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almostfoxglove · 3 months

Text

AIN'T THAT A BITE

written for @studioghibelli's writing challenge

Fandom: The Last of Us (TV), The Last of Us (Video Game)

Rating: Mature

Central Characters: Reader, Young!Joel, Sarah

Central Relationship: Joel / Reader

Word Count: 6k

Pre-Outbreak & No-Outbreak AU

SUMMARY

It's the night of Jackson High's Sock Hop, the 8th grade dance which took you weeks to organize, and everything seems determined to go wrong. Thankfully, one student's dad—the handsome and brooding Joel Miller—comes to your rescue. READ ON AO3, if that's your jam!

Four weeks ago, volunteering to organize the eighth-grade dance committee had seemed like an excellent idea—a chance to make a solid first impression on the PTA and the chilly cast of your new colleagues while giving yourself a little excitement, some frivolous living beyond the usual boredom of your repetitive existence. Lesson plan, grade, report card, lesson plan, grade, report card—you love your job, but it gets old.

But now, on the night of Jackson High’s September Sock Hop, you know you’ve made a terrible mistake. Someone brought cookies with walnuts that had to be ceremoniously tossed, one of the speakers in the gym is crackling, three of your parent chaperones have bailed, and oh, yes—a sink in the girls’ bathroom has decided to spring a sudden leak and flood the place a mere fifteen minutes before the kids are due to show up.

Drenched and sweating, you make a hopeless attempt to mop the flood of water with the gym’s supply of linens, turning the tiled floor into a swamp of soggy towels that squelch beneath your shoes. It’s all a futile effort—the burst pipe beneath the far left sink is spewing water faster than the towels can sponge—but here you are, trying anyway, looking like you’ve just taken a long walk in a fucking monsoon.

A row of square mirrors sits framed above each ceramic sink, taunting you with your reflection. Your red poodle skirt has gone burgundy with water and your once pristine white button-up clings to your chest, translucent, peek-a-booing your bra.

Real professional.

“Miss Green?” comes a voice on the other side of the door, followed by a weary knock. “Believe students are arriving now.”

With a sigh, you take a final glare at your reflection as if looking again might fix things, then call out, “Alright,” with as much patience as you have left to muster. Outside the calculus teacher is waiting in his pin-stripe vest with a sorry grimace. He agrees to lock up that bathroom from use and with a tired thank you you click down the hall towards the school doors, stomach raw with nerves.

As promised the first, eager attendees stand outside Jackson High’s wide glass doors, giddy to be let in for the night’s event. Kids are in everything from pastel poodle skirts to leather jackets and waitress get-ups—you even spot the Broderick twins in matching, vintage baseball uniforms striped with strawberry red. Behind them stand their parents, some smiling and others bleary-eyed, who you force yourself to smile cheerfully for as you let them in, a clipboard held over your chest to hide your bra.

You don’t miss how the parents stare at you—soaking wet and clearly befuddled—and you mutter your apologies as they shuffle into the school. All but the main hall has been blocked off, leaving the children a one-way path to the gymnasium for the dance. You check your watch quickly; maybe you can sneak in a quick smoke around the corner before the rest of the eighth graders arrive.

Outside the air is perfect: your one reprieve. Blue-dark clouds haunt the star-pocked sky and the balmy remains of the dying summer sweep through the parking lot as a breeze. You breathe easily for the first time in an hour, lift your face, and close your eyes, stitching yourself together in the calm.

When you’re steady again, you decide against the smoke break. Too many parents pulling up in shiny cars with the kids. It’s enough to feel them in your skirt pocket—an escape hatch when you need them, a totem when you don’t. A nasty habit, your mother always says. But you only allow yourself two cigarettes a year. Not so bad, as habits go.

You’re about to turn back in and see if you can’t call a plumber at this hour when a pickup groans into the lot—steely-blue, bold text stickered on the side. It pulls not into a parking spot but the drop-off zone, right in front of you.

Miller Construction Ltd.

Maybe miracles are real after all.

As the passenger window rolls down and the cab light blinks on inside, you rush over, desperation rocketing your heart around in your chest. A girl in a lilac poodle skirt blinks up at you from the passenger seat, eyes wide with surprise. She’s got her hair pulled back in two big, curly pigtails ribboned with bows, and looks adorable—exactly what you’d pictured when you took on the behemoth task of putting this whole stupid evening together—complete with a matching neck scarf and shiny black shoes. You give her what you hope is a friendly grin and start rambling.

“I am so sorry,” you say, before you bother looking at the driver. “But we’ve got a plumbing emergency and if there is any chance you might have a few minutes to take a look at it, you’d be a—”

Your sentence drops off as you at last hunch down to make eye contact with the man in the driver’s seat through the open window. Dark-eyed and frowning, all curls and scruffy beard and thick flannel shirt: your type to a T. In your pause his daughter stifles a chuckle, and you shake your head to restart your brain. Focus. Sinks to fix, floods to mop.

With a tight grin, you tuck a stray hair behind your ear. “Would be a lifesaver if you could, I don’t know, take a look. Even if it’s just to tell me we’re fucked and need an emergency plumber. We had a bunch of parent chaperones bail last minute, so we’re a little short on hands.”

Now the kid snorts, giggling. Shit—your teacher-voice has slipped.

You close your eyes, horrified. Seems there’ll be no end to your embarrassment today.

Sighing, you step back to open the passenger door so the girl can hop out. “If you promise not to tell any grown-ups I swore in front of you,” you tell her. “I’ll give you all As when you get to my class in a couple years.”

“Deal,” the girl says, grinning at you. “But I’d probably get an A anyway.”

Despite yourself, you smile—this time for real.

“You ain’t her teacher?” comes the driver’s voice. Deep and coarse, all Texan. When you glance back, he’s still frowning, eyes narrowed at you.

“Tenth grade English and History,” you say.

“And you’re workin’ the eighth-grade dance,” he says.

You shrug. “I’m new. Thought it’d go over well if I came in eager and offered to plan the thing.”

He hmphs, expressionless, his skin golden under the overhead light, eyes glinting with amber. You’re almost glad the kid’s not in your class; parent-teacher interviews would be torture. Sitting across your desk from this man, forced to pretend you don’t want him to ruin you.

Beside you on the sidewalk, the girl shoots her dad a daggered look and crosses her arms. “He’s free,” she says. “He can do it.”

“Sarah,” the man hisses.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she snarks. “Do you suddenly have a social calendar I don’t know about?”

After a brief stare-down which Sarah seems to win, he huffs and mutters a cranky one second before pulling out of the drop-off zone to park.

“I like your skirt,” Sarah says when he’s gone. Streetlamps have you both in a cloak of shadow, and the pale light radiating from the school’s front doors doesn’t quite reach this spot, but her inquisitive expression is unmissable in the dark.

“It’s a little ruined,” you say sheepishly. “But I like yours.”

Pleased, she gives you a little twirl, purple fabric blooming from her waist. “Thanks,” she says, when she stills again. “My dad sewed on the poodle.”

Across the lot you hear the harsh slam of a car door cracking shut and spot her glowering father stalk across the asphalt, silhouetted by a distant streetlight, his shoulders unfairly broad. You nod toward the front doors. You’d never admit it to anyone, but the thought of this surly figure lovingly stitching a felt poodle to his daughter’s costume makes you a little weak in the knees.

“You can go on in,” you tell Sarah, and she waves at her dad before running inside.

Then he’s walking up the pavement, growing closer. Of course he smells good—like patchouli and something earthy and skin. Of course he’s rolled up his sleeves, baring his tanned forearms, one tensed by the toolbox clutched in his hand. You manage a stiff grin as he approaches, no teeth, to which you receive only a curt nod in reply.

In silence, you walk him through the glassy doors, heels clicking as swing music crackles from the gymnasium some distance away. You catch, in the corner of your eye, the shape of his head turning as he watches Sarah running full-speed down the main hall to catch up with a group of girls that must be her friends. She launches herself at them, and even at this distance you hear the shrill of their joy, the sugar-high laughter, and smile to yourself.

“She’s sweet,” you say, guiding him into a branching hallway, away from the main event.

He grunts, then mumbles, “Pain in my ass is what she is.”

You chuckle. When you dare to look back at him again, you see his begrudging tone doesn’t match his expression. You swear his eyes flit quickly away as if you’ve caught him already looking at you. Hard to be sure, you think, in this dimmer light. But his cheeks almost look pink.

After a beat too long, you realize why.

