#I go to read for a few hours and it's mayhem!

[theangel-aziraphale]

This is a Public Service Anouncement

Could everyone please play along with @thedemon-crowley and this wrestling statue business. His feathers are all ruffled now, and I'd much prefer it if we pretended he was right.

At least for today. You may resume shenanigans with him when we return if any of you wish. For the record, it is a... suggestive... statue. I mean, look at the positioning!

[fraugwinska]

Could you do a backstory to Hard Day? Like, how Al decided to give up control, and the first time it happened 🥺🙏

Ummm... well, I may have gotten myself a bit lost in this one :D Idk, It's gotten quite out of hand, 2,5 k words... but...um yeah :D Praying you like it :> Attention - we cook with Chili, not salt today! (MDNI)

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

The hardest Day

„That's so unrealistic! I mean, in what world would a lion eat bugs instead of the fucking fat juicy PIG?!“

„It's a kids movie, asshole, shut up!“

The gang was sprawled out in front of the TV, blankets and popcorn everywhere. Charlie got her hands on a rare copy of 'The Lion King', and invited everyone to a 'nice, unproblematic, quiet' movie night. She didn't account for Angel's constant commentary, Husk's annoyed retorts to him or Niffty's gleeful giggling at the most unfitting scenes. Vaggie, frustrated by them, started adding to the chaos, sending scolding remarks in intervals at either of them, while Charlie tried to mediate in between songs – which she always sang along with.

You, however, were highly entertained – even though you didn't catch anything from the movie, just watching them was amusing enough. The only one missing was Alastor, who had 'business to attend' and was gone since breakfast ended.

He would've hated it anyway, you knew he had no interest in movies, let alone modern ones, and group activities like these were often straining on his patience. Although getting in the hotel last, you were the one who grew the closest to him. Why? You couldn't say definitively. Maybe it was because you never took his veiled jabs by heart. Maybe because you didn't treat him the way the others wanted you to – with care, with ignorance, with suspicion; but instead with respect, an open mind and without judgment. Maybe it was because you could challenge him – discussions about books you both read could last hours, with points given to either side equally – no winner, no loser, both richer.

You liked Alastor. Really liked him. You also had a silly, little crush on him, for a while now, but you kept that to yourself, nothing going further than a few flirtatious moments 'in good fun', calling each other 'doe' and 'buck' with a laugh. A joke between friends. Friendship, you decided, was enough for you, if it was for him.

The entrance doors slammed suddenly, making you all jump in your seats. Alastor stood at the door, looking... different. Stressed? You cocked a brow when you saw his eye twitch, while he sauntered over to the group.

„Al, do you want to join us? We're watching a movie!“, Charlie said absent-mindedly, her eyes glued to the scene of 'Can you feel the love tonight'.

Alastor gave the TV set a judgmental smile and waved his hand. „Tempting, but it has been a rather hard day, I'll just take a drink and retreat to my room, dear.“ He left the group and went to the bar, your pair of eyes the only one following him. Something was NOT right. His smile was tight, his eyes wider than usual, his movements almost jagged instead of fluid. Niffty had jumped to the bar too, insisting on helping Alastor by retrieving a glass for his whiskey from one the higher shelves. In her eagerness to climb and get it, she didn't watch her steps careful enough, resulting in a few delicate wine glasses sliding from the shelfves and breaking into a hundred tiny pieces. Alastor's reaction was as unexpected as it was worrying – he always had a soft spot for Niffty, laughing over her antics and chaotic energy, often encouraging her even to produce more mayhem. This time, however, he started to scold the maid, who blinked at him with a big, guilty eye and trembling lips.

„Such indignation, really Niffty. Clean the shards at once, and try not to remain to be such a clumsy clot.“, he almost hissed, grabbing the bottle and a simple crystal glass before striding away hastily. Your eyes followed his figure until he turned the corner to the staircase, then you got up and comforted the little demon, helping her sweeping up the glass pieces while she sniffeled tears away.

You let your gaze swipe over the group, completely ignorant about what happened with Niffty, and Alastor. Ignorant of the blatantly obvious bad mood of the deer demon.

Turning to Charlie, you whispered to her that you had a headache and would be going to bed, to which she just nodded. No one acknowledged your leave, all eyes on the screen and still bickering noisily. A bunch of friends, you are, you thought annoyed with a shaking head.

Three flights of stairs later, you reached Alastor's room. You pressed your ear to the door, and heard dull bangs, like something was thrown, and a muffled voice. You knocked, and the room instantly stilled.

„Alastor, it's me.“, you said loudly, brows furrowed. „Are you okay?“

A few seconds of silence. „I'm just fine and dandy my dear.“

You put one hand on the door. He normally would open it, to speak with you directly, face uncomfortably close to face, just the way he liked it. But it stayed close.

„You didn't look fine.“, you stated. You were ever so stubborn.

„Well, I am fine. Now shoo, darling, good night.“

You stood in front of the wooden divider, contemplating. You could just go. Leave him be, wait until tomorrow. See if he would talk to you then. But then, there was your gut. And it told you Alastor wasn't well. And that just didn't sit right with you.

„Alastor. Please, let me in.“

No response, just hint of the prickling feeling of static electricity on your skin.

„I know something is bothering you, and I'm worried.“

No response. You breathe in and out.

„I'm not going anywhere until you open the...“

The door flew open, a hand wrapped around your arm and pulled you into the room, violently. You stumbled and fell against a bookshelf, catching the fall with your hands to keep you upright. You heard a slam and a click – door closed, door locked. The static was everywhere now, flushing in waves over your body. You turned around -

Alastor was pacing like a wounded animal, he seemed fluffed up, as if every hair on his body had decided to stand up. His scleras were dark pits, blackest black, and in it his irises burned angrily in crimson flames, now focusing solely on you. The prey.

„So you came to test my patience too, dear?“, he snarled, his voice so distorted it ached in your ears. „It's not enough that that waste of cables destroyed two of my radio towers. Not enough that dozens of my most profitable souls have been rendered useless by an angelic bomb. Not enough that I not only had to put the disgraceful flat screened wretch back in his place, but also his vulgar boy toy and their brazen, attention-seeking brat.“

He grew in size as he ranted, you watched him reaching the ceiling, antlers scraping along the walls. „I manage my weakening territories, manage these imbeciles who think they can play overlords, I manage this sad excuse of a hotel, I manage the princess's unattainable ideas, and now, I also need to manage you, too, of all people? What a disappointm...“

„Stop.“

You held up a hand. Alastor growled, fluffing up even more, limbs cracking and static popping. „How dare y...“

„Stop.“, you said again. Your tone was calm, void of anger, or fear, neutral and steady. He stared at you, and you held his gaze. „Breathe, Alastor.“

You saw him fighting with himself. He fought against his instinct to oppose, to command, to put you into your place, to rip you apart. His elongated claws scraped over the floor, ripping deep ridges in the wood.

„Breathe.“, you repeated, firmer this time.

Slowly, gradually, Alastor shrunk. Breathed. Crumbled. Until he was back to his usual size and form, only with an exhausted expression.

You studied him – you've never seen him like that. He never allowed anyone to see him as something other than 'the radio demon': Powerful, unshakeable, quick on his feet and always one step ahead. How exhausting it must be. To always have the control also meant to always carry responsibility, to always fear impending failure.

Your heart whispered to you, and you followed it's advice. It could be the most stupid thing you could do, but you decided to do it anyway.

„Come here, Alastor.“

He looked at you, unsure, suspicious. You sounded commanding, but not harsh. Inviting. Like a hand, reached out to someone trapped. For a moment, you almost thought you ruined everything – his eyes left yours, they fell to the ground as he shifted on his feet.

But then – steps. Coming closer. Stopping right in front of you. And suddenly..

His head on your shoulder. His breath on your neck. His voice in your ear.

„Sometimes I'm so sick of it all. Sick of maneuvering, sick of ruling, governing, planning...“

You touched his neck, he let you, caressing the soft skin, heated from his outburst, trembling slightly at the contact. It was intimate, baring this vulnerable part to you. You heart broke for him.

He pulled himself away from you, searching for your eyes. Finding them again, he took your hand, bringing it up to his face, guiding your fingers over his lips. He just said one word.

„Please.“

So much was said with this please. You heard every message. Giving up control, just for a bit, just with something he didn't care enough about to insist on ruling, could be a small bit of freedom. Letting himself be guided instead of leading.

“Kneel down, Alastor.”

His ears pressed flat against his head, but he did as he was told. He couldn't look you in the eyes. For once, you were the one towering over him. You took his face in your hands, pulling it so he looked up to you, seeing your warm smile before your lips met his.

His breath hitched, stuck somewhere in his throat.

You slid one hand to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, the other caressing his cheek as you tilted your head and deepened the kiss. Slowly, the rigidity melted away, he started to shift, lips no longer stiff but soft and molding against your own.

He tried to stand up, but you pushed him down, gently, definitively.

“Trust me to guide you, buck.”

He breathed, one, two, three times, eyes closed, grin tight.

“Yes, doe.”

Your own excitement took a back seat. You were filled with pure energy at the thought of crossing the line with him, having Alastor in a way you only dreamed about, convinced your relationship would never come this far. But. But this was not about you, for now. Maybe, another time. If another time ever came.

You lowered yourself on him, straddling him, so you were still 'taller', and rejoined your lips. You took his hands and set them on your hips, let them rest there while you buried yours in his hair, tugging lightly to bend his head back. His initial resistance lessened, and he gave in, exposing his throat, gray skin peeking out of his high collar. You let your mouth travel to his jawline, down to the small patch of delicate, thin skin, right next to his jugular. You felt him tense, felt his rising urge to protect himself from your potential strike. You let out a soft hum as you started to lick it, sucking gently, just a bit, just to make him shiver at the sensation. And how he did.

A moan, low and sweet like the strumming of a cello, escaped him, his hands crushing your hips by the force of his grip. It hurt, but you decided to ignore it. Little steps.

“Can you take more, good boy?”

His eyes snapped open, burning furiously. You met them with calmness, with a soft matter-of-fact-ness. Not smug, not mocking. A question. Proceed or Stop?

Alastor swallowed hot saliva. You could see he was getting overwhelmed, overstimulated, and yet, he had such a longing in his eyes, such desperation.

“Yes.”

One simple word. One spark, setting your body on fire. You tried to force your trembling fingers to steady, lifting yourself slightly off him to open his trousers. With every button, his breaths grew heavier, his grip on your legs grew tighter, claws already digging in your skin and drawing blood.

“Careful, buck. I'll need these in a moment.”, you said, placing both hands on his chest, pushing him flat on his back on the ground. He let you go, arms falling useless next to him.

You leaned forward, thanking any deity that would listen you decided to wear a skirt today, and placed a hand on his growing bulge. He hissed at the touch, cracking the floor as his fingers clawed into the wood of the floor instead your fleshy legs.

Freed from it's cage, Alastor's dick was already dripping with beads of precum, a sight to behold. You wrapped your fingers around it, feeling the warmth and bloodflow, it twitched in your hand. You stroke him, eliciting the most sinful noises from the demon under you.

You took a deep breath. One more, one question more, to make sure that he wanted it.

“Look at me, Alastor.”

He sat up on his elbows, looking more helpless than you've ever imagined he could. Even his smile wavered, threatening to break. You were looking for any signs of hesitation, disgust, resistance, regret. You only found desire. A want, a need, almost pleading eyes.

Your free hand pushed your panty away, enough to expose your lips, and you lowered yourself onto him, his length slowly entering you. He was big, you were tight. A bittersweet combination. Sparks flew before your eyes as he stretched you, but you were hypnotized by his eyes.

They were blown wide, returned to black, but the irises now flickering into dials, turning, left to right as he groaned. You moved, guiding your hips up and down, feeling yourself molding to his shape in the most delectable way, and getting drunk off the look on his face.

You increased the pace on which you pushed yourself on him, adding a little tilt of your hips to take him even deeper. His voice was reduced to a static-y mess, hums and groans and moans bleeding into each other. You placed both of your hands on his chest for more support, inevitably pinning him down. His hands flew to yours, threatening to push them off him, but instead, he entwined his fingers with yours, panting heavily.

It didn't take long for him to feel the pressure, unbearable and urgent, his release approaching at godspeed.

“Doe, I can't...”

Panic in his tone. He tried to put his hands on your waist to pull you off. You understood immediately – an upbringing in conservative times, decades of living by the rules of a gentleman, he was resisting against the thought of cumming inside you. You pushed his hands away.

“Yes, you can.”, you stated, smiling at him, a hint of wickedness in your eyes. “And you will.”

Your skilled movements and dedicated demeanor sent him over the edge immediately. Protests were futile as he came in you forcefully, you felt his cock pumping his seed deep into you, hot and thick as you rocked him through his orgasm. Your own high wasn't worth chasing, too far away to matter. You didn't even think about it – nothing could feel better than this.

Alastor ran his hands over his forehead, sweeping away beads of sweat as his breath calmed down.

His hand shot out to grab you, and, still impaled by him, he pulled you into his chest, invading your mouth with his tongue to kiss you possessively. As if to transfer the command, the control he had given up, back to him. Taking it from you.

For a moment you were scared. The positions had reset to their default. Would that mean he'd push you off? Say goodnight and never talk about this night again? Returning to the Status Quo. Friends, the end.

Alastor pulled your chin up to look at you. His thumb ran over your cheek, tenderly and full of care. His eyes answered every question in your mind. You weren't scared anymore.

[mousy-nona]

Head-cannon for thought?

Lucifer has duck wings so they molt every spring and end of summer. Luci dealing with molting… with Alastor??

Excerpts from “Duck Care for Dummies: Hell Edition”:

Molting can be painful for your aquatic friends! Their skin can get very sensitive during this time, and some ducks may even pick on their fellow birds. Please be patient with them throughout the molting process. 

Alastor looked up from the book with a grin that sent Angel Dust scurrying for cover. 

“Very interesting,” he murmured, his eyes gleaming fever-bright. 

The mystery started a few weeks ago. The denizens of the hotel had woken up one morning to find some mysterious prankster had scattered feathers everywhere – between the couch cushions, on the stairs, even stuffed between the kitchen cabinets and in between the radio speakers (that one felt a bit personal). 

So began a strange battle, with the hotel on one side and what appeared to be the ghost of Mother Goose on the other. Every afternoon, they’d finish cleaning up the remnants of last night’s avian snowstorm, and every morning they’d wake up to find a new layer of radiant white down covering every possible – and impossible – surface. 

Husk finally lost it when he found a stray piece of fluff floating in his rum. “Alright, ‘fess up! Who the hell is shaking their tail feathers around this damn place, huh?” 

He glared daggers at Vaggie, whose very conspicuous wings flared wide as everyone turned to stare at her. She marched forward until she and Husk were nose to nose. 

“What the hell are you implying, huh?”

“I think you know exactly what I’m implying, you overgrown chicken!” 

It was mayhem. Charlie rushed to Vaggie’s defense, Angel Dust pulled out a bin of popcorn, Niffty started chanting kill kill kill kill at the top of her tiny lungs. But Alastor, who made a habit of haunting the shadows, spotted something no one else did: one of Lucifer’s hands twitching towards his back. Where his own wings would be, when he wasn’t hiding them. 

“Interesting,” Alastor grinned, then disappeared to the library, where he found this book after a few hours of intense searching. Someone had moved it from the shelves and shoved it under a massive pile of papers – almost as if they didn’t want anyone to find it.  

Unfortunately for Lucifer, Alastor was nothing if not thorough. Humming a swinging, jaunty tune, flipped to the last chapter. 

So your duck is molting…what should you do about it? 

Unlike their earthly counterparts, ducks in hell may go through a much longer molt without help. A good avian caretaker can speed up the process by helping brush out the feathers. A light touch is essential – using a soft brush or bare fingers is the best way to dislodge the plumage without hurting the sensitive skin underneath. 

“Very interesting.” 

He waited until nightfall to make his move. When the hotel had finally quieted down, and the only thing he could hear were the roaches in the walls, he willed himself to appear by Lucifer’s door and knocked, just once. 

Lucifer cracked open the door, his eyes bloodshot and bleary. He looked as if he hadn’t slept properly in days. “Charlie, is that – oh. It’s you.” He sighed, visibly deflating when he saw who it was. Alastor’s smile widened. 

Oh, he was going to enjoy every moment of this. Especially the parts where Lucifer would protest, and stutter, and turn as red as one of his beloved apples. 

“I was doing a little light reading today, and stumbled upon a rather interesting passage.” 

Lucifer scoffed and tried to slam the door in his face, but Alastor managed to slip his foot in the crack before he could.

“Alastor, it’s really way too late for this – “

Alastor held up the book in question, and Lucifer shut up immediately. A pink blush spread across his pale face. Alastor could have purred with satisfaction at the sight of it. Oh, how he enjoyed making Lucifer uncomfortable. It was quickly becoming one of his favorite pastimes. 

“Would you like me to share a few verses with you? I must say, this portion about just how sensitive the skin grows during a molt is especially fascinating –” 

“Shut up!” Lucifer stuck his head out into the hallway and hurriedly glanced around, checking to make sure if anyone had overheard him. Then he grabbed Alastor by the lapels and yanked him inside. 

“Your Majesty, how very forward of you.” 

Lucifer pinched his nose between two fingers and took a long breath in. Out. “So you figured it out, huh?”

“That you’ve been spreading your body parts all over the hotel?” Alastor chuckled merrily. “Quite. I found it especially interesting how fond your feathers were of my radios.”

Lucifer had the grace to look a little sheepish. “Okay, that was childish, I admit it. But you’re not exactly the easiest person to live with.”

“That’s entirely by design, I assure you.” Alastor stepped forward, his smile turning coy. “But this little midnight rendez-vous isn’t about me. It’s about you, and your rather, ah, feathery problem.” 

Lucifer pouted, looking almost uncannily like one of his beloved toy ducks. “I’ve never gone through a molt alone, alright? Lilith is usually here to help me out, and…it’s a rather intimate thing to ask of Charlie.” 

“That’s why I’m here!” Alastor grinned. “Alastor the Radio Demon, at your humble service.” He swept into a grand bow, ending it with a little flourish of his cane because he was a showman, first and foremost. 

Lucifer blanched. “If you think I’m ever letting you within an inch of my wings–”

“And what’s the alternative, your Majesty? You’re going to fill the hotel with feathers until we all suffocate or drown? You’ll wait until Husk kills Vaggie?” He covered his mouth, feigning shock. “I didn’t realize you were so cruel! You would really stand by and do nothing as your daughter becomes a widow?”

Lucifer scoffed, but Alastor could tell that he’d hit a nerve. He paused and ran a frustrated hand through his golden hair. 

There was a long moment of silence. Then finally – “I do need help.” The words were so quiet, spoken so quickly it could have been a passing breeze.

Alastor stepped forward and wrapped one arm around Lucifer’s thin shoulders. Lucifer was burning up, his back so hot Alastor could feel it through his gloves. “The night’s not getting any younger.” He leaned in so his lips brushed the shell of Lucifer’s ear, delighting in his shudder, in the bob of his throat as Lucifer gulped. A thin line of sweat trickled down his temple. Alastor’s mouth watered, but he forced himself to sit still and wait. “I suggest we start immediately.” 

“Fine,” Lucifer sighed. Slowly, begrudgingly, he stripped off his coat and shirt, then willed his wings into existence. All six of them sprang out in a veritable shower of feathers. Alastor was covered in the stuff – feathers were in his hair, on his suit, stuck on his pants. A few of them even landed in his mouth, to his great displeasure. 

He spat them out and glared daggers at the angel, who looked like he might burst out laughing. “Sorry,” Lucifer said, not sounding even the slightest bit apologetic about the mess. 

