeit reluctantly as he recalls why he was carrying her in the first place. Thinking quickly on his feet, Owen forms a plan that’s more likely than not foolproof.

“Hey, Y/n/n?”

“Yeah?” Her voice is still right behind him thankfully.

“Can I have a hug?” After a few seconds of silence in the hall, Owen begins to doubt his plan until he feels the weight of his best friend leaning on his toned back. With her cheek pressed against the middle of his spine, Y/n brings her arms around his waist, clasping her hands tightly together. Her semi-public display of affection allows Owen some time to unlock his front door. Once he props the door open, Owen realizes that Y/n probably isn’t going to let go any time soon and opts to waddle through the threshold with her still attached to him. He’s able to turn around and lock them back in for the night which makes the girl begin to laugh.

“Was this your plan all along? To get me drunk so you could lock me in your apartment and hold me prisoner for the rest of my life?”

“And I would’ve gotten away with it, too...”

“If it weren’t for those meddling kids and their dog.”

True to his imagination that Y/n wasn’t letting go any time soon, Owen swivels her around his torso so that he could hold her to his side rather than support her with his back. He now has his right arm over both of her shoulders as she continues to hug her best friend. The way she leans her head onto his chest makes Owen’s heartbeat the tiniest bit faster. ‘She’s drunk, she doesn’t know what this does to you’ is the mantra blaring through Owen’s subconscious. Shaking any and all sort of romantic thoughts out of his head, he begins to lead her back to his bedroom.

Flicking the lights on proves to be a mistake once Y/n starts groaning miserably, and Owen decides the floor lamp is a better option than the overheads. Much to Owen’s surprise and relief, Y/n moves to sit on the edge of his bed on her own volition. She’s not upright for long as she collapses into the sheets of his unmade bed that contemplated neatening before leaving the house; hindsight is 20/20.

“Hmm. I like your smell,” Y/n parrots despite already bringing up the topic on the ride home.

“This is the same cologne I always use.”

“No. I like your natural smell.”

“What?”

“I was reading up about pheromones the other day. And there was this thing that said when couples like each others’ scent, it’s like a primal way of seeing if you’re immuno-compatible with someone so your offspring have the best chance for survival. It’s an evolutionary thing for the survival of our species. Ants have pheromones, too.”

Sometimes she has trouble remembering to feed herself, but leave it to Y/n to remember extensive information about pheromones whilst intoxicated. The concept is intriguing to Owen, so he proceeds to ask questions, ignoring the tug on his heart he felt after hearing her say the word ‘couples’.

“So, if I like your scent, we’re immuno-?”

“Compatible, yeah. But it’s mostly me because you can sniff out my period.”

“I can what?”

“I read that men can tell when a woman is at her most fertile because that’s when they like her smell the best. They did a study where a bunch of men were introduced to a few different scents, and without fail, the one they liked the most or would describe as ‘sexy’ or ‘attractive’ was the scent they took from the woman who was ovulating.”

Y/n continues talking about what she learned about pheromones as Owen picks up a bit of the mess around his room. She returns to the topic of ant pheromones as he digs through his surprisingly large closet for something for his friend to sleep in. His temporarily bubbly best friend also notes that he should ‘sniff her now because she’s ovulating and he would like that’ which makes him laugh into the drawers of his waist-height dresser. Returning to find her still slumped over on the bed, he pats her leg and beckons her to sit up. After Y/n’s upright again, Owen hands her his classic black ‘BEANS’ t-shirt and a pair of briefs that won’t properly fit her but will fit better than a pair of his actual pants.

“Can you put these on for me?”

“Yeah.” Owen’s conflicted with both wanting to respect Y/n’s privacy by leaving the room, and prioritizing her safety, and not leaving her unattended at any moment. He comes to a compromise which is staying by her side but turning a full 180 to face the wall of his bedroom. A couple of moments pass until Y/n begins whining frustratedly.

“Owen.”

“Huh?”

“I can’t ubns-” her words become incomprehensible as she begins to cry again and Owen turns around to find her struggling with the buttons on her shirt, her jacket long discarded on the bedroom floor. This shirt: her white, cap-sleeve crop top with a peter pan collar that she wore for anything mildly significant, this was her favorite. Owen remembers her fussing about how she ruined it only to find that she just forgot to steam it one day. So with a little heat and water, Owen had fixed the shirt like nothing ever happened, and he’d do it a million times over again if it meant he got to relive seeing the smile that graced her face for the first time again.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t do the buttons.” She runs the back of her right hand against her tired eyes to wipe away her tears and Owen internally curses himself for the way the small action makes his heart flutter.

“Do you need help?”

“Yeah.”

“Listen to me, you are okay,” he sinks to kneel in front of Y/n as she sits tiredly on the edge of the bed. Owen doesn’t miss the slight tremble of his hands as he reaches up to unbutton her shirt, but he prays that she will. Through tiny sniffles and teary eyes, she watches his hands effortlessly work down the length of her shirt, each button modestly dancing between his fingertips. Once the short top is fully unbuttoned, Owen returns to his normal standing height and Y/n attempts to shrug the fabric off her body. She struggles lightly and knowing her frustration is imminent, Owen reaches down to gingerly push the sleeves off her shoulders. The light graze of his rough, calloused skin against her own skin sends electric-like shocks through the both of them; yet neither of them believed the other felt it too.

Owen hastily withdraws his hands and, without warning, Y/n quickly removes the bralette she was wearing. Owen’s eyes widen slightly at her lack of inhibition. He does his best to be a gentleman and swiftly redirects his gaze to the white ceiling fan that has all of a sudden become the most intriguing object in the universe. His lower peripheral vision indicates that she’s finally slipped the black tee over her head, but she begins sniffling more fiercely as she struggles with taking off her jeans. Owen sighs and drops to his knees once more in spite of himself, and aids his best friend in slipping the material over the length of her calves and off the tips of her toes. Hoping to speed up the process, he grabs the briefs he had brought her and unfolds them in preparation for helping her into them. His efforts are all for naught as Y/n forgoes the need for any more clothing and slides under the covers of his unmade bed. Owen then turns to leave the bedroom, opting to set up on the couch for the night before Y/n’s small voice is cutting through the comfortable silence.

“Where are you going?” He sighs,

“I’ll be right back, okay? I’ll get you some water and Advil for when you wake up tomorrow.” Y/n then nods acceptingly and allows her eyes to flutter closed as he leaves the room. Despite how tired she feels, Y/n won’t quite yet let herself sleep--not ‘til Owen is beside her. When he returns he sets the ibuprofen bottle on the nightstand before uncapping the Kirkland brand water bottle he had in the fridge. He coaxes her into sitting up just one more time so she can drink some of the water before falling asleep. She sits and rubs her tired eyes as she drinks and Owen has to physically force himself to look away from the adorable sight. He just wants to take care of her forever but things have always been strictly platonic between them.

The risk of making their friendship weird or awkward was just too great.

“Goodnight kid, I’ll be right outside if you need me.” Owen leaves without awaiting a response and lets out an annoyed sigh before setting himself up on the couch in his living room. He was so focused on getting Y/n to bed safely that he forgot to grab clothes for himself. Not a big deal. He simply strips down to just his underwear and climbs underneath the thick Pottery Barn throw blanket Y/n had gifted him as a housewarming gift. That and a fire extinguisher because ‘you don’t notice its absence until you need it’ she claimed. The memory makes Owen smile and he allows his eyes to close after a long day.

A long day that was about to get longer. Owen finds himself sinking further and further into sleep until he hears the padding of footsteps that are now in his living room. He’s too tired to open his eyes, and it’s not like he doesn’t already know who it is. What does surprise him, however, is the feeling of the familiar weight squeezing between the couch and his turned back.

“What are you doing?” He half mumbles into the night.

“You’re warm.”

“That was not the question, Y/n/n.” After not receiving a reply, Owen turns as best as he can to look at his friend who’s nestling her way into his sleeping arrangement for the night. “Kid-”

“I just wanna be with you.”

“Alright,” Owen sighs out of irritation, exhaustion, and a sliver of adoration before sitting up on the couch, “Come on.”

He stands up, fully expecting to have to drag her back to the bedroom, but finds relief in seeing her struggle her way off the couch. Slipping her tired hand into his unexpecting, larger one, Y/n allows her friend to lead her into the bedroom for the second time that night.

Owen considerately lifts the covers for her to climb back into before getting into the other side of the bed.

“Owen.”

“Hm?”

“Guess what.”

“What?”

“I love you.”

“Love you, too, kid.”

“No,” Y/n speaks in a casual tone as if she’s not divulging into her biggest emotional trepidation to date. “I love you, Owen.”

Owen can’t help the way his heart seemingly stops. The way the butterflies in his stomach are going wild. The way he wants to smile like he’s the biggest lovestruck idiot on planet Earth.

She’s drunk. She doesn’t know what she’s saying. She won’t remember this tomorrow.

“I’m in love with you, Y/n.”

She won’t remember that tomorrow.

***

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[threecrowsinatrenchcoat]

For One More Hour or One More Day

Dukeceit Week Day 6: Horror/Comedy

Remus and Janus work in IT, and Remus never fails to make Janus' life a bit more exciting than it should be. Janus wouldn't have it any other way.

AO3 Link: [here]

Word Count: 1416

Warnings: swearing, typical Remus-levels of implied sexual content. 

@dukeceitweek <3

-

[06032021 Network Node Down- 172.12.203.1 - Dee Why ]

Janus stared at the next ticket in his queue. He didn't even have to look at which tech wrote it. He just knew. He picked up his phone and dialed. 

“'Sup, DeeDee?" 

"Because they use ancient technology and refuse to upgrade, that's why." 

There was a beat of silence on the line. Janus didn't need to see him to know Remus was grinning like a maniac. 

“Oh, JD, I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about," Remus said finally. His voice was laced with barely-contained glee. 

“Uh-huh, sure," Janus replied dryly. He watched on his screen as an incoming call diverted from his in-use line. "Do you want to clarify for me, in excruciating detail, what, exactly, it is that broke this time? After all, if it's something I can fix from here, it would save the company an awful lot of money. And you know how I love saving this company money." 

“You don't feel like taking work calls either, huh?" 

“Ree, I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."

-

[06142021 CRITICAL | Device failed Availability and Latency checks - Dispatch Requested]

Janus sat in his truck for a few minutes, cross-checking the address across his e-mail, Slack, and the ticket itself. And yeah, they all matched. This wasn’t a repeat of that time Remus had changed the address on the ticket from 96th St. to 69th St. as a joke. 

(Janus had almost gotten mugged. He was still a little salty about that one.)

But this time, all the addresses matched. The problem was, he was parked in front of a restaurant instead of the usual office building, and that just didn’t seem right. He opened up Slack on his phone. 

Janus D’lyre: Are you sure the address is right?

Remus Rey: Yeah, it’s right.

Janus D’lyre: It’s a restaurant. 

Remus Rey:  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Janus D’lyre: Are you positive it’s right?

Remus Rey: I just write the tickets, Dee, I don’t do a background check. Just go in.

Janus sighed. He got out of his truck, hefted his tech bag over his shoulder, and went inside.

It was a nice restaurant. Very fancy, with a goddamn chandelier hanging over the front lobby. Field engineers weren’t required to dress in a suit and tie, but Janus did by habit- and he was glad he did, because he would feel like a horrible slob standing here in jeans and a polo.

“Can I help you?”

Janus looked over to the host, standing at the counter with a bright smile that only looked 52% faked.

“Yes,” Janus answered. “I’m here about the network issues?”

“Oh!” The host- his name tag read ‘Patton’- brightened up a bit. “Yeah! Remus is waiting for you, this way!”

“Remus is what?”

It was too late. Patton had already darted around the counter and off into the dining area. Janus sighed and, regretting every life choice leading up to this exact moment, followed.

Sure enough, Remus was waiting for him. Patton led him to a quieter area of the restaurant, where Remus was sitting at a table. Well, sitting was a generous way to phrase it, because in reality, he was tipped back on the rear two legs of the chair, combat boot-clad feet up on the table. He jumped up eagerly at the sight of Janus, and somehow managed not to fall backwards and crack his skull open. 