You’ve dropped your clipboard to your side without thinking, unveiling your water-logged shirt, which clings sheerly to your skin. Grimacing, you cover yourself again. “Not much of a plumber,” you say quietly.

Once you’ve grabbed the keys back from your colleague, you drag this poor, probably busy dad to the girls’ bathroom and unlock the door, glancing down at his boots before you open it. “You don’t love those shoes, do you?” you ask.

His eyebrows lift, jaw tensing. “Sure they’ll be fine, darlin’,” he grunts.

You push into the bathroom before your brain has the chance to recover from darlin’. You’ve been in Texas all of six months and you still aren’t used to the pet names. Everyone here seems to call each other everything. Even the old woman who works the till at the grocer by your apartment calls you honey or angel, and you wouldn’t exactly describe her as the friendly type. Darlin’ isn’t even irregular. Bus drivers call you that.

Difference here is that it’s this man saying it—which is to say, someone gorgeous with a voice that could melt you if you let yourself listen close enough. Your heart purrs, thrilled.

The bathroom is a calamity. Though the drains in the center of the tiled floor have meant no water has flooded into the hallway, there’s still an inch or so blanketing the tiles wall to wall. Under one of the mirrors, the guilty sink continues to spew: a graceful font of silver gushing from a fault in the pipe.

Over your shoulder you hear Sarah’s dad clear his throat before you step out of his way.

Fearless, he trudges through the mess unfazed, dodging the tides of boggy towels like this is the most natural habitat to find himself in. His boots and the ankles of his jeans blacken with water, and though you’re in some stupid, clacky pair of heels to go with your outfit, you follow him into the shallows anyway, riddled with shame. At the slosh of your footsteps behind him, Sarah’s dad turns to give you a cutting stare you cannot read and you freeze, caught.

“What?” you say.

“No reason you gotta be in here for this,” he says. “Might be wise to dry off a little, don’t you think?”

Does the corner of his mouth twitch upward, or do you imagine it—you can’t decide. “Right,” you manage. “Sorry. Thank you, seriously.”

You pivot to leave him to it, splashing weakly as you go, your skirt bunched in one hand to keep it safe from the splatter. In the doorway you can’t help but look back, and see him kneeling in the mess, tool in hand, his toolbox open and shelved on a not-broken sink. He spots you looking and this time, you don’t imagine it. He lets slip half a grin.

“Got it from here,” he says.

You nod but don’t move and you don’t know why.

Well, that’s not true. You do.

Sarah’s dad cocks one dark eyebrow at you, bemused, maybe, by your hesitation. “You really have chaperones bail?” he asks, voice low.

“Three,” you say.

He grunts, then turns his attention back to the spitting sink, and you step out into the dim hallway without goodbye.

You slip into the bathrooms in the teacher’s lounge to stand under the hand dryer for a bit, letting your shirt dry out. When it’s no longer see-through, you stand in front of the long mirrors looking at yourself, fussing. You retouch your lipstick—red, like your skirt, like your nails—though the hair’s a lost cause. The best you can do is run a hand through the end bits and say an empty prayer.

Then, finally, you emerge, and take off with a sidelong glance thrown at the closed door of the flooded girls’ bathroom as you pass.

You volunteered four weeks ago, and you spent three of those weeks working on the decorations in tiny pockets of time between the school day, your commute home, and all the hours you spend every evening and weekend on lesson plans and marking. Maybe it’s only September, but the whole staff has been working since August and it’s no slower now than it will be in the spring. Still, you gave up sleep. Gave up seeing friends. Gave up proper, home-cooked meals and reverted to the habits of your college days, eating boxed mac and cheese straight from the pot over the stove.

Now, it all pays off.

The gymnasium’s a goddamn ritz. Ribbons of twinkle lights droop from the rafters, sparkling above the scatter of a disco ball. You thrifted huge, vintage neon signs—with your own money, thanks so much public school district—that cast pools of candy-colored light on the shiny floor. Gingham tablecloths sheath the drink stands. You had to bribe the theater department to let you repurpose an old bartop set from some long-gone play. Painted that sucker with black and white checkers, even scrounged up some round, pleather bar stools to match. Instead of a bar-bar, it’s a snack bar—pastel cupcakes and dairy-free milkshakes and huge metal bowls of nut-free, everything-free snack mixes displayed behind the bar. Kids all get three snack tickets ‘cause the PTA had strong feelings about sugar intake, but hey. All the bar stools are full; the kids seem to love it.

Despite the last-minute disasters, you’re tempted to cry with relief. Slept three hours last night, painting the last of the stars that hang overhead, but they look like magic now. Glossy and twinkling while Elvis plays. It looks pretty close to perfect. And the kids, by some miracle, are dancing. The gym teacher comes out to show them some simple swing steps, and as clumsy as they all are, it’s fucking adorable.

“Hope you’re willing to do this for all the dances,” one teacher mutters to you as you pass.

You flit from table to table, refilling and wiping down and checking in with chaperones—twenty minutes zing by in the blink of an eye. When the gymnasium door creaks quietly open, the dark shape of Sarah’s dad appears in the doorway. You set down your punch glass with a grin and scurry over.

But he’s looking up when you make it to him, starstruck by twinkle lights, his face pink and blue with the neon light. Christ, he’s easy on the eyes. Facing this way, with none of the gym or kids or decorations in view, you can almost imagine that you’re standing in a bar looking up at some handsome stranger you might have a shot in hell at taking home.

“Everything okay?” you ask, when he still hasn’t looked down, his hand flat and broad on the door to prop it open.

He blinks, wakes from his daze, and the look of wonder that just now softened him fades, his face stiff again. You step into the hall and the door slides shut behind you. The honeyed voices of The Isley Brothers muffle.

In the direct light of the hallway you can see he’s soaked—jeans wet to the tops of his thighs, his whole flannel clinging to his chest. One curl lays flat and damp against his forehead. He would’ve had to kneel right in the spray to work on the sink. Might as well have set a hose on the poor man.

Jesus, you must have ruined this guy’s whole fucking night.

“Oh my god,” you say, eyes wide with horror. “I am so sorry—”

He lifts one hand as if to say stop and your mouth snaps shut. “Just water,” he grumbles. “Sink’s fine now. Joint was old and brittle. Had a part in the truck that’ll hold you over till Monday, but you’ll need someone to do a proper repair next week.”

You run a hand over your face, so grateful to him that all logical thought and processing flutters right out of your head. “Jesus, I could kiss you—thank you so much, seriously,” you start to say, hand still over your eyes as you stutter to a halt, realizing your mistake.

Heat boils in your face as you split your fingers to peek at him through your hand, but he doesn’t look horrified. He just rolls his eyes, a little playfully you think, and shakes his head like you’re being ridiculous. “Not necessary,” he says.

You let your hand drop. “I’d insist that I’m normally the epitome of professionalism, but there’s no way in hell it’d be convincing,” you say, grinning sheepishly.

Shrugging, he remains silent. Maybe you should take your friends up on their offers to set you up—you clearly need to get laid. Just him shrugging is doing things to you. Nevermind the tiny flick of his tongue that graces his bottom lip as he looks off down a roped-off hall.

“Still short on chaperones?” he asks, not looking at you.

“Yeah,” you admit. “But we’ll make due.”

Another shrug. “Could help out—‘m already here.”

Your eyes round. Though part of you wants to refuse, insist he’s done more than enough already, that he ought to get home and into dry clothes and forget about this mess, you don’t. It’s definitely selfish, almost greedy, but you don’t want him to go. Even if you only get to look at him across the gymnasium without saying another word to each other the whole rest of the night, you’d like him to stay.

A grin squirms across your face before you can stop it; you have to look away to smother it as you tap one foot against the floor.

“Okay,” you say coolly, returning your gaze to him once you’ve gathered yourself. “But you can’t go in there looking like this.”

The theater department’s costume room gives you the creeps. Has since the first day you stepped foot in this place back in August when you got the grand tour—anywhere with this many mannequins is cursed, frankly—and it turns out it’s even worse in the dark. When you swing open the door, pale light from the hall slants against the black floor, and you reach blindly across the wall for the switch as your heart patters with dread.

Then finally: light. Weak, stuttering, yellow, but light all the same. You breathe.

Regardless, stepping into the costume room feels like being squeezed. Cramped alleyways have been formed by clothing racks stuffed well past their capacity—gowns of past Shakespeare productions hang beside the gothic frocks of Morticia and Wednesday Addams—forcing you to inch between racks, grazed by a parade of empty sleeves.