Alastor determinedly shook off the plumes that he could find. Then he stepped forward, stripping off his gloves as he loomed over Lucifer’s wings. His smile grew as Lucifer shrunk back, staring nervously at the sharp points of his claws as they drew closer and closer to his tender skin. 

“Can’t you keep those things on?” He squeaked.

“No can do!” Alastor said, almost sing-song with glee. “The book said it would be better with bare hands.” 

“They probably didn’t think of the claws – oh!” He jolted upright, as if he’d been tazed. His eyes fluttered closed, a truly indecent sound ripping from his throat as Alastor rubbed the outer spot of his wings. A few feathers flew off, revealing bare skin beneath. With a gentleness that Alastor hadn’t known he’d possessed, he rubbed carefully around the frame of the wings first, working from left to right as he freed Lucifer of the worst of the molting.

Lucifer grit his teeth, his throat working as he fought to keep those strange sounds inside, but more and more escaped as Alastor finished with the edge of his wings and started working his way inward, towards the spot where his wings folded into his shoulder blades. At one point, Alastor brushed against a particularly sensitive zone near his upper back, and Lucifer let loose a long, low moan, his back arching up against Alastor’s graceful fingers. 

And Alastor, being Alastor, couldn’t let it slide. 

“Having fun, your Majesty?”

Lucifer turned a brilliant shade of scarlet. Like strawberries in spring. “Shut up,” he muttered.

Alastor’s hand stilled. “Why, I thought I was doing you a favor. I could stop here…”

“No!” Lucifer yelped, then buried his head in his arms, as if he wished the floor would swallow him whole. “I mean…”

“Yes?” Alastor prompted. The embarrassment! The shame! Lucifer’s humiliation was sweet on his tongue, like blood and spun sugar.

“Please continue,” Lucifer whispered, his voice mouse-quiet. Alastor chuckled. 

“It would be my pleasure.” 

Lucifer jerked and arched as Alastor finished his ministrations, the white pile of feathers on the floor growing into hills, then mountains. Finally, Alastor leaned back, humming with satisfaction at a job well done. 

“I daresay my work here is finished.”

Lucifer sighed, shaking out his wings with a groan of satisfaction. “They feel so light! I can’t remember the last time I could move them like this. I – Alastor, thank you.” 

Alastor grinned. “Save your thanks. Let’s just say…you owe me one.” 

Lucifer blanched and shook his head. “I am definitely not saying that.” 

As Alastor turned to leave, Lucifer grabbed his shoulder.

“My molting season…it doesn’t end for another few weeks.”

“And…?” Alastor prompted, his Cheshire cat grin stretched almost impossibly wide. 

“I would appreciate it if we could do this again,” Lucifer said, too fast, as if he thought he could pretend he never said it if he said it quickly enough. 

"An interesting idea! I'll be sure to give it some thought."

Lucifer spluttered, but Alastor was already gone, his radio laugh echoing endlessly into the night.

[spacieboi]

𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬

𝙏𝙮𝙥𝙚. 𝖲𝗆𝗎𝗍 

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜. 𝖦𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗁𝖺𝗆 𝖳𝖺𝗇𝖺𝗄𝖺 𝗑 𝖥𝖾𝗆 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝘾𝙬. 𝖲𝖾𝗑𝗌𝗈𝗆𝗇𝗂𝖺, 𝖽𝗎𝖻 𝖼𝗈𝗇, 𝗀𝗋𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗌𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗅𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀, somnophilia of sorts

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩. 1.8k

Your eyes grow wide when you see whom you're assigned a room with.

"Ooo Good luck, Bestie" Akane pats you on the shoulder after reading the name.

Gundham Tanaka, what a name. Perfect for his intimidating nature.

You didn't have a problem with him in particular but you had the feeling he wasn't too fond of you.

His stare was always cold, it was hard to tell what thought was going through his head. He was big and shadowed over you by a good five inches.

You two never talked. You were afraid he would snap your neck in half if you step within ten feet of him. So you kept your distance.

Then you thought, why were you being paired with a male?

As you looked around the lobby you noticed that everyone else was paired with the same gender.

"Wait how come I'm paired with a guy?" You asked.

"Well you see Y/n because of the off ratio of guys to girls due to Nagito's suspension, this is just how things fell."

Damn Nagito, even causing mayhem miles away.

However, you swallow your nerves and confront him.

"Hey, so we're roommates I guess" your voice was a quivering mess, very smooth y/n.

He looks down at you his nonexistent eyebrows scrunched together as his lips turn into a sour snarl.

You felt a wave of fear travel through your system. A deadpan smile plastered on your face as you were afraid to make any other expression.

What did you do for him to hate you this much?

In reality, that was far from the truth. In fact, the other way around. Gundham was somewhat afraid of you.

You were absolutely gorgeous to him. What started as a desire to become friends with you grew into a raging lust. One he was ashamed of.

He didn't want to objectify you in this way but he couldn't remove his eyes from your curves, your dreamy eyes, your thick curly hair. Everything about you was stunning. He'd never felt so strongly for anyone like he does for you.

He was too scared to talk to you, worried he would ruin any chance.

"It seems so" he turns away from you pulling his scarf over his face to hide the blush rising in his cheeks.

You spare him a smile, and twist the room key in your fingers to show him you have it.

He follows you to the elevator offering to take your bags which was sweet.

"202" you mumble out loud. The room number.

"Guess we can find dinner once we settle in" he didn't respond to you.

You turn around to look at him. He was staring at the wall face again looking annoyed.

You frown and turn back to face the door.

In actuality, he was hard staring at your ass. He couldn't help it. It was just so plump. Your leggings framed it so well. The way it jiggled while you walk was hypnotizing.

He wondered if that's how it would move when continuously slammed against his pelvis as he fucked you to oblivion.

When he noticed you turning around he immediately looked away, cursing himself for the explicit thought.

He would never act on these actions but, he couldn't stop imagining them which he felt was just as worse.

You two make it to the room. Luckily it had two beds, with a few feet in between them.

You took the bed closer to the door as Gundham took the one further into the room.

- Hours had passed since you two had settled in.

Your soft snores carried to his ears as you slept peacefully. They weren't loud but it was so quiet in the room it was the only thing audible other than the air conditioning.

He was still awake at the late hour of 2 A.M. thinking about how fine you looked in your selected sleepwear.

The t-shirt two times your size rode up your stomach showing off your pajama shorts.

Not the sexiest thing in the world, but exposing just enough to get his mind wondering.

He forced himself to look away, keep any innocence he had left if any.

Your bed creaked. He assumed it was you turning again in your sleep. Then, he felt the mattress dip behind him.

Quickly, he turned around to see one of your knees on the bed.

Your eyes remained closed suggesting you were still asleep.

Gundham's eyes grew wide as he watched your body begin to climb onto his bed.

Then, you fell over his lap still fast asleep.

He went tense, he wasn't sure what to do.  He didn't expect you to be a sleepwalker and wasn't sure how to approach it.

Should he leave you there? Take you back to your bed?

Waking you from your peaceful state was the last thing he wanted so, he gently pushes you off of him to the side.

Face now burning with the thought of you in his bed, he tries to go to sleep but couldn't. Instead, all he could do was focus on your breathing which began to pick up by the second.

He looks down at you, your face scrunched together. Were you having a nightmare or something?

But then, your hand came in contact with his chest. He felt sparks burst from that spot.

You had never touched him before but damn, was it everything he ever wanted. Your hand was so tiny compared to his.

The small grip you had on his tank was adorable.

Your face had somehow nuzzled its way into the crook of his neck.

Your breath hitches causing the hot air to tickle his skin.

He was stiff. He wanted to jerk away from you but also wanted you close to him.

His hands hovered over your back, afraid to touch you.

Then he felt the gentle graze of your lips as you began to kiss his neck.

His body began to burn as well as a heat in his pants as you left love marks down his jaw.

Your hand traveled down his torso. His breathing picked up as you got closer to his core.

"Y/n?" His voice croaked as he confirmed if you were actually asleep.

Your lack of an answer made him think so.

He didn't know which he'd rather more. Though he wasn't performing the actions, he felt just as guilty for letting you subconsciously continue.

But how often does this opportunity present itself? Here he was getting the touch he's desired so much from you.

"Mm" a soft moan drips from your lips.

His erection presses harder against his sweats as they grow tighter.

Your leg stretches over him keeping him pinned down under you.

Your hand finally reached his clothed dick giving it gentle strokes.

"Shit." He muttered through gritted teeth.

The bed began to rock as you thrust your hips against his side.

Gundham was in shock. Like what was even happening right now?

You, one of if not the prettiest girl he's ever seen was here in his bed rubbing and grinding against him. It felt like something straight out of a dream.

"Ahh ah" Your moans grow louder in his ear as you rocked more vigorously.

Sweat rolled down his face as the pleasure of it all began creeping up.

Then you shifted again. This time you sat fully on top of him, on top of his dick. Still clothed, but he was praying that he could take his pants off.

"Baby~" your soft voice forced itself out of those pretty lips that were trying to stay together. Your hands pressed down hard on his chest. Your nails were nearly piercing his skin.

He couldn't hold it in any longer. Gundham carefully allowed his fingers to wrap around your hips.

You reacted with a breathless moan. Your head was thrown back. A pretty, almost sexy smile was present on your face as your mouth hung slightly open.

Your arms came around his neck pulling you closer to him. His teeth bit into your shoulder.

"Yes~" your voice airy and thrusts pressed harder against him. Gundham wanted to strip you naked, but would that be too far? Was what you two were doing already going too far?

But your pretty body felt so good on top of him. Your skin looked so delicious. The sweat made it glisten so nicely. Your moans were the closest thing to heaven.

You two had somehow slid off Gundham's sweat pants, but the barrier of underwear was still there.

There was a damp spot from where the precum stained his briefs.

"Mhm" your legs spasm and your hips were slowing down.

He began to whine at the decrease in speed. He gripped your waist and threw a thrust up into you.

"Ugh" you force out a moan at the sudden movement.

His breath was heavy as he continued to thrust against you.

Your body slightly clasped into him. Were you coming? Just the thought made his legs weak.

Knowing that you were about to orgasm because of him, using his body to get yourself off while he did nothing but moan along with you was so hot. Being your sex slave was something he never knew he needed.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, yes~" your body fell limp into him. Your hums vibrate as you tremble on top of him. Then he felt warm. He realized that you came on top of him.

Slowly he rides you down from your high.

His body jolts up and a groan leaves his mouth as his seed mixes with your juices.

Breathing heavily, he laid there eyes wide.

What the hell just happened?

Your body, now satisfied, reverted back to its restful state.

You looked so peaceful and so sweet as you laid on him fucked out and slightly trembling.

However, it was a mess. You both were a mess. Should he leave you here? Clean you up?

Questions and scenarios raced through his mind.

Finally, he got up to grab a towel and a pair of his sweatpants.

Carefully and gently, he removed your soaked bottoms and replaced them with his sweatpants instead. He left your underwear as he felt that was a bit too intimate.

Once you were dry and comfy, he carried you back to your bed and tucks you in.

He changes himself and returns back to bed.

It would be a lie to say it was hard to sleep after that. Hell, it was hard to still be in the same room as you.

Should he tell you? You deserved to know right?

"Gundham?" Your voice sweet and almost muffled traveled to his side of the room.

"Yeah?" It startled him and his heart began to beat out of his chest.

"Can you turn up the air. It's hot" you turn over away from him.

"Yeah, of course" he gets up to change the thermostat.

"Oh also" he turn to looks at you.

"Can we talk about that in the morning" he could hear the shame in your voice

"Uh yeah" he could feel the heat in his cheeks.

He laid back in bed. Mind spinning, heart pounding, and confused.

Finally he got the girl but was it worth it? Was it all he wanted?

[darlingshane]

Salt of the Earth ~ Part 1

Pairing: Michael Berzatto x OFC

Summary: She was Carmy's best friend growing up, and Michael never looked at her as anything other than that until years later when she comes back to Chicago to start over. In the process, she turns his sorry excuse of a life upside down.

Content/Warnings: Friends to lovers, Fluff, Angst, Family Drama, Dysfunctional relationships, Implied/referenced drug addiction, Alcohol mention, Divorce, Pets, Pet names, Dialogue heavy. Undisclosed age gap (in my mind Michael is late 30s and OC is late 20s, but it's really up to your interpretation).

Word Count: 6.8k // 4 chapters // AO3 link.

A/N: This is set in the year of the Fishes episode on season 2. It starts in summer and slowly builds up to that Christmas.

— This was an anon request that I got a few months ago, I hope you're still around. I tried to fit all the ideas you sent as best I could. There's a bit of info dump on the first chapter, but I hope it isn't too off-putting.

Chapter 1: Best thing since sliced bread

Seconds stretch into minutes, minutes elongate into long hours on slow days like this at The Beef. Especially in summer when the air conditioner stops working for the second time in the middle of August. Any living soul that crosses that door must have a dying wish or be the devil themselves to adventure themselves to what has become Michael's personal hell.

It's been a testing year, and there's so much he can do to fix this place right now. While he waits for Fak to come check the damn AC unit, Michael tends the front while Ebra takes his lunch break.

Turning the paper's pages on the counter, he comes across an article about the extensive fires eating different parts of the country. A wretched thought crosses his mind as he reads – maybe it'd be better to burn this place to the ground and start over. He entertains the idea for a second until the door swings open, inviting more heat into the boiling pot.

He lifts his eyes from the words to find a familiar face approaching the counter. It's not Fak, but a much better vision of someone he used to know.

“Mayhem Maya.”

“Magic Mikey.”

That former thought of burning down this place disappears somewhere in the midst of that beautiful aura that saunters with her big brown eyes, long raven hair, nervous smile, and firm steps.

“It's been a while, Maybird.” Almost ten years since she set foot in this establishment. “What brings you to this hole in the wall?”

“Came to collect that meatball sub you promised at uncle Teddy's funeral, remember?”

“Oh, right.”

Ever since she moved to a different state, he only had seen her a handful of times when she came back for the holidays. Last time he saw her was at the beginning of spring, when her uncle, Ted Silva, passed away.

“I also had an interview at the new vet clinic on the next block.” She places her cross-body bag on an empty stool while she perches her ass on the one next to it.

“How's that going? Did you get tired of California already?”

“No, I love California. But I needed a change of scenery. It's been rough after… you know…” the divorce. She wasn't married for long, but she still can't bring herself to say the word.

“I’ve heard some of it.” He’s pretty much aware of how everything went down. Well, he’s got grapevine’s juicy version of the story, but he never heard her side directly.

Though Michael and Maya know each other as if they were related, they were never close confidants. She always thought he was the coolest guy in Chicago. And he always thought fondly of her, given their families association, and Maya’s close friendship with his brother.

Michael places an order for her sandwich and grabs a soda for her, while she explains she has two more job interviews later.

“Does your mother know you're back?” He folds the paper and props his elbows on the counter.

“She probably does.”

“Still not talking, huh?”

“It's not my fault she made me the black sheep of the family. She’s like vitriol on steroids.”

“Yeah? What happened at the wake? You left before I could say goodbye.”

Michael recalls the tension at the funeral, particularly at the wake when Angela Silva grabbed Maya by the elbow and took her youngest daughter outside the house as if she was still a child that needed to be scolded.

“Nothing. I barely said a word that day. Guess everything I do feels like a personal attack to her. I can admit that I'm not perfect, and that sometimes I've acted up just to get a reaction out of her, but that day she just went off again…” She pauses without finishing that thought to take a refreshing sip of her coke. “And that wasn't nearly as bad as the day I told her I was getting…”

“Divorced? Why can't you say the word? It's not Voldemort.”

“What the hell do you know about Voldemort?”

“How do I… Who took you and Carmy to buy those damn books? Have you forgotten?” Maya shakes her head. “You even tried many times invoking his name, so I was haunted by eaters or something like that. You two were real potterheads.”

“And you were just a pothead,” she laughs, stirring the ice cubes in her drink with a straw. “I totally blocked that out. We were just a couple of nerds.”

“I’d say!”

“Meatball sub!” Richie calls from the pass-through window and takes a second look when catching Maya in the joint. “Maya Papaya?!”

“Please, don’t call me that.” She scoffs while Richie promptly abandons the kitchen and goes around the counter to give her a welcoming hug.

“Did you know she was coming?” He asks Michael, as he props his ass on the bar.

“Had no idea. She just showed up.”

“Did you tell her about Carmy?”

“What about him?”

“He’s in Copenhagen.”

“Oh, I knew about that.”

“You two talk often?”

“Sometimes, I guess.” Barely more likely. They don't even text anymore. She's tried but there's been nothing but crickets at his end for months.

While Richie grills her about Carmy and what she’s been up to, Michael can’t help but look around the shop to notice, from every corner and wall, memories bouncing all at once in his direction. It takes him back in time to those days when she and Carmy were as thick as thieves.

Their shared history goes back to that same street their families have lived on for over thirty years… It’s still clear in his mind, like it was yesterday, when he was forced to babysit them when they wanted to go to the movies or trick-or-treating or the bookstore. That was a little annoying back then, now he fondly remembers all those times in summer, when they’d go to the convenience store to get ice pops on their bikes. Then they’d ride back and sit in the middle of the swanky rug in their living room and watch TV for hours. More than once they were yelled at by Mama Berzatto when she would come home to find melted colorful stains in the fabric. She would lose her shit. Carmy was used to it. Maya wasn’t, but the girl never flinched once cause Donna and her own mother were cut from the same unstable piece of cloth.

Maya and Carmy were really close up until they went separate ways for college. Their bond was something to admire. They had something so special that inevitably, Carmy fell in love with her. She was his best friend and confident. They kept each other's secrets, and Carmy thought she'd feel the same in return. It wasn't a crazy notion. They spent so much time together, everyone thought it'd lead to something more, but that never happened.

Mikey and Richie used to tease the youngest cub relentlessly. They tried multiple times to encourage him to ask her out, but he never found the guts to do it. Especially if it could potentially end their friendship. Carmy didn't want to lose that. Though he never confessed his feelings, Maya always knew. Even in her teens, call it a woman’s intuition, part of her already knew. Maya wished she'd felt the same toward him, but the heart wants what it wants, and she couldn't change that.

What was really fucked up was that she had the most ridiculous crush on the older Berzatto when she was a teen. While she knew he'd never look at her as anything other than Carmy's annoying little friend, that didn't stop her from daydreaming about it for years. It was a secret that no one ever knew and that was placed in a drawer at the back of her mind after she left Chicago.

After graduating, Maya and Carmy stayed in touch for a long time, until their calls and texts became less frequent. They followed different dreams that required a lot of attention and sadly their friendship got hurt in the process.

While she attended Vet School on the west coast, he became a chef on the east.

Maya thrived at school and work. She really went out on her own, and became the woman she always wanted to be. Unsheltered, confident, outspoken. She outgrew her shell and opened herself to new experiences and people. She loved it all. It wasn’t smooth sailing, but for the most part she was pretty happy with her choices.

And now she's back in Chicago, set on a new path and awaiting to see where it takes her.

She’s living in a house in Oak Park with her dog, Coco; Richie fishes out of her. Apparently, she got some money from uncle Teddy, and she’s invested it in a home for her and her beloved staffy.

“Does Carmy know you’re here?” Richie circles back.

“No, I haven't talked to him in months.”

“Why? Did you two have a fall-out or something?”

“There's no why. We're just busy.”

“Mike, help me out here. Weren’t these two fools supposed to get married?”

“Yeah, everyone thought you'd ended up together.”

“Man, I don't know what to tell you, we just didn't,” her head sinks between her shoulders.

“Just get over yourself and hit him up. The kid has been hung up on you since forever. It looks like things didn’t go so well with your marriage and all. You should take that as a sign, you’d never find anyone better than Carmy. The boy could really use some excitement in his life. And so could you.”