“Hey! You made it! Thanks, Pat!” 

“No problemo!” the host replied with a grin before heading back to the front counter. Janus briefly considered that he might be having a fever dream right now.

“Remus, what the fuck?” 

“Told you it was the right address!”

Janus glared. “That is not what I’m ‘what the fuck’-ing you about.”

“I mean, I’d prefer me fucking you-”

“Remus.”

“Well, you work so hard, DeeDee,” Remus said calmly, as if he wasn’t standing in the middle of the fanciest restaurant on this side of town, dressed in his usual tank-top and leather vest combo and probably mashing dirt into the plush red carpet, and definitely doing something that should get him fired. “I thought you could take a break, and we could have a nice dinner.”

No, he wasn’t doing something that should get him fired. He was doing something that should get them both fired. 

“You’re joking, right?”

“Kinda a lame joke.”

“Remus, you had me dispatched to a random address for a fake problem, to have dinner with you on company time?”

“‘Course not, who do you think I am?”

Janus did not dignify that with an answer. He turned to walk away.

“Jannie, wait!” Remus darted around the table to get in front of him. Janus stopped, and glared. “This is Roman’s restaurant! It’s not a random address, he’s an actual client.”

Janus’ glare lessened. Ok, sure, they did have some smaller commercial clients. And sure, Remus had mentioned his brother’s restaurant was using them as tech support now after a bad experience with a different company. But- “It’s still a fake problem, Remus.”

A shit-eating grin spread across Remus’ face. “Nah. I unplugged the router.”

Janus snorted in a totally dignified manner. “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“...Well, I suppose… I’d better investigate the issue. Couldn’t be solved remotely, hardware problem and all.”

Remus held out a hand. Janus took it, and let Remus lead him back to the table.

“Great, cause I already ordered!”

-

[06192021 Switch is problematic. Unable to get into the switch || Serial No. 111-0203-2018]

Janus very calmly cleared the ticket, set his work phone to away, pulled out his personal phone, and sent Remus a text. 

Jannie-D: I know you’re upset I didn’t let you fuck me last night. Get over it. 

Remster: i will not 

- 

Virgil Caligo: yo are u and remus like good?

Janus D’lyre: We had a small argument last night. Why?

Virgil Caligo: [image attached]

Janus sighed. Virgil had sent him a screenshot of a ticket update Remus had just posted.

[06292021 Ticket #00679 Update.] ‘The device is not only unresponsive to simple ping requests, but is being kind of a jerk about it. 100% package loss, a tragedy. Device was confirmed to be connected to a working power source, but they all say that, so who can really be sure. Dispatch requested, please confirm maintenance window. Actually showing up would be great, too.’

Janus hastily typed a message to Virgil. 

Janus D’lyre: Did you take that one?

Virgil Caligo: ya. logan didnt see dw

Janus D’lyre: Thanks. You can transfer it to me, I’ll take care of it. 

Janus leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples. What a comedy of errors this day had been. It was the last time he’d forget he and Remus had a date night planned, that’s for sure. 

- 

Remus sighed when a priority ticket popped up in his queue. He was having a grand time ignoring his other queues in favor of sculpting a rather elaborate dick out of the green Play-Doh he kept at his desk, but he really did not feel like getting bitched out by Logan for missing a priority ticket. Grumbling to himself, he stuffed the Play-Doh back into its tub and opened the ticket. 

[06292021 Ticket #00679 Update.] ‘Likely a hardware bug. Possible remote fix with reset and reconfigure. Device information missing from online records. Please check file and update record.’ 

Fuck. Remus hated pulling files. What a pain. He trudged his way upstairs to the records room, which was always dark and depressing because nobody ever went there because who the fuck used physical paper in 2021?

But when he unlocked the door and pushed it open, the light was on. And every surface was covered in flowers.

“What the fuck?” Remus asked the flowers. They didn’t answer. But, at the small desk near the door, there was a stack of green boxes from his favorite bakery- and on top of that, he saw an envelope with his name on it. Eagerly, Remus tore open the envelope. 

Inside, he found a single sheet of Janus’ fancy stationery paper, the kind with the little holographic snakes along the edge that he only ever used for special occasions. And on that paper, one single sentence, penned in Janus’ elegant, flourishy handwriting: Ok, you can fuck me tonight.

- - -

[06292021 Ticket #00679 Update.] ‘I take it back, the device is no longer being a jerk, and I love the device very much.’ 

[rheacanbreakme]

JUST TRYING TO HELP

ROMAN x FEMALE READER

Request by @omg-im-such-a-masochist

Warning: SMUT, 18+, use of honorifics

Short Description: Someone is finally home, and Y/N wants to help him feel better.

Vocabulary Check:

La’u Kapani: Casual term for girlfriend

Pele: Dearest

Manamea: Sweetheart

It was Tuesday night, which probably didn’t mean much to most folks, but it was your favourite night of the week for one reason and one reason only- it was the night your boyfriend Roman Reigns would be home from travelling for a few days, and you couldn’t wait to spend time with him. As much as you were beyond proud of your boyfriend and everything he had accomplished at work, deep down, you were always happiest when he was at home, by your side, and heck, next to you in bed. He was able to read you like no one else, and honestly, you were pretty sure you could picture a long-term future with him at this point.

Your daydream ended abruptly when you heard a key scratching at the front door, meaning that the moment you waited for had finally arrived. Leaping out of bed, you bolted downstairs, making a beeline for your boyfriend who was struggling to get inside.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, relax, La’u Kapani. Let me get in the door first, and then I’m all yours” he chuckled.

You blushed, helping him get his bags, and more importantly, himself inside and on the couch before wrapping your arms around him in a hug.

“I’m sorry sweetie, I just missed you so much. How was work? Anything exciting I should know about?” You said, words rushing out of you.

He smiled, before responding.

“Nasty match with Edge last night, still super fucking sore. Nothing I can’t handle though”

You couldn’t help but be concerned. Even though you knew it was all part of the job, you hated seeing him in pain.

“Do you want to go take a shower? I could meet you upstairs afterwards, and we could just relax for tonight, take it easy for once” you suggested.

“You know what? Not a bad idea. I think I’ll take you up on that” he replied, his face wincing in pain as he got up off the couch. You watched him like a hawk as he walked up the stairs to your room and washroom, struggling.

An idea formed in your head, and the second you heard the shower turn on, you put that plan into action.

As a former ballerina, you knew how to massage out sore muscles, and would offer to do so whenever Roman would accept your help, being the prideful man that he was. You really did enjoy helping him, it made you feel good inside.

Climbing the stairs, you made a beeline for the linen closet, knowing that you kept your small collection of massage oils in a basket.

Grabbing the basket out of the closet, you rushed to the bedroom you and Roman shared, wanting to be fully set up before he finished his shower. Thankfully for you, he was in the shower more than long enough for you to line up all of the bottles, lay down a towel, and turn down the lights in the room.

As he entered the bedroom, you watched a look of surprise wash over his face

“What’s going on?” he asked, with confusion in his voice.

You smiled before replying.

“I’m going to take care of you, you stubborn man. Now don’t even think of protesting, just lie down,tell me exactly what hurts, and let me help you”

He shook his head, knowing better than to protest before lying down on the bed.

“Oh my goodness pele, whatever would I do without you” he said, pecking you on the forehead before lying down.

“Edge did a number on my back, and my right knee isn’t feeling 100% either” he said, his voice slightly muffled by the pillow he was lying on.

“Well lets just see what I can do to fix that” you replied.

Spreading the oils over your hands, you chose to focus on his back first, kneading the palm of your hands through the tips of your fingertips into the muscles, focusing on each knot, taking them one at a time, and moving based off of how Roman was reacting.

“Damn woman, I swear I don’t know where you get those magical fingers from.”

You felt a slight blush creep into your cheeks, but tried not to let in show in your voice.

“Years of practice hun. All of that ballet, learning how to fix myself, glad it’s still good for something in my retirement” you replied.

One knot in particular was refusing to release in Roman’s lower back, and you opted to use your elbow to dig in deeply to the tissue, causing him to inhale sharply.

“Fucking hell!” he cursed

“Sorry, just trying to get this -groan- last -huff- fucker- huff - free” you panted, determined. Finally, you felt the muscle beginning to give, and pushing your entire body weight into the muscle, you were rewarded by the knot finally dissolving.

“Halle-fucking-lujah. How does that feel?” you asked, taking your hands off of Roman’s back so he could test out the feeling.

He slowly rose, contracting and lowering his back slowly.

“You’re a goddamn gift, that’s how it feels” he uttered, almost with disbelief in his voice.

“Well lie back down then, I wanna see if I can’t at least try to get some relief into that knee as well” you replied, determined to take away his pain.

“Fine, fine, I’m listening” he said, gently mocking the seriousness in your voice.

He opted to lie down on his back this time, which had you face-to-face with your boyfriend. All of a sudden, you regretted not switching into something less revealing, since you were in your favourite babydoll nightgown and matching panty set, leaving next to nothing to the imagination. In this position, with you working on his knee, Roman had a full view of everything, which made you blush at the thought. You weren’t a prude, just always bashful about being showy. Mentally shaking the thoughts from your brain, you focused on your plan- help your boyfriend.

Leaning forward, you dug your thumbs into the injured knee, noticing that out of the corner of your eye Roman was trying to avoid hissing in pain.

“Let it all out sweetie, it helps to let me know if it’s working, you know that” you chided, doubling your efforts by moving your thumbs in a circular motion, feeling all of the pieces of the knee almost like a puzzle, returning to their respective spots.

“Alrighty, test that out” you said, letting go.

He bent and flexed his knee, and you observed that he was no longer making faces, and that made you happy,

“Well would you look at that, all better” he replied, catching you off guard and enveloping you in a hug. “Time for me to return the favour, love” he said as he quickly flipped you, pinning you underneath him.

It was your turn to chuckle

“Guess you got your energy back” you said, slightly out of breath.

“Oh I got it back and more” he answered, his already brown eyes going darker.

A flush once again crept into your cheeks, as you struggled to maintain your composure.

“Should I stay on my back, or flip over to my front?” you asked, struggling to keep your voice calm.

“Flip over, I want to see if there are any knots in your back”

He leaned back and off of you so you were able to turn, and therefore bury your burning face in the pillows on the bed. Feeling his fingers digging into your back, relaxation took over your body, and you let yourself melt into the sheets. You moaned quietly, letting your guard down as his strong fingers continued to roam your body.

“Oh, is my Manamea happy?” he asked

“Very much so” you replied, letting yourself drift, not even noticing that his focus was more on your upper thighs, and no longer purely in a medical sense. Heck, you didn’t even notice until one of his fingers started to stroke the lace of your panties in between your legs, making you gasp loudly.

“Roman!”

“Shhh. I said I’d take care of you, and I will.” he said, using his other hand to once again turn you on to your back.

Before you could say anything in protest, he leaned in and kissed you deeply, which you responded to by kissing him back with as much passion.

While you were distracted by the kiss, he took the opportunity to slide off your nightgown with ease, only needing one powerful hand to do so. You instinctively bit his lip at the removal of his finger between your thighs, which caused him to lean back and smirk.

“Oh? Are we, dare I say, needy, all of a sudden?” he asked, with a cocky tone of voice.

You almost hated how easily he read you at a moment like this.

“Damnit Roman, you know I am”

“Ah, ah ah. That’s not the magic answer. Tell me exactly what you’re needy for Y/N, and only then can I give it to you” he teased.

You grumbled, speaking softly “I want you dammit, in and on me”

He cupped a hand to his ear “Sorry, you’re going to have to repeat yourself, I didn’t quite catch that”

Inhaling sharply “I want you Roman. Inside of me, and all over me” you spoke, louder, feeling your skin burn red.

“That’s more like it, Pele” he replied, once again reaching down between your legs, stroking a pattern back and forth through the fabric.

You groaned, wanting more.

“Patience, patience” he added, once again in a teasing tone of voice.