Sarah’s dad, bless him, hardly fits at all, and has to shuffle through the aisles sideways to follow you on what must seem to him like a blind mission without any destination.

But you’ve been in this place. You know exactly what you’re looking for. Turning a corner, the next section is too narrow for the man to fit through, so you point out a chair across the room by the mirror and tell him to wait.

“And you can ditch the flannel,” you call out as he goes. “Can hang it over the heaters to dry.”

Though you hear the low thunder of him mumbling, you miss the words.

When you emerge from the dusty racks, unnerved by the looming, half-dressed mannequins standing guard over their lot, Sarah’s dad is sitting where you asked him to wait, stripped out of his flannel, left in a slightly damp white t-shirt, his shoulder blades faintly visible in the stuttering light. If him shrugging was doing something to you earlier—this is likely to kill you.

You clear your throat as you approach and he quickly straightens his posture. When you’re close enough, you hold out the hangers to him, even give them a little shake when he cuts his eyes at you, doubtful. You roll your own in reply. “Come on,” you insist. “Sarah will love it.”

That gets him to stand, albeit with a scowl, but it still makes you grin. With a grumpy hmph, he takes the hangers from you and you duck between racks again to give him some privacy. Sure, maybe you’d like a peek as he strips off those wet jeans, but even you know better than that. So you stand in the disordered aisle of costumes and listen instead.

For a long time you hear nothing, like he’s hesitating. You did have to guess the sizes, but you worked plenty of retail jobs in your early twenties. Aren’t so bad at guessing. Every breath in this room, now that you’re silent, feels agonizingly loud. Not just yours, but his. The swelling of his chest with air.

Then finally—clink. A belt buckle slacking open. Your eyes slam shut even though you’re looking in the opposite direction, at some 60s-style dress from what must’ve been an old Hairspray production with construction paper polka dots duct-taped on. He lets out a soft grunt. There’s a shuffle of fabric. Then a wet slop as his jeans hit the floor.

Your whole body throbs with heady, certain want.

Yes, you definitely need to get laid. This is humiliating.

When you hear the belt buckle’s metal clink again, signaling he’s got the new, dry jeans on, you feel it’s safe to speak again. “I never asked you your name,” you say, still staring at the costumes. You hear him set the next hanger on the chair and even though putting it on requires no further undressing, you’ll stay exactly where you are until he’s done. Don’t trust yourself not to leer.

More shuffling, this time of sturdier fabric. “Joel,” he gruffs, and after a pause adds bitterly, “I look ridiculous.”

Chuckling, you squeeze out of the aisles and find him standing before the full-length mirror wedged in the corner of the room, into which Joel is sneering at his reflection.

Also, he’s dead fucking wrong.

The jeans are a little tight, but frankly they’re better this way. His thighs taut beneath denim, his calves hugged. He’s a little bow-legged. So Texan. From the waist down he might as well be a cowboy. From the waist up, however, he looks like he’s just strutted off the set of Grease, putting even 1978’s Travolta to shame. His white t-shirt sits crisply beneath the black leather jacket, which he snaps to adjust the lapels. Fits him perfectly, like it was made for those shoulders, and he’s raked back his wet hair, giving it the look of being gelled, one stray curl rebelling over his forehead.

He catches your eye in the mirror, mouth twitching again, but it doesn’t become a grin or a frown. You raise an eyebrow at him. “Don’t know what you’re looking at,” you say. “But you do not look ridiculous from where I’m standing.”

His nose scrunches as he breaks his eyes from yours in the reflection, ducking his head to rub the back of his neck. Seriously, you’d crawl all over this guy if he weren’t the dad of one of your students. Future students—whatever. But you’ll save yourself the humiliation, gotta get this show on the road, and so you jut your chin in the direction of the door. “Let’s go. Got kids to supervise, hands to keep from wandering.”

Joel balks, hands flat to fists in an instant, ready to kill.

“Oh please,” you tease, and wave one hand dismissively as you make your way to the door. “Like you weren’t thirteen once.”

You listen as he stomps after you, muttering a cranky, “Gonna have to be at all these fuckin’ things,” that makes your head fall back with a sudden laugh.

The moment you return to the gymnasium, you’re needed by everyone—so and so needs to know where the extra ice is; what’s-her-face is concerned about the sugar content of the fruit punch; and some parent wants to talk about their kids’ English grade like this is the appropriate venue for such a conversation. You immediately lose Joel to the call of teacher-slash-host duties, and he slips past you, hugging the wall as he strides over to man the drink table which, in your absence, has stood without supervision. The man might as well be a saint—you manage to catch his eye and mouth a silent thank you across the gym, to which he half-grins from a pool of neon pink glow, setting you ablaze.

Most of the night you spend running around like a madwoman, responsible for switching in new music as each CD ends, refilling snack bowls, and pulling one student off another when you catch them kissing in the hall. Thankfully neither of them is Sarah, but you do have to give the kids a talking-to.

Late in the night, you’re chatting to some of your colleagues against the gymnasium wall and watching the kids shimmy to Rock Around the Clock, poodle skirts billowing like spinning tops, when you spot Sarah rush across the floor toward Joel—apparently only spotting him now. You’re too far to hear them, too far to read their lips, but Sarah’s runaway smile is obvious at any distance. She hops in place, delighted, and forces Joel to do a little spin for her.

Though smaller, you catch his smile too. The dimple in his cheek as he fails to restrain his contentment at her approval. How he shakes his head, embarrassed to be fawned over. Adorable.

When the Spanish teacher makes his rounds with the school’s camera, snapping flash photos of the kids’ eager smiles and costumes as they pose with their milkshakes or friends, you tap him on the shoulder and point in Joel and Sarah’s direction. “Get one of them, would you?” you whisper, and he nods, shuffling off.

Joel spots him coming a mile off, camera in hand, and immediately frowns. He makes eye contact with you across the gymnasium like he knew exactly where you were standing, and shakes his head as if to say no way. You smile, wicked, and mouth yes. One of his hands balls to a fist.

But when Sarah spots the photographer a second later, she wraps an arm around Joel’s waist to pose and his resistance crumbles. When you were thirteen, you’d have been humiliated to be seen posing with your parents in front of your classmates, but Sarah doesn’t seem to mind at all. Her adoration is obvious, abundant. Anyone can see how much she loves him—you can see, too, Joel’s love for her. Once the Spanish teacher raises the camera to shoot, he throws his arm around Sarah’s shoulders, looking down at her with a soft, grump-less grin. The white flash snaps in the dark gymnasium, photo taken, then Sarah returns to her friends.

You cut your eyes away when he starts to turn his head in your direction, returning your gaze to your colleague. Don’t need him catching you staring. Your dignity has suffered plenty tonight.

You cave about twenty minutes before parents are due to pick up the kids at the end of the night—not due to stress, just exhaustion—and sneak out into the black night to smoke. Tucked just out of view of the parking lot and doors, you sink onto a wooden bench and light up, letting the tension unwind from your body. Gray smoke tendrils as you exhale a half-formed smoke ring. Never could get those right, but it’s fun to try while crickets croak unseen from the shadows, braiding their eerie melody. With every drag, you relax into a kind of trance, at one with the night.

Eyes shut, you don’t hear him coming. It isn’t until he clears his throat that your eyes snap open and you realize someone’s caught you smoking.

“Shit,” you mutter, adjusting your posture to sit up straight.

Joel stands over the bench, caliginous in the dark. His hair has dried, curls loosening from each other. You hear a low chuckle that must come from him, but you can’t quite make out his face until he lowers himself onto the bench beside you—then you see he’s smirking.

You tap ash onto the sidewalk beside your feet, away from him, unable to look him in the eye. “Not worth trying to defend myself, is it?” you joke sheepishly.

He adjusts his position, thighs spread just a touch, and crosses his arms over his chest. The leather jacket is practically criminal, it fits him so well.

“That’s alright, darlin’,” he replies. “Don’t need to.”

You bring the cigarette to your lips to smother your impulse to smile, the filter stained crimson by your lipstick. You risk a glance at him. “You want one?”

Shaking his head, the corner of Joel’s mouth tugs. “Quit when Sarah came around,” he admits.

“Very responsible,” you say, and though you really shouldn’t flirt, it comes out a little snarky, like you’re teasing him. “Quit after college, but I get to indulge twice a year.”

Joel quirks an eyebrow at you, though doesn’t question the obvious flaw in your logic. “Miss it?” he asks.