“C’mon, leave her alone. Go back to work, Cousin.”

Michael throws her a lifeline, noticing how miserable she looks every time Richie opens his unfiltered mouth.

“He’s not wrong, you know? You and Carmy… it looked like you two had something special.” Michael offers once Richie is back in the kitchen.

“It’s called friendship. You should look it up.” She points out.

“I have Richie.”

“Exactly. You have Richie. Why don't you two marry the other and leave me alone? If you think about it, you were as close to Richie as I was with Carmy. Even more. Should everyone assume you are in love with him? Cause that's what you're implying.”

“Touch��. I'll drop it.”

“Look, as hard as it is to believe, there was nothing else between us. I was aware he felt something for me, but I didn’t feel the same.”

“You should give him a chance sometime. He might surprise you.”

It’s not the first time these two have been trying to play matchmaker between Maya and Carmy, and it’s bizarre to see they still do at any given opportunity.

“Okay, if I give Carmy a chance, you have to give Richie a chance. Those are the rules, Berzatto.”

“Oh, I've tried. He's not into me,” he remarks, amused, and leans closer to confess something in a lower voice. “Do you wanna know a secret?”

“Uh, sure.”

“He and Tiffany are having a baby. He just told me a few days ago.”

“What? You let him reproduce? I'll pray for Tiff.”

Chapter 2: Cool as a cucumber

Everything falls slowly into place as Maya settles back in Chicago. She secures the job at the clinic near The Beef, which is a huge relief after her rushed decision of moving back to her hometown without securing a job first. It was part of the plan all along to practice what she loves but never thought this would be the year. As much as she loved California, once her divorce was finalized she felt like something was trapping her there. And the money she got from her uncle gave her some leeway to improvise, get away from all that, and start over.

Maya is spending her morning going through the stack of unpacked boxes, finding a good place for everything, making it feel more homey. It's not a big house, but spacious enough for the two of them. The big selling point was the backyard for Coco to zoom around and cool down in her wading pool, which she loves. It didn't take long for the five-year-old pup to get used to her new neighborhood. They've even made a couple of friends at the park nearby.

A moment before the doorbell rings, Coco whines from her spot by the window, where she often sits to watch passers in the street.

“Who is it?” Maya playfully asks her dog as she makes her way to the front door.

Through the peephole, she sees Michael's profile as he inspects the porch.

“Hi,” her eyes widen as she opens the door. “Didn't know you were coming.”

“Yeah, I would've called, but I didn't get your number the other day.” But he got her address from Richie's intense questioning when she visited the shop.

“I knocked on two different houses until I got the right one,” he explains as Coco curiously circles around his feet, sniffing his pants, hitting his crotch with her nose in the process.

“No, Coco. Sit. How many times have we talked about no nut-tapping?” Maya glances at her with amusement as the dog sits on her haunches.

“It’s fine,” he snorts. “All dogs do that.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. But she’s not any other dog. I thought I had taught her better. So what brings you here?”

“This.” He offers the paper bag hanging in his hand. “It's just a little house-warming gift.”

“You didn't have to.” As she takes the bag from his hand she ushers him inside before closing the door.

“It's nothing, really.”

He glances around as Maya takes out the box from the bag.

“Wow, a set of knives? That's not nothing.”

“Everyone needs one good set of knives. But you can exchange them for something else if you want.”

“No. I like these. But I gotta warn you that I'm not much of a cook, and I'll probably use the same one for everything.”

“That's fine I can show you sometime though. Is she friendly? ” He points at the dog that keeps staring at him. “Can I pet her?”

“Yeah, she loves everyone. Go ahead.”

Michael cautiously pets the brown coat of her head as her floppy ears lower at the passing of his hand.

“Never pictured you with a pit bull.”

“Me neither. I always thought I'd be a cat lady. But I met her at this adoption drive when she was one, and she stole my heart.”

“I can see why.” Michael crouches down, and pets Coco with both hands. “She's really sweet.”

He lets her lick his chin a couple of times before standing back on his feet. Then they go on a tour around the house.

“It's still a work in progress. I'm thinking of painting a few walls, but we like it so far.”

“Yeah, it has good bones.”

“So you don't have to work today?” Asks Maya.

“No, we've had some trouble with the gas line, and we've been shut down for a couple of days.”

“That sucks. Now where am I going to get my sandwiches and coffee on my way to work?”

“Heard Starbucks is pretty good.”

“Shut up. Don't even joke about that.” She playfully shoves his shoulder as they go back to the living room.

“Are you doing something later?”

She shakes her head. “Why?”

“I don't know, thought you were having a comeback party or something.”

“I don't really have any friends here. And I don't feel like inviting my family yet. As you can see, I still have a lot to unpack.”

“Physically or mentally speaking?”

“Both,” she scoffs.

“Let's do something then? Just you and me. We could grab some pizza, or go out for a drink for old times’ sake?”

“Old times’ sake?” It's amusing, surprising and confusing his sudden interest in her. Maybe he can see how pathetic she thinks she is, and he's taking pity on her. Although, that was never Michael style.

“Yeah, c'mon, Mayhem. You look like you could use some fun.” He picks up a book that's sitting on top from the box opened by the couch that's titled — Dating Again with Courage and Confidence: The Five-Step Plan to Revitalize Your Love Life after Heartbreak, Breakup, or Divorce. “And maybe a rebound or something. You don't need a fucking help book. You only need me to show where to get the best guys, or girls. Whatever you're into.”

“Give me that. I don't need a rebound, a help book, or you for all matter finding me a date.”

“No? Then why do you have that?”

“My friend Paige thought I should give it a try.”

“Maybe she was onto something there.”

“I'm perfectly fine. Just want to finish organizing everything, focus on work and this handful I have right here.” Her hand gestures at Coco. “What are you so interested in my love life anyway? First you try to play matchmaker with Carmy, and now you want me to do what, exactly? Hook up with the first guy I see?”

“No, I'm just asking you to go out and have some fun. I know Carmy was the only friend you had here. And if I was in your shoes, I'd feel pretty lonely.”

“I'm not lonely, Michael. Do I miss my friends in Sacramento? Sure,” she admits. “But I don't wanna force anything. I'm just taking it slow. When the time comes I'll jump right in but for now, this is all I need. Really. Stop pitying me.”

“I'm not pitying you, sweetheart.”

“No? Then what is it? Where is this coming from?”

“I don't know… I've always thought you were the salt of the earth. And though we never really hung out together, I thought you could use… But I can see now that you're different, and that you know what you need right now, so I'll just shut up and back off. Let you do your thing.”

“Thank you. I do know what I'm doing, by the way. You don't have to worry about me. I'll be fine. But I appreciate you coming here anyway.”

“Yeah, of course. And I can help you unpack if you need.”

“Hm, if you don't have anything better to do, be my guest. We could grab a pizza later, if the offer still stands. Or just order some food.”

“Sure.”

Michael helps Maya unpack all the boxes and put everything in place in half the time it'd have taken her alone. They order some food for lunch and spend half the day talking and laughing until late in the afternoon when they decide to go out for some drinks to keep the good vibes going.

At the end of the night, she offers to drive Michael back to his apartment as a thank you for inviting her.

“Did you have fun?” Michael asks from the passenger seat as she pulls up in front of his building.

“Yeah, I did. I'm glad I changed my mind.”

“Me too. I didn't know you were this fun. You're nothing like I remember.”

“Yeah, I was kind of weird growing up. You guys probably thought there was something wrong with me. ”

“Nah, don't be so hard on yourself. We were all weird in our own way.”

“Uh-uh. No Michael Berzatto. You were the coolest guy back in the day, and you still are.”

“I don’t know about that,” he scoffs. “For the record… I never thought there was anything wrong with you.”

“You were probably the only one… Anyway, thank you for today. I know I said I didn't need this, but I guess I did.”

“You're welcome, Maybird. I'm glad you’re back.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Thanks for bringing me home,” he softly squeezes her arm before reaching for the handle to open the door.

“No problem.”

“You know you can call me if you ever miss your friends, y’know?” he throws casually.

“I uh…sure. I will.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” she echoes back as he pulls the handle and the door opens.

“Have a good night, Michael,” she says as he gets one foot on the pavement.

“You, too, sweetheart.”

He closes the door and vaguely waves as she sets the car in motion and watches her drive away.

Chapter 3: Don't cry over spilled milk

In the few weeks he's been spending time with Maya, Michael has found himself enjoying her company more than he'd like to admit. Being with her grounds him. She makes him forget for a little while all that's wrong in his life. She's like a beacon in that immerse darkness that his sorry existence has become. Despite having her own set of problems, he's watched her rise above all that with poise. He wonders what it's her secret to her steadfast determination, even when her own family has disavowed her.

After closing shop, he dives into his stash to tame that brewing headache before driving to Oak Park to pay her a visit. She told him earlier via text that she was at Home Depot buying some paint to update the color of her bedroom and asked him to come over to hang out after work.

For some reason, he couldn't say no. Not even the storm in his head is strong enough to deny her request. He has a pull on him, tugging him hard like a dog tied to a leash in her hand, he can’t help but follow her lead.

When he arrives at her house, she's halfway done. Two of the walls shine bright new in a lavender tone as she starts working on the next one.

After having beer and playing a tug of war game with his new friend, Coco, Michael offers his help to finish painting the walls. He uses a brush to paint the corners, while she gracefully uses a roller like a pro with her denim overalls over a tank top, and her raven hair pulled up in a ponytail sprinkled with lavender paint beads. When she lifts one of her arms, he catches a glimpse of a tattoo on the side of her rib cage, leveled to the roundness of her chest that looks like the outline of a dog paw.

“What are you looking at?” She asks after catching him staring.

“You have paint on your chin.”

“Oh.” She wipes it with the back of her hand, but she just spreads the stain along her jaw. “I made it worse, didn't I?”

“Yeah.”

She shrugs it off and continues with the task ahead until the whole wall is covered.

“Is everything okay, Bear?” Maya puts down the paint roller. “You're quieter than usual.”

“Yeah, everything's alright.” It sounds so honest, he almost believes it. “It's just been a long day.”

“I'm sorry that I put you to work.”

“Don't be. This is relaxing.”

“Yeah?” She takes a step back and surveys how much brighter her bedroom looks already after covering most of the former downcast grey. “Is the color right? Do you think it's too girlish?”

Giving the room a once over he says, “it's a good shade. I dig it. It doesn't matter what I think or if it's too girlish, as long as you like it. Do you like it?”

“Yeah. I do.”

She dips the roller on the tray to cover another section of the wall.

“You never told me what happened at the funeral with your mom,” Michael leans on the stepladder, taking a short break.

“Do you really wanna know?” She glances over her shoulder.

“Yeah. Everyone does. I’ve heard some crazy stories about it. Thought I should get it straight from the source.”

“I never pegged you for a gossip girl.”

“I’m not. I’m just making conversation.”

She mockingly narrows her eyes, drawing a lopsided smirk, “liar.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t wanna. But yeah, can’t help being a little curious about it.”

“I don’t mind telling you, but it won’t be as entertaining as those crazy stories people have made up.”

“I’m not here for entertainment. I just wanna hear your side of the story, Maybird.”

Maya lets out a heavy sigh and while keeping her focus on the wall she shares with him what really happened. She’s right to say that is not the best story she’s ever told, though when it comes to her mother, all her stories tend to have a surreal element even she can’t fathom sometimes.

That day at the funeral, she was taken outside during the wake by Angela Silva to get scolded about her imminent divorce. It wasn’t finalized by then, and her mom invoked one last Hail Mary to convince her to stay with her husband, who was also currently dating someone else. It was a messy situation that Maya couldn't wait to get out of, and the fact that her mother never offered an ounce of support wasn’t surprising, but still devastating. Somehow, Angela found that the reason for her separation from her husband was that Maya didn’t want to have kids, and that really vexed Angela. All she wanted for her three kids was to follow the same traditional path Angela was forced into, no matter how miserable she was. Her two older sisters followed her mother’s narrowed traditional values. But Maya, ever-the-nonconformist, swore she would never follow anyone’s drum beat but her own. Her husband thought she’d change her mind eventually. He was wrong. She knew that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, which led her here, to this moment.

“Is your mom ever happy?” Michael has always wondered.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen her happy, except when she’s drunk. That’s why she has to make everyone else miserable.”

“Yeah, but she’s always had a fixation on making you miserable.”

“Like I said, every family needs a black sheep, and I’m it.”

“Is that why you became a vet?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“So, it's true, you don’t wanna have kids? I’m not judging. I’m just curious.”

“I honestly don't know. I just knew that when he told me he wanted to have a baby right away, it didn’t feel right. I said that maybe in six or seven years I’d be okay with it. Told him I wanted to travel and just be us for a while, and he said that was too long to wait. I don’t know… he stopped talking to me, and it was clear that he wasn’t changing his mind, and I wasn’t changing my mind, so. At some point I got tired of trying… He got a girlfriend as soon as I filed for divorce and I got a text from Paige the other day that said he got her already pregnant, like… that was never me. I guess it served me right… I married him on a whim, an impulse without really talking about what we wanted…”

“Hey, don’t feel sorry for yourself. You dodged a bullet there.”

“You really think that?.”

“Yeah, I do. You stood up for yourself and knew when to step back when it didn’t feel right. Not everyone has the balls to do that. Think how miserable you’d be by now if you had tried to please him or your mom. You seem happy now. That's what matters.” He means that with all his heart, and wishes he had the same drive to follow those same steps. As much as he loved the restaurant, he chose to run it to please people within his family. And that love turned into a nightmare he couldn't escape.

“You know… I liked you better when you were quiet,” she quips.

Michael huffs a soft laugh, picking up his brush to resume painting.

When the room is finished, she plugs a couple of fans and closes the door to keep Coco away.

Maya washes her hands and face in the bathroom sink. When she comes out, she catches the motion of Michael's arm as he shoves what looks like a pill into his mouth before taking a gulp of water from one of her glasses.

“What was that? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. It's just a headache,” looking down, he runs a palm over his short growing beard.

“Is it the fumes?”

“No, I had it before coming here.”

“Michael,” she sighs softly at his name. “You should've told me. I wouldn't have let you help if I knew.”

“Would you stop that? I wanted to help.”

“Okay, c'mere. Let's sit down.”

“No, I think I should get going.”

“Nonsense. I'm not going to let you drive until you feel better.”

He yields with a long exhale, and follows Maya into the living room, where her bed is settled askew in the middle of the space.

She takes a seat on the edge of the mattress and waits for him to sit next to her.

“Give me your hand,” she shows her palm up, as his eyes narrow. “C'mon, don't be a baby, give me your hand, Berzatto.”

“When did you become so bossy?” He slowly lifts his hand and as he lays it on top of her palm, his fingers tremble upon contact with her skin. Maya then uses her opposite hand to clip the webbing between his thumb and pointer fingers with her own and begins massaging that spot.

“My friend Sierra is really into acupressure. She says this is a pressure point that helps with headaches.” She explains while slowly increasing the force. “Does it hurt?”

“Not one bit. Is that like acupuncture?” His voice comes as a whisper as he focuses on her diligent fingers.

“Kinda. I think. I’m not really sure.”

“You don't have to fix me, you know?”

“I'm not trying to fix you, Bear. I just wanna make you feel better.”

“Admit it. You just love a good wounded animal.”

She smiles softly, placing his hand down on his knee and picking up the other. “Does it feel any different?”

He’s not really sure, it wasn’t truly a headache that led them to take that pill but the annoying rambling of his thoughts. She shouldn’t have seen that. And he shouldn’t have lied. But having her hands on his like this is straight up lovely. Inside of him, it truly feels like something is broken, wounded, and missing, and this is giving him a sliver of relief as he waits for the pill to kick in. If he was a better man, he’d tell her the truth. But he’s too far gone for saving. All he can do is keep that facade up.

“Does it?” She insists after not getting an answer.

“A little.”

“Do you wanna lay down?”

Swallowing, he responds with a nod, and they both lean back on the mattress at the same time. Looking at the ceiling, she keeps kneading that pressure point, unsure if she’s even doing it right.

They stay in comfortable silence for a good five minutes and when she finally places his hand down, Maya glances to the side and sees that his eyes have closed, and his chest gently rising and falling. She calls his name softly, but she can see that behind the sharp edges of his face and the ever-growing shade of his beard, he’s truly exhausted, so she doesn’t insist. She extends her hand to turn off the lamp, and curls on the other side of the bed without disturbing his sleep.

“Good night,” she says softly and closes her eyes.

From a dusty corner of her mind comes crawling that little forgotten part that used to harbor a lot of feelings for Michael. Though a few weeks ago he seemed practically the same Michael she knew, over the past month she’s keenly noticed little changes here and there. His eyes sometimes cast a dark shade tainted in nothing but sadness, it’s barely noticeable for other people. It comes and goes, but it tells her he’s not truly as happy as he pretends to be.

Michael wakes up disoriented at the crack of dawn.

It takes him a few seconds to remember he’s still in Mayas’ bed in the middle of her living room and that the weight that has his arm pinned is her body pressed against his. She’s warmly snuggled on his side, with her arms tucked between his chest and hers, and a peaceful expression on her beautiful face. She’s so awfully close, he can smell the scent of her hair, and feel the heat of her breath every time she exhales.

It's such an odd moment for him to have her that close. He's unsure of whether it would be better to slip out of bed unnoticed before she wakes up, or just stay there and watch her sleep for a bit longer. Either option would make him look like a creep, he thinks. So he opts to gently wake her up. His free hand reaches to his forehead to move a stand of hair away. Her brow scrunches as his light-feather touch grazes her skin. His lips curve up as he traces the shell of her ear to see her stir awake. She blinks slowly a couple of times until her focus shifts onto him.

“Hey, Maybird.”

“Hey.” Her lips move, it's barely audible.

“Sorry, I fell asleep.” His fingers absentmindedly massage her earlobe.

She's so stunned by waking up to that level of intimacy, she simply nods, as her mouth softly draws a smile.

“It's fine. Does your head feel better?”

“Much better. That pressure thing really worked.”

“I'm glad.”

“Listen, I gotta go open. Maybe we could do something later?”

“Okay,” she swallows nervously, hoping that waking up with him like this isn't just a dream. “Can you do me a favor first?”

“Sure.”

“Can you stay five more minutes?”

“I uh… I think I can,” against his better judgment, he decides he can stay for a few minutes more holding her.

The way her lips pull up timidly at the corners, revealing the dimples framing her mouth, completely disarms him. He’s always felt a certain affinity towards her, but being this close to her awakes a longing within that feels dangerous. He can’t bring someone new into his life. Not while everything around him is falling apart. It’s already hard enough having to pretend around other people.

He couldn’t do that to her. He won’t.

Michael will have to fight harder because when her arm tucks around his waist he can’t help but press his lips against her forehead.

Chapter 4: Hard nut to crack

Four months later…

After that initial moment of weakness when he fell asleep on her bed, he fought hard to elude that odd longing that has only grown into a big mass of love toward Maya. To anyone else in the world, a feeling as big as that would be a blessing, especially when it's reciprocated. To Michael, it's a weakness he can't afford right now.

Spending all that time with Maya has been like discovering a whole new planet Michael never thought existed. She's all vast, uncharted territory that fazes him more than it should. Despite his best efforts, he’s fallen into her alluring orbit and can’t find the way out into his own universe.

Far gone is that moody teenager that would mumble a few words here and there. And now there's this tragically stunning woman that looks you directly in the eye, says anything that crosses her mind, and laughs without a care in the world.

Though falling in love with her wouldn’t be completely wrong, it's not quite right either. It fills him with guilt to think about her in that manner. Moreover, it feels like a betrayal to Carmy, who’s far away in a different continent, prospering in his craft.