“Fucking hell Roman, ruin me already” you said without thinking, and then immediately clasping both of your hands over your mouth.

A large grin broke out over the samoans face.

“Music to my ears” he growled, ripping the underwear off of you and lowering himself onto you.

He kissed you deeply, before leaning back and removing the boxer shorts he was in, revealing that his member was already hard as a rock.

“All because of you” he said, as he noticed you staring. Before you could stammer out any form of response, he was back on top of you, this time taking your breasts in his hands and rolling your nipples in between his thumb and forefingers, enjoying how you leaned into the feelings as he did.

He moved his head down, suckling on your right nipple, before alternating to your left, and biting down, sending a rush of pleasure through your body.

Finally moving his right hand back down in between your legs, he used his middle finger to stroke roughly back and forth over your mound, making you squirm. Without warning, he pushed the finger inside of you, curling it back and forth just so as to hit your walls.

Putting his lips next to your ear, he growled, “look at you, so wet. Just squirming, and all because of me. Does this make you happy, slut?”

You groaned, loudly at that.

“Yes sir”

“Good girl” he replied, moving down and using his tongue to stimulate your clit, making you buck wildly from the assault on your core. He removed his finger, loudly sucking your juices off, and then slid his member in, slowly filling you up. You moaned, the feeling of him inside of you absolutely blissful.

“That’s it, take all of me” he growled, using his right hand to rub your clit as he pumped in and out of you repeatedly, the coil at the base of your stomach tensing up. Sensing that you were getting close, he reached up and closed his left hand around your neck, cutting off some of the blood circulation to your brain.

“Cum with me, cum with me now” he commanded, and you felt yourself let go, as he came inside of you, the two of you locked together in bliss. He continued to pump rigorously in and out of you as you came, riding every aftershock together before pulling out and collapsing next to you on the bed, both of you panting.

“So, was the service up to standard?” He asked.

You felt a giggle escape your throat as you responded:

“Indeed it was. Any chance you can help me out again, say, tomorrow? And the day after?” you asked, teasing.

“For you? Any day” He said, as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you back in.

[rabidpotato]

I have Castlevania brain rot send help

Ho boy. I have FEELINGS.

Season 4 spoilers and (longwinded) Discourse(TM) below the cut

A happy ending? In MY Castlevanias? It’s more likely than you think. With as grimdark as the series has been I fully expected to have my heart torn out and shat on, so to get an actual satisfying happy ending was a whole lungful of fresh air. Gimme that sweet sweet rush of Everybody Lives Nobody Dies, I need that shit pumped straight into my poor serotonin-starved brain.

What a hell of a season. There was enough material there for at least two seasons (and I would have LOVED to have two seasons, but that’s just because I’m greedy and want more…) and I was skeptical that they could even try to wrap up all those threads..and then they DID IT. Hot damn.

Hot Takes:

In this house we stan Greta and will tolerate no disrespect against our sword-and-hammer wielding queen. I love her, and I love her and Alucard’s dynamic with the deliberate parallels to Dracula and Lisa. I think she’s good for him.

TREVOR AND SYPHA UGH I JUST LOVE THEM SO MUCH I’m out here crying ugly tears at how much this stinky himbo and tiny nuke love each other ;______; Battle Couple OTP.

I would watch the shit out of an entire season of everybody building the new village and Trevor and Sypha learning how to be parents and Alucard and Greta getting closer and everybody just being HAPPY. This is because I am trash, not because there would actually be any storytelling value in such a thing. Same thing with onscreen kisses between Trevor and Sypha. Is it necessary? No. Doesn’t mean I don’t want it. But hey, that’s what fandom is for, right? I’ll just be over here drawing beetus-inducing fluff and being vaguely disgusted with myself.

Papa Trevor would be so soft. I think my ovaries just exploded.

I 100% expected Trevor to die and leave Sypha grieving and pregnant with the way they teased it in the trailer and the way it would have thematically fit with the rest of the series, and I am SO GLAD he didn’t. I’m tired of sad endings. I really love that he gets to be part of this world of people who know how to build things.

“I love you.” “I know.”

That single flash of Sypha’s face as he’s fading out knowing he’s going to die and being at peace with it, augh my fucking heart. T_T

Horse is secret MVP. That horse knows things.

Isaac confirmed for a) stand user and b) monster fucker. King out here living his best life, you love to see it.

But for reals tho, Isaac’s arc was one of my favorites. Nice fakeout with the conquest line in the trailer. The philosophical discussions on the nature of humans and night creatures, the way he comes to realize that he (and Hector, and by extension his own night creatures) is/are more than a tool to be used in the hands of others, the way he reclaims his own agency and decides he’s going to live...I fucking loved it. (Also paves the way for post-series forgehusbands…)

SO FUCKING HAPPY FOR STRIGA AND MORANA. I was holding my breath expecting them to get horribly killed the entire time and then they just...weren’t. The hot vampire wives got to literally ride off into the sunset (sunrise?) together, in a way that made sense. The General and the Organizer looked at the data on the ground, discussed, and made the calculated decision to stick with what really matters to them, not just Carmilla’s ambitions. More of this, please! Would have loved to see Striga fight more than once, though. Also I would shank a man for Morana’s cape.

Respect for Carmilla for going out on her own terms, even if it did feel a little heavy-handed. The cinematography of her and Isaac’s fight sure as hell made up for it though- that was one of the prettiest fights of the series.

Reunited trio’s fight was the other prettiest fight of the series. Holy fuck, what gorgeous animation.

I actually liked that St Germain’s lady friend never spoke- it reinforced the way that he has mythologized her to the point where she’s not even a person, just an ideal. It was also exactly what he deserved that she turned her back on him in the end. She’s just not that into you, bro.

Varney is a hoot. A greasy, flea-infested slimy hoot. Nice twist, too. Death’s design is *chef kiss*

Loved the themes of moving on and rebuilding and change and how there’s a pretty clear split between the people who are able to adapt and change (and live), and those “relics of the old world” who can’t or won’t. Ratko was criminally underused in this respect. I think there just wasn’t enough time.

Quibbles:

Pacing. I know Castlevania is notorious for uneven pacing, but in this case I think this is on Netflix- they should have been given a full two seasons to wrap this up, just to give things a chance to breathe. As it was, though, I think the writers did the best possible job given the constraints they were under.

Zamfir should have lived to learn the lesson about caring for the people who are still alive, and been the one to take charge of rebuilding Targoviste for the living. Having her die was straight-up pointless in a predictable way.

Did Trevor just straight-up forget he has TWO weapons with range when fighting Ratko? You have like a 30 foot reach what are you doing bro

Lenore is Problematic, and I wish there had been more tension between her and Hector. Like, I know Stockholm Syndrome is a thing, but he’s weirdly chill with her in a way that glosses over just what she did to him. Also I would have liked to see more self-awareness of “Oh, being a pet in a cage really is shitty, no matter how nice the cage. Now I know why what I did to you was wrong” before she dips. Her ending sure was poetic, though.

Wasn’t Trevor’s left arm broken in that last fight? How the heck is he even able to use it at the end? Also damn dude it’s been two weeks you should probably at least have washed those gaping wounds by now. Do you want sepsis? Because that’s how you get sepsis.

Unpopular Opinions:

Look I love Dracula/Lisa as much as the next shipper but “Hey we’re alive again for some reason!!” was totally out of left field. It felt like something out of a fix-it fic and it was just kinda baffling and jarring. Also go see your fucking kid, jfc you two are terrible parents.

Is Lisa just...kinda fine with the fact that Dracula tried to commit genocide in her name and almost killed their son? That must have been an awkward conversation.

I’m actually cool with Alucard spilling his life story to Greta on the march. He’s starving for human interaction, who’s to say he wouldn’t just want to TALK about what he’s been through? It’s treated in a way that’s a bit flippant for my taste, but we’ve seen enough of his trauma onscreen. I want to focus on his healing.

I’m hesitant to kick this particular hornet’s nest, but I really don’t think the ot3 has to be sexual? If it is, it damn well be an ot4 polycule with Greta. I see them more as two couples that are close friends and found family. But that’s the great thing about fandom! Rock on, shippers of all flavors, there’s room enough for everybody.

In Conclusion (jesus fuck how much did I write)

Castlevania pretty

Have you seen my braincell I think I misplaced it

Moar plz

[i-write-newsies]

A/N:

(Y/N) - Your Name

(L/N) - Last Name

(N/N) - Nickname

(H/C) - Hair Color

(D/N) - DEEZ NUTS!! /j Deadname

(E/C) - Eye Color

(H/L) - Hair Length

(Y/A) - Your Age

Ships Included:

- Jack x Davey

- Spot x Race

- Finch x Smalls (Platonic)

- Albert x Elmer

-Katherine x Sarah

- Spot x Reader (Brotherly Platonic)

- Race x Reader (Brotherly Platonic)

Summary:

You have always dreamed of living in the world of your favorite characters, to escape from whatever rotten life you have and make friends with the people you love. One day, fate decides to give you a chance. But when you're not prepared to be rushed into that universe, it becomes a roller coaster of balancing good and bad emotions and events.

Good luck, Reader!

!!TW!!

~ SELF HARM

~ TRANSPHOBIA

~ MAJOR INJURY

~ ABUSE

~ ARGUING

(Y/N) POV:

I'm (Y/N) (L/N). I'm (Y/A) with (E/C) eyes and (H/L) (H/C) hair. At least it used to be (H/L). I cut it all off today. I can tell my mom just found out because of the loud cursing and stomping. "GODDAMMIT, (D/N)!!" she yells. What scares me the most about this situation is the fact that I'm kinda used to this. I hear her coming up the stairs to my room and rush to the door and lock it. As expected, the door handle starts rattling violently, "(D/N) YOU LET ME IN RIGHT NOW, YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE SH!T!" She starts banging on the door, stressing the lock.

I sigh. Today was one of the worse days. I slip on my noise-canceling headphones and press play on my musicals playlist, consisting of:

- Waving Through A Window

- On My Own

- A Little Fall Of Rain

- Angel of Music

and of course...

The entire Newsies soundtrack.

By the time I get to 'Seize the Day', it's twilight outside. I lift one of my headphones to check if my mom is gone. I hear nothing. I look out the window and don't see her car. Perfect.

Unplugging my headphones and letting the music play, I walk over to my dresser, open it up, and reach deep in the back. Aha!

I pull out some bandages (A/N: DO NOT ACTUALLY BIND LIKE THIS OK BYE). I take off my shirt and try not to look in my mirror, fearing what sort of feminine body I may see. I start wrapping my chest to the point that it gets a little hard to breathe. This kinda hurts, but my dysphoria is stronger than my need for comfort and, let's be honest, safety.

Slipping my shirt back on, I look into the mirror and smile, satisfied with my flat chest and somewhat choppy short, (H/C) hair. I jump onto my bed and plug my headphones back into my phone which is now playing Santa Fe. Santa Fe honestly makes me think. I'm only, what, (Y/A)? And I still go through all this BS. I need out. Somewhere my mom can't tell me I'm female. Somewhere like...Newsies. I mean, Race is canonically trans, right? Not to mention all of them are definitely fruity. They'd accept me. The fresh, bandaged cuts on my arms are the only things keeping me in reality right now

As the song ends, I realize that I've been crying. God, why am I stuck in this wretched place? The question as well as thoughts of Newsies reverberates in my skull, a sort of white noise until I fall into a much-needed sleep.

"Aye, kid! Watcha doin sleepin on the street?"

"Especially in a place this..."

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Jack POV:

I yawn, rubbing sleep from my eyes as the circulation bell drones on an' on. I let my eyes adjust to the view of the sunrise from my penthouse in the sky.

As I try to get up to get ready, a pair of arms drag me back down. "Jackieeee" a half-awake Davey groans, "come back down, it's freezing up here." "Dave, we gotta get to work. The boys can always count on me being at the gates early, so if you don't get up, I'm leaving you behind." This seems to wake him up a little more, "Alright, alright fine." he shivers as he gets up. I throw him his top shirt and vest and he desperately claws them on to gain warmth. Carefully, we climb down the ladder.