You shrug and exhale a thin stream of smoke from the corner of your mouth. “Always think I do,” you say. “But it’s so much grosser than I remember. Can’t believe I used to smoke these everyday.”

He lets out a deep hmph, not quite a laugh.

“I’m serious,” you say, grinning now. “These things are vile. They reek and make kissing gross. I might as well burn the clothes I’m wearing after this. Don’t even like it anymore—it’s just nostalgia, I think.”

Shifting again, Joel’s legs spread a little wider, though from the other side of the bench you’re still nowhere near touching. As you click one lacquered nail against your cigarette, ash rains softly to the ground.

“Never minded,” he mumbles. He’s looking out at the dim street, not you. Streetlamps dot the street with coins of gold between cedar elms that have already begun to drain their color. The breeze is next to perfect, whisking your smoke politely away from Joel.

“Minded what?”

“Kissin’ someone who smokes,” he says matter-of-factly. His tone isn’t flirtatious—nor is his expression, his face still profiled to you—but goosebumps scale your arms all the same.

“Hm,” you hum in reply.

Best not to dwell in this breath of quiet. The long pause in which you feel yourself want. You shift on the bench, cross your legs, and prepare to change the subject—but Joel beats you to it.

“Looks good in there,” his voice rumbles, and in your periphery, he turns to look at you for just a moment, handsome and leather-clad. Practically put on this earth to punish you. You hold your breath until he turns his head away again. “Impressive.”

Your heart squeezes like he’s crushed it in his fist, but you tilt your head back and forth nonchalantly. “Guess it doesn’t look so bad,” you admit. To your surprise, this drags a quiet chuckle from Joel, and your eyes drop quickly to his hand where it hangs from his still-crossed arms—a brief and discreet glance, you think—and see no ring. It shouldn’t make a difference, but you're glad.

“Gotta be more subtle than that, darlin’,” Joel mumbles, despite the fact that he’s not looking at you.

You feel your face rash with heat. “Fucking eagle eyes,” you mutter, pinching the last of the cigarette to your lips for a final drag. You hold the smoke in your lungs as Joel laughs again, this time with more warmth.

He shakes his head. “Could’a just asked,” he says.

“You’re not even looking at me,” you say, smiling despite your embarrassment. You bend over to crush your cigarette against the bottom of your shoe, then pocket the spent filter, disappearing the evidence. “How the hell did you even catch that.” It isn’t so much a question as it is a whine.

Joel shrugs. “Don’t have to be looking at you to be watchin’,” he says.

You can’t decide if you’re glad or disappointed that the moment you both look at each other, the whole of his face finally visible in the murk of nightfall—warm eyes, summer skin, that stubbly beard you’d like to nuzzle into—a caw of noise erupts inside the school and shatters the moment. The sound of students emerging from the gymnasium into the hall draws Joel’s attention first, and you allow yourself a long look at the back of his head to study his curls, just beginning to thread with gray, before you let the noise draw your attention, too.

“That’d be our cue,” you say, and you both rise from the bench.

As Joel starts shrugging off the leather jacket, you put a hand on his bicep to stop him and shake your head. So solid. Warm. He freezes under your touch, black leather slumped part-way down his arms, until you withdraw your hand.

“Nu-uh,” you say. “You’re keeping that.”

He frowns. “Not sure I like the idea of stealin’ from Sarah’s school,” he says.

You roll your eyes, wave one hand dismissively. “You saw where it came from, they’ll never miss it. There were at least half a dozen more in there.”

When Joel narrows his eyes at you, you narrow yours back stubbornly. Finally, he sighs and snaps the jacket back over his shoulders—a gesture that turns you to honey—and shoves one hand into the back pocket of his jeans. The also-stolen jeans. You’re gonna make him take those too. Not like anything that fits him is gonna fit any of the students here. You don’t even know why the theater department has costumes this size.

“Least take this and sign me up for,” he gestures vaguely with one hand as he pulls something from his pocket and holds it out to you. “Whatever. More chaperonin’.”

Pinched between his fingers is a crisp business card bearing the same logo stickered to his truck. Miller Construction Ltd—Joel Miller, Co-Owner. His phone number is printed squarely at the bottom. You take it, running your thumb across the printed text.

“Very generous,” you tease, and Joel looks down at you and grins, one dimple creasing his cheek. When you smile in return, his dark eyes slip down your face, landing on your lips.

As you make your way back up the path to the school, he walks close enough that his arm brushes against yours just once. Your body purrs with want, made worse when he smirks and leans toward you, lowering his voice. “Trust me,” he rumbles quietly. “Offer’s entirely selfish.”

Then, entirely composed, Joel yanks the front door open for you and winks.

Moodboard created by @studioghibelli!

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queerly-autistic · 7 months

Text

I've seen some concern about the fact that the BBC has double-billed the last four episodes of Our Flag Means Death and bumped it up later in the schedule - concerns that this means it's not doing well for the BBC - and so I'd just like to allay some of those fears, if possible? To start with, it's important to recognise that the BBC does this all the time. I was in EastEnders fandom for many years, and nonsense schedule changes were a regular annoyance. When I shared OFMD's schedule change with my little group of friends from that fandom, everyone rolled their eyes and went 'oh yeah, typical BBC shenanigans'. As an example: the BBC was really pushing EastEnders last year, they'd been hard-marketing towards the big iconic Christmas episode since February, and then, around comes Christmas, and the BBC inexplicably sticks it on at 10pm (when it's usually broadcast at 7.30pm).

So this isn't unusual. This is extremely common. There's often very little rhyme or reason to the BBC live broadcast scheduling. To try and accurately read between the lines of this is like trying to analyse the written output of a cat walking across a keyboard.

But another big thing to remember is that Our Flag Means Death is a streaming show. The BBC dropped all of the episodes in one go because they know that it's the streaming audience where the show is successful. It's the same with What We Do In The Shadows - we know that the show does well for them, because they keep renewing their contract to show it, but because it does well specifically with a streaming audience the live episode broadcasts are perpetually bumped to a weird time (sometimes one in the morning!!).

The BBC is under contract to do a live broadcast of these shows, but that's not where the audience is. And that's why the episodes get shuffled around or bumped to a late timeslot or double-billed together. Them not necessarily getting spectacular overnight live broadcast ratings is not a big barrier to potential pick-up - streaming numbers is the important metric. And, just yesterday, the BBC dropped a card for the show over the credits of House of Games, a very popular (and mainstream!) afternoon gameshow, asking people to go stream it on iPlayer. if you haven't seen it, I managed to screen-record and post it on Twitter here (subtitles included): https://x.com/QueerlyAutistic/status/1762913455051325888?s=20. This is a really, really good ad to get - a very mainstream slot that potentially brings attention to the show from new audience demographics. The fact that they put an ad-read for the show in this particular slot is more indicative to me of the fact that the show is doing well for the BBC than any predictable shenanigans around live broadcast times. They advertised the 'niche' queer pirate comedy to a very mainstream middle-of-the-day audience! That's not nothing! And the fact that they were specifically advertising it as being on iPlayer - not the live broadcast - indicates to me that that's where it's doing well: that's where they know their audience is, and they don't care about the live broadcast, because the streams are where it's at. The live broadcast is probably just a contractual obligation at this point.

Our Flag Means Death is still regularly listed under 'trending' on the iPlayer website, and the Parrot Analytics for the show in the UK are excellent. And that's what we want. That's what we need to convince streamers. Remember: the YouGov survey about the show specifically asked questions about it in the context of streaming services. Overnight figures are lovely to have, too (so keep tuning in!) but this is a show made to stream. It was all dropped on iPlayer first for a reason; they're specifically pushing it on iPlayer for a reason. And, at the end of the day, it's streamers we're currently trying to convince to pick up the show, not broadcast television networks.

So, don't read too much into it. We're still doing good, UK crew!

#ofmd #our flag means death #our flag bbc #save ofmd #save our flag means death #renew ofmd #renew our flag means death #adopt our crew #erin waffles

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oonajaeadira · 1 year

Text

Detected

Fandom: Merge Mansion / Tim Rockford

Pairing: Tim Rockford x f!reader

Reader: Adult female. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n.

Rating: T. Fluff.

Warnings: Mention of serial killer that targets women.

Summary: Nobody sees you the way Tim does.

A/N: I dunno, I just had a hankering to write for Tim and looked down my list of tropes thinking I might be able to scratch the itch and accomplish a fic for my Year of Tropes at the same time. Something hit me in the right places for a little piece of sweetness, so here we go, with SECRET IDENTITY.