Michael tries to fool himself into believing that this is just temporary infatuation. He’s even attempted several times to convince her to get in touch with Carmy but hasn’t succeeded. It’d be easier for him if she were to put her focus on someone else instead of him. He has nothing to offer to her and has deemed himself unworthy of her, or anyone for that matter. If she only knew what’s really going on with him, she wouldn’t want Michael nearly as she believes she does.

Layer by layer, she’s tearing all his walls and defenses down. And after all the back and forth, he's absolutely sure she wants more than he can offer her. She’s been giving him the right signals. She doesn't shy away from it. Maya is direct and impulsive, and everything about her is fascinating and intimidating.

It’s time to either cut her loose, or accept that he’s madly in love with her and do something about it.

Amidst coming to terms with a final decision, he's lured into a surprise party she's organized for his birthday.

Michael is left speechless by her determination. And a little annoyed too for reasons he can't explain. To be honest, he’s never been a fan of surprise parties, but the main problem is that this would make things much harder for him to let her down easily. She’s carved herself into his life and the longer he drags this out, the worse this is going to hurt.

He’s aware that it’s selfish and obtuse of him for being that ungrateful that someone who cares that profoundly about him, that they would go all out to prove that. He feels like an asshole, but the train has already left the station.

Using the same tiring self-defense mechanism, he draws his best smile and brings out the Michael everyone seems to love. Not without help. There's always that crutch tucked in his wallet in the form of a pill. Being high numbs him enough to deal with the situation.

The cherry on top comes at the end of the night, when he walks her up to her car and asks if he's had a good time. He lies through his teeth and for the first time, he can tell Maya is not buying it. Perhaps she never did, but he's well-versed on her tells by now, and he can clearly see she's fed up with all the bullshit that comes out of his mouth.

“Look, it's not that I didn't like the party. It's just that I hate surprises, and I was exhausted today. But it was a nice thought, sweetheart. I just… I wasn't in the right mood.” It's seemingly convincing the second time around, but her face shows nothing but regret. “I love the jacket you bought me, though.”

Michael has never been interested in fashion, but he's always loved vintage jackets, and the one she picked it's a perfect addition to his collection. It's a bomber jacket, aviator style, in brown leather with a couple of patches and fur collar.

As they reach Maya's car, they come to a stop. She turns to him, “I know I can be a little too much sometimes. But I promise no more surprises from now on.”

“You and I both know, you won’t be able to keep that promise even if your life depended on it. That's part of what makes you– you, sweetheart. Don’t let my bad mood ruin that.”

“I’ll try.”

After a beat, without hesitation she leans in to leave a goodnight kiss on his bearded cheek and on a whim, she decides to press a second one on his lips.

It takes him completely aback. He wants to dive so badly into her mouth, but he freezes on the spot. And when Maya attempts to deepen the kiss, he finally reacts by placing a placating hand on her shoulder as he pulls his head back.

“I'm… I'm sorry we can't do this, Maya.”

“Wait, I thought… Did I misread something?”

“No, you didn’t misread anything. I just can’t do this.”

“Why?”

“I can't.”

“You can't or don’t want to?”

“Guess I don’t want to.”

“Can you at least tell me why? Did I do something wrong?”

“You did nothing wrong, sweetheart.” He wants to spill out the old – it's not you, it's me – excuse, but he refrains. Every thought and action go against every good instinct he's ever had. He hates himself for making her feel insecure. And yet, he can't backtrack now.

“Stop calling me sweetheart. You see how misleading that is?”

“Sorry. I think I gave you the wrong impression.”

Her eyes narrow, and he can see the gears turning for a long moment before opening her mouth.

“I don't think you gave me the wrong impression, Michael. I think you're too chickenshit to admit that there's something between us and, for whatever reason, you're just taking the coward's way out. You've been weird the whole night, especially with me. I just threw a party just for you, the least you can do is tell me why.”

“I didn't ask you to do that. And I don't owe telling you shit! I was trying to let you go easy, but nothing is ever easy with you. So I'll just say it. This, you and me, is never going to happen.”

It sounds ridiculous as it comes out of his mouth, but he stands firm on that statement as her heart breaks in front of him.

In the end, it'd be better for her, he believes.

[goodluckclove]

You Don't Need an Agent! Publishers That Accept Unsolicited Submissions

I see a few people sayin that you definitely need an agent to get published traditionally. Guess what? That's not remotely true. While an agent can be a very useful tool in finding and negotiating with publishers, going without is not as large of a hurdle as people might make it out to be!

Below is a list of some of the traditional publishers that offer reading periods for agent-less manuscripts. There might be more! Try looking for yourself - I promise it's not that scary!

Albert Whitman & Company: for picture books, middle-grade, and young adult fiction

Hydra (Part of Random House): for mainly LitRPG

Kensington Publishing: for a range of fiction and nonfiction

NCM Publishing: for all genres of fiction (YA included) and nonfiction

Pants of Fire Press: for middle-grade, YA, and adult fiction

Tin House Books: very limited submission period, but a good avenue for fiction, literary fiction, and poetry written by underrepresented communities

Quirk Fiction: offers odd-genre rep for represented and unagented authors. Unsolicited submissions inbox is closed at the moment but this is the page that'll update when it's open, and they produced some pretty big books so I'd keep an eye on this

Persea Books: for lit fiction, creative nonfiction, YA novels, and books focusing on contemporary issues

Baen: considered one of the best known publishers of sci-fi and fantasy. They don't need a history of publication.

Chicago Review Press: only accepting nonfiction at the moment, but maybe someone here writes nonfiction

Acre: for poetry, fiction and nonfiction. Special interest in underrepresented authors. Submission period just passed but for next year!

Coffeehouse Press: for lit fiction, nonfiction, poetry and translation. Reading period closed at time of posting, but keep an eye out

Ig: for queries on literary fiction and political/cultural nonfiction

Schaffner Press: for lit fiction, historical/crime fiction, or short fiction collections (cool)

Feminist Press: for international lit, hybrid memoirs, sci-fi and fantasy fiction especially from BIPOC, queer and trans voices

Evernight Publishing: for erotica. Royalties seem good and their response time is solid

Felony & Mayhem: for literary mystery fiction. Not currently looking for new work, but check back later

This is all what I could find in an hour. And it's not even everything, because I sifted out the expired links, the repeat genres (there are a lot of options for YA and children's authors), and I didn't even include a majority of smaller indie pubs where you can really do that weird shit.

A lot of them want you to query, but that's easy stuff once you figure it out. Lots of guides, and some even say how they want you to do it for them.

Not submitting to a Big 5 Trad Pub House does not make you any less of a writer. If you choose to work with any publishing house it can take a fair bit of weight off your shoulders in terms of design and distribution. You don't have to do it - I'm not - but if that's the way you want to go it's very, very, very possible.

Have a weirder manuscript that you don't think fits? Here's a list of 50 Indie Publishers looking for more experimental works to showcase and sell!

If Random House won't take your work - guess what? Maybe you're too cool for Random House.

[outerspacebisexual]

What Remains in the Wake - Eddie Munson

Part Two of Until the Chaos is Through

Part One - Until the Chaos is Through

Part Three - Blessed Silence After This Mayhem

Part Four - Heinous Regret With No Salvation

Summary: You're left reeling after your boyfriend Eddie's infidelity. It doesn't feel like you'll ever move on, and a tiny part of you wants to go back to him.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: angst, swearing, implied/referenced cheating, again maybe steve x reader if you squint, you have really great friends in this i stg

a/n: HOLY SHIT guys i seriously didn't expect all the love on until the chaos is through! i LOVE reading your thoughts about it. genuinely so many made me laugh so much.

i really hope that you enjoy part two. i got so many requests to be tagged that i couldn't get through them all, so i am sorry about that!

thank you all so much for the support! <3

Masterlist

Your days wasted away into the night after the Halloween party.

You teetered on a razor’s edge between wanting to run straight back to Eddie and wanting to never see him again.

Like today, when laying alone in your room only bought thoughts of missing him. When your covers still smelt like him, and the photos of the two of you stared blankly from their spots on your dresser and the walls and the bedside table, their wide smiles and bright eyes mocking you.

Everywhere you looked, there was Eddie, and you couldn’t bring yourself to leave this little self-proclaimed bubble of ignorance.

Because if you didn’t think about it, it wasn’t real. Eddie was simply on his way over to hang out and spend the night like he used to, and everything was fine.

The night of the party, your friends had stayed with you until mid-morning. They took turns in comforting you as you spent hours sobbing on the couch, crying out against the unfairness of it all. About how stuff like this didn’t happen to people like you.

It didn’t happen to couples who loved each other.

Because you loved him.

And Eddie loved you.

But that affirmation you had been repeating to yourself for weeks held no weight now. It had been your lifeline in all those moments of doubt and insecurity, the one thing that you told yourself over and over and over, assuring you that you were wrong.

And yet, you had been right, despite all the lies you pretended were the truth.

You heard Steve’s car pull into your driveway.

You didn’t get up to let him in. He and the other’s had borrowed your spare key, taking turns in checking in on you after your refusal to leave your house for the third day in a row.

You stayed still, curled up beneath the covers, eyes closed as Steve opened your bedroom door.

“Hey,” he murmured, coming to sit on the edge of your bed.

You didn’t reply, just barely peeking your eyes open, but he didn’t look dejected, he just gave you a tight-lipped smile—one that reeked of pity.

Yesterday, it had been Nancy who came by. She had sat right where Steve was, that same sympathetic look on her face. You hadn’t wanted to talk then either.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, just loud enough for you to hear.

The tears burned the back of your eyes. “I’m fine,” you whispered, but your lip trembled, and Steve was quick to brush his hand over the side of your head.

“You don’t need to lie to me,” he told you, the same softness to his voice as before, as if he, too, was trying to protect the quiet bubble just as much as you were. That was what you told yourself, even though you knew it wasn’t true. “Talk to me.”

Your throat ached as you swallowed back a sob. You’d cried enough these past few days. “I—I don’t know what to do.”

His hand brushed over your head again. “About what?”

“About the love I have for him. I love him, Steve.” Just saying those words out loud had you weeping. “I love him so much and it still wasn’t enough.”

Steve’s hand rested on your shoulder, and he squeezed it just tight enough to make you look up at him. “Y/N, it would have been enough for anyone else. I don’t know why he did what he did, but I do know that it wasn’t because of you.”

“But if I—”

“No,” he cut you off, tone firm—firmer than anyone had been in days. “No. This isn’t on you. This is on him.”

The words should have comforted you. He meant them to be comforting, but they didn’t help. They only caused you to think about Eddie.

And it made you think of the fact that he hadn’t contacted you at all.

He hadn’t tried to call. He hadn’t come over. He hadn’t made any effort to try and talk to you.

Maybe you don’t mean enough to him, that tiny voice whispered. Maybe you weren’t enough for him to even bother to apologise. Maybe he doesn’t want to apologise.

You clamped your eyes shut, trying to block out the awful words that just kept tumbling and turning through your mind.

Steve removed his hand from your shoulder, and you instantly missed the comfort of it.

When you opened your eyes, they fell to him—to his hands—and you frowned.

“What is that?” you asked.

“What?”

You removed your arm from the warmth of your covers to take his hand in yours.

His knuckles were bruised, the middle two split, but they had healed enough to not need to be covered.

Steve tried to pull his hand away, but you held fast. “Steve?”

“I—uh,” He swallowed and looked to the wall, avoiding your eyes. “It’s from the party.”

Your brows furrowed. “You got into a fight?” You had been so focused on yourself that you hadn’t even realised he had been hurt at all, not at the party or over the past few days.

He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes not leaving your patterned wallpaper. “Sort of.”

You studied his side profile, the way his eyes darted around, his hesitancy to answer your questions.

Steve had been with Jonathan and Nancy most of the night at the party, if you remembered correctly. From the couch at the Roland’s, you had been able to see most of the first floor and you couldn’t recall him getting into a fight. If you had, you would have at least tried to stop him. That man did not need any more knocks to the head. It must have happened upstairs—

It hit you, and you shrunk back.

“Oh,” you said, and this time when he attempted to pull his hand away, you let him.

“I—yeah. Jonathan and I, we—” He cleared his throat, standing. “I should probably go. Do you need anything?”

Jonathan had been at the top of the stairs, but Steve…Steve hadn’t come out until after. Judging by his knuckles, now you knew why. You wondered if Jonathan had even tried to stop him.

You stared at him for a long moment before shaking your head. He rushed out a hurried good-bye, and then your door was pulled shut with barely more than a click.

+

School was the absolute last place you wanted to be.

The incident wasn’t common knowledge amongst your peers, but you knew that it was only a matter of time before they found out. Already, hushed whispers trailed you; some sympathetic, some not.

It was also the first time in over two years that you didn’t have Eddie by your side as you walked through the front doors. Even before you got together, you had been friends, and his presence right beside you had become a staple in your life that you never thought you’d lose.

But you had.

The worst part was lunch.

As you grabbed your tray, your eyes immediately went to the Hellfire table out of habit, and you stopped short when you realised that you couldn’t sit there anymore.

Eddie wasn’t there in his pride of place at the head of the table, thankfully, but Jeff’s eyes found you, confused as to why you weren’t coming over.

It became obvious that the rest of The Hellfire Club didn’t know.

As you stood there, you wondered if they had known about Eddie and Chrissy. Had they been aware of Eddie’s deals with her? Had you sat across from them every day being the only one in the dark? They were Eddie’s friends first; they didn’t owe you any loyalty. That belonged to their infallible Dungeon Master. Had they humoured you while Eddie snuck out to the—

An arm slipped through yours. “I hear that the band freaks and the school newspaper weirdos have way more fun than D&D nerds,” Robin whispered into your ear as she guided you towards a table at the back of the cafeteria.

You had never been more grateful.

She saw the beholden look on your face and shook her head. “Don’t,” she said softly, and then launched into a spiel about how she had a pop quiz this morning that she most definitely flopped.

Nancy was happy to see you, eyes lighting up as she moved her bag off the table to make a place for you opposite her. Robin dropped into the seat beside you. “Hello, I didn’t expect to see you today.”

You sent Nancy a shy smile. “Yeah,” you said, picking up your fork, “I was surprised, too.”

You had been thinking about skipping school today, and the rest of the week if you were honest, but you knew that it wasn’t going to make a difference about how you were feeling. Your bubble was nothing more than a delusion that you allowed yourself to believe in anyway.

“Well, either way, it’s good to see you here.”

Robin was quick to say, “And to have you sitting with us now. You have no idea the fun we have here.”

You raised a brow. “Oh really?”

“You bet,” she told you, taking a rather large bite out of her sandwich. “Us two? We’re living it up while you losers sit around whining about whatever it is you whine about all day.”

“You don’t have to sell it to me, Rob. I believe you.”

Around a mouthful of food, she said, “Look! You’re already laughing. Proof!”

True to her word, you were grinning wider than you had in nearly a week. Being by yourself for so long had only allowed you to stew in your own self-pity. Being here, with your friends who were trying so hard to help you?

That was worth braving the school corridors for.

Robin placed a hand on your arm. “Oh, did you hear about Lucas’s basketball game? He wasn’t benched—” She immediately cut herself off as her eyes flew to something—or someone—behind you.

You tensed, already not liking the way her eyes bulged as she beheld who stood there.

“Um, Y/N? Can I please talk to you?” Chrissy’s voice was quiet, so much so that you almost missed it as you turned to look at her.

She fiddled with the sleeves of her varsity cheer jacket, the one she always wore, the one you knew that she wore when she would see Eddie.

“W-What?” you managed.

She swallowed, eyes darting around at the stares that came with being the Queen of Hawkins High. “I—I would like to talk to you, please.” She pulled the sleeve of her jacket particularly hard, and it displaced the neckline of her shirt just enough to reveal a tiny patch of discoloured skin on her collarbone.

Your throat suddenly felt like it was closing up.

You couldn’t pull your eyes from that spot of skin. Had it been Eddie? Or had it been Jason? Had Jason known that his girlfriend slept with the freak he hated so much? You had never really liked Jason Carver, but right now, in this exact moment, there was no one else on earth who you understood more.

Both thoughts had bile rising as you tried to calm your racing heart. “I don’t want to talk to you, Chrissy.”

She looked down at you, a dumbstruck look on her face. “Why?”

Your jaw dropped open, and you knew that Robin and Nancy shared the same look. “Why—Why do I not want to talk to you?” you uttered. “Because you slept with my boyfriend, Chrissy.”

Her eyes widened, and she quickly glanced around at the surrounding tables.

As she did, that feeling that you had become so accustomed to whenever you saw her slowly morphed into disbelief.

Even now, she was worried about people finding out that she was the one who fucked the freak. Even as she stood beside the person who she had stolen him from, who she had a hand in betraying.

“Are you serious?”

“Please,” she murmured, “Can we speak outside?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you told her, voice shaking.

“But—”

You dug your fingers into the side of the table.

You had no idea where all of this anger was coming from. For days, you hadn’t been able to feel anything except a swirling pool of heartbreak and numbness. And now, this rush of hostility coursed through you faster than you could stop it.

“—Chrissy,” Nancy interrupted. “You should go.”

Robin’s hand coming to rest on your forearm was the only thing keeping your grounded.

Chrissy eyed the growing number of stares that were on her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and your chair was sliding back in an instant as you stood.

She shrank back at the ferocity in your eyes, mouth dropping open as you leaned forward. “I don’t want your apologies,” you spat. “I want you to fuck off.” Robin and Nancy were standing, too, Robin’s hand a hairsbreadth from your arm as if to grab you at a moment’s notice.

Chrissy took a single step back. Then another. Her eyes didn’t leave you as she raced away from your table.

You stared after her, blood thrumming in your ears and your heart pounding in your chest.

But as soon as the adrenaline rush arrived, it deserted you, and that rage became humiliation as you noted all the eyes on you.

You slumped back into your seat.

Nancy sat wide-eyed across from you. “Are…Are you OK?” she asked, somewhere between shocked and…impressed?

“I honestly don’t know,” you muttered. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Your face burned, and you shook your head. At what, you didn’t know. Maybe at your actions. Maybe at Chrissy’s fucking ignorance.

“Well,” Robin said, brows raised as she looked between you and Nancy. “I think we can safely say our table hasn’t seen this much action in years.”

You covered your face with your hands. “I thought you said you had fun here?”

“I’m a liar.”

+

You knew that going to The Hideout for the first time since Halloween would be difficult, but you hadn’t expected it to be so hard.

You didn’t expect to see Eddie in everything.

He wasn’t actually there on the random Friday night that you, Nancy, Robin, Steve, and Jonathan decided to hang out, but you saw him on the stage.

You saw him leaning against the back wall, you standing snuggly against him, playing with his hair as you listened to the band on after Corroded Coffin.

You saw him sitting at the bar, peppering kisses along your jaw.

You saw him at the table by the window, his eyes lighting up when he spotted you coming back with drinks in hand.

The Hideout was a living, breathing reminder of everything you and Eddie had once been.

And you didn’t expect it to hurt so much.

“I just can’t believe it’s taking this long,” Jonathan shouted over the music, bringing your attention back to the group. He was rambling on about something to do with Chief Hopper and his mother, and to be honest, you were a little lost.

“Didn’t they go to high school together?” Steve asked. “They’ve known each other forever.”

“Exactly!” Jonathan exclaimed, surging forward enough to jolt Nancy who was perched under his arm. “It’s like, you’ve known each other for so long and you both know you like each other, so why are you just waiting around for something to happen?”

Steve opened his mouth to reply, but one of the bartenders appeared at the end of the table. Earl, you remembered, and from the way his face lit up, he remembered you, too.

“Y/N!” he called, and you waved politely. “I haven’t seen you here for ages! We missed you at Eddie’s set last week. I almost called you when he got so wasted he couldn’t walk, but he insisted he was fine. Stumbled out of here by himself with nothing but his wits. Stupid boy.”