"What'd I tell ya, Dave? Even in the middle of summer, the night's always freezing." Davey rolls his eyes and does a little shiver "I know, Jackie, now c'mere and warm me up" I grin and move in closer, holding his hand, as we start walking to the gates. "Still not warm enough!" Davey said in a singsong-ish voice. I sigh and feign annoyance, leaning in to give a short but sweet peck on the lips. I think he's satisfied now. We're not usually this lovey-dovey, but I think we're both touch starved and subtly begging for a hug.

Davey, being the amazing boyfriend he is, stops by Jacobis to get us some breakfast. "Dave, you really don't hafta-" "I insist, Jack. After all, breakfast is the most important meal of the day," he says in an almost snobbish voice. I give him a small smile. That's my smartass Dave.

As we get to the gates, I notice a small figure leaned up against it. By now, the sun has come up some more over Manhattan 'n Dave 'n I don't have to walk as close to warm ourselves up. The figure seems to be sleeping, a newsies cap over their eyes. I think it's a kid. Maybe a new newsie looking for work?

I crouch down in front of him lift his hat, and start tapping his shoulder, "Aye, kid! Watcha doin sleepin on the street?" "Especially in a place this..." Davey notes. The kid seems to wake with a start. He rubs his eyes, and I chuckle a little "Whatsa matter? Ya look like youse seen a ghost." He doesn't seem to find this funny and repeatedly switches from looking at me then Davey with some confusion and shock in his eyes.

"I um-" he stutters over his words, "Aye, aye, kid, calm down, you ain't in trouble or nuttin." He takes a few deep breaths. "Okay... I'm (Y/N). I'm just freaking out because This isn't where I fell asleep, and- and I just- feel like I know you..." "Well, (Y/N) it sounds like you're one of da Newsies now," I say with a grin, "Now, we gots ta give you a nickname, we rarely eva call someone by their real name, 'cept Dave 'n Albert of course," The kid stays silent, clearly still shocked from waking up in a foreign place. "I feel like I know you.." he says, barely discernible. "Maybe ya do, maybe ya don't, Dave here's the only one good with faces." The kid looks up at Davey, who seems deep in thought, "(N/N)" he exclaims, "Ah, sorry, what I meant was your nickname should be (N/N)!" "I like it! But why (N/N) exactly?" I question, "Well, *insert reason why here*" "Well ain't you a clever boy, Dave!" I say, ruffling his hair. Davey shies away, "Jack! Now I have to fix my hair!" he complains, "Sorry, sorry." Davey then leaves to fix his hair in front of a shop window nearby, leaving me and (N/N) alone.

(N/N) seems to want to say something, but as soon as he opens his mouth, he shuts it just as quickly. I try to fill the awkward silence, "So, what's wit' da bandages, kiddo?" He freezes, "Nothing, just a ploy to get people to buy more papes..." he trails off. I have a feelin' he's not tellin' the truth, but I go along with it anyway, "Ha! What an idea, I wonder how I neva thought a' that before." he smiles, seeming satisfied with the praise. Davey returns from the shop window, "Alright! Ready to start the day?" (N/N) nods, and so do I.

Newsies start gathering, some glancing at (N/N) and some anxiously peering through the gates. I look at the headline for today: New Newsie Price! "Aye, Dave, you seein' this shit?" "Language- and yeah... what in the world was runnin' through Pulitzer's head when he thought of this??" I look at (N/N), whose mouth is a thin, pale line but whose (E/C) eyes are glinting with determination. "Heh, kid, what's that look for?" He looks at me, a little startled, but quickly regains that same tough expression, "I have a feeling that this ain't some silly little joke. And I'm worried 'bout the kids that may get hurt in the crossfire." I laugh, "Youse just bein dramatic! Surely, they wouldn't be as dumb as to underpay their own employees." I walk over to Weasel and slap down a penny "100 papes please!" "That's gonna be dime, Kelly."

My heart almost stops, and it takes all my strength not to break down in front of the boys. I fake a laugh, "Surely you're joking." "100 papes costs a dime, take a look at the headline." I hit the money box out of anger, "Then we'll just take our business to Brooklyn." Someone pipes up, "The same thing's happenin' there." "Then we'll go to Rushing!" Specs jogs over, seemingly out of breath, "I'll save ya the walk; it's the same everywhere."

Fuck.

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Y/N POV:

A sharp pain in my chest temporarily distracts me from the situation at hand. Ah. I almost forgot. I still have to bind. This sucks. I feel a pair of eyes on me and turn just in time to see Racetrack Higgins avert his eyes. I give him a confused look and turn back to Jack singing "The World Will Know" I forget all about his weird staring and get back into the determined beat from before.

Soon, the newsies and I make our way to Jacobis for some...water I guess? I do happen to have some extra money in my pocket so I think I can treat all the boys to some seltzer. I sit down on a hard wooden chair in a slouch. The room is buzzing with excited talk of the strike. I give a small, sad smile. These boys have no idea what they're getting themselves into. Crutchie sits next to me serving a wide smile just as Jacobi enters with a tray full of waters, "And here's one for you, and for you, and for you- who's the big spender that ordered everyone seltzer?" shyly, I raise my hand, "That's me, sir." "You know these cost a quarter each, right?" I pull out a handful of quarters with a cheeky smile "and I got more where that came from." The boys go wild, "Where did ya get all that money, kid??" Davey, being the concerned mom, asks "Please tell me you didn't steal that." I shake my head, "I used to live comfortably, but my mom kicked me out for...reasons." my grin falters for a second, but no one seems to notice.

"Well!" Jack stands on a table, "Here's to the strike! And, of course, (N/N)" He gestures towards me with a wink as everyone cheers. As Katherine enters, I start to zone out and stare at a speck of dust on the ground. After all, I know the plot all too well. I perk up, though, as soon as Jack asks who's goin' to Brooklyn. My hand shoots up, "I nominate me and Race!" I exclaim. I look over at Race, who's staring at me, blushing and jaw dropped a little. I grin at him and look back at Jack, who's a little shocked. "A-alright! Me and Dave'll take the Bronx, I guess."

*Timeskip to after the restaurant scene*

I walk down the Manhatten alleys blindly, no clue where I'm going, when I hear someone come up behind me. "Hey, (N/N)! It's me, Race." I smile weakly, "Oh, hey." "I always sell my papes at Sheepshead in Brooklyn, so I know where to go."

It's almost completely silent except for the clicking of our shoes on the paved roads. "So... how'd ya get here as a Newsie, (N/N)?" "Well, Jack 'n Davey found me sleepin' on the street just this mornin'" He laughs, "Wow! So you got used to the Newsie life real quick!" "Yeah, I did.." I let out a small chuckle as well. Race pulls out a cigar and clamps it between his lips and goes to light it but hesitates. "Uh- Wanna cigar?" "Wow, Racetrack Higgins giving me one of his own cigars? I'm flattered!" I joke, "But, yeah, I need smoke." He digs into his pocket and hands me another cigar, "You eva' smoked before?" he stares at me as I put the cigar in between my lips. I grin sheepishly, "No." "Okay, maybe we should stop for a second. Coughing while walking ain't the most fun thing in the woild."

We lean up against a wall as Race lights first his, then my cigar. I inhale and immediately spiral into a coughing fit. Race smacks my back, "You good, (N/N)? I ain't neva' seen a fella cough that hard on the first puff." I roll my tear-filled eyes and continue coughing.

Once my coughing fit subsides, I feel a wave of relaxation. "God I should do this more often." I groan, Race grins, "Yeah, once you get past the whole blowin'-your-brains-out part of smokin', it's real nice. Anyway, shall we continue?" he gestures to the streets ahead. I nod my head and take another puff, "Yeah, it's gettin' kinda late and we do NOT wanna wake up the Spot Conlon." Race nods in agreement and we hurry along. Even though I know Spot is kind of a softie, that doesn't stop me from being intimidated by his prowess.

We reach the Brooklyn lodging just as Race's cigar burned out. Race takes a deep breath and gives three solid knocks on the door. A kid younger than me answers the door, "State ya business" "I'm here to let Conlon know about some very important news." The kid squints his eyes but responds "I'll ask him if he's willing to meet with anyone right now. Who should I tell him is askin'?" "Race. Higgins." He says somewhat awkwardly.

The kid closes the door. Race and I stand quietly waiting for the OK to see Spot. Suddenly the door swings open to reveal Spot. "Ra-" he notices me and coughs, "I mean- Higgins, would you like to step in to discuss the important news?" I almost laugh at the way he went from totally in love to distinguished gentleman. I shoo them away, holding in laughter, "don't worry, I'll wait out here and give you lovebirds some space." (A/N: or should I say sprace) I see them both go tomato red.

I sigh as they head inside. I take a drag from the cigar and start thinking. How did I end up in the newsies universe and act this calm about it? This feels so surreal. But I want to stay here forever. Far away from my sh!tty mom and all my responsibilities.

Lost in my own head, I barely notice as Racetrack storms out of the lodging, clearly pissed. "C'mon (N/N), we're leaving." he grabs my hand and angrily powerwalks to the next street over. Once we're there, he lets go of my hand and sighs harshly, walking slow. "I assume it didn't go well?" I ask, already knowing the answer. "Not. Well." "Wanna talk about it?" he shakes his head and starts walking "No, thanks. I think we's better get to bed before Jack gets worried." he stops. "Do you have a place to sleep?" I look down, "Not really..." "Well!" he grabs my hand again with a big grin, "Looks like youse bunkin' wit' me." I start to protest, but realize it'd get me nowhere with this stubborn SOB, so I let myself get dragged along. Oh, well. I might as well get rest for the strike tomorrow, goodness knows I need it.

As I settle down into the rough sheets, the gentle snoring rocks me to sleep with thoughts of the strike. One thought flashes through my mind before I fall asleep; God help us all.

I wake up to someone poking my face. My eyes flutter open and I almost fall off the bunk at the sight of Race's face right in front of mine. "JESUS CHRIST, RACE, YOU SCARED THE SH!T OUTTA ME!" He backs off, putting his hands up in surrender, "Sorry, sorry, it's just that Jack said you had to be up and out in 10 minutes so we can have an organized strike or whateva'" Race rolls his eyes, "I'm startin' ta think that Davey's rubbin' off on 'im a lil' too much."

I groan, tempted to slide back under the covers, but get up anyway. I slept with my clothes on so I don't have to do anything about that. As I look into an old, rusted mirror and comb my fingers through my now tangled hair, I feel another sharp pain in my chest, accompanied by a dull throbbing. I really should have taken off the bandages while I slept, but now it's too late. I take one last look in the mirror and, ignoring my eyebags, quickly head out the door to join the others. As I get to the gate, everyone's waiting with anticipation, faces grim but hopeful.

Everything happens in a blur. One moment we're striking, and the next we're beaten into a pulp. I manage to soak a Delancey in the eye when suddenly a familiar sharp pain fills my chest and wince, faltering. Morris takes this as an opportunity to knee me in the stomach, forcing me to the ground, where their take turns kicking my chest and body with those damn steel-toed boots of theirs until my clothes are torn and the cuts on my arms reopen. Suddenly, there's a small crack as my body swells up with pain and the taste of metal enters my mouth. I let out a blood-curdling scream as the pain registers in my brain. In my blurred vision, I see the Delancey's walk away, ready to torture their next victim; Crutchie.

I try to get up and reach out, try to scream at them not to hurt him, but all I can do is weakly move my hand in their direction and spit out blood. Suddenly, a small but rough hand reaches out and drags me into an alley. "Dammit, (N/N) what were you thinking?! Fighting in a gawddamn binder, and a makeshift one, no less!" "R-..Race..?" "Not now, (N/N) I have ta get youse to safety foist." I watch as he chews on his nails in thought, "Dammit! The only way back to tha lodge is through the Delancey's again!" He sighs. "Brooklyn it is..." He gingerly picks me up and carries me as fast as possible to Spot's turf.