This is really fluffy. Like stupid fluffy. Moreso than my regular stuff. Just let me have my little trope. This one didn't go through a lot of draft revisions, it was just a fun little thot that needed out.

“Why don’t you take the afternoon off, Sunshine? Get some rest. You’ve been here ten days straight.”

Tim’s the only detective in the unit who talks to you directly, certainly the only one that doesn’t just call you ‘hon’ or ‘sweetheart’ or ‘girl.’ You’re pretty sure he’s probably the only one in the department that knows your name, but he rarely uses it.

That isn’t unusual. You’ve always been the quiet one, the mouse, the wallflower. It’s your superpower, being able to go unnoticed. You’ve never been reprimanded, never bad-talked, never held up as a bad example.

But then, neither do you often find yourself praised or called in for opinion. Never once have you been asked to join anyone for happy hour or coffee.

So many times you’ve been standing in a meeting room and not once been addressed. So many times you’ve overheard something that perhaps you shouldn’t have just because you were below anyone’s notice.

It bothered you so much more when you were younger. Not the case anymore.

You’ve learned to love your quiet life, shuffling around the records room, carefully tagging and bagging, filling out the document cards, compiling files, taking meticulous photos of items for court cases and detective scrutiny. Nobody comes looking for you, so you get to take your time, a kind of professional meditation. At least once a week you notice a detail on a piece of evidence that you might make known to one of the team. Usually this gets you a thanks, but more often times a brush off that ends in the detective later gaining the credit for the discovery.

Tim is different. Observant. He actually listens when you bring him something of interest and asks for your opinion or your second eye. He still does that thing where he puts the pictures of people and evidence you provide up on the wall and connects it with string. He will stare at that board for hours, getting up every now and then to pace, then turning the chair around to straddle it backwards so he can lean over the back and look again, hoping to find the one connection that the string can’t touch.

And yet, even when he’s concentrating this hard, he’s fully aware of his surroundings.

So much so that he even notices you’ve slipped into the room to stand behind him--you, who goes mostly unnoticed when standing in full view of most people.

When you don’t answer him, he turns his chin back over his shoulder, his sharp profile coming into relief against the organized mess of the illuminated case wall.

He’s so very handsome. And it’s a shame he doesn’t seem to know. Or care.

Snapping free of your musings, you finally answer. “Yeah, it’s been a busy week. I’ve still got the Murray case to document. There’s a lot of entries.”

Turning fully to look at you now, he takes his time formulating a new response. “That case is closed. There’s no hurry. You work too hard. It’s Saturday.”

You shrug and smile. “I like my job. And you're one to talk.” Nodding to the evidence wall, you step more fully into the room. “Any movement on this? Sure I can’t help you? Anything I can pull from archives?”

This is a tough one. There’s a lot of speculation as to the mangled bodies in the pictures. A new one found last night, a week old. The probability is high that there’s one club downtown that’s producing them all and a definite suspect, but the record’s clean. There’s no grounds for warrants.

He gives you one more thoughtful glance before turning back to his work. “Not unless you have anything that correlates this last one to Club 88 or to Mike Cross. But no. Thanks. Get out of here, live your life, be free. I’m gonna go grab an interview out at the pier but then I’ll be here all night.”

He’s hungry. You can see that look in his eyes, he’s close, he just needs that one connecting piece of evidence and he’ll empty the coffee pots in the breakroom tonight looking for one.

“You’re hungry, Detective Rockford. At least let me call in some takeout for you before I go? Lau’s number 22 with chicken, right?”

He simply nods. “Thanks, Sunshine.”

“You got it, Detective.”

—-

Your pager goes off two hours later.

Special case. Could use your help. Pier 13.

You’ve been waiting for the call.

Upon arriving home from the department, you’d closed your blinds and turned off the lights, pulled on the dark pants and long fitted coat, tucked your hair up under the black hood and pulled it low. Gloves. Boots. Plain and unassuming in this fall weather.

You’re able to walk out the back door of your apartment building and take a path through the alley as the sun is setting without anyone giving you a second glance.

The only piece of your disguise you truly need is the vocal changer mask, but that stays tucked in your coat pocket until you arrive at the pier.

Once you can smell the water, you take a moment to hide your face, your voice, and your identity under the dark, nondescript mask–a blank slate of void where a face should be–before stepping out of the alleys and making your way to pier 13 where Tim Rockford stands looking out over the harbor at the lights starting to come on over the bridge.

“What can I do for you, Detective?” The voice that grates out of your mask is low, warped, almost sultry.

Tim, for all his awareness, misses your entrance. This is the strength of your powers. Snapping out of his reverie, he spins to find you only feet away, your long coat fluttering in the breeze.

And an awed smile spreads across his face.

Tim is the only one on the force that smiles when you show up as the Shadow. The rest of the cops tend to startle, recoil, not understanding how you simply seem to appear out of the air, unfold from the shadows, melt into the darkness itself.

“Thanks for coming, Shadow,” he says, his trenchcoat joining in the fluttering conversation of overwear. Pulling a few pictures out of his pocket, he holds them out and you take them.

A new mangled body. A hurried photo of a man with light skin and dark hair and blue eyes. A blown-up scan of license plate. You recognize them from his evidence board but say nothing, letting him make the request.

He explains the supposed serial killings, the patterns, the suspect, the license plate that isn’t his but was caught on surveillance near a couple of the dumping grounds.

“I’m pretty sure it’s him,” he concludes, poking at the photo of Mike Cross, “but I’m lacking something damming.”

“You mean you're 100% sure it's him. You're a thorough man; wouldn't just jump to conclusions. And you want me to go hunting.”

“I’d rather you just go take a listen. I don’t really want you to put yourself in danger.”

It’s a good thing he can’t see you smile. Trust Tim Rockford to be the one detective that worries about the safety of the city’s resident secret, pacifist vigilante.

“I’m touched by your concern, Detective. But I haven’t been caught yet. Even if danger catches a glimpse of me, I’m very good at hiding.”

“I know. But it’s only a matter of time before somebody really sees you.” He smiles a little sadly. “I wish you wouldn’t hide from me. But I know why you do.”

It should be surprising–it’s not like him to cross this line–but instead, his statement warms you. Tim has always been grateful for the Shadow’s help, respectful, believed in your ability. But he’s also come to treat the Shadow as a friend. There’s something that tugs at your heart, knowing this dedicated, handsome, intelligent man truly trusts you but also respects and admires your limitations.

If only he knew how much you wish you could tell him, show him, let him know how much you admire him too.

He only blinks when you seem to melt into thin air, becoming one with the lengthening shadows.

_____

Club 88. The back alley. A black car belonging to Mike Cross. Nobody here to notice you but the rats as you duck around the back and inspect the bumper, find a magnetized plate cover hidden underneath that matches the photo in your pocket.

There’s the connection. Now for something that threads the needle.

_____

Maskless and hatless, you simply take up a serving tray and follow Mike Cross and a young pretty thing through the swinging “employees only” door and down a back corridor of the dark, thumping night club. Making yourself busy with empty bottles on the tray, you watch him pay a man and step into a private room with the girl. The man goes to find something else to do, nearly knocking your shoulder as he passes, as if you’re simply a tower of inventory boxes or a rogue tray of dirty dishes…or just some random hostess he doesn’t have time for.

Easy.

You’re able to enter the dimmed room under the guise of bringing in bottle service. The couple doesn’t even notice you while they make out on the couch in the VIP lounge. You simply dip your hand into the pocket of the jacket he’s left on a chair and lift his wallet.

Might as well take the gun that’s there too. Just in case.

Time to get moving while he’s distracted.

_____

Using the address on the ID in his wallet, you make your way across town.

It’s easy enough to slip past the doorman. Unfortunately though, Mike’s apartment building has security cameras on every floor. This calls for a little distraction. Easy enough. All you need is the pad of paper and pen you carry in your pocket.

Knock on door 312. Explain you’re responding to a noise complaint in apartment 313. There is no apartment 313? That’s odd. Maybe it was apartment 311?

When the occupants of 311 and 312 speculate over the possibilities–which apartment was the loud one? Who called in the complaint? They bet it was 211 down there, what a bitch….

It’s just enough time for you to use your jiggler key to work open the lock for Mike’s apartment and slip inside. Not only have they seemed to forgotten about you, but if anyone ever plays back the security tapes, their eyes will just slide right over you and concentrate on the gossiping neighbors in the hall.