Despite everything, a pang of worry shot through you. “Oh,” you said awkwardly, “I—yeah, Eddie and I aren’t really…” You trailed off, and Earl’s face fell a fraction.

“Ah, well, next round is on me,” he told you, and you sent him a grateful smile as he disappeared into the throng of people.

You weren’t quite sure what to do with yourself, and Steve picked up on it, launching back into the conversation with Jonathan.

That seemed to be your general state of being now. Unsure.

You were unsure who you were without Eddie. You were unsure how you could go forward when a small part of you kept wanting to go back. Back to the man that you had made plans with for after graduation. The man who you had promised to be with forever; promised to build a life with outside of Hawkins in less than a few months.

Eddie still hadn’t tried to see you. He still hadn’t called, or come to your house, or even tried to accost you at school like Chrissy had.

Over the past two weeks, you hadn’t even seen him in the halls at school, or the cafeteria, despite his van being in the parking lot every day.

He simply disappeared from your life, and you weren’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

The lump in your throat made itself apparent, just like it always did. It practically lived within you now.

You slid out of the booth, shooting your friends a quick glance. “Bathroom,” you said quickly, before weaving past people you both recognised and didn’t. Most of the people you only knew because of Eddie.

The bathroom was empty. A small mercy, as you locked the door and sat on the lid of the toilet, head in your hands.

Coming here so soon was a mistake. It was too much.

You pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes, quietly savouring the pressure.

You didn’t belong here without Eddie.

You didn’t belong anywhere without Eddie.

No matter how much you tried to kid yourself, nothing felt right without him.

There was a knock on the door, but you ignored it.

You hadn’t ever even been to The Hideout without him. It was his place, and you just tagged along, ringing in the perks of being with the band. Which weren’t many except maybe a few free drinks here and there.

But to everyone you met there, you were Eddie’s.

And now you weren’t.

And that hurt so much.

Someone knocked again, and this time you shouted, “Give me a minute!”

The person on the other side was silent, and you rubbed at your eyes, patterns playing behind your eyelids in a kaleidoscope of colours and shapes.

It was comforting, somehow.

The door clicked open, and your head shot up to see Nancy standing there, hair pin in hand. “Sorry,” she said, looking only slightly guilty. “I wanted to check on you. I was worried.”

You scoffed. “What if I was peeing?”

She shut the door. “Then we would have known each other a lot more intimately than we did ten seconds before now.” She eyed you up and down, eyes not missing a thing. She was so perceptive that it was almost scary. “Too much?”

You nodded. “Too much.”

“We can go, you know? We don’t have to stay if it’s making you upset.”

“I—I want to. I just—” You waved your hands around. “—It doesn’t feel right. Without him. Nothing does.”

Nancy gave you one of her closed mouth smiles. “I know it feels that way now, but it will get better. I promise.” She knelt before you, hands on your knees as she leaned down to catch your eye. “What he did, you can’t go back, no matter how much you want to.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek. “How long will it take?” You felt like a child asking questions that didn’t have an answer.

Nancy shrugged. “I don’t know. But I do know that a week ago, this would have sent you spiralling. And now, you’re not even crying.” You blinked, feeling for the first time that your eyes were dry. She smiled. “Time, honey. You just need time.”

+

“Why are we here again?” you grumbled to Jonathan as you both got out of his car on the main street.

“Because one: I need help carrying all this to the car, and two: I also need help putting it together,” he told you.

“And why am I tasked in helping you put your brother’s Christmas present together? It’s still months away.”

Jonathan sighed, all mock disappointment. “Well, you weren’t my first choice, but everyone else is busy.”

You jabbed your finger into his arm. “That’s mean, you know that?”

“Maybe if you stopped complaining so much, we’d already be done,” he teased, and you rolled your eyes.

The main street wasn’t as busy as you thought it would be on a Saturday mid-afternoon.

People still meandered up and down the street, but most were on a mission, like you and Jonathan.

Jonathan hadn’t even explained exactly what it was that you were picking up and putting together. You just knew that he was really excited about giving it to Will. And you could hardly say no to him when it was practically saying no to sweet, little Will.

“Don’t forget we have to pick Lucas and Max up from the arcade on the way back,” you reminded him.

“Why do we have to do that again?”

“Because you recruited me and I already said yes to them, so we have to combine plans.” You side stepped a large group of elderly women who pushed straight through the middle of you two. Jonathan kept walking and was a few metres ahead by the time the group of ladies finished filing past.

You stepped off to follow after him when your name was called from across the street.

Looking up, you froze as Eddie came rushing across the street towards you.

It was as if every single thought you’d ever had emptied from your mind as he came to a stop a few feet from you.

His hair was just as messy as it always was, and you noted the faded bruise on his cheekbone. You didn’t have to guess where that had come from, and the bags under his eyes were much more prominent than they normally were.

Seeing him now, your stomach churned with so many different emotions that you weren’t even sure what you were feeling.

He was a little out of breath as he said, “Can I talk to you? Please?” His dark eyes were pleading, and you fought against the urge to instantly cave, just like you always did when he shot you his puppy dog eyes.

“I—”

You were cut off when Jonathan suddenly appeared beside you. He looked beyond angry; his brows creased, and his top lip pulled back. “I thought we told you to keep your distance, Munson,” he ground out.

Eddie looked surprised to see him. He obviously thought you’d been alone. “I just want to talk, man. Please. I’ve stayed away, but I need to talk to you.” He directed the last bit at you. “Please.”

You didn’t think that you’d heard him say please so much in his life. He was practically begging.

“What do you want to say?” you asked timidly. Eddie glanced between you and Jonathan. “It’s fine, Jonathan. Just give me a minute?”

He looked unsure, but eventually conceded, shooting Eddie a dirty look as he made his way up the street just enough to give you some privacy. You had known him long enough to know that he was still within hearing distance.

“What did you want to talk about?”

When Eddie’s eyes finally found yours again, they looked pained. “I…I wanted to talk about us.”

“There is no us, Eddie.”

“I know. I know that. But I’m so, so sorry. You have no idea how hard these past few weeks have been for me. Staying away from you—”

“How hard they’ve been for you?” You laughed, right in his face. “How do you think they’ve been for me? You didn’t even try and see me.”

“Steve and Jonathan told me not to. They said—”

“I don’t give a shit what Steve and Jonathan said. You cheated on me and then just abandoned me.” Your voice wavered, and you hated that Eddie caught it.

He tried to reach for you, but you stepped back and pulled your hand away. His eyes flashed with hurt, and you squashed the part of you that felt bad. “And I’m so sorry, sweetheart. It was a mistake.”

You closed your eyes for a second, hating the way your pet name rolled off his tongue. The pet name that he hadn’t used in the weeks before Halloween. It had become non-existent once he started seeing Chrissy.

“How many times?” you asked suddenly.

He looked confused. “What?”

“How many times, Eddie?” you repeated. You didn’t want to say the words out loud.

Understanding your meaning, his eyes found the ground. He was silent for a long moment. “Six,” he mumbled.

You choked. “Six?” You took another step back.

“It—Y/N, wait—”

“—Six times you slept with her and then came home to me?”

You weren’t even sure why you were entertaining this conversation. You knew that it was only going to end up with you hurting more than you already were.

“No, I never saw you on those days,” he confessed.

You stared at him. “Is that supposed to make it better?”

His eyes widened, and he rushed out, “No, no. I’m just trying to explain.”

The melancholic agony that you’d been stuck in for weeks was suddenly sharpening. The razor’s thin edge became no longer wanting or not wanting, it became anger and rage. “There is nothing you could possibly explain to make this better.”

His voice became pleading, and he stepped towards you as if you were going to suddenly disappear. “Please, baby, it was a mistake. Chrissy—she’s not you. I want you. I need you—”

Your fist was flying before you could stop it, and you only registered what you had done when your knuckles stung.

Eddie reeled back, and you stared wide-eyed at him. His hand went to his face, holding the spot between his cheekbone and his nose.

He opened and closed his mouth.

“I loved you, Eddie,” you uttered, clutching your fist in your other hand. “I gave you everything, and it still wasn’t enough for you. I needed my boyfriend to love me enough to not sleep with other people.”

Jonathan was suddenly standing beside you.

“Fuck you, Eddie,” you spat as Jonathan took your arm. “I don’t need you anymore.”

If Eddie was going to say something, you didn’t find out, because Jonathan was pulling you up the street past the onlookers who were gawking at both you and Eddie.

“Are you OK?” he asked.

“No,” you muttered, and you weren’t sure if it was the adrenaline or just pure mania, but you started to laugh. “That really fucking hurt. I think I broke my hand.”

+

Pulling the door open to Family Video an hour before closing, you were pleased to see it was empty aside from the man you were looking for.

“Harrington,” you called as the door shut behind you, “I need a movie recommendation.”

Looking up from where he was leaned against the counter flicking though a magazine, Steve seemed both surprised and happy to see you. “You’ve come to the right place,” he declared, standing up. “We have movies galore. What are you looking for?”

You grinned as you reached the counter. “Something funny, but also a little sad, with a killer soundtrack.”

He pretended to ponder for a moment. “Sounds an awful lot like your favourite movie,” he pronounced.

“Someone has to keep this place afloat. Why not me and my little favourites?”

Steve rolled his eyes playfully. “Where would we be without you?” he joked, pulling a tape from beneath the counter and setting it in front of you.

You raised a brow. “You had it sitting back there already?”

He shrugged. “Had a hunch.”

Reaching for the cash in your pocket, you hissed when your knuckles caught the lip of the pocket. Steve noticed, and his eyes shot to your hand.

“I heard you socked Munson in the face today,” he remarked, and you couldn’t quite tell the tone he used.

“Yeah,” you said sheepishly, placing the money on the counter.

He held out his hand, wagging his fingers. “Let me see.”

Gingerly, you placed your hand in his own, watching as he studied your knuckles. Unlike his, the skin of your knuckles was still intact, but they were slowly starting to bruise.

And they hurt like hell. You didn’t know how people did it over and over again. Just one mediocre punch and you were sure you wouldn’t be able to hold a pencil for a week.

“We match,” you observed, and he shot you a disapproving look.

“Not really something I wanted to match you for.” He brushed his thumb over them, and you winced. “You’re lucky it’s not broken.”

“Jonathan already gave me that spiel,” you muttered. He had seriously ripped into you on the drive from the main street. Not only had you ruined his plans for the day and still forced him to pick up Lucas and Max, but he then had to take you to the hospital which he was less than impressed with.

The verdict had been bruised knuckles and not a break, but the doctor had advised you to lay off punching people in the face in the future.

Still looking at your hand, Steve started chuckling and you narrowed your eyes. “What?”

He shook his head. “I just can’t believe you punched him in the main street.”

“He’s the one who came at me. If anything, he chose the location,” you tried to justify.

Steve smiled. “I’m proud of you,” he said after a second. “I know it was hard for you.”

Your heart squeezed in your chest. “Thank you, Stevie.”

And you really meant it.

You had no doubt that if it weren’t for the support of your friends, you wouldn’t be where you were. If it weren’t for them, you might never have known about Eddie and Chrissy.

And as much as you had been confused and upset about not seeing Eddie in the last few weeks, Steve’s threats about giving you space were the best thing that could have happened. Because you would have gone back to him if he showed up on your doorstep. You would have continued to bleed yourself dry for him over and over again.

Steve tapped your fingers, and you looked back at him.

Like Nancy said, it would still take some time.

But you were all right with that.

[impishtubist]

happy birthday @lynxindisguise , originally this was supposed to be a cracky little fic about Crowley meeting the werepuppies and then getting high with Remus, but then this happened instead. love you, bar wench!

---

“Remind me again why I agreed to this,” Sirius said as he flopped down by the fire.

“Because Harry’s eyes get all big when he asks you for something, and you’re incapable of saying no to him.” Remus didn’t even look up from his book as he spoke. “I think he casts an Imperio on you, honestly.”

“He’s six.” 

“He’s been doing accidental magic since he was two, it’s not out of the question.” 

Sirius scowled, because Remus had a point. Harry had started summoning his toys at the age of two, and by four he would appear on top of bookcases or even roofs when he was trying to avoid Sirius and bathtime. Sirius blamed Harry fully for the silver threads he’d discovered in his hair at the ripe old age of twenty-three. Mourning his best friend and raising his godson had been hard enough, but the fact that said godson was apparently an exceptionally powerful wix was going to be the death of him.

Thankfully, said exceptionally powerful wix had passed out in the tent after a full day of hiking and causing minor mayhem, leaving Sirius and Remus with a few hours to themselves. 

“Thanks for agreeing to come along, by the way.”

“Unlike you, I actually enjoy camping. I’m having a wonderful time.” Remus turned a page in his book. “Besides, I like a man in flannel.”

He winked at Sirius, and then went back to his reading. Sirius blushed furiously, and then frowned at himself. What an odd reaction to have to his friend.

***

Harry had forbidden them from using magic on the camping trip, wanting to do things the way his Muggle mum would have, which was why Sirius was up early the next morning to chop wood for the fire.

He had just cleaved another log in half when Remus stumbled out of his tent, hair in disarray, tugging a sweatshirt over his head. Sirius continued to chop wood while Remus groggily started a fire, heated some water, and made himself a cup of tea. It was odd for Remus to be up this early, but maybe he just wanted an hour to read in peace before Harry woke up.

Instead of sitting in his customary chair overlooking the lake, however, he dragged it over to face Sirius.

“Thought you liked the view, Moony,” Sirius said. He brought the axe down on another log.

“Oh, I do.” Remus licked his lips, staring rather intently at Sirius’s bare chest. Sirius looked down at himself. He was covered in sweat, sure, but he’d already washed away the previous day’s dirt and smoke in the lake. He had no idea what Remus could be looking at. He mentally shrugged, and went to fetch another log.

***

“Is he gonna be okay, Moony?” Harry asked, eyes wide with worry.

Remus lifted the towel he had pressed to Sirius’s forehead, and Sirius winced.

“Yes, Harry, I think he will,”  he said solemnly. “Could I have a couple of band-aids, please?”

Harry dutifully fetched them from the first aid kit while Remus cleaned the small scrapes. He helped Remus apply them to Sirius’s forehead.

“There we are, good as new,” Remus said cheerfully. “I don’t think Padfoot’s going to be up for swimming this afternoon, though. How about you change into your swimsuit and we’ll go together?”

Harry hurried off to the tent he shared with Sirius, Sirius’s injury completely forgotten. Remus caught his scowl, though, and grinned brightly at him.

“Cheer up, Padfoot,” he said. “It could have happened to any of us.”

Sirius huffed. “Any of you could have tripped over a root and fallen twenty feet down a hill?”

“Well…probably not,” Remus conceded. “You’re not as suited to the outdoors as Harry and I are. How’s your head?”

“Stings,” Sirius muttered. “You could heal it, you know. Harry isn’t looking.”

“Ah, but that would be cheating,” Remus said. “Would you like me to kiss it and make it better?”

Sirius stared at him. What.

“Remus,” he said finally, “have you been flirting with me?”

“Only for the past six years.” 

“Six!” 

“But now that you’re all caught up,” Remus said, “yes or no to that kiss?”

“Moony!” Harry cried in dismay some minutes later. “Are you gonna kiss Padfoot all day? I wanna go swimming!”

[uramilf]

Day Two - We Went to Winter Wonderland

Y/N barely slept the night before her day out with Matty. Was it a date? Or just a friends thing? Was she supposed to dress nice? Unbeknownst to her, Matty felt the same way. He tossed and turned the entire night, duvet almost ending up on the floor from the amount of moving he was doing. Mayhem lay there in his dog bed staring up at his dad, most likely wondering what was going on.

Eventually, morning came for the both of them. Matty decided that since he was the one who arranged the outing, he should bite the bullet and text her about all the things he had been worrying about:

Hey, I’ll pick you up at 7 later! Dress warm and comfy, it’s gonna be freezing. And don’t bring any money, I’m paying for everything :)

He sent the message and let out a long sigh of relief. Y/N, on the other hand, wasn’t feeling any relief whatsoever, until her phone buzzed and she practically ran towards it. She read the message with a beam on her face, rolling her eyes when she read the part about not bringing any money. Typical Matty, she thought.

——————————

Seven o’clock rolled around faster than expected for the pair, and Y/N ran to the door the second she heard a car in the drive. Matty, like a true gentleman, planned to knock on her door and walk her to the car. But she didn’t give him enough time to even undo his seatbelt before she was in the car beside him, grinning like a toddler, wrapped up in so many layers he wasn’t even sure it was her inside her coat. “Hey, love. I was gonna come up to the door, y’know…” “Don’t be daft. It’s freezing out, might as well stay in the car as long as you can, right?” Y/N grinned. Matty had the heating up full, so she pulled off her hat and scarf. “Matty? Can I ask you something?” He looked up with a surprised look. “Course you can, love.” Y/N took a deep breath. “Is this a date?” she blurted out. Matty looked more shocked than ever, and her breath caught in her throat. “Sorry, silly question,” she mumbled. “If you want it to be, darling.” A comfortable silence filled the car for a moment as they sat in her driveway. “I do. Do you?” she whispered. “More than anything in the world, love.”

——————————

The pair arrived to Hyde Park quicker than they both expected, maybe because the stress they had both been feeling had been lifted as soon as they confirmed it was their first date. As Matty turned the engine off, the faint sounds of ‘Driving Home for Christmas’ could be heard, as well as comforting chatter and laughter from outside. They walked closely together, close enough to be holding hands, but both were still too nervous to reach out for the other.

They had spent almost two hours wandering round together, drinking hot chocolates, screaming with laughter on the rides, talking about their Christmas plans. But the December air was getting even colder, and both Matty and Y/N were yawning periodically. “Nearly time for home, I think,” Matty said with a slight frown, wiping away a tiny bit of whipped cream from Y/N’s cheek with his thumb, which must have gotten there from her hot chocolate. Y/N grinned with a scrunched up nose when she felt his touch. “You’re right. I don’t want this to be over, though. Can we go on the ferris wheel before we go home?” “Course we can, come on.” Matty stood and grabbed her by the hand without a second thought. They walked for a few minutes before he even realised what he had done, but when he did notice, he smiled wider than he had the entire night. “What?” Y/N laughed. Matty held up their intertwined hands and pressed a kiss to hers. “This,” he said. “You make me so fucking happy.”

They held hands all the way onto the ferris wheel, and when they sat opposite each other he took both of her hands into his again. “I’ve really enjoyed this, y’know. I was so fucking nervous. George was getting well pissed off with me.” “I was nervous too,” Y/N admitted. “But look, we’ve had the best time. No need to be nervous with me ever again.” “You’re right,” Matty smiled softly. “Can we do this again? Like, go on another date?” “Of course we can,” Y/N laughed as the ferris wheel started moving. They chatted until they reached the top. The lights of London illuminated both their faces as they pointed out to each other places on the ground that they had been earlier in the day. Matty fell quiet and his grip on Y/N’s hand tightened, as if he was nervous again. She didn’t say anything, just kept looking out over the city.

“Can I kiss you?” he broke the silence. Y/N still didn’t say a word, just pressed her lips to his. He kissed back with no hesitation at all. Time seemed to slow down as she slid her hands into his hair and his hands found her waist. Finally they pulled away, breathing heavily, before Y/N collapsed in a fit of shocked laughter. “Fuck, that took us long enough,” she giggled. “Too long. We should’ve done it a long time ago.”