Setting my feet on the ground and propping me up against him, he bangs on the door. "Spot!" Please! This is serious, I need your help!" I can hear the tears in his voice. Spot flings open the door, obviously very concerned. He's confused for a second, then looks at me and his eyes go wide. "GET THE MED KIT AND A COT OPEN, WESE GOT SOMETHING HORRIBLE THAT'S HAPPENED" he yells behind him. Race, now more calmed down, takes me in his arms again, but seems to refuse to look at Spot, who looks away as well, but more in shame.

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Race POV:

I watch as some of the Brooklyn newsies take (N/N) and lay him on a cot, anger surging through my veins. I take a deep breath "I'll take care of him. You guys don't have to worry about it." As they leave the room, I look down at (N/N) and can't help but feel guilty. Like this is my fault. I only got away with a black eye, but he got all this?

I regain my composure and start by taking (N/N) shirt off. I can already see the bruises starting to form and cringe. I take off his binding bandages and see his chest expand immediately. Poor kid. He must have been hurting in more way that just one. I take the gauze from the wooden box and gently wrap his torso with it. Maneuvering around his arms, I notice something. The bandages on him arms. When he was wearing them before, Jack said it was a marketing ploy, but now I see red bleeding through the white gauze.

I unwrap (N/N)'s arms and gasp. Hundreds of tiny, but deep cuts litter his forearms and wrists. F#ck. He was hurting so much more than I could have ever known. I wrap them with fresh gauze and treat the rest of his wounds, stepping back to admire my handiwork. That's when I start to cry. Full-on tears falling, face in hands crocodile tears. I turn my head with a start to see Spot, standing over me with a hand on my shoulder, looking apologetic "I'm so sorry..." Suddenly this sadness turns to rage. I grab him by the shirt collar and drag him outside to an empty alleyway. "SORRY?? SORRY, MY 4SS! (N/N) AND SO MANY OTHER 'HATTEN NEWSIES ALMOST DIED OUT THERE BECAUSE YOU DIDN'T WANT TO JOIN UNTIL YOU KNEW WE WOULDN'T "CAVE" WELL, WE DIDN'T CAVE, AND LOOK WHAT F#CKING HAPPENED! AND DONT YOU SAY SORRY TO ME AND EXPECT ME TO FORGIVE YOU JUST BECAUSE I LOVE YOU, THAT'S FOR CROW TO DECIDE." Spot seemed silent at first, but now I could see his anger building up; "WADDAYA THINK WOULD O' HAPPENED TO MY BOYS, HUH?? I WANTED TO WAIT TO SEE IF WE WOULD BE THE ONLY ONES FIGHTIN IN THIS BATTLE AGAINST PULITZER."

I open my mouth then close it. He has a fair point, but doesn't he trust me and the udda newsies not to bail in their hour of need? I sigh, pinching my nose. "I'm sorry Spot, I just-... I just wish you trusted me a bit more..." I look up at him to see tears in his eyes. "OH, SPOT HONEY, ITS OKAY, I'M NOT MAD, DON'T CRY, DON'T CRY" I shush him, pulling his head into my chest, which isn't tough considering his height.

As he lets go, the adrenaline rush from today dies down. God, I'm so tired. My knees nearly buckle and Spot notices, "Aye, aye! Tony, you doin' okay?" I nod at him, but the bags under my eyes are making them droop, "Race, honey, you need to get some sleep, okay?" I shake my head but soon fall into Spot's arms as my legs give way. "Fine..." I mumble. I can feel him grinning, "Good, we gots an extra bed for youse to sleep in." I sigh, grateful. I can feel Spot picking me up, the rhythm of his boots tapping along the ground, a pause and shift as he opens the lodging door and kicks it closed behind him as I fall asleep.

I wake up in a cold sweat. (N/N). I need to see (N/N). I need to check if he's okay. I climb out of the bed Spot laid me in and let my eyes adjust to the dark before maneuvering around all the other sleeping kids. I make my way as quietly as possible to where (N/N) is resting. I crouch down and take his hand in mine. How could I let this happen? And how did I not notice his suffering? I press the back of his hand to my forehead, closing my eyes. My body is so tired right now, but my mind is too tortured with guilt to let me sleep.

By the time my thoughts finally leave me alone, the sun is rising in the sky. I'm finally drifting when- "Race?" I turn my head to the voice, "Oh, jesus, you look horrible!" Spot exclaims, "did you even get any sleep last night?" I shrug, to be fair, I lost count of the hours. Spot sighs, "Race...go sleep. At least for a few more hours. I can watch (N/N) if that makes you happy," I nod, rubbing my eyes. I stumble back to my bed amongst all the Brooklyn newsies and fall asleep the moment my head hits the pillow.

My mind dreams of talkin' cigars and bloody bandages. I see Crow propped up against the wall, smokin' a cigar. "(N/N)! (N/N)! Oh my god, I'm so happy that you're okay!" (N/N) doesn't answer, I slowly starts walking towards him, "(N/N)...?" he starts laughing. Softly at first then roaring, and the laughing turns into a heavy coughing fit. As (N/N) coughs, red smoke pours out of his lungs and clouds my vision. I swipe at the air, trying to brush away the fog, "(N/N)?? (N/N), where did you go?!" suddenly, the smoke clears and I see (N/N) bruised, damaged, bleeding body at my feet, I gasp and step back. (N/N) slowly turns to face me, and in a painful, teary, almost sickly whisper asks, "Why did you let this happen?" Tears start spilling down my face, "I- I didn't me-" "You did this to me Race. Race. Race. Race! Race! RACE! RACE!--

Spot POV:

--RACE WAKE UP!" He wakes up with a gasp. He looks around wildly, tears dripping from his chin. I've never seen him like this. He must care for him like a brudda. To be honest, I'm worried as well, not only about (N/N) but now that we know 'Hatten isn't gonna back down and we join the fight, what's gonna happen to the newsies in general? Kids could get hoit. Bad.

"Spot?" Race starts sobbing, clinging to my shirt fabric, "Please...tell me it'll be okay..." I can't. Race, I don't know if it will. I almost start sobbing on the Spot ( A/N: heh...), but I hold my composure and smile at him, "It'll be okay, Tony...we're all gonna be fine" He seems to believe this, at least a little bit. "Now, don't you gotta meet up wit' da udda newsies?" He retracts his head from my chest, eyes wide. In a nasal voice, he goes "AW SHOOT, I 'MOST FORGOT" I watch him with a small smile as he rushes to get dressed like the goof he is. God, I love 'im.

Race POV:

Silence. I got there too early. Fuck. I can't just be alone with my thoughts, but at least I have some extra money to... I don't know? I walk up to the bar, where the owner of Jacobi's is cleaning out glasses. I sigh and sit down, "Got anything to help forget? At least for a little while...?"

"Ain't you a little too young for that, kid?" I give him a look and push my money over the counter to him. He quietly collects it, "So what can I get ya?" I'm silent for a bit "Fireball." I say with some demand in my voice. He disappears behind the counter and comes back with some shot glasses and a Fireball bottle, pouring it out into the glasses as I watch. I notice as he sighs, "Feel betta, kid." Can't promise that.

I pick up a shot glass, watching as the orange liquid spins around in it. I take in a breath of spicy cinnamon before letting the liquid slip down my throat, leaving a trail of a burning sensation. Soon, one turns into another, and another, and another and before I could comprehend it, the room starts to spin and blur. Eventually, the room fills with newsies, mumblin' 'bout how crappy the strike went. I do my very best to fit in and not act drunk, but the time zooms by and I find myself singin' 'bout bein' the king o' new york. At some point in the blurry memory, Katherine suggests getting drunk and I throw my hands up and cheer. More free Fireball! But then she clarifies that it was a metaphor, to which I am very disappointed.

The rest whizzes past me and soon I'm stumblin' my way to Brooklyn. I knock heavily on the lodging door, then lean on it. Unexpectedly, the door opens and I'm left to fall flat on my face at the feet of my boyfriend, Spot Conlon. "Race! Darlin', you okay? Youse fell flat on ya face!" He extends a hand that I receive and pulls me up. I giggle, "Ahhhh, my Spotty! Always carin' 'bout uddas. Pshht! Yeah, I'm fiiiine." I flop my hand down to wave off his concern. He wrinkles his nose, "You reek of cinnamon....and alcohol." He widens his eyes and I let out anudda giggle, "Race! Tell me you didn't jus' get drunk!" he whines, I grin, "Okey, 'you didn't jus' get drunk'" I imitate him in a deep voice and he sighs, "Jesus Christ, Racer.." he grabs my hand pulls me inside, eventually laying me on a bed, face red with a giggling fit. "Goodnight, my liege," I giggle some more, "and you my Prince," he gives a small smile before covering me with a blanket. I fall asleep before it's up over my shoulders.

Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω

I wake up with my head feeling like it's going to explode.

Fuck Life.

I groan and sit up. "Mornin' Sleepin' Beauty" Spot smirks and hands me a cup of water, "Shut the fuck up" I whine and grab the glass, "Ooh feelin' feisty today, huh?" I shoot him a look that could rot a squash with one gaze. He holds up his hands in defense, "Alright, alright, my bad," He shrugs. I sigh and take a sip of water, which turns into me chugging the whole thing. "You betta get ova this hangover fast, hon" I groan, not ready to do anything at all today, "We gots the meetin' wit' Jack."

End my life.

"No, I don't think I will," "fuuuuck did I say that out loud?" I let out a small wail, and Spot chuckles a little, though you can tell there's somethin' on his mind still, "Yeah, ya did sweetheart." I grumble something incomprehensible and look down, red. He smiles, "Get dressed and drink as much water as possible, okay? We can't have you hungover for the big meeting, right?" I nod...which causes my head to hurt. Ow.

I sigh and decide to take my sweet time getting dressed. This sucks. "Spotty!" I call, then cringe after a new wave of pain hits, he pokes his head through the door "Yeah?". "I don't have the energy to deal wit' all dese gawddamn bandages. Help me?" He blushes a bit but agrees to help me bind. All I focus on is not hurting my head again. Spot ties the bandages and stands back to admire his handiwork but quickly notices my cringin'. "Do you want somethin' cold?" he asks gently, I nod as gingerly as possible.

*Timeskip to after the newsies meet n greet bcuz I'm power-finishing this at 12am and my mental health is steadily declining*

My hand shakes as I bring a fresh, unlit cigar to my lips.

Jack. That sellout, that traitor.

A sharp pain knocks me out of my angry thoughts. Ah. I burned myself.

I feel a hand on my shoulder, "Racer.." says a gentle voice, "You okay? that's your 3rd cigar in the past 2 hours or so." I look up to see Finch leaning over me as I sit on the ground, a concerned look on his face, "You're gonna run out all too soon" I give a bitter laugh, "Yeah, I guess I will." Finch can see that there's not much he can do to help me. He gives a weak smile and turns to walk away.

I see Davey run off somewhere. I wonder where they're going? I sigh and turn my head back down to the ground. Who cares? Without a leader, the strike'll just fall apart and Pulitzer'll win. Who was I kidding when I bragged abt being da "King o' New York"? I'm just some nobody kid without a nickel to my name. The bigger guys always win, so what's with me tryin'?

Jack POV:

I can't let any more kids get in this much danger. I visited (N/N) today. I found out about all his... injuries, as well as whatever he was born as. He's been through so much before all this, he doesn't deserve it.

It's my fault for being so ignorant. For not noticing anything was goin' on. My fault for inciting this stupid strike. For getting all these kids hoit. and Crutchie...poor Crutchie, locked up in that godawful place. I know he ain't helpless, 'e's a cheeky little bastard, I'll give him that, but the Refuge breaks down even the biggest of smiles and smothers the brightest of people. I will never forget that hell I went through. I went in a cheeky fightin' kid with a deep, strong flame, and came out with the embers barely glowing. It took years just to spark it up again. I'm terrified as to what'll happen to him.