Mike’s apartment is clean and sparse. By the looks of the set up of the living room, he likes to sit in the center of the couch, put his feet up on the coffee table while he drinks his beer (water ring stains on the veneer top) and watches tv. Not much on the walls. Books on the bookshelf, but no knicknacks.

You don’t know what you’re looking for yet, but you’ll know it when you find it.

There are a few places you start. The drawers in the kitchen. The freezer. The bedside table. Shelves in the closet. Medicine cabinet. Somewhere you'd stash something unassuming but precious but that you don't want anyone else to come across and ask questions.

But it’s as you pass back out through the bedroom, and lightly push the door open a bit wider that you hear a clinking and tapping on the other side.

There, hanging off a hook on the back of the bedroom door, is a silver chain.

With five women’s rings on it.

Yahtzee.

You snap a few photos with your phone before moving through the apartment again, looking for anything else, just in case your first instincts were wrong.

But your instincts are very rarely wrong.

Criminals love trophies. Little keepsakes of their thrills. Look for a collection of something that seems out of place and you’ve probably found your clue.

You’re just about to call it good and head out when you hear a key turning in the lock.

No need to panic, you’ve got this.

As Mike enters and kicks off his shoes before making his way to the bathroom, all you have to do is stand silently beside the far side of the bookshelf.

He doesn’t even turn on the light. Even easier.

Once the bathroom door closes, you’re able to silently slip out.

“It’s only a matter of time before somebody really sees you.”

Doubtful, Tim. But I wish I could tell you how sweet your concern is.

____

True to form, Tim’s is one of the only lights burning at the office when you slide through the department well after midnight.

It’s not often that you show up here as the Shadow, but you make sure it’s only at night when most of the lights are out. Even if you’re seen engaging with one of them, the detectives all know to look the other way and not to ask questions when someone on the force has requested your services.

They see nothing, and say less.

When you get to the back offices, you have to stop for a moment in the shadows and take in the scene.

Tim’s here in the dim room, standing at a desk full of evidence bags. The one with the knife in it lays on a lightbox, the glow of which reaches up to caress his face, dragging at his cheeks and the bags under his eyes, his brow and bottom lip succumbing to the pull of contemplation.

You have to wonder if the detective has any joys outside of his work, if he reads or paints, if he’s into woodworking or collecting memorabilia. You often find yourself wishing you had the means to learn more about him and find yourself watching him from across the office as if you could read it in the stretch of his aching neck, in the hunch of his gun-holstered shoulders.

But you’ve grown used to your quiet life. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if someone else actually paid you enough attention to let you into their life–

“What have you got for me?” he asks, and you flinch. He hadn’t even turned around.

“Plenty," you rasp through the voice modulator. "How did you know I was here?”

“I always notice you,” he says. “And I could ask you the same thing.”

“Where else would you be?”

“I have a home.”

“Do you ever go there?”

He laughs and finally turns. “Yeah, not lately.”

Emerging from the darkness, you hand him a few photos you ran off from your phone at home, knowing he'd appreciate the analog. There's the plate cover. The ID. The chain of rings. You also hand over the gun you pinched. “Just in case you need to run a match on any casings.”

It’s here that Tim’s look grows sour. “You took this off him?” Then he tilts his head, scanning the photos. “This one…taken inside his house?”

“Yes. Most likely a collection of his trophies–”

“You went into his house??”

His intensity stops you. Something’s….wrong. “It was necessary. I wasn’t seen.”

“I told you, nothing dangerous. What if he’d come home?”

“He did.” This gains an unprecedented look of alarm from the otherwise calm and calculated man. “I told you, Detective, I wasn’t seen. I never am. That’s what I do.”

“That’s not the point, Sunshine. He murders women and dumps their bodies. This is different from the drug smugglers and counterfeit runners you usually surveil…”

He stops, registering what he just said only a couple of seconds after you do, a calm sigh of regret washing over him before being replaced by the bloom of concern.

You could choose to ignore it.

But it's useless. Tim would never let an assumption take hold as truth unless he had absolute proof. He’s the best. The best of the best and doesn’t even know it. So long you’ve wished to tell him, to make him see what you see in him, but it would mean opening yourself, becoming visible, being seen.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. This is your superpower, this anonymity, this blurring at the edges, this void of connection…

And you should back away when he approaches.

But you don't want to.

Nor do you dodge as he slowly reaches up to remove your mask. Your hood. Fits his palm to your jaw and runs the length of a cheekbone with his thumb. “It doesn’t work on everyone, Sunshine. Not if they really want to see you.”

As his warm, weary brown eyes find yours, two thick, generous tears spill down your cheeks, two surprising hot spikes of your heart right there on your face. It’s like being thrust underwater without the chance to take a breath, the panic of suddenly being the center of someone’s attention, and you gasp for air only to release a sob, slapping both hands to your face in embarrassment.

Tim doesn’t pry your hands away, he merely runs a knuckle over one as if to say, hey, you’re still hiding.

And you realize that you are.

When you finally don’t have to be.

When you lower your guard, he’s waiting there patiently to welcome you back.

“You okay?” he asks, handing you a napkin for your tears.

Nodding, you take it and use it quietly before swallowing, trying to steady a voice out in the open. “What now?”

He looks pointedly over at his desk and gestures for you to head over there. “I thought maybe we’d start with dinner. I figured you'd come by.”

There are two Chinese takeout boxes on the blotter, both bearing a code in black ink.

22C. His standard.

Lucky13. Your favorite. With the sauces on the side, just like you like it.

Speechless, you look at him in awe. You do see me.

And he tucks his hands in his pockets, softening back at you with a look that can only be described as Yeah.

_____

In the following days you’re able to hunt down photos of the killer’s victims that clearly display their hands and the rings that you found in his apartment.

Undercover targets are planted in the club to entice Mike Cross, and sure enough, he takes one to the back room, pays for privacy, extra for a later cleanup, but gets caught with his fingers around her throat as a whole squad breaks down the door to take him into custody.

There’s no doubt he will never see the outside of a prison again.

Club 88 is shut down and a long investigation into its ownership and practices begin. The Shadow is called in by the investigating team for your fly-on-the-wall services and at first you’re afraid that perhaps, now that you’ve been seen, that the shine of your powers has dimmed or–to be more precise–a newfound confidence makes you even brighter than before.

On the contrary, you’ve never felt more powerful or more in control of your abilities.

Perhaps because the one person who can detect your sunshine also pours pride into your shadow.

Or maybe it’s the regular diet of Lucky Number 13 and a new morning view these days. Who’s to say?

____

MASTERLIST

CHARACTER MASTERLIST

#merge mansion fanfiction #tim rockford #tim rockford x reader #tim rockford x f!reader #year of tropes

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marvelmymarvel · 1 year

Text

Sleepy Babies

Kakashi Hatake x NarutoMotherFigure!Reader

Synopsis: Ever since Obito died, Kakashi has been staying the night. It was for comfort, but as the years went on it blossomed into something more.

Naruto Masterlist: Here

A/n: this is pure hurt/comfort and NOT smut, especially in the first two parts, as they are children, and it's supposed to be sweet and innocent. Some kissing is mentioned in the parts where they are 18 or older. The timeline of this story starts when they are 11 (when Obito dies). And apparently, that timeline is messy in the Fandom, so I'm just going to act like Kakashi, and the reader is three years younger than Obito.

Ps: This fic ties in with most of my other Kakashi x NarutoMotherFigure fics (minus "Crawling Back to Me").

- 11 Years Old -

A knock sounded on your window, causing you to jump off your bed in excitement. Running to the window, you smiled brightly at the boy that slowly was becoming your bestest friend in the whole world. He slid up the window and started to step into the room, but you shushed him as he landed a little too hard. "You have to be quiet. I don't want my parents to know I'm sneaking friends in here."

He nodded at that before moving stealthily towards your bed.

You giggled as he sat cross-legged on the mattress, eyes wide as he took in your room. Usually, when he would sneak in, it was way past the time you had to have your lights off, but his thoughts had been growing darker earlier in the night. Therefore his arrival was slowly becoming earlier and earlier. You didn't mind, though.

Unbeknownst to you, your parents, being trained jounin, had already known of his presence and stood outside your room.

"Do you want to play a game?"

Your muffled words came through the door, causing your mother to smile softly. Your father stood along the wall behind her, huffing and puffing at the idea of letting such a thing happen.

"I don't like that she's having a boy staying the night-"

"It's nothing romantic... They both lost their friends, and they need comfort we can't give them," your mother argued back. She wished she could give you this comfort but years of being a Shinobi made her numb to death. Your father grew quiet, finally realizing that he, too, couldn't bring you comfort, couldn't calm your nightmares like a father should.