——————————

Matty pulled into Y/N’s driveway once again, before pressing another kiss to her lips. “Maybe we should just keep this quiet for a bit, and just see where it goes,” he suggested. “You’re right, yeah,” she agreed. “You coming to my Christmas party next week?” “Of course I am, love. I’ll ring you in the morning, yeah?” Y/N nodded and kissed him one last time before entering the house. She collapsed onto the sofa, grinning to herself like a maniac, full of relief and disbelief at the same time. Fuck, she thought with a laugh. I just kissed Matty Healy.

[navibluebees]

Hi there! I was wondering if I could request a miles x female!reader where she died in the attack of the tree of souls and he was heartbroken but she was reborn as na’vi and is living in her own little settlement that recom miles stumbles across and he doesn’t know what to do (you can choose what happens after)

Inevitable

Please read before interacting.

All ageless & empty blogs will be blocked. No minors!

Just a quick note~ Thank you so much for requesting. I love this one & as I was writing it, I could see potential for more. I'm leaving it open-ended for now because I don't have the brain power to devote to another story at the moment, but I'd like to return to it if you guys end up liking it! Also, I've adjusted the timeline a bit so it's a little over 20 years since the humans left after the battle.

TW: mention of death in childbirth

*When you gasped for breath at the end of your life, a mother lamented as she brought new life into a world of chaos.*

~~~

As a child, you were often in your own world. Entranced by the forest, you'd spend hours adventuring by yourself, fighting fictional enemies and exploring the remnants of the mayhem that had been brought to your world. Your father had been killed in the battle with the humans and your mother had been unable to join the defense due to giving birth to you that very day. She called you her little fighter, determined to come into the world screaming. That's what they told you anyway. She did not survive the day, either.

Among the plants and scraps of metal, you would have flashes of a dream. Smaller hands with an additional finger, those hands wrapped around one of the weapons you'd seen stockpiled in the camp. When you were younger, you would often wake in the middle of the night, unable to breathe, a moment away from screaming. Many thought it was because of the violence surrounding your birth. You never told them of the dreams where your hands were human hands and your eyes saw lifeless Na'vi.

You would especially never tell them of the face that haunted the lonely dark hours. The face that hovered over yours, eyes desperate, begging you not to go. The scars along his face were as familiar to you as the marks on your own. You squeezed his hand weakly before letting go and coming back to your body. Those dreams always left you so unsettled, you'd have to sit alone for a long time. Often you could be found watching the ikran, waiting for your own turn to fly.

When you'd completed your iknimaya, you asked for permission to live alone. Not in your own dwelling, but deep in the forest. There was hesitancy from your Olo'eyktan, Jakesuli, as he was unfamiliar to this situation. It was rarely ever that a member of the clan wished to live alone. With some encouragement from those in the clan who had helped to raise you, he acceded. They knew of your desire to have a simpler life, that many interactions were painful for you. While you had always been taken care of, you'd never really belonged.

In your small home in the forest, you hunted for the clan, still bringing them meat when you could and enduring short visits with the members. You would trade sometimes if other clans passed through, giving them food or your own woven goods. It was quiet. It was simple. It was all you needed.

Today was a day to hunt, so you gathered your weapons and walked through the forest a great distance. The animals were hiding well today and you were squatted down to look at tracks when you heard a crunch of a leaf nearby. You tensed your muscles so your flinch wouldn't be noticeable and slowly stood as if everything was fine. You nocked an arrow, pretending to be following the animal you were tracking. After taking a few steps and turning to assess the area, your heart began to race with nerves, unsettled. As you turned back to your original path, thinking maybe you had been spooked by an animal, you cried out in alarm as your back was slammed against a tree.

You growled as a knife bit into your skin, drowning out the sound of the masculine Na'vi voice speaking your language. In a stumbling attempt, he leaned closer and hissed, "Who are you? Where is your camp?"

When you refused to answer, his hold slackened minutely and he spoke to the group of Na'vi appearing behind him. He spoke in a language from another life. The common tongue of the humans. The drawl in his voice tickled the edges of your brain and reminded you of impossible nights long ago, of soft touches and yearning. As they spoke back and forth, his eyes roved over you, landing on a familiar pattern that looked like a birthmark he remembered from a lifetime ago.

His head tilted slightly to the side and he whispered, "Do I know you?"

His hold slackened more and your arm swung up, fist landing squarely on his nose. You ducked under his arm and ran. A yelp came out when you felt a bullet graze your arm and you winced when you saw the blood at the edge of your vision. With a sharp whistle, you summoned your ikran. He swooped down and you made the bond before leaping up and urging him to the sky.

On the ground below, the Na'vi male watched your ascent. A member of his team ran up behind him, holding a gun up and asked, "Colonel?" awaiting further instruction.

He gently pushed the gun down to point at the ground and shook his head as he lost sight of you. He knew you would meet again. It was only a matter of time.

***

Taglist:

@ikranwings @sweetirilly @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed

[punkeccentricenigma]

DONATELLO X READER "a Night Ride"

Relationship status: Romantic Reader prounouns: She/Her Words: 2739 TW: Slight angst (I guess? I'm not sure), Some grammatical errors because english is not my first language. Author's note: Yooo, this is my first time writing a oneshot in the last few years, i'm kinda proud of it, lmao. Anyway, enjoy.

.⋆｡⋆˚｡⋆｡˚｡⋆. .⋆｡⋆˚｡⋆｡˚｡⋆.

The pale moonlight slightly illuminated the sky above, much like New York itself, adding to the charm of the colorful lights that refused to fade despite the late hour of the night.

The Turtle Tank gracefully maneuvered through the uncrowded streets, its loud engine echoing around, serving as an unspoken warning to pedestrians to watch their step when crossing the road. Two people were inside the vehicle: Donatello, who else? He usually didn't allow his brothers to take the tank without him because he knew how chaotic they could be and how they might destroy everything in their path. The only exception was when April needed help with Mayhem, and as a reward, she offered pizza. That's when Raph took the Turtle Tank. He didn't cause much damage to the vehicle's body, so the purple genius spared him a strong reprimand. This time.

The other person was [Y.N], another human acquaintance of the turtles. Why was she there? And at this hour? Well...

"I can't believe I had to pick you up at this hour because some guy stood you up!" Yes, that was the reason. You see, [Y.N] had a date scheduled for tonight with a guy from her school, which was supposed to take place at a restaurant on the other side of New York. She wasn't a fan of such fancy outings, but the excitement of the meeting had gotten to her, and that's how it ended up. She had waited for a few hours for the no-show date instead of going straight to her apartment and crying into her pillow. At least then, she would have had a slight chance of catching a taxi and not having to call Donatello, who was clearly annoyed. Tough luck.

"I'm not a fan of such vocabulary, oh, who am I kidding? I am, so I'll say it: Didn't I tell you!?" The purple enthusiast began waving his hands during his monologue, trying to express his emotions somehow. Right, Donnie had warned the teenager, and not just once. If she had to say anything now, she'd confess it lasted a whole week.

"[Y.N], going on a date with such a normie won't end well," Soft-shell casually declared, appearing out of nowhere in the kitchen. Well, maybe not 'nowhere,' as it was their base's kitchen, so he had every right to be there - but no one expected the turtle to emerge from his workshop.

The teenager had a puzzled look as she nibbled on one of the sandwiches she and Leo had made for their movie night. "Why?" She didn't want to dismiss Donatello; she knew he genuinely cared about her and was trying his best to help despite his quirks, but this was already the fourth 'rational' argument this week! "He's not Dale, so nothing more annoying can happen!"

"Sorry, but I disagree," his robotic arms unfolded a whiteboard with potential threat assessments or risky behaviors. [Y.N]'s eyes flattened to read the small font; was that Helvetica? "According to my calculations, the chance that this guy is not suitable for you is precisely 76.43 percent. Of course, this number didn't come out of thin air. It's based on a series of algorithms and data analyses I conduct every day. I take into account factors like communication and conflict resolution skills, emotional availability, attachment style, and even past behaviors. It's quite a sophisticated model, if I may say so." The science enthusiast's proud smile said it all.

"Wow."

"My calculations are always reliable, sure, sometimes I make mistakes, but not in matters like these!" It wasn't entirely true. Matters of the heart weren't Donatello's strong suit, which often led to friction between him and his family. Heck, even Doctor Delicate Touch had to help him when Shelldon went through his rebellious phase! But when it came to someone as close as [Y.N]? He didn't want to be wrong.

The girl bit her cheek from the inside, tilting slightly to the side as the turtle turned left again. Her eyes occasionally tracked the new streetlamp, trying to gather her thoughts.

"Don't tell me you're showing her that board," a red-slider turtle peeked out from behind the whiteboard. "Yeah, you're showing her." His eyes didn't express surprise, more like indifference to his righteousness.

Donatello rolled his black eyes, tucking the presentation back into his battle shell as Leonardo sidestepped him gracefully, grabbing a plate full of sandwiches. His gaze settled on the teenager, who had her back turned to him and was slightly bent over.

"You were snacking, weren't you?" [Y.N] twitched slightly at her friend's keen observation. She slowly turned her head towards Leo, her smile seeming somewhat embarrassed.

"No?"

"Spots around your mouth from mustard say something else," Leonardo pointed out, pointing with his finger. The embarrassed teenager chuckled softly, feeling her posture slightly break.

"Okay, you caught me!" Despite being in despair, her voice also conveyed false drama. "But what can I do when you make such awesome sandwiches?? You guys live in the sewers, after all!" Donnie chuckled quietly to himself, knowing where his friend picked up these habits. It might not be a matter of great pride, but it made an impression. "Well, give me another one!" Before anyone could react, the girl practically lunged at Leo to reach the plate of food he had deliberately moved away from himself.

"Nuh-uh, because there won't be enough for the others." He easily comically pushed his friend away and headed towards the exit, winking at his brother in passing. Donatello rolled his eyes, knowing what was going on. He wasn't happy about it, but there was nothing he could do about his (not) twin's foolishness, or at least he didn't want a repeat of the last time he meddled in his brothers' affairs.

Finally, his dark eyes settled on the girl, who chuckled with a smile. She wanted to wipe her face with the sleeve of her hoodie, but the mechanical hand had her wrist in its grip. "Huh?"

"Didn't your mom teach you good manners?" Donnie approached her, taking a single sheet of paper towel from the red kitchen countertop nearby.

"I repeat, you guys live in the sewers, so what I wanted to do is the least of your worries." [Y.N] laughed, trying in vain to free her hand from the scientist's robotic grasp. "Can you let me go, Dr. Octopus?"

When she attempted to jerk her wrist again, Donatello began gently wiping her lips with the paper towel in a slow, deliberate motion, getting narrowed pupils in response. The boy didn't have the courage to look into her eyes, despite the brave activity he was currently engaged in, especially when his thumb lingered at the corner of her mouth for a second longer than it should have.

Once he finished wiping, he took the paper and stepped back slightly, realizing what he had done. When they both locked eyes, warmth flooded their cheeks, and the shock added to the turtle's expression. It was clear who was more in control of their emotions here, hm?

The boy coughed abruptly, averted his gaze, and straightened up - he didn't even notice when he had been slouching. "Living in the sewers doesn't compromise my hygiene," he commented a bit too loudly, feeling his voice crack with each word. "I'd say it's Leo who's more likely to." He chuckled slightly, and the girl joined in. "Well, anyway! Movie marathon coming up, so, see you in a few minutes??" Since when was he feeling so hot?? "See you!" He finally shouted, panicking and fleeing the kitchen.

[Y.N] chuckled with a smile, covering the lower part of her face.

[Y.N] sighed shakily, covering the lower part of her face.

"Oh, for Newton's sake, I feel like punching someone! ... Is this how Raph usually feels when he looks at us?" The red light appeared on the traffic signal, reflecting off the dark Turtle Tank's body. When the boy stopped the vehicle for a moment, he heard quiet sobbing. Confused, he looked to the side and saw [Y.N], who had started crying uncontrollably.

"I'm sorry."

The turtle's eyes widened. Her voice seemed to slowly shatter like transparent glass between each tear drop, and her posture was completely destroyed as she bent in half on the soft seat, completely covering her face.

Donatello glanced out of the corner of his eye at the front windshield, wanting to check if the light had changed - it was still red, so he immediately got up and approached the girl, squatting by the seat. He didn't handle his emotions well, especially someone else's, but he felt a pang in the depths of his heart that he wanted to get rid of. With a slight hesitation, he placed his three-fingered hand on her back, gently moving it up and down - Splinter, and then Raphael often did this to comfort the science enthusiast when he struggled with something.

"I should have listened to you," the teenager began, "It was a mistake to hope for a good time with that person." The boy felt terrible. Yes, he had wanted to help her understand her mistake at the time, but he still hoped that despite his unpredictable intellect, he was wrong. "God, I just want to hide in my room and never come out."

"Don't apologize, it's not your fault." Her eyes peeked out from behind her fingers. Donnie's eyebrows furrowed seeing [Y.N]'s bloodshot and red eyes. "Who would have thought he wouldn't show up after all?"

"You," she sighed heavily, straightening up. Her expression conveyed sorrow. "Your calculations turned out somewhat effective."

Donatello looked at her with empathy, trying to find the right words that could comfort her. He gently raised his hand and lightly tapped her shoulder, trying to convey support.

"Science... doesn't always get it right." [Y.N]'s eyes widened at his words. Why did he think that way? Science was practically one of Donnie's defining characteristics, it was unthinkable. Sure, Leo or Mikey might say that, but not him, not her genius acquaintance who would want to rule the world! [Y.N] was now certain that something was going on deep within him.

"What are you saying?" Her voice wasn't supposed to sound less casual, slightly mocking, but she couldn't help it. "Science doesn't get it right? That's so... illogical of you!"

Her eyes met his dark ones again, expressing strong uncertainty and... enchantment, quite enchantment. His face was perfectly illuminated by the city lights, causing a slight blush of astonishment on the teenager's face.

"Science doesn't always have it right," he repeated and stood upright. His fists were tightly clenched, and his posture was rigid. "And I'll prove it to you."

"How?"

His mouth opened for a second, but he closed it again, momentarily struggling with whether to confess one thing, but now there was no turning back, he had to do it. 'Calm down, Donatello, calm down...'

"When I calculated our 'compatibility,' the result came out excessively negative..." he began, trying with all his might not to take his eyes off the young girl. He didn't want his friend to think he was weird! Although, could there be anything weirder than a teenage mutant ninja turtle with a high IQ? "But... but I feel something else."

'Wait, he calculated our compatibility?' [Y.N] repeated in her thoughts, trying to understand the meaning of those words as quickly as possible. Compatibility. Compatibility... the teenager's blush deepened. 'Is he into me...?!'

She was snapped out of her thoughts by a touch. She felt the boy grab her hands in his, gently squeezing them.

"Numbers don't make sense in this situation," he began. "So... will you go on a date with me?" His voice seemed uncertain, not in terms of his words but about himself. As mentioned earlier, he was a mutated ninja turtle; what chance did he have? But for some time now, he couldn't resist the growing feelings for [Y.N], who, as one of the few, had gotten close to him and understood him. He knew how annoying he could be with his habits, strong sarcasm, or introverted nature, but it didn't bother her, at least most of the time, and he really appreciated that.

The silence stretched on infinitely, causing even greater nervousness on Donatello's part.

"... I've only just been dumped by one guy."

"Oh, right!" Donnie looked startled, like a deer in headlights. Yes, what an idiot! He should have thought this through, or at least used less direct words! How does it look now? "I'm sorry, this was inappropriate; we can forg--!"

"But I'll go." Another silence.

"..."

"..."

"What?"

"Well, you know, let's wait a week for today's emotions to settle," she smoothly took his wrists in her hands. Her smile, despite the slight nervousness of the situation, radiated a pleasant feeling, full of strange comfort, as if not judging him at all. "But after that, I'd be happy to go on a date with you."

Donatello seemed... disconnected. A million thoughts swirled in his mind. Was this real?

"Donnie?" He blinked a few times and looked at the person in front of him again. After a brief moment, he smiled, tilting his head slightly.

"Thanks." That's all he said, and the traffic light turned green. Without waiting, he took the driver's seat and drove on.

"So, on our date, maybe we can watch something? Like... Oppeinhamer?"

"Oh, you know me so well!"

Bonus:

"I'm in position, Tails," the nonchalant voice of the red-slider turtle was audible through a small communication device. [Y.N] chuckled softly, watching out of the corner of her eye as Donatello, with a grimace on his face, sat down next to her on the edge of the residential building's roof.

"My code name is 'Shadow,' Leo!" The turtle sighed heavily, furrowing his brows. "And no, it's not a reference to Sonic!"

"You can't fool me," Leonardo laughed, leaning out from behind the building's wall, sticking his tongue out in the same direction where the pair is.

"Be quiet, Bluey," this time [Y.N] spoke up, bringing the communicator closer to her lips. Seeing the gloomy expression on Leo's face instead of his usual smile, the pair burst into mocking giggles.

"Yeah, yeah, keep making fun of the fact that I watched that show at 3 in the morning." The teenager muttered quietly, resting his weapon on his shoulder. "If you couldn't sleep, you'd watch it too!"

Donatello rolled his eyes, accompanied by his rare smile, and discreetly took the girl's hand. Meanwhile, [Y.N] gently rested her head on his shoulder, giggling again.

"Wasn't your code name 'Purple Knight' by any chance?" She asked, lightly moving her feet.

"It was, but you know, most changes are good, and I'm getting older, so it's natural that I change my nickname~."

The girl raised one eyebrow slightly, adjusting her position a bit to look at Donnie. He met her gaze, which weakened after a moment, and a hint of embarrassment appeared on his forehead.

"FINE, maybe it is a reference to Sonic!" He declared loudly, gesturing. "I've been catching up on Sonic Prime lately; you can't blame me!"

[Y.N] burst into laughter, hugging the boy. For the first few seconds, his body stiffened, but after a while, he put his arm around her. However, out of the corner of his eye, Donatello noticed someone walking on the sidewalk.

"It is Shadow. Bluey, stay alert, the target is approaching," he said through the headset, putting on his special goggles.

"Mhm."

The target was the same boy who had stood [Y.N] up a few weeks earlier on the day of their almost date. Yes, it was Donatello's idea, wanting to seek revenge for his almost-partner.

"Now, Bluey!"

Leonardo leaped out from behind the wall, right in front of the unsuspecting boy who needed a few seconds to grasp the situation.

"Hey, buddy, how's life treating you?" The turtle asked with a malicious grin.

"A talking turtle?!"

"One who happens to be an awesome ninja!" He chuckled, swinging his sword. After a brief moment, a bright blue portal appeared beneath the teenager.

His scream lasted only a nanosecond as he disappeared into the blue void, eliciting laughter from Leonardo. "Have a nice trip to New Jersey~!"

[silentglassbreak]

The plot with Jolly at the fest sound like very interesting story. I'd love to read it

I didn't get too much detail on this one, so I'm just going to run with it? First time writing for Jolly, so let's give it a shot.

**After writing notes: WOW this one went in an entirely different direction than I expected...

It just happened. I hope someone enjoys it. LOL.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Soft smut, mentions of death

Sweater Weather

Why does no one ever have the balls to tell Noah he’s being a diva?

Listen, the man is my brother. We’re family. För alltid mitt blod. I would take a bullet for him, and I have no doubt he would do the same for me.

But, sometimes, he’s so fucking irritating.

How hard it must be to have such talent and be so attractive, everyone loves you, and you work hard to maintain an image. However, taking out the stress and pressures on the only guys who also know how being in this band feels?