I lean over the railing of my penthouse, not even noticing as it shakes and squeaks, making way for a young boy a little younger den me. "-Jack! JACK!" "Jesus Christ, yeah??? Oh, it's you, Dave..." I look away shamefully, he's probably here to chew me out and tell me we're done and gone. "What the hell was that?" I wince, I knew it. "Waddya mean 'what the hell was that?'?" "You know what I mean, JACK KELLY." I'm fucked. "YOU BETRAYED US FOR MONEY?!" "I WOULDN'T HAVE FELT PRESSURED TO IF I WADN'T DEALIN' WIT' A FLAKER!" Davey gives a bitter laugh and balls up the front of my shirt in his fist, tugging me towards him. "Ohoho! And if I wasn't your 'best friend' you'd be lookin' at me through one swollen eye!" "Oh, yeah? Well, don't let that stop ya, huh? Gimme your best shot!" something soft roughly pressing against my lips. The only thought at the moment is; 'Well, this is new... and passionate, 'specially from Dave' there's a heavy, awkward silence.

I back away from him, knocking over my drawings in the process. One specific drawing rolls out seemingly by fate. It taps on Davey's shoe and he looks down. His eyes widen a little as he reaches down to get it. "Is this.. the Refuge?" he puts a hand over his mouth, "weren't you stuck here once? Rats, cockroaches everywhere, 6 kids to a bunk? Holy fuc- I mean fudge." If the moment weren't this tense, I might've laughed. "Jack..." I feel a hand on my shoulder. "You don't have to tell me if you're not ready." I shake my head and he drops his arm understandingly. "Either way, we could use this. Heck..." Davey seems deep in thought before his face lights up, "We could make our own newspaper!" I look at him in disbelief, he notices, and speaks again "think about it, Jackie! Kath's a real talented writer! This art could change the perspective of hundreds! We could write to tell all the workin' boys to go on Strike tomorra'! And we could expose Snyder in the process!" Hey, that's not too bad..."But, Dave, how're we gonna print it?" His face falls, "I didn't think about it...we're banned from every printin' press in New York.."

Oh no. Ohhh no. "No. Noooo." I whine, Davey chuckles, amused "what?" "I know a printin' press that no one would ever think of!" Davey grins, "Then what are we waitin' for?" He puts my drawing back into the case, and slings it over his shoulder, getting ready to climb down. Suddenly, a thought strikes me, "Wait-" "Yeah?" "Dave- what are we exactly? Like I know how we act to each other n' everything, but we've never really said out loud what we are..." Davey giggles, "Jackie-" "No! Tell me right now, are we... in love? Boyfriends, I guess?? Or am I just something for your own experimentation?"

He cups my face in his hands, "Jackie..." he kisses my nose, "Of course I love you! And yes! We are in love! Dating! Boyfriends! Whichever way you want to define us!" Soon we're both grinning ear-to-ear and blushing. "Now!" he exclaims, hopping up, clearly on a high from the whole kiss and convo, "Let's get to it!" I laugh and stand up as well, following my over-enthusiastic boyfriend down the ladder. As Davey said; Let's get to it!

(Y/N) POV:

'My head hurts...' I think groggily. I try to open my eyes, but my vision is blurred and wonky. I sit up. Nevermind. Everything hurts. As my vision starts to clear, I see a very tired Spot Conlon sitting in a chair in the corner of whatever room I'm in rubbing sleep from his eyes. He fixates his eyes on me for a second, and I can see the sleepiness and confusion in his eyes turn into shock and joy. "(N/N)! Ohmygod! I'm so glad you'se awake!" I can see him go to wrap me in a bear hug before holdin' himself back after he remembers all my injuries. Wait. My injuries. "Does this mean you know about...?" I vaguely gesture to my arms and Spot nods sadly, "And..." I cringe and gesture to my chest, now only lightly bound with medical tape, but tighter than needed for a typical injury. I smile to myself. That must've been Race. He's like a perfect older brother, not only thinkin' about my physical health, but also my mental well-being.

Spot notices the look on my face and sees me lookin' down at my chest, he chuckles, "Yeah, Race decided on that. He wanted you to feel as comfortable as possible while you heal." I start grinning even harder. Spot spoke up again "Don't forget that even boys born seen as boys don't have perfectly flat chests, so binding as tight as you did wasn't necessary or safe, for that matter." I give him a look, is Spot really trying to be the cis savior right now? He gives me a look right back, "What? I know what I'm talking about." He lifts his shirt up to reveal two scars on his chest. I gasp, "But you're only *insert years/months* younger/older than me! How did you even know that this was an option, as well, how did you do it?" He smirks, pulling his shirt back down, "Thought so. Anyway, I don't really know. I needed them off desperately and randomly thought of it. As for the how, Buttons is AMAZING with scissors and blades. Like, scary amazing." He shivers. I blink. Damn.

He gives a shy grin "Do I really pass that well?" I look at him enviously "Of course! But... how do you look so...masculine?" "Well, I tried my best to copy the behavior of other boys I saw. And the whole working out didn't hurt." I nod, taking a mental note. Behavior, got it. Can't promise sticking to a workout, though. Spot scoots closer, taking my hand in his, "But the most important thing to understand is- behavior, body type, and a powerful reputation doesn't define being a true boy. What does is what's in here-" he taps my head, "-and here." he points to my heart. Spot looks me in my eyes, "You could wear dresses, skirts, use a 'girly' name, hell, even go by she! and you'd still be a boy in my eyes." I feel my eyes water, and Spot opens his arms to me with a sincere look. I fall into his arms and cry tears of joy. Spot and Race are the older brothers I never had, helping me at every fork in the road of my transition.

(A/N: I noticed that a big issue in trans fanfics was that the cis person was always the one to condescendingly teaching the helpless trans kid how to bind properly. I decided to make both of your mentors trans, had them both know what they're talking about, and made sure that you weren't completely useless or clueless, only that you needed guidance seeing as (Y/N) is a trans kid with no former knowledge about his transition. As well, I kinda wanted this fic to be of help to any newcomer trans men. Anyway, on to the last of the story!)

"So how are your ribs feeling?" Spot asks after we both calm down, "A little sore, but pretty much moveable. Is it really this painful to bind? I mean, the past few weeks I had the binding stuff on was my first time." "It shouldn't, I mean, lookit Race. He seems energetic and flexible even when he's binding." I think he sees my insecure face because he speaks again, "What I mean to say is- if you have more experience binding, you'll know how to mix mental and physical comfort. Either way, what fucked up your ribs wasn't the binding, it was the Delancey's. Not saying the way you were binding wasn't bad and wouldn't have caused lasting damage, of course."

I see Spot have a flicker of thought behind his eyes, he pulls out an obviously stolen silver pocket watch with the initials H.A. engraved on it to check the time. "Almost time..." he mutters. I give him a suspicious look, "Almost time for what...?" he looks sheepishly at the ground, "Nnnnnothing." I let out a noise halfway between a snort and a scoff, "Uh huh." "Fine." he sighs, "All the newsies and workin' boys is comin' together today. We'se hopin' ta finish up this strike Once And For All."

"Let me guess, I shouldn't go because I'm still healing." He nods, "Spot!! I need to do my part in this strike! I can't miss the most important day of my life." he gives me a weird look, "You don't even know what the outcome'll be, plus I promised Race that you wouldn't get hurt." "Please, I've been bedridden for WEEKS. And I won't get hurt" I protest stubbornly, he sighs exasperatedly "FINE, but I'm gettin' you right outta there at the foist sign o' danger, okay?" "Okay!" I say, content with the compromise. "We should prolly get you up and used to legs again before the strike--" my stomach rumbles harder than Les when he sees the chocolate croissants in the Pastry Shop window, and that's seriously saying somethin', "--and something to eat, too."

Spot holds my hands as I get out of bed and basically learn to walk again with wobbly legs. You could just paint my back with spots and call me a baby deer. Once I get my legs to work with me, Spot leads me to a tin tub. I give him a 'seriously?' look, "What am I doin', goin' ta church?" he laughs sarcastically, "Ha, ha. (N/N), you haven't cleaned yourself since the last time you were conscious. I also need to refresh your bandages since those haven't been touched since Race changed them in the foist place." "Fiiiine" I growl.

Spot unwraps my arm and chest bandages, but when it comes to me taking off the rest of my clothes, he looks away (not even for my privacy, but just because he is highly repulsed to the idea of naked bodies) I add enough soap suds on top of the water to cover my body so he's comfortable.

He grabs some soap and lathers up my hair with it, soon rinsing it. He also lathers and rinses my face, removing the built-up dirt, grease, and sweat, which accumulated surprisingly quickly for only spending a month, or was it two, here. Spot brings out a small piece of scrap fabric and a bottle of some liquid, then gently grabs my arms. "This might burn a little," he said empathetically. He dampened the cloth with what I am assuming is disinfectant and started pressing it against my healing cuts. I tried to hold in my pain but let out a small hiss when the cloth reached the deeper cuts on the backs of my arms. Spot stopped temporarily, letting my arms adjust to the sting a little, before continuing. Once he's finished, he hands me the soap and leaves the room to let me bathe myself in peace and picks up my dirty clothes and old bandages. "Holler if you need anything!" he yells on his way out.

I create a lather in my hands and stand up so I can actually wash my body. The air is chilly compared to the bathwater, so I do my best to be quick as I let my soap hands travel gingerly over my body. I look down, and for the first time in a long time, I don't feel ashamed. Spot words echo in my mind as I smile softly; 'You could wear dresses, skirts, use a 'girly' name, hell, even go by she! and you'd still be a boy in my eyes.' I guess, for now, I'm confident in my masculinity.

I sit back down, enjoying the warmth, and rinse myself off. I step out of the bath and look at the grey-ish brown-ish water. Ew, was I really that dirty? As the cold air envelops me once more, I realize I don't have a towel. Or clothes. "Spot!" I call out, "Yeah?" I hear a faint voice, "I need a towel and some clothes!" I answer. There's quiet, then a series of rustling sounds that slowly get closer. The door opens a crack and I see a tan, muscular hand slide a pile of clothes and a towel in my direction. I smile gratefully, "Thanks, Spotty!" "Aye! Only Race can call me dat..." "Okay, fine."

I dry my hair as much as possible, before continuing to my body. There's not much actual rubbing rather than patting because of my injuries, so when I get my pants on and slip my button-down onto my shoulders, they get a little damp. "Spot?" I call out again, "Do you think you could help me with my bandages?" "'Course!" He casually picks up the chest bandages and binds it pretty much perfectly- Tight enough to make a difference in my chest size, but loose enough to let my ribs heal. Spot then starts re-bandaging my arms, "Can I ask you a question, Spot?" "Sure, (N/N)" he says nonchalantly, "Why is it you are repulsed by fully naked bodies, but you're perfectly casual and fine about helping me bind my chest when I'm half-naked?" he clears his throat as if he was ready to spin a whole story, "Well, Race used to live with me and we started trusting each other a lot more than when we first met. He trusted me enough to teach him the best way to bind, and he trusted me enough to feel comfy without a top on when around the house, so I'm kinda desensitized. But when it comes to people being naked or bein' overly suggestive, I just..don't like it. At all."

'Asexual,' I think, 'Knew it."

"Anyway, you ready to fight off the bulls and get our rights back, (N/N)?" He stands up and offers a hand to help me up, which I receive. I catch my reflection in the dirty bathwater. I can see crystal clear, that I am dapper, strong, and ready to kick some Delancey ass.

But first, Lunch.

Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω

I arrive at the strike on Spot's shoulders, hyped for the happy ending they all worked so hard for. Spot sets me down gently and scans the crowd for someone. It seems he found them because his face lights up. I see Race run over to us. "(N/N)! Oh my god, I'm so fuckin' glad that you're awake! Especially today of all days!" however, his enthusiasm is soon replaced with concern, "But is ya sure yer okay? You must've woken up just today, so are you feeling good? Yer injuries don't hurt too bad, you're not dizzy, hungry, thirsty?" "Calm down, Tony, I gave him a bath, changed his bandages, gave him food n' water, even a pep talk, so you don't need to worry!" Race takes a few deep breaths, "Okay, okay, yeah I'm fine. But that's great!" He engulfs me in a firm, but gentle hug. I look around the crowd and see some familiar faces, Katherine seems to have brought another girl with her, who I'm assuming is Sarah, Davey's sister. I see Albert and Elmer tightly holding each other's hands. I see Finch and Smalls exchanging jokes as a form of distraction. I look back at Race and Spot, who are being so romantic, it's almost gross. Almost.