"Fine... But I still don't like it"

Your mother smiled softly at your father before leaning slightly to get a peek inside the room. You were pulling out a deck of cards, face bright as you started to shuffle them.

"Have you ever played "Go Fish?" Genma taught me how to play a couple of days ago!"

Kakashi shook his head at that. You talked a lot, but he had grown to like that about you. It allowed his brain to shut off. For the voices to stop. All he had to do was focus on you, and he would feel calm. He really enjoyed this time with you.

"Okay so here's how you play!"

Time passed, and your father had gone to bed, but your mother stayed put. After about an hour of playing, you had grown sleepy; it was usually at this time that you both fell asleep. "I'm sleepy, Kashi. Do you want to stay the night again?"

Kakashi nodded at that before standing up so you could make the bed.

You climbed in first, arms stretching over your head as you yawned. He climbed in after you but stayed far enough away so you didn't touch. But you still both lay in a way that had you facing each other. "I hope you have sweet dreams, Kakashi" you whispered as your eyelids began to droop. Kakashi nodded at this before wishing you the same.

Your mother sighed sadly as you two fell asleep. You two should have been having fun in your childhood, not seeking comfort from one another over the death of a comrade... Over a friend. "Are they asleep?"

Your mother nodded sadly at that, tears streaming down her cheeks as she began to regret their decision to put you in the academy so early on. "We shouldn't have done this-" your father's hand touching your mother's shoulder stopped her statement, for they both knew that this was meant to happen.

"If she weren't in the academy, she wouldn't be the rock Kakashi needs... And if he weren't in the academy, he wouldn't be the rock she needs... The world is cruel, and this line of work is cruel... But they have each other."

Your mother nodded at that before standing up from her spot on the ground. She still regretted putting you in the academy so early on.

But she was thankful you had Kakashi.

It continued that way, just the two of you. He'd come over around six, sometimes you'd sneak in some dinner, and by nine you were fast asleep. As the years went on, you grew closer and closer. You felt happy for once, and he felt the same way.

But it didn't last long.

- 14 Years Old -

A cry sounded out into the night, causing you to sigh in exasperation. You were so tired. Mentally, physically, and emotionally. You don't know why you said yes to the third Hokage, but the minute you saw the baby's little face, you knew you couldn't say no.

So now here you were. Depressed and taking care of a newborn all alone.

Well, not all alone.

"I got this one" Kakashi mumbled as he sat up in the bed. You simply nodded at that, not having the energy or will power to answer him. You looked over at the clock and sighed shakily. 1 AM... You laid down at 9 PM and have yet to fall asleep. You felt sick to your stomach, the death of your parents was really doing a number on you.

Your eyes drifted to the wall before you once again zoned out. It felt like ages had passed before Kakashi returned.

He entered the room again before quietly sighing at you curled up on the bed, eyes staring intently at the wall. He understood your pain, probably better than anyone else. You jumped lightly as he dragged his hand through your tangled and ratty hair, "How much sleep did you get?"

It was only then that you realized Naruto was no longer crying. It usually didn't take Kakashi long to soothe him... Looking back at the clock you realized that only a couple of minutes had passed. You didn't get much sleep, the fact that time felt like it was passing so slowly showed that. "I didn't fall asleep" you muttered as you cuddled into the pillow. Kakashi let out another sigh.

You hadn't been eating. Hadn't been sleeping. You rarely took a shower or got dressed for the day. He was worried about you.

He's been through this before, and he almost didn't make it out alive.

Kakashi motioned for you to scoot over and you did so reluctantly. He climbed in and moved closer to you. He lifted his hand but hesitated, if he did this, it could ruin everything. Deciding that your well being was more important than his worries, he wrapped his arm around you before dragging you into his embrace. Your mouth dropped in shock against his neck. For years the two of you had been inching closer and closer, but you didn't expect this to happen.

You weren't complaining though.

A sense of security overtook every one of your senses. All you felt now was love as if it was your mom herself hugging you. Tears fell down your cheeks as you cried into him, you didn't know if they were tears of joy or pain, but they felt good. "I got you. It's okay" Kakashi whispered as he cradled you close to him.

You both didn't know it, but this moment would be the one moment that changed everything.

- 18 Years Old -

The bed shifted, and you sighed as an arm wrapped around you. "One of these days, I'm going to stab you with a kunai accidentally," you grumbled. Kakashi's chuckle was soft, trying not to wake the four-year-old in the room over. You turned in his arms to be face to face with him, delighted to see his entire face. Something few saw. "How was the mission?" you whispered as your fingers played with the collar of his dark shirt. You chanced a glance at the area by the window.

The ANBU gear leaned against the wall, the mask looking back at you almost mockingly. It was rare for him not to stop at his house before coming by; the gear in your room told you a million things. He was tired. He was done.

And another piece of him was ripped away.

"Bad mission?"

He nodded before inching closer to you, encouraging you to hold him. That's all he wanted; he didn't want to discuss it. Didn't want to tell you the number of people that died—the number he killed.

Why did he kill that many anyway?

His chest tightened at the number flashing in his mind - 15. He killed 15 people. He brutally murdered them. Men. Women.

Children.

All in the name of the village. Kakashi felt his stomach churn as he looked away from you; you would think he was a monster. You had a right to believe such things. He was a monster—a cold-blooded monster who hid behind a mask.

"Hey," your soft voice pulled him out from that dark corner of his mind. His eyes flicked back up to your sweet ones. He expected to see disgust written all over your face; he always did.

And you always surprised him. For all you had on your face was pure love. He could kill a million people, and you'd still care for him. You'd still love him.

"It's just a mask. It's not who you are"

He heard you, he did, but he couldn't process the words. He couldn't process the pure love given to him. How could you even love a monster like him?

"Kashi. Come back to me"

Tears flew down his cheeks as he moved into your open arms. He fought back his sobs by snuggling his face into your neck, but you knew better than anyone the pain he was going through. "You're a good person Kakashi. And I will love you no matter what..." he nodded at your words, teeth biting his lip as he continued to push down his emotions. He curled into you and pulled himself deeper into your embrace. All he wanted to do was be held by you. The emotional and mental safety you gave him was something he couldn't live without.

You slowed your breathing, hoping it would encourage him to do the same. Kakashi sighed dreamily as your fingers ran sweetly through his hair, playing with it like you knew he liked it. Your fingers managed to snag pieces that had dried blood. Usually you wouldn't have allowed such a thing and would have made him take a shower first before climbing into bed.

But this was okay, he needed you, and that trumped everything.

His breathing evened out, causing you to sigh in relief as he finally fell asleep into what you hoped was a dreamless state. You turned your gaze once more to the ANBU gear. At first, you loved him being in the ANBU as it made you feel safe.

But not anymore, not at the cost of possibly losing him.

Your grip around him tightened as you started to drift off; he would most likely not be here in the morning when you woke up. Yet you had a sliver of hope that he'd be by your side when your eyes opened.

Or be making breakfast at least.

- 21 Years Old -

You shot up in bed, chest rising and falling quickly as you gasped for air. It felt like someone was choking you and holding you underwater at the same time. "Y/n?" Kakashi mumbled as he started to wake up beside you. Tears were already falling down your cheeks when he was fully awake. He tried to touch you, to bring you back to earth as you fought off the nightmare surrounding you. You were dreaming of the incident again.

Of him dying in your arms.

"Hey, what's going on" Kakashi's whisper only made it harder to breathe, and you once again shook your head and shot up from the bed. You needed air, needed water, needed space. You needed something you just didn't know what. Kakashi was close behind you as you swung your bedroom door open and fled to the front of the apartment. He opened his mouth to ask again what you were dreaming about, but he knew. It was the same one you'd been having for months now. It would start innocently, you and Obito playing and having fun. Then it morphed into something darker. The ending was always the same. Obito always ended up in your arms.

Dying.

But this time, it seemed like the ending was different. You took a sharp inhale as the cold night air shot through you, and finally, finally you began to come out of the haze the dream put you under. Kakashi leaned against the door frame, hesitant to touch you in case it would cause another breakdown. Slowly, you took in your surroundings. Everything was fine. It was indeed all a dream.

A strong arm wrapped around your shivering form. "Why don't we head inside?" Kakashi whispered as his lips pressed sweetly to your bare neck. You nodded at that, realizing it wasn't the village you lost.

It was him.