Noah was arguing with one of the stage techs, telling him that the image they had prepared to be behind us doing our set was wrong. He’s right, they had prepared the image of the mannequins, when it was supposed to be the album cover, but that wasn’t this poor little man’s fault.

“God, it’s not a hard fucking thing to do!”

“I’m sorry, dude. I’m putting in the request to have it switched.” The man wasn’t exactly cowering, but he was intimidated for sure.

I stepped up behind Noah, letting a gentle hand fall on his shoulder. I could feel his muscles relax slightly under my fingers.

“C’mon man. It’ll be fine. We have an hour until our set. They’ll get it fixed.”

I felt him take a deep breath, and saw how he closed his eyes to center himself. This was something I taught him.

The tech scurried away, leaving us alone in our tent.

It was so fucking hot, which was interesting, given we were in Michigan. Upheaval festival was one of my favorites. It was a smaller event, which meant a more regular experience with the fans. Usually, it also meant better food and beer vendors.

“Hey, guess what I found?” Nick came bounding into the tent, a large mug in his hand.

“Beer, I assume?” Noah pointed his attitude at Nick, who rolled his eyes in return.

“They have a beer garden! Jolly, they’ve got a Swedish ale you might dig!”

I snorted. “Guarantee it isn’t actually Swedish.” Grabbing my hat from the couch, I placed it over my long hair that was pulled back in a low ponytail, and headed for the exit.

“I will go check it out though. Folio out there?”

Nick nodded. “He was spotted, so he’s chatting with some fans.”

I smirked. “Let’s hope he can get out before the set.”

Noah turned and looked at me. “Don’t be late getting back, please! We go on in under an hour.”

Shooting him a thumbs up, I headed for the mayhem of the festival.

As suspected, there was nothing Swedish about the beer, but it did have good flavor. I stood to the right of the beer garden, sipping my mug, and people watched.

It was always so fascinating to see the mix of people who came to these shows. European festivals were one thing but American festivals? You saw everything from multi-colored hair to breasts only barely covered by mesh tops or pasties. It was a sight to behold.

After a moment of zoning out, I looked down at my watch to see I still had twenty minutes before we had to head to the stage. Noah was likely bursting because I wasn’t back yet, and I smiled to myself at the thought. He could sweat for a few minutes, would do him good.

Deciding I should at least start making my way back there, my eyes scanned for the direction I needed to go, somehow getting turned around. Eyes searching over heads and bodies, I didn’t even see the person coming toward me, knocking my shoulder directly into them as I began walking forward.

My beer sloshed over the edge of the cup, pouring foam down the girl’s arm.

“Fuck! I am so sorry!” I turned, and my eyes locked onto the face in front of me.

Wisps of natural, dirty blonde hair floated in the slight breeze, framing a tan, small face. The rest of her hair was pulled up on top of her head in a bun, tightly secured. Her eyes were lightly lined with black, mascara clinging to her lashes. Pink, full lips covered by only a thin gloss were hanging open, startled by the cold liquid on her shoulder.

“Shit! I didn’t even see you, I’m so sorry!” She apologized, wiping her arm with the sweater tied around her waist. Her white tank top was now an amber color on one side.

I couldn’t speak. She was gorgeous.

“Jesus, I’m such a fucking klutz.” She groaned, hastily grabbing napkins off of the cart behind us and wiping at her arm, and then at my hand.

When her ice blue eyes looked up at me, I felt the air rush back into my lungs.

“No, no that was my fault. I’m very sorry.”

When the realization crossed her face, I saw it like a firework exploding behind her vision.

“You’re Jolly fucking Karlsson!”

This made me chuckle. “Something like that, yeah.”

I reached a hand out, which she took graciously, smiling at me with a wide, toothy grin.

“It’s such an honor. I’m a huge fan. I was actually rushing so I could get back to see your set!”

Her words snapped me back.

Fuck.

“Oh, good! I’ve got to get over there! But, uh,” My brain was working overtime. “maybe I can find you after? You can buy me another beer?”

I let any suave I had take over, which seemed to work decently, given she blinked multiple times.

“Sure, of course!”

“Jolly!” My head snapped over to see Matt barreling toward me. “Dude we go on in ten minutes!”

Looking back, I watched as her face fell slightly, my arm now being physically pulled in the opposite direction. Being led away, I hollered.

“I’ll meet you back here!”

I was only given a nod, and a wave in response.

-

The set was electric, Noah's earlier nerves rolling off of him comfortably as he put on a show. Nick was absolutely flawless on his bass, flipping his hair over and over. Folio, as usual, lost himself in the drum beats, freestyling here and there.

I, however, was way off my game. Something about my encounter with the mesmerizing blonde earlier kept me thoroughly distracted. Over and over, my eyes swam through the sea of people in the crowd, trying my hardest to find a blonde messy bun and steel blue eyes, but it was in vain. I couldn't see anything.

I thought about her again and again, unable to shake the feeling of wonder from my bones. For whatever reason, I needed to see this girl again. Her aura, her energy, it radiated beauty, rarity, like a gemstone.

Pärla. A magnificent treasure.

The thoughts racing in my brain made me lose my focus more than once. During Nowhere to Go, I missed several notes, my guitar making an awful screeching sound. I forgot to sing backup vocals during Limits entirely, earning me a glare from Noah, and a look of concern from Nick.

I had ignored it, and continued on, my eyes still searching. It was hopeless. I would find her after. I had to.

Once Dethrone concluded, and I ran off stage, setting my guitar down, I felt a hand pull my arm, flinging my backward.

"Dude, are you okay?" Nick looked straight at me. "You drunk?"

I furrowed my brow. "Of course not."

"Well, you don't really fuck up on stage, Jolly, so what the fuck?" Noah was standing directly behind Nick, eyes shooting me down with fury.

I shrugged. "I'm sorry. I was looking for someone."

This made them both leer backward a moment. "Who?" Noah asked.

"This girl. I met her at the beer garden."

They reacted equally differently. Nick let up a sly smirk, his eyebrows raising. Noah, however, narrowed his eyes.

"You almost blew the set for some broad?"

Rolling my eyes, I turned toward them. "I didn't blow the fucking set, Noah. Quit being so dramatic."

I could see the fire burning behind his irises, which I would definitely pay for later in the form of his attitude.

"Are you fucking kidding, dude?" Noah began scolding me, but Nick held up a hand.

"Chill. Jolly never fucks up, ever." He turned to Noah, giving him stern eyes. "And the set was fine."

Huffing, Noah stomped away, throwing a tantrum like a child.

I smiled at Nick, grateful. "You know how he gets at festivals."

Nodding, I began to walk away. "Got to go."

Waving him off, I weaved through all of the people behind the stage area, making my way back out to our tent, where Davis and Matt were already packing up equipment. I grabbed a clean shirt out of my backpack, and slipped it over my head. I pulled half of my hair up in a tight bun on top of my head, and slipped on my sunglasses.

Headed back out, I noticed the sun was nearly set, and the beer garden area was almost vacant, most people over by the stages. Sleep Token had just started, so the vendors were long abandoned by almost everyone.

I found the napkin cart, and stood, arms crossed, scanning around. After about ten minutes, I had to remove my sunglasses to be able to see clearly as night was falling. A chill ran up my spine as the temperature began to drop. No sign of her, but I didn't mind waiting.

Thirty minutes.

Forty-five.

One hour.

I stood, eyes glancing around, head bobbing to Sleep Token's heavy bass and Vessel's incredible vocals. However, my mind was elsewhere. Maybe she didn't want to miss their set? Maybe she forgot where to meet? I didn't know how to find her.

I didn't even know her name.

It was a mystery, and I couldn't get it out of my head. I was going to have to give up soon. The festival would be ending, and I would have to get back with the guys, head back to the hotel. The thought made my stomach sink. Why was I so entranced with the idea of this girl? All she did was spill beer on me. Why did I insist on finding her?

"Jolly?"

I spun, much faster than I should've, on my heel, and was met with cold, freezing blue eyes, staring up at me. Her gloss was worn off, and her eyeliner was smudging ever so slightly under her eyes. Her bun was long gone, blonde hair now free-flowing down across her shoulders.

"Pärla."

Her smile was confused. "Uh,"

"It means gem. I didn't know your name, so I decided to go with that."

The blush on her cheeks was a sweet addition to that gorgeous sun kissed skin.

"I like that." She rubbed her palms on the front of her jeans. I noticed her sweater was now around her shoulders, covering the beer stain on her tank top. "I'm sorry, I know we said we'd meet after your set. I had to get one of my friends back to our hotel."

Shaking my head, I waved her off. "No worries."

"Did you wait long?"

An hour wasn't a long time, I don't think.

"Nope."

With a finger pointed at the beer garden, she asked, "So, you want that beer?"

I perused this. I wasn't much for a drink right now, comfortable with just talking to her. "You going to have one?"

Shrugging, she looked over toward the crowd. "I don't think so. I've got to get back to the hotel with my friends soon. One of them is really drunk, and is a sick mess."

My face soured. "That doesn't sound fun."

Scrunching her face, she stuck her hands in the pocket of her sweater. "It isn't. I'm pretty annoyed about it, actually."

Nodding, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I had been ignoring it for a while.

Matt: Dude, if you're coming with us, we gotta go now.

I typed a quick response.

Me: Meet you back at the hotel.

We walked around the festival grounds for a while, just chatting about different things, somehow managing to distract her from the fact that she should go back to her hotel, and I, mine.

"You're from Florida?"

She nodded. "Daytona. I hate it."

"Why? Isn't it sunny and beautiful all year-round?" I chuckled.

She joined me. "Sure, if you like a lot of drugs and alligators everywhere."

We found some benches, having a seat. I pulled a pack of smokes from my pocket, lighting one.

She stared at me, smirking. I lifted the pack toward her. "Want one?"

She shook her head. "I'm okay. Thanks, though."

Blowing out the smoke, I turned my attention back to her face.

"So why come to Michigan for a festival?"

Her eyes were lost on the crowd, amused. "Why not?" She leaned back on her seat. "I love the adventure of traveling. Seeing different cities. If I get to enjoy good music while I'm at it, why not?"

"You get to meet a lot of cool people doing it, huh?"

Looking over to me, I saw her lips turn up slightly. "Yeah, I do."

A cool silence fell over us for a moment while I finished my cigarette.

Out of my peripheral vision, I saw her head turn toward me. "It's closing."

We noticed the bodies moving past us toward the exit. I nodded. "We should get going soon."

I swore I saw a flash of disappointment cross her features, but only for a second before a look of excitement crept across her face.

"Hey, you want to go somewhere?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Where?"

Smirking, she stood, pulling at my arm. "I know a place, c'mon."

With no time to protest, she pulled me, and I had to nearly jog to keep up. I watched her hair, looking nearly silver against the bright lights at the parking area, fly behind her as she ran toward the Uber line.

We waited, and I slipped my sunglasses back on, and tried not to be obvious.

Once our turn came, she leaned forward to give the driver the address, quiet enough so I wouldn't hear. The driver raised a brow.

"I'm pretty sure it's closed for the night."

She waved at him. "Just go. It'll be fine."

With a nod, he began driving. I stared at her. "Are you taking me somewhere to kill me?"

Her teeth flashed. "You'll have to wait and find out." And she turned to look out at the darkness beyond her window.

Something inside me wasn't worried.

We walked along the boardwalk, out onto the sand. We could hear the soft waves crashing, but it was difficult to see beyond she shoreline.

"Welcome to Lake Michigan!"

The stars, bright and vast, seemed to bounce off of the stillness of the water. It was breathtaking. She bound ahead of me, slipping her shoes off and holding them. Her eyes were fixed on the water, before she dropped down in the sand, looking up at the sky.

I followed suit, taking a heavy seat next to her. It was so quiet, so calm. We weren't supposed to be here at midnight, but something in the chilled air felt so serene.

"What did you call me before?" Her voice was even, still looking at the sky.

"Hm?" I had to shake out of my thoughts.

"At the festival. You called me a name. In another language."

I smiled. "Pärla." She looked back at me. "It means gem."

A warm grin spread across her lips. "I like that." She echoed her earlier sentiment.

It occurred to me at that point, that she still had not told me her first name.

"What else do I call you?"

Her eyes narrowed, thinking. What was there to think about?

"I think that'll do."

I raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Her gaze turned back up to the sky. "Pärla. That's good."

"You're not going to tell me your name?" Confusion laced my voice.

Hugging her knees to her chest, her eyes transfixed on the stars, she bit her lip. "Not yet."

It was strange, but what could I do?

Silence fell over us again, but she eventually spoke up.

"Do you ever miss Sweden?"

Clearing my throat, I mimicked her body language, pulling my knees up.

"Sometimes. It's my home."

Her lips were pulled in a tight line, and I saw what looked to be a tear brimming at her eyes. "I never miss mine. I'm never going back."

"Why not?"

Turning to look at me, a slow tear rolled down her cheek, but she held a sad smile. "I'm happy right where I am."

Trying to process what she said, I struggled, because all I could feel was the urge to grab the tear with my finger, and wipe it from her face. I kept my hands to myself, however.

"So," I tried to lighten the conversation. "how long have you been a fan?"

This made a genuine grin crack across her face. "About a year. I heard you guys for the first time on TikTok. When I looked into the music, I was hooked."

I nodded, listening to the smooth sounds of the waves. "Yeah, that's how a lot of people found us."

"It's good music. I really enjoyed the new album."

"Yeah, it was fun to make."

She looked directly at me. "Do you like being in a band? What's it like?"

That made me huff out a laugh. "It's something else, that's for sure. Chaotic, at times. Rewarding, most others."

Amused, she crossed her legs under her and turned her body to face me. "What are the other guys like?" I raised a brow and she smiled sheepishly. "I'm not trying to fangirl, just curious."

Shaking my head, I turned to face her as well. "Nick is awesome. Mediator when things get tense. He tends to keep a cool head easier than the rest of us." I sighed. "Folio is...young. He's so lighthearted, and full of life. I envy that sometimes." She smiled at that.

"And Noah is..." I trailed off, choosing my words carefully. "Brilliant, but can be a lot sometimes."

"Like how?"

"Like," I intertwined my fingers. "he gets anxious. He's a perfectionist, so there's never room for error. It can be a pain in the ass, but we owe a lot of our success to it."

She nodded. "He's talented."

"Very. So, we put up with it, mostly."

Peering up at me from under her lashes, she spoke low. "And what about you, Jolly? What are you like?"

This gave me pause. How do I answer that?

"I'm..." I really had to think about that answer. "I don't know, really. I'm just, me? The guys call me the 'Dad' of the group, but I'm really only a few years older than Nick."

A hand slid over my knee, and I glanced down at it. "Well, I don't know you very well. Only from what time we've spent the last few hours, but I think you're very interesting."

Resting my chin on a fist, I considered her words. "Do you?"

"Yeah, I do. I think you're very sweet. And complex."

"Complex?"

She let out a giggle, which broke the quiet air with a sweet sound.

"Well, you got in an Uber with a complete stranger, without knowing where you're going, and now you're sitting on a beach in the middle of the night."

This made me smirk. "Point taken."

"That's shows adventure. I like it."

I focused on the ring piercing her left nostril, and the small batch of freckles on her nose. Her hair was hanging long, the moonlight illuminating it.

I felt the pull, the same one that brings the planets together. The pull that gravity is made of. Her eyes flashed back and forth between mine, and her lips parted so slightly. Instinctively, I leaned close to her until I could feel her breath against my face. It was cool, almost cold.

When the soft skin of her lips touched mine, she took a breath in, gasping.

My hand lifted to press against her cheek, pulling her closer, and pressing our lips together.

Like a lightning bolt struck the sand between us, we were lit up with energy. Her body lunged toward me, knees climbing up into my lap as she kissed me, tongue pressing into my mouth. My hands wrapped around to her back, pulling her into me, as she writhed against me.

Her hips pressed down, jeans grinding against mine, the lack of friction making it nearly unbearable. My lips kissed down to her neck, sucking and biting at the soft skin. Her hair had fallen over her face, eyes fluttered closed. Her fingers were grazing down my chest, pulling at the fabric of my t-shirt, and eventually landing to the button of my jeans.

My own hands located the access point of her pants, popping them open. Disconnecting for a moment, she pulled back to shimmy out of her jeans, leaving her in a pair of black panties, kneeling in the sand in front of me.

Staring directly into my eyes, she reached to my jeans and opened them effortlessly, unzipping them, my aching cock bulging against the fabric of my boxers. Her hand slipped to the waistband, freeing my erection. I stared at her with intent. Something in her eyes was dark, something I couldn't place.

"Do you want to?" Her voice was so small. So desperate.

I couldn't respond, so I only reached for her, pulling her face back to me. I laid her down on her back, leaning over her and letting my mouth mold over hers, one hand slipping down her stomach, to her core.

My fingers easily grazed past the elastic of the underwear, running through the soft patch of curls just underneath, until I felt the moisture of her lips between my fingers.

She moaned into my mouth as I slipped my middle finger inside of her, curling it to press against that soft, sweet spot that had her breathing erratic.

"Fuck." She breathed against my mouth. My hand was pumping her hard, a delicious wet sound nearly drowned out by the waves behind us.

"I don't have a condom on me, Pärla."

Her eyes snapped open, and she smiled. "I'm okay, if you are."

Morals? Rational thought? Responsibility? What is that?

I was okay. More than okay. This could be bad. Dangerous, even. Something in my gut - no - my soul told me that this needed to happen, and it needed to happen now.

Steady fingers pulled her panties down, slipping them off, before I hovered over her, lining the head up with her entrance.

As slow and precise as possible, I pressed in, my eyes falling closed with the vibrant sensation that engulfed me. She let out a long, deep groan with me.

"Oh God, Jolly."

I let my lips fall back down to the flesh on her neck, thrusting in and out comfortably, savoring the feel of her on my skin.

We went on like this for longer than I would've expected. Our voices echoed off of the water, the darkness swallowing us as our bodies synchronized. Her pussy tightened around me each time I pulled out, begging for more.

Eventually, I sped up the snapping of my hips, leaning up to get a better angle, pulling her knee up to her chest.

Her hands dug into the sand around us, head careened backward.

"Oh Jolly, fuck, so fucking good." She was biting down on her lip so hard, it was sure to bleed.

I was so close. I needed her release. "Come for me, Pärla." My breathing began stuttering. "Let go, for me."

A long, visceral moan left her lips, and I felt her walls spasm around me as I began emptying into her, my orgasm smacking me hard in the chest.

I pumped us through it, one hand holding her face, watching the waves of pleasure rush over it.

Once we slowed to a stop, I collapsed next to her, a lazy smile on my face.

"That was..." I started, too tired to finish my sentence.

"Unreal." Her words were stark. Matter of fact. Her eyes were looking back up at the stars.

I followed suit, zipping my jeans back up.

"I'm glad I met you today, Jolly."

I let my eyes fall on her again, and smiled. "Me too, Pärla."

My eyes opened to a flashlight shining directly on them.

"Hey, asshole!" I squinted, my hands coming up to shield my vision from the abrasive light. "You can't fucking sleep here. Go find a fucking shelter!"

"What?" I sat up, looking up at the person in front of me. A police officer.

"You've got to get out of here, man. I don't want to take you in."

I held my hands up in defense, standing to my feet. My eyes glanced around, realizing I was very much alone.

"Where's the girl I was with?"

The cop raised an eyebrow. "No one but you here, bud. Let's go."

His hand grabbed my arm, leading me off the beach. I turned back toward the water, hollering out into the darkness.

"Pärla?!"

No response. Just silence.

-

A week had gone by, and I was back home.

I had done everything I could think of to find her, but still came up with nothing. No name. No number. Just a physical description and vague location. Have you any idea how many blonde-haired, blue-eyed, tan-skinned girls are in Daytona, FL? It was comical.

After about four days, I had pretty much given up. Part of me felt hurt. Why had she left? Was she okay? She knew me, why hadn't she reached out?

Was she just in it for the sex? Or to say she screwed a member of the band? Did she regret it?

Something felt wrong. Her presence, her energy. It felt so genuine. I struggled to believe she really just ran off, leaving me to fall asleep alone on that beach.

I had Ubered back to the hotel, heading straight to Noah's room to tell him what happened. It was 4AM by the time I made it back, and he looked at me like I was insane.

Still, he showed his human side for a moment, and empathized with me, offering to help try and find her.