The adrenaline still hasn't left me so when people start getting as excited as me, it just hypes me up even more. We look up at the window of Pulitzer's office and see Jack and a few others standing there, waving. I wave back vigorously. Not too long after, Jack, Davey, Pulitzer, and The Governer appear on a balcony, Jack at the front. "Newsies of New York City..." cue the pause for dramatic effect, "WE WON!!" The crowd of newsies roars with joy. I watch as Crutchie limps out and beats Snyder's ass as the abuser is dragged away, I don't understand why so many people see him as an angel, it's obvious that he's a cheeky lil' rat bastard.

Suddenly, it's like everything is in slow motion. I look around once more and see Katherine and Sarah kissing, same with Albert and Elmer, Finch and Smalls are hugging each other tightly. I look back up at the balcony and see Davey and Jack gettin' it ON. I look once again to Spot and Race, who just finished kissing. Spot reaches down and hoists me onto his shoulders to cheer. And as I take in this momentous victory one sense at a time, I realize in a moment of pure bliss-

I finally found my true family.

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

Word Count: 8190

(A/N):

This took VERY LONG (approx. one month, I just finished after working from 9 pm to 5 am) I know it was supposed to be a simple one-shot, but since there was no one to help narrow down and shorten the plot for me, I got carried away. I am, however, pleased with the length of it. This may be the longest fic I've ever written. As well, I hope any underlying advice or tips mentioned in the story helped you to understand/realize something.

I would love it if you were to vote, give me some constructive criticism, and/or request something for me to write! Don't forget- I live to write that one fanfic you can never find.

Love y'all!

~ Race

[dinner-djarin]

Next To You (Bucky x reader)

Just a little one shot I wrote after watching FATWS on repeat. (I tried to make it gender neutral but I may have missed something so I'm sorry if it's not!)

Rating: Mature

No use of Y/N

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: Bucky is having nightmares, and you're there to comfort him. Based on the Julia Michaels song If You Need Me. (so if the ending sounds dumb go listen to the song you'll understand why lol)

Warnings: Fluff & angst I guess idk, kinda dark themes, because well it's Bucky. Just two people who have definitely been through some shit. Oh ya that reminds me swearing. Suggested that intercourse has happened but nothing descriptive. A little (a lot) about trauma but mostly about nightmares. If I missed something pls lemme know, I don't want anyone to feel triggered reading. But if you can watch the show and be fine, you'll probably be okay with this.

Also just letting you know if I put ~ its cause I switch the focus from Bucky to reader, but I'm not switching POV completely its all written in reader POV.

Every night brought pieces of the past. He never knew which memory would be dragged to the surface once he let his subconscious take over - clawing and scrapping against the walls he put up, begging to be let out; to be confronted.

Some nights were worse than others of course.

He wasn’t sure how he was ever going to out run the monsters of his past. For a while he just stopped sleeping. It may not have been a permanent fix, but he thought some relief was better than none at all. He used to go days, even weeks, without sleep during the war, so he figured it might be the best way to silence the past.

Dr. Raynor, however, caught on quick.

A lot of her methods seemed like bullshit to Bucky. He could tell she was genuinely trying to help him, but he doubted anything she had anything to offer him that would prove to be effective.

But at the end of the day she was definitely no fool. He had a tough time lying to her. She didn’t take anyone's crap, and that might have been the only reason he trusted her, even a little. It may have been the only reason he actually gave it a sincere try (besides the fact he’d be arrested if he didn’t).

So he probably shouldn’t have been surprised when she caught on to his sleep strike. In fact she called him out on it only three days in. He thought he’d get longer than that. Even so, he was almost relieved. After only 72 hours he already felt the nightmares slowly creeping into the day. Every time a door slammed or a car horn blared his body tensed. Every time he turned a corner he’d reach for a knife he no longer carried. So maybe it was better to let his past haunt his nightmares. That way he’d be alone when the memories took over. That way he wouldn’t hurt anyone else.

But he made a mistake. He did what he told himself he could never do. He let you get too close.

Falling asleep in your arms felt better than any therapy session he could ever imagine. It was the first time in forever he could remember what it was like to be his younger self. The version of him that marvelled at the idea of flying cars; who thought he could save the world by enlisting. The dreamy eyed boy who was hopeful for the future, who thought he had a future.

Lying next to you made him feel in control, like his problems didn’t matter. He was there to keep you safe, and warm, and comfortable. He never thought he’d feel like that with anyone. He didn’t think he was allowed.

You didn’t question his metal arm for starters. When Bucky took off his jacket, after the hundredth time you insisted - “It’s like 100 degrees in here Bucky, please take it off, you’re gonna melt” - he thought he’d instantly regret it. But you simply looked at it with wonder for only a moment, before returning your eyes up to his own. Staring back at you, he saw the wheels in your brain click into place. He could almost hear your thoughts as you decided what your next move would be.

In the blink of his eyes you tore your shirt off and stood completely still in front of him. For a moment his emotions were mixed, and he worried where your sudden advancement came from, but then he saw it. A thick white mark slashed across your torso.

You took only one step forward before speaking. “It’s not exactly… I know it’s not the same thing at all. But the scars - the marks we carry - they’ll be with us forever, whether we like it or not. Even if they remind us of the worst pieces of ourselves, or the worst moments of our lives, it reminds us that we can move forward. And it reminds me that there’s something to move forward to. I don’t know…it doesn’t really make any sense but somehow it’s almost comforting.  To know that something will always be with us, till the end”

His mouth was on yours in an instant.

He had been hesitant to let anyone in. After coming back - after going through everything he’d been through - he felt like damaged goods. He worried that the minute he let himself be happy, everything would come crashing down again, and he had good reason to believe it. It just kept happening over and over. It seemed like every time he found even a small amount of peace, the battle made its way back to him.

But when he found you, when he felt you, he felt peace. The softness of your skin, the gentle wave of your hair, the light scrape of your fingernails against his back and chest, your quiet moans muffled by his own mouth on yours. Being with you made the horrors of his past melt away. Even when you clamped down around him and bit into his shoulder muscle, even when he knew you’d left marks all over his skin. Knowing they came from you made all the difference. They didn’t remind him of the wars he fought, or lives he took, or the atrocities he committed. The sting of your nails and teeth weren’t pains from his past, they were reminders of his present, of the possibility of a life he could have. With you.

But in the end he knew that it was all wishful thinking. He knew he wasn’t cut out for that type of future. He knew you deserved better.

So he decided to let you off easy, to disappear from your life, leaving your shared experience to the confines of your bedroom. A memory, nothing more. He knew he’d have to sneak away once you fell asleep, because that way it might not feel real. Everything that happened between you might disappear with him.

But then he fucked up.

He was waiting for your breath to even out, a sign he would take to mean you had fallen asleep, but after listening to the air rush out of your body, and watching your bare chest rise and fall, your hypnotic essence overpowered his will, and he fell asleep alongside you.

Only he wasn’t asleep for long.

Eventually the past caught up, as it always had a way of doing. Images, and sounds, and smells all came flooding back to his uninhibited brain - sleep made him an easy target. He was vulnerable to every torment he caused, and every mission he was forced to carry out. Tonight was no exception. His brain managed to sift through every wall he thought he had up, and trudge yet another painful memory to the surface. The image of himself taking life after life, cruelly and viciously. There was no remorse, no stopping him. He saw every crime lord and politician he was made to terminate. Until his brain moved away to a new idea. The image of a young woman. Innocent and pure. But in the way of his mission. The Winter Soldier spared none.

He woke up in a blind panic. His surroundings were unfamiliar. Something was wrong. Was he being held captive or-

~

“Hey,” you made yourself known to him, and he twisted his head back to see you sit up beside him. You were quiet, and a worried expression blanketed your face.

Is he angry, you thought for a moment? No. Your brain was tired, and it was slow to process. Not angry, scared.

You knew from the minute you saw his arm that there was more going on. You already had some suspicions, nevertheless you expected there to be something like this.

For a moment, the two of you stared at each other in silence. You watched him regain his breath, and you carefully shifted your legs to sit crossed underneath you.

His steel blue eyes cut through the darkness, pinning you down. You wondered what was going on in his mind, what he might be doing to regain his grip on reality. You knew this moment too well. The quiet. The darkness. The fear. Not sure of how to move forward.

You were scared too, but not of him - more like you were scared for him. You knew he must be going through something, and you wanted to be there to help, but you also knew that was easier said than done. “Being there to help” was a nice concept, but in reality - well things were generally more complicated. You didn’t know if it’d be alright to approach him, mainly because you were unsure of your role in all this. Were you really someone he wanted around when he was so obviously vulnerable? You’d never seen him so raw and exposed, like a wound you wished you could tend to, while also fearing that your interference could make things worse.

You knew he wasn’t going to ask for your help, you could see he wasn’t that kind of man, but maybe if you made the first step, and let him choose - maybe he’d let you in. So, you held out your hand and waited. After a moment, you saw him move, only slightly though. His eyes darted down towards your hand and he subtly lifted his fingers off the bed. But it only lasted a second. He froze again, hand hovering near yours, and that’s when you realized he had been reaching for you with his left hand. You had been wary to touch it before, you thought it was probably a sensitive subject. Something about the idea of touching his metal arm seemed more personal, if that was possible. Like only the most trusted people in his life might be allowed to… and maybe not even then.

You felt your own eyes drop to your lap, an almost nervous energy now emanating in the space between you. But just before you could drop your hand too, his fingers hesitantly entwine with yours.

You shot your eyes up to see his right hand grazing the palm of your left. As your gaze slowly elevated, you found your way to meet his own eyes, only to notice the very sudden change in them. Whatever fear or darkness hid their before had now melted away. You couldn’t place it, but whatever emotion he now held sent a chill from your core to your fingertips. A lump in your throat formed and for a moment, you thought you might never be able to breath again. The look in his eyes was almost soft, but with a hint of yearning. Fire was blazing through every nerve in your body, while a chill kissed your skin, making every hair stand on edge.

Feeling outrageously brave, you took your free hand up to his jaw and held him there, gently swiping your thumb over his cheek, and allowing your fingers to reach slightly past his hairline and to the back of his neck. You wondered if he could feel the raging storm of your emotions through your touch.

“You okay?” you managed to whisper to him.

“Nothing I haven’t dealt with before” his answer pierced your ears with a hard tone, refusing to let any vulnerability resonate in his voice.

You shake your head at him, wishing he wouldn’t play pretend. “Okay then,” you mumble, letting your hand drop from his face. But as it fell, Bucky was quick to grab it, and hold it with a gentle squeeze. When you looked at him again, you knew he meant it as a reassurance, trying to tell you that he was okay.

~

He couldn’t handle the way you looked at him. Like you could see every thought in his head. A knowing gleam in your eyes told him that you didn’t believe him, and you’d be right not to. He wasn’t okay. He never really was. There was so much darkness surrounding him, poisoning every inch of his life. But you. Your touch was gentle and your voice was kind, and even though he had just seen your scar, he couldn’t help but think your world must have been so much brighter than his own. Looking in your eyes, he almost wished he’d never met you. He was so afraid that his pain might infect you too, the only good thing he had left. He wouldn’t ever be able to forgive himself if he let that happen; if he let his past ruin your future.

He wanted to leave, he needed to get out, before any of that could happen.

He slid off the bed quickly, and made his way to grab his clothes, but before he could you grabbed his hand - his left hand.

“Please Bucky don’t.” was all you could say. But the way your voice broke, on the verge of tears, fear of being rejected, of being left alone in the dark by the only man you ever wanted to let in - it was enough to stop his heart. He stood there, frozen from your touch. You kept his hand in yours, and for a second you worried it was too much. You worried you betrayed whatever trust you had built with him. Just holding his bare metal hand felt more violating and revealing than the fact that both of you remained completely naked. But you didn’t want to pull away. You didn’t want him to think you were afraid of him, afraid of the fact his hand could pulverize yours in a second - because you weren’t. You’d felt his touch. You knew how gentle and caring he could be. And you wanted him to see it too. That he wasn’t defined by his worst fears.