Back in Los Angeles, I was sitting in the studio, trying to perfect a guitar rift, when Noah bounded in with Folio. We had everyone together for the next two weeks before we left for the next festival.

"I don't get why people are so scummy."

I raised an eyebrow at Folio's words. "What's that?"

He turned to look at me, falling into a chair. "This article, man. About Upheaval?"

I stopped my strumming, looking up to give him my full attention.

I took note that Noah was scrolling on his phone fervently.

"What about it?"

Noah looked up at me, pursing his lips. "I guess someone got really hurt?"

"Not hurt. Someone fucking died, dude."

This made me furrow my brows. "What?"

"Yeah. Some girl got trampled in the fucking crowd."

Noah rolled his eyes. "The article I read said she had a seizure, and fell into the crowd. They didn't get her out in time."

"During which set?"

"Sleep Token." Noah responded.

"Wow, really? I saw damn near the entire thing. I didn't see anything happen."

"Well, that's the point, man. No one did, until the end. By that time, she had choked or something." Noah handed his phone to me, and I noticed it was scrolled to the bottom of the article.

"It's bullshit they waited so long to say something." Folio chimed in.

Noah shrugged. "Trying to protect the festival's reputation, I guess. Too bad. She was fucking cute, too."

My thumb scrolled to the top of the article, taking a moment as it was long.

When the picture at the top came into view, my hand that held my rig went slack, dropping the instrument on the floor.

It didn't make sense. It was a mistake of some kind.

25 Year Old Female Dies At Music Festival - Safety Protocols Being Investigated

The photograph that stared back at me, mocking my dropped jaw and widened eyes.

"Jolly, you good, dude?" Folio asked as he reached down to grab my guitar, now on the floor.

I couldn't respond. My blood had coagulated in my veins. My skin hardened to stone as my eyes stared at the picture, mind blanking.

The girl in the picture stared into my very soul.

Dirty blonde hair. Ice blue eyes. Small patch of freckles. Plush pink lips.

Pärla.

[magecrafts]

KATE BISHOP headcanons.

RATED E FOR EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT — 18+ — MINORS DNI.

a/n: the first of a few things i wrote in rehab. lil fluff, lil smut (but mostly smut). forgive me if it reads a bit messy, i'm a little out of practice. enjoy!

kate bishop x reader ; congrats! you're dating a sort-of avenger!

warnings: nsfw, explicit smut, daddy kink, humiliation, big big straps, light anal play, cnc, no aftercare ; reader is biologically female but no pronouns are used so could be read as ftm, nb, cis, or whatever tf else you want.

i am not currently fulfilling requests, but any made will be consdiered for future writing things...?

For your first date she takes you to an archery range. Mostly to show off but also to put a bow in your hands and touch you a little bit while she shows you how to draw properly.

The second is a Central Park picnic with pizza and champagne. “Say what you will about my mother,” Kate says as she frees a slice for the golden retriever at her side, “but her wine cellar slaps.” After a look at the label and quick web search: “Kate,” you tell her, “this is a forty-five-hundred dollar bottle of champagne from nineteen-eighty-one, and—“ “And we’re eating it with fifteen dollar pizza from nineteen minutes ago,” she says. “But. To be fair, that’s basically what she makes in an hour.” A beat. “She’s gonna cut me off again.”

You start sleeping with Kate on date six. She has tickets to an exhibit at the Museum of Natural History but she turns up in a gray plaid pantsuit and Docs and the two of you don’t even make it out the door (so, yeah, okay, you sleeping with Kate is date six). 

Kate has trouble focusing when there’s no underlying adventure, no chaos, no bad guys chasing her down the street in vans and tracksuits. She’s gotten used to the hero's life, the kind of life where danger lurks around every corner and life or death decisions are plentiful. Kate thrives on the mayhem and gets lost in the mundanity. Clint calls it adrenaline addiction. Yelena says Kate’s got Avenger blood (“She’s not an Avenger,” Clint says. “Too dangerous.”). Sometimes, even when she’s happy, even when she wouldn’t rather be anywhere else, it still happens. Her eyes will gloss over and she’ll retreat into herself and, “Where’d you go?” and “Earth to Kate,” are two things you catch yourself saying a lot during downtime.

“Kate.” “…Yes?” “Why is your bag moving?” The bag barks. “No reason,” Kate says, stepping in front of the wriggling duffel bag as a little black nose pushes through the open zipper, followed by a furry golden head. “Hear me out,” she says, crouching down to pull the wiggling golden retriever into her arms. “His name is Pepperoni.” The other dog, the big dog—Pizza Dog—bounds into the room and sniffs at the puppy in Kate’s arms. He yips once and sits on his haunches and the moment Kate puts the little dog down in front of him you know there’s not a chance in hell she’s letting that puppy go.

Kate thinks she’s the best thing since sliced bread. And in bed? Yeah, she probably is. She’s eager, adaptive, and curious no matter how many times she’s explored every last inch of your body. She spends a lot of time on your tits—squeezing and biting and licking and sucking—and when she isn’t too distracted, when she remembers that she has hands and can use them for something other than digging her dull nails into your skin, she’ll reach up and push her fingers past your lips while she closes her mouth over your skin and sucks until you choke on her fingers and push her head away and beg for a moment to catch your breath.

It took a month to get her anywhere near macaroni and cheese after Yelena rolled into town. That they’re constantly attached at the hip nowadays still blows your mind, but you can’t deny that something magical happens when they’re in the same room. It’s a lot like the little girls in the schoolyard at recess who mix potions in puddles with twigs and run cackling away when anyone asks what they’re doing.

She doesn’t like when you’re quiet. She’ll get vocal enough for the both of you if you’re really not up for it (or if you can’t, which has been happening a lot since she saw that one clip of a girl getting panty-gagged), but she doesn’t like to do anything in silence. It’s not tinnitus, and she's not going the way of Barton, you know, because you’ve asked, and she says she can exist in silence, says the quiet isn’t debilitating or anything, it’s just that she doesn’t like it. She blames it on the city, says no one in Manhattan knows how to operate without twenty-four-hour background noise, which is probably true, but you think she might just like the sound of her own voice. Yours will do when she can’t listen to herself, sure, but sometimes you like to keep quiet just so she’ll push you further and fuck you harder and tell you she needs to hear you. The one time you called it begging she got all huffy and red in the face and insisted that she’s never once begged in her entire life.

Kate likes you on your belly. She likes watching your thighs shake, likes watching the muscles in your back tense and relax as you prop your hips up and offer yourself to her. She likes palming your ass and pulling your cheeks apart and the little sighs of anticipation and excitement you make when she spreads you wide and holds you open just to look, just to keep you on edge. “Are you nervous?” she’ll ask, and you can always hear the cocky grin in her voice, because she knows you are and knows it makes you bubble up with shame when she points it out. “Don’t be nervous,” she’ll say, “we’ve done this before,” which doesn’t help, and she’ll rub her thumb over the pucker of your asshole until you shudder and your hips cant forward. Then she’ll sigh and yank you back by your thighs until your muscles are pulled taut and your cunt practically spreads open on its own. “Move and I’ll shoot,” she likes to say, and she won’t, not really, because she’d step in front of a subway train before she actually hurt you, but she likes to throw that threat around when she hasn’t had a good fight in a while.

“It’s new,” she says when you come home and find her strapped up and looking at herself in the mirror. When your eyes go wide and you swallow hard and tell her, “That’s…big,” she just grins and turns her focus back to the mirror. “I know, right?” she says, considering for a moment before she drops her hand and fists the silicone cock. She can’t even wrap her hand all the way around it. “And purple,” you say, dumbly, because you aren’t sure what else you’re supposed to do or say. “Impressive observations,” Kate says, catching your eye in the mirror and tossing you a smirk. “Think you can take it?” You honestly have no idea.

Once she gets that first strap she just—will not stop. Cannot be stopped. She’ll wake you up in the morning with her mouth on your chest and her hand sneaking down the front of your panties. She’ll tell you to hush and claim your mouth with her own while she nudges your legs open and drags the tip of her big purple cock between the slick lips of your cunt, mumbling, “Just relax, baby, I know you can take it,” even though you just woke up and you’re barely coherent and she hasn’t fucked you in days int he name of building blissful anticipation and wanting it to feel new again. You’re not sure that logic tracks but you’re absolutely certain you don’t ever want anyone else to touch you like this and when she pushes into you—fucks into you—you forget the sweet embrace of sleep and slip into the role she wants you to play.

Kate likes to walk around the apartment in boxers and a sports bra. More comfy that way, she says, even though you have a hard time keeping it together when she does. It’s worse when she abandons the bra altogether. She says it’s freeing. You think it’s maddening. Like when she parks herself on the couch all laid back with her legs propped open and an arm over the back of the couch. She’ll tilt her head and ask you why you’ve gone all red while you just look at her and do your best not to drool. It’s just, shit, that her tits are perfect—even handfuls, pert, rosy nipples, and soft all over—and you swear you could lose yourself in them for days. “Problem?” she’ll ask when you get all tripped up on your words, blushing so hard it creeps down your neck. Then she’ll just grin.

The worst of it is when she starts calling herself daddy. At first you think it’s stupid, self-indulgent, like she’s pandering to herself, but it gets intense. Fast. Like when she cozies up behind you while you’re cooking dinner, slipping her arms around your middle and sneaking her hands beneath your shirt, saying, “You take care of me so well,” and, “daddy’s gonna repay the favor,” and you’re not sure what you’re supposed to say to that but you can feel her pressing up against your ass and her hands are creeping closer and closer to your chest and you know good and well that the moment she palms your tits and ruts against you that it’s all over. Dinner burns on the stove while she strips your bottoms off and lays you out on the kitchen table and pushes your legs open and slaps your cunt just to remind you that she’s needy and she needs you to indulge her every whim because sometimes she doesn’t know what to do when you aren’t actively falling to pieces beneath her. You don’t know when you stopped finding it stupid, self-indulgent, like she needs another reason to think she’s hot shit, but it happened. And you’ve changed your mind: the worst of it is when she realized how much you drip with want when she calls herself daddy.

Nope, that's a lie, the worst of it is the moment she figures out you like it a lot more when she isn’t so nice

Kate strokes the length of her thick strap with one hand and drags the other down the length of your spine, curling her fingers to let her nails catch against your sweat-slicked skin. She nudges your legs apart with her knee and drags the tip of her cock through the lips of your cunt and laughs as you start to squirm. She curses under her breath and notches the tip of the massive fucking thing against your needy hole. “Relax, little angel,” she says, words dripping with condescension. “It’s gonna hurt a hell of a lot more if you don’t calm down and let me in, and isn’t that what you want? If it isn’t, you’d better tell me, ’cause I thought you wanted daddy to fuck your stupid little pussy ’til it’s all gaping and sloppy.” That does it. You’re helpless and your moan doesn’t help, and as the noise rips from your throat Kate fucks into your slippery hole in one rough thrust, and, “Oh—my god—shit—Kate, please—it hurts,” you gasp out between breaths. “I don’t care,” she says, tucking an arm around your middle to keep you from wriggling away. “Please.” You clench helplessly around her massive, heavy cock. “What, you don’t like this?” she asks, false hurt lining her voice. She leans in close again, lips parted against your ear as she stills herself inside of you. “You don’t want this? You want me to stop?” she asks, just to tease, and stifles a laugh as you nod. She doesn’t move. It’s big, too big, stretching your cunt as wide as you think it’ll ever be. Fear of her splitting you open keeps you still. And then she draws her hips back, nice and slow, and for a moment you flood with relief. She pulls out of your leaking hole until all that’s left inside is the tip. And then she eases back in, watching as best as she can in the dim light as her purple cock disappears into your needy pussy. “Pathetic,” she mumbles, and you can hear the smirk in her voice. “Lie to me all you like, but I know a dumb fucking slut when I see one.” “Kate—” “Unless you’re going to tell me you’ve changed your mind—that you’ve had a change of heart and you want this—don’t open your fucking mouth until I ask for another place to put my cock.”

[linguisticparadox]

Dr. Kemp's introduction is really fascinating to me, because it sets up not only his personality but also his function in the novel.

A couple of weeks ago, we had his thoughts at seeing Marvel running through the village: '“Another of those fools,” said Dr. Kemp. “Like that ass who ran into me this morning round a corner, with the ‘’Visible Man a-coming, sir!’ I can’t imagine what possesses people. One might think we were in the thirteenth century.”' These are his first words in the book, and they serve as an excellent sum-up of who he is and how he sees the world.

And so far, we might almost agree with him: although we know the Invisible Man is real, the whole story so far has read like a madcap slapstick comedy. Even Marvel, the Invisible Man's special victim, has been portrayed as a silly and rather stupid man in a silly and rather stupid situation, the stuff of modern-day sitcoms.

But then we get a sudden glimpse of the horror of Marvel's situation, and simultaneously we see that Kemp is judging at a distance, and so misjudging: "But those who saw the fugitive nearer, and perceived the abject terror on his perspiring face, being themselves in the open roadway, did not share in the doctor’s contempt." The more perceptive among us might cringe to think of our own reactions to everything that has happened to Marvel so far (and not to spoil anything, but later we will come to feel similarly about the Invisible Man, who so far has mostly just come off as kind of an asshole).

The narrative continues to paint Kemp as a rational man of science, who considers himself superior to the common rabble, with little tidbits thrown in here and there.

This week, he hears shots go off, and seems (or at least pretends) to dismiss them as nonsense, saying, “Who’s letting off revolvers in Burdock? What are the asses at now?” After that, he looks out the window and sees a crowd, which he watches for a few minutes, "during which his mind had travelled into a remote speculation of social conditions of the future." Based on his characterization up to now, we can assume he views this future with rather haughty scorn--"this country is going down the toilet, look at all these idiots," and so on.

Of course, he's more rattled than he seems, especially after the doorbell rings for seemingly no reason. But he manages to lose himself in his work again until the small hours of the morning.

Now, it only comes through in some parts, but the whole narrative is subtly framed as being told by a limited pov third person, who has evidently gathered together news articles and interviews with the various witnesses. We get only a peek at it here, with the line: "Dr. Kemp’s scientific pursuits have made him a very observant man, and as he recrossed the hall, he noticed a dark spot on the linoleum near the mat at the foot of the stairs." The tense at the start of the sentence suggests the image of Dr. Kemp sitting and telling his story, throwing in a moment of preening over his education and scientific prowess. These traits continue to receive attention with lines like "Dr. Kemp was no believer in voices"; and when we are told, "All men, however highly educated, retain some superstitious inklings," we can easily imagine Dr. Kemp rushing to defend his seemingly irrational thoughts to his interviewer.

In short, H.G. Wells tells us, plainly and repeatedly (though with a deft subtlety beneath his compact and engaging prose which characterizes his writing generally), that Dr. Kemp is highly educated, rational and scientific, and that he feels these characteristics place him above the common people.

And this, I think, is a gorgeous setup of Kemp's role in the narrative: to establish that education and rationality do not shield one from falling in with mob mentality and being complicit in the persecution of The Other.* Up to this point, we have had only comic scenes of the Invisible Man causing mayhem and blunt confusion among the simple-minded, straightforward but unimaginative denizens of small towns, the sort of people who needle a man for explanations, not to satisfy any real curiosity, but to gather fodder for gossip and win esteem in their social circles, and who consider it a grave insult when that man, a newcomer wrapped in bandages who just wants to be left alone, denies it to them.

But now, as if to head off any potential feelings of class-based superiority in the (necessarily literate, if not highly educated) audience, we have a well-educated, rational man, who considers himself Above All of That, and who views the situation exactly as we have been led to view it ourselves.

And this man, a stand-in for the rational, high-class, superior-feeling people in the audience, is immediately proven to be wrong. He misjudged the situation because he has only seen it from a distance: and the parallel with the readers, who are learning the story from a fairly removed narrative distance, ought to give us all pause.

*For the record, I think Marvel fits the bill as The Other, or ought to, as he is a homeless drifter. Certainly the Invisible Man expects to have sympathy from him on this basis! Unfortunately for him, Marvel in fact turns out to be much more comfortable among the "locals" than one might assume; and yet, in demanding his aid, the Invisible Man actually isolates and others him from his fellows, so that it becomes a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy. But that's a topic for another paper essay rant entirely.

[zoetheneko]

Mortal kombat: Heartful mayhem

Prologue

A/N: I knew a prologue is not really necessary on a Tumblr fanfiction, but i did it anyway since i want to write a novel level one (this is my first time writing a fanfic for the internet but idc).

It's a quiet afternoon. Jacqueline Briggs is sitting alone in the room full of computers, apparently in front of one of them, looking very focused. She looks through the files that had been entering the S.F.'s database for a few days now.

Those files in question are reports coming from squads that were sent one after the other to patrol and scavenge a specific area of Outworld, which is somewhere in the desert.

The investigation of these strange occurences of this location was placed into Jacqui's care by Cassandra Cage, her Commander, her best friend.

Jaqueline has been investing for at least five days now. It all started when odd fires were occuring in the already hot desert of Outworld.

The soldier reads the files of the most recent squad that retreated from the desert yesterday in the evening.

Suddenly, the door opens. Jacqui looks at it with surprise.

"Hey Jacqui. You found anything?" It's Cassandra, coming with a freshly made cup of coffee in one hand, checking on her friend.

Jacqui looks back at the screen. "No. Still nothing moved since yesterday." She sighted, slightly disappointed.

Commander Cage looks at a chair and rolls it towards her.

"Dawn. Nothing?." She asks as she takes a seat and approaches Jacqui's desk.

"That's odd. I thought the thermal signatures would have moved right now."

"They're isn't though". Jacqui said back.

"It hasn't been moving for hours now. The source of the fire probably went dormant on our radars."

Cassie takes a sip of coffee, looks down upon her chair and sights. "And we sent all these troops for four days. Jeez... if i knew that it would be a pain in the ass to identify the source of that fire, i would've speared the skin of these men." Some soldiers came back with first degree burns, others were heavily bruised. A few are still recovering at the nursery.

Jacqui glimpses worrysomely at her friend, then remembers something. "You know? I've got something interesting that caught my eye earlier."

Cage looks back at Briggs dragging the mouse around the screen and clicks on a picture icon in the report.

"Look." She says as she points at the blurry photo.

Cassie examines it closely. "Huh... all i see is some pink fire." She keep looking it in silence. "Hang on! What the hell is that?" Cassie points an odd shape that seems humanoid.

"I know." Jacqui responds "I also believe it's this thing that was firing up at our troops and injure them. It seem to be resisting our forces."

Cassie thinks longly about the matter.

"What is it commander?" Jacqui asked.

"We need to send people who are more skilled for this." Cassie responds. "If we continue sending our normal troops, they're will be more casualities. We literally can't risk it anymore."

Jacqui looks away briefly from Cassie, then questions "Well, who do you think we should call to go back there?"

"Come on... you know who." Cassie smirks.

"Oh." Jacqui realises who she is talking about.

Cassie storms out of the room, on her way to give a call or two for tommorow's preparations. Meanwhile, Jacqui is inserting names into the investigation's team file.

There were only two names added. But they knew how important they were for the case, and knew they won't fail it...

John J. Rambo & Kurtis Stryker.

@theelderhazelnut @darialovesstuff @geeky-trash01 @scentedcandleibex @mitsuko-saito @jaydraw209 @krysta-cross @huepazu @berryliciousjam @nameispai @asweetlovesong @loverofthewindgod @roselyn-writing @licoricelump @malewifefirestar @mungayatotale-blog @takiisieju-moved @hi-thisiszira @subsmoke-love @bloody-arty-myths