You pulled your body towards him, kneeling at the edge and facing him, “You don’t have to leave.” you spoke softly, as if he might be spooked and run off if you were any louder. “You don’t have to push everyone away. Please don’t push me away… I-”

Before you could finish, he was crashing into you. His tongue invading your mouth, like he was trying to soak up your unsaid words. His hands held your waist in place against his, steady and strong, but there was still resistance in his fingers; a hesitance to use too much force with you. You could feel how he feared he might hurt you.

Slowly you leaned back, feathering your fingers over his shoulders to guide him with you, and when he hovered over you, you let them slide into his hair, grabbing what you could and leading his head down…

~~~~

You lay there in the dark with your head on his chest, listening to his steady heart, feeling the crisp sting of metal graze your back. And even though you knew it was ridiculous, all you could think about was how you wanted to keep him safe. The man was stronger than any other human being, and probably thought you were fragile and helpless, and needed his protection more than anything. But still, you wanted him to be okay. You wanted him to know he could be safe.

“I’ll fight them for you.” you whimper quietly, suddenly worried that Bucky may have already fallen back to sleep.

“Huh? Who- what do you mean?” his words stuttered and tripped over his tongue. His half sleeping brain was suddenly running a mile a minute trying to decipher your statement. Who were you fighting? Why would you need to fight them for him? Surely he was more capable of fighting anyone off. He should be protecting you-

“The monsters” you said a little louder. The words feel childish and awkward in your mouth, and once you said them, you wished to take them back. But you decided to push forward, “if you want me to… if you need me… I’m here”

[bestworstcase]

I like your thoughts on how Rapunzel was handling things wrong in “Rapunzel: Day One.” The episode tries to imply that Cassandra is wrong for not sharing her feelings with Rapunzel, but is a Rapunzel really the person Cassandra should be opening up to? Rapunzel never respects Cassandra’s boundaries. Cassandra’s a private person. Rapunzel doesn’t respect that. And just because Cassandra doesn’t want to open up to everyone doesn’t mean that she’s bottling things up.

ok so this is gonna be a long one bc tbh i like. fundamentally disagree that RDO, the narrative of RDO, in any way positions cassandra as the one at fault for the emotional conflict between her and raps.

to digress a bit - while tts is not immune to Aesop Episodes (e.g. rapunzel's enemy or you're kidding me) wherein the characters close out the story by talking about What They've Learned, ultimately i don't think tts can or should be read as a morality play. it's a story where sometimes characters just... fuck up and the narrative doesn't waste its time on hand-holding or spoon-feeding us the moral.

anyway, i submit that RDO is what i'll call a False Aesop Episode. it follows the basic structure of an Aesop Episode (protagonist acts badly -> protagonist learns a lesson) but the lesson rapunzel learns is a bad one. it's like if you took... say, "an apple a day keeps the doctor away" as an aesop, the False Aesop here is rapunzel confidently eating a rotten apple and then being blindsided a few months later when the doctor who kept begging her not to eat food with maggots in it steals the moonstone from under her nose and runs off into the night with her new demon pal--

and that metaphor got away from me a little bit but you get the idea.

#1: constructing the conflict

the episode opens with cassandra. she's training; we see the sword fly out of her injured hand; lance suggests she take a break, and she answers, "thanks to rapunzel's little trick at the great tree, i have to relearn everything using this hand, so breaks aren't really an option."

she isn't harsh about it. her demeanor isn't all that different from her normal self—she even segues into a very typical concern (that the woods are dangerous and they should all be on their guard) and banters with lance a bit.

what this communicates, immediately and succinctly, is that:

1. cassandra's injury is severe. it's disabling. she's either in immense pain or she's lost all the strength in that hand or both.

2. cass is really upset about this, and not happy with rapunzel.

3. nevertheless cass is keeping her feelings more or less in check; the worst anyone could say about her is she's being a bit more curt than normal.

which is to say, she's acting quite reasonable. she's not taking out her hurt feelings on anyone else or being mean or lashing out, and she's not hiding her injury either. the most concerning thing about her behavior here is actually that she's focused on training so she can do her job instead of on healing or resting or taking care of herself.

then there's a pan over to rapunzel, who is angrily watching this play out while venting to pascal. "i get why cass is mad at me," she says. "she told me—" huge disdainful rolling of eyes here "—not to use the decay spell back and the tree, and i did, and she hurt her hand. but if she had just listened to me and stayed out of it, this all could have been avoided! and i feel like we could work things out, but she refuses to talk about it!!"

line this up against cassandra's behavior and spot the differences.

cass is focused on her injured hand. cass is upset because rapunzel accidentally mutilated her in the great tree. that's what this conflict is about for cass; her injury, and how she feels about being injured.

by contrast, rapunzel thinks the conflict is about them not listening to each other. she does acknowledge that cass was injured, but 1. she puts the blame on cass, and 2. has shoved the fact of the injury to the periphery of the conflict. it's not important, it's just a natural consequence of the real conflict, which is cass being mad and petty and refusing to talk to her about how she's unfairly blaming rapunzel for something that wasn't rapunzel's fault.

[i will add here that this behavior from rapunzel is 100% not knowing how to handle guilt and externalizing it as anger, and this thread of rapunzel burying her guilt gets picked up again in rapunzeltopia; it isn't that rapunzel doesn't care that cass is hurt, so much as she's just not emotionally equipped to process these feelings in a healthy way so it mutates into...this.]

and where cass handles her feelings in a pretty reasonable way, rapunzel rants and raves and draws cass as a literal monster with fangs and claws—she's stewing in her out of control emotions and concludes that she just has to find a way to force cass talk to her, which she does shortly thereafter by ordering—not asking—cass to come with her to search for parts to fix the caravan.

#2: the breakdown of communication

i've said it before but it bears repeating: cassandra might not be perfect, but she's a good communicator. in s1 and the front half of s2, she shares her feelings with rapunzel readily and frequently. when she tries to set boundaries with rapunzel, she's able to be clear and specific about what she needs. when she expresses frustration with eugene or her dad or rapunzel, she's very articulate about exactly what she's frustrated about. she can recognize when politer, softer refusals are being ignored and become blunter and more specific to ensure the message is getting across.

the moments when cass struggles to communicate are noteworthy because they're not normal. they signal that she's in acute crisis. think of how her unhinged rant about adira in RATGT heralded a complete emotional breakdown. she clams up in RDO because it's the only thing she can do to protect herself. because rapunzel is an inexperienced nineteen year old who learned all her social "skills" from a manipulative, egotistical abuser and nowhere in the series does that show more than in RDO.

rapunzel knows cass doesn't want to talk about the great tree, so she isolates cass from the rest of the group with the intention of forcing her to talk about it anyway. she's passive aggressive at first: chattering about inanities and trying to bait cass into 'opening up,' and acting vexed and guilt-trippy when she finds out cass brought owl along. she broaches the subject by going "too bad there's not an open-up-to-your-best-friend-about-the-thing-you-guys-are-fighting-about wand, huh?"

then she leads with "i know you're mad at me, but i did the right thing. i didn't have a choice," which... what can cass even say to that? she acknowledged cassandra's anger in one breath and followed up with "but you're wrong tho" in the next. that statement makes cassandra's feelings about her debilitating injury into an argument about Who Was Right.

this is a game that cass tries very hard not to play. "look, if you feel that way, then it's fine. we're good," she says, which is a statement that is not true at all on its face but - what it means is that if rapunzel wants to turn this into a debate about Who Was Right, cass will concede because that's not an argument she's invested in. cass does not want to put her feelings on trial so rapunzel can pick them apart and decide whether she deserves to have them or not.

so she disengages. the sun sets. they camp. rapunzel pokes her again, this time with a more direct approach: "cass, i need to talk about what we both know is going on between us."

and that's when cass throws up a WALL. prior to RDO, when cass is pressed on her feelings, she either: 1. opens up and explains to the extent that she's able (e.g. under raps or RATGT), or 2. flatly shuts the conversation down (e.g. cassandra vs eugene). but in RDO?

"there's nothing to talk about."

"i never said i was upset."

"what makes you so sure that you know how i'm feeling?"

this is cass falling off the end of her rope. this is a cass who spent the last year and a half with rapunzel running roughshod over every boundary cass exhausted herself trying to set. this is cass maybe a few weeks out from rapunzel screaming at her in front of all their mutual friends and then telling her "i am going to make decisions you don't agree with and i need you to be okay with that" when cass tried to open up about her deepest insecurities. this is cass spiraling into despair because she's seen that her best friend cares more about assuaging her own guilt and exerting her authority as a princess than she does about cassandra's feelings.

this is the moment when the friendship dies.

#3: the memory wipe, cassandra's apology, and the false aesop

the details of the tangled-but-cass shenanigans are not super important for the purposes of this discussion. suffice it to say that cassandra lashes out in the heat of the moment, seriously harms rapunzel by mistake, and spends the rest of the episode trying to repair the damage, then apologizes to rapunzel for hurting her. this is, obviously, the correct thing to do when you hurt someone, even if it was an accident.

you see the parallel here, yeah?

rapunzel hurt cass with magic by accident, and then made cass's hurt feelings all about her, blamed cass for the injury, twisted the facts to justify her own indignation, picked a fight about Who Was Right and invalidated cassandra's feelings, and pushed and pushed and pushed until cass blew up and lashed out at her.

cassandra also hurt rapunzel with magic by accident, and then she set aside her own hurt feelings from the argument they were having before to focus one hundred percent of her energy on brewing a cure and keeping amnesiac rapunzel safe, readily admitted her fault, and offered an earnest apology for losing her temper as soon as she could reasonably do so.

if RDO were a true Aesop Episode, this would be the lesson, and rapunzel would of course learn from cassandra's good example and reciprocate by apologizing for the accident in the great tree and her abysmal behavior afterwards—and in a reflection of how cass shared how bottling up her anger allowed it to erupt in a catastrophic way, rapunzel would probably confess that her demanding, selfish behavior came from a place of feeling awful about what happened and terrified that it would ruin their friendship.

but RDO is a False Aesop Episode. rapunzel isn't emotionally equipped to handle the intensity of her guilt, and she lacks the social insight and empathy to draw comparisons between what she did to cass and what cass did to her, so she can't connect the two situations in her head to understand what she's doing wrong. the true aesop flies right over her head, and instead what she learns is this:

1. she was right about cass being upset

2. backing cass into a corner fixed the problem

3. friends really do "just know"

4. being pushy and forceful was the right thing to do.

because the thing is, when cass apologizes for the accidental memory wipe, she truthfully explains why she acted the way she did—she's furious and she didn't want to talk about it, so she held it in as long as she could and then exploded when the pressure became too much—and for rapunzel, i think the explanation and the actual apology get conflated. meaning, cass says "i'm sorry for what i did out of anger" and what rapunzel hears is "i'm sorry for being angry."

and because of that misunderstanding, from rapunzel's perspective her own indignation has been validated and her behavior justified, because she was right all along and cass shouldn't have been angry with her in the first place and now everything is fine--

but it's not fine.

we're not supposed to share rapunzel's perspective here, because she's flat out wrong. nothing is really better and nothing has really changed, except that rapunzel got the talk she wanted and stops putting this intense pressure on cass. so as we enter the house of yesterday's tomorrow, rapunzel is taking it for granted that things are fine with cass, and meanwhile cass is still injured, still angry, still as aloof as she can be without getting rapunzel breathing down her neck again... and then she meets zhan tiri, who gives her everything she needed and couldn't get from rapunzel.

like, to my mind, this is the entire point of RDO, that rapunzel makes this catastrophic mess of trying to patch things up after RATGT and comes out of that mess wrongly thinking she succeeded. the episode is presented through the lens of rapunzel's perspective, but the lines are very wide and i absolutely think the intention is for the audience to read between them and understand the reality that rapunzel has sort of blinded herself to.