You turned in his arms. And your e/c eyes darkened as you gripped him tightly, "It was me this time wasn't it?"

You averted your gaze, embarrassed by your reaction to something as silly as a nightmare. He pulled you in closer before pressing a soft kiss to your nose. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm here with you. I will always be here with you" Your lip trembled at his words. Sure, he was no longer in the ANBU, but he was still going on missions. He had to. He was too important to the village.

But damn the village.

"Sometimes I hate this village for using you like a pawn" Your snarl caught him off guard. He looked down at where your fingers roughly pulled at the top of his shirt. Kakashi opened his mouth to interject and to make you take back the words, but you brushed past him before he had the chance.

- 26 Years Old -

As Naruto grew, the less and less you and Kakashi stayed the night together. But the incident with Naruto and Mizuki changed that.

You tossed and turned in your bed, legs moving as if trying to run somewhere. Kakashi brought his hand across the bed to cup your cheek as he scooted in closer to you. "It's okay. I won't let anyone hurt you two" His whisper somehow made it into your dream because you stopped thrashing around. Soft whimpers still fell from your lips before your eyes finally opened. Kakashi's Sharingan shone in the dark room, the redness of it calming every fiber in your being.

"I'm so scared of losing him Kakashi."

He nodded at that. Naruto was a target, they tried their best to keep him a secret, but the news was spreading fast. "No one's going to hurt either of you when I'm around."

You didn't say anything. Didn't need to say anything. He moved closer to press a kiss to your lips. It was sweet and soft, calm and reassuring.

It was everything you loved about him.

You gave him a sad smile as his thumb caressed your cheek lovingly, "I missed this. I missed you being beside me," you whispered. It was dumb to feel embarrassed. You had been doing this since you were 11, but it had grown into something more.

He meant more to you now. In ways, you could have never planned.

When you befriended that 11-year-old boy, you did so because you both shared a tragedy and could rely on one another for comfort. But as time went on, that friendship blossomed. Your eagerness to see him morphed into something akin to love.No no. It was love.

This was love.

"I love you," you breathed out shakily. You've said it a million times before to him, but this was different. This was real. You didn't just love him as a best friend. You loved everything about him. His lips curled up into a knowing smile before he once more pressed his lips against yours. Kakashi moved your body so that he was hovering over you, deepening the kiss that had once started out as sweet.

Both of you fought for dominance as the kiss got heavier. Before finally, he pulled away. Your eyes sparkled in the moonlight, and the way you were looking at him made him feel like the luckiest man in the world. "Guess what?" He started, causing you to lean in more in the hopes he'd say the words you wanted to hear the most.

"I love you more"

#kakashi imagines #kakashi imagine #kakashi x reader #kakashi fanfiction #naruto imagine #naruto imagines #naruto x reader #naruto #kakashi hatake x reader #kakashi hatake imagine #kakashi hatake imagines

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the-monkeies-girl · 2 months

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Thanks to my slutty friends on Discord ( thank you all i love you ), I'm trying something new. i am not leaving the planet of the apes fandom i promise JUST EXPERIMENTING.

❗❗Below content has HEAVY SPOILERS FOR DEADPOOL AND WOLVERINE. PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK IF THAT IS A GODDAMN PROBLEM I'M NOT RESPONSIBLE IF YOU SPOIL IT FOR YOURSELF. THANKS. ❗❗ If you guys like this, i can write more if not then we're leaving this as is lmao.

Channing Tatum!Gambit x Female!Reader.

The exponential way that he flicked cards between fingers was amusing, the lightened shade of purple captivating your senses that it was difficult to quite pick out where the Ace of Hearts was going to land despite it holding itself stagnantly with sheer force of motion. There was a smile on your face as a card, not the one that had been playfully teasing its existence literally weaving its way through Remy’s right hand, finally slid in front of you on the hardened and not polished wooden bench used to play. Not exclusively, you stared at the Mutant in front of you with a smug smirk as you plucked the card that slid along the coarse surface with ease due to his power sauntering it to you.

The table was also used to eat when you were together and feeling chummy, the slower days in the sad existence of cast-outs when the others were not there and you and Remy were forced to be lookouts together. Never fun, the accent was difficult to decipher and you would blow through an entire bottle of Jack Daniel’s just trying to decode the phrases he used. Mixing in and out of Cajun French never helped, but it always left you feeling oddly comforted when the brunette referred to you as ‘Bele’. The table used for explosives here and there when a card had found itself too close to your hand when you reached for the playing deck to draw.

Playfully, you knew that he’d never do anything to intentionally hurt you after being in the Void for over a year now, but there was never certainty in the existence beyond time and away from actual realities. Counter-intuitive, it was used to knives embellishing themselves and carving our bits and pieces of chipped splinters from your first encounter with the Mutant known as Gambit when you were found in the woods after being casted from your own safety net of a Universe.

“You know, my mom told me never to play cards with a thieving backstabber.” There was a cut in your voice that drenched Remy’s ear with minor flirtations, sharper than even a knife or his favored card to use to slice and dice. Narrow green irises that appeared darker, almost red in the firelight that crackled nearby on your expression, casted shadows of disillusion playing against them as he placed himself a card down.

“M’ Momma…” His head tilted to the side, the quaff of hair moving adjacent with the muscles in his neck, exposed for once to cater to your feasted eyes, skin that was not often left for the taking. The cowl of his head piece, the mirroring face plates around his ears and sweeping against his forehead were forgotten in place of comfort in the dead of night. Remy was handsome, and he knew it. At least, he appeared at times when you two were alone. It begged the question of what his true ability was. Charisma? Maybe, if you could understand him more frequently.

Allure? Most definitely otherwise you wouldn’t be there playing cards with him to begin with and you’d have joined Elektra on night patrol as you so often did to get away and get fresh air. “Well, if I knew tha’ woman…” The left dealing hand rose itself up as he made a nonsensical gesture with it, swirling through the air before falling back onto the deck of cards and with one strategically placed shuffle, his hardened but teasing expression was alit with lavender cased with more pinkish hues to tease the smile that had ridden against his cheeks, “She ha’ told me… Neva… To play them cars’… With Bonne a rienne.”

“You know I can’t understand you when you talk like that, it’s all a slurred blur. You sure you need to be drinking that?” It was evident that what he had said was meant as a insulting intrgue. Pointing towards the freshly cracked bottle of Whisky next to the stocky build of Remy with your nose, you smiled as he trailed and mimicked your stare with a chortle.

“Tha’ makes m’ sound more clear. Bele,” He leaned inwards, the deck of cards that always sought his favor falling straight onto the table, face down. “Y’should know tha’.”

“Hm,” It was your turn to lean in, the holster that held your knives shifting with your weight as you drifted upwards, “Still can’t understand a word, you Cajun Bastard.”

#deadpool #deadpool and wolverine #fanfiction #fanfic #em writes #deadpool 3 #wade wilson #wolverine #logan

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brynhildr13 · 5 months

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About the GazettE.

TL;DR I had recent experiences that reinforce my belief that Reita REALLY is still with me and with all of us. Even if they can be easily explained as coincidental. Please if you want, share something that has been helpful to heal. Take care. Gazerock is not dead. Gazerock never dies.

Full post under cut.

I consider myself spiritual, but not really religious. But let me take you through my last few days, if you so care. Its important to me and I want to share this in hopes that the others in this Fandom know that I share the pain and want to spread my own love and solace and peaceful mourning.

I took an hour drive to my twin sister's to have our birthday hangout on Wednesday. I had the GazettE on plus other vkei groups on shuffle, but I kept skipping most of the other groups trying to find the GazettE songs. A few came on and even with the heavy and rock and headbanging songs I was just sobbing. To the point where I told myself, "you have to keep your eyes open. You need to watch the road." But the TEARS were plenty and heavy. I also started to judge myself a little. Wondering why I was SO emotional.

Then I had one of those intuitive downloads where like, you know it didn't come from your own brain and then after you hear it your mind expands. I don't know who's voice it was. I couldn't repeat it if I tried. But it said, quote "but feeling is healing."

And I lost it all over. Because I knew it was right and I needed to sit with the feelings. So I let myself cry as much as I could.

And then, To Dazzling Darkness came on.

My favorite song. Well, one of them. The whole Beautiful Deformity album is iconic, but that song specifically is one of my favorites BECAUSE of Reita's bass part. (Plus my twin sister, with her music degree, thinks the song is well written and can back up why and that means a lot to me that my sister who isn't the most into heavy metal or knows the group near as well as I do likes THEIR songs BECAUSE they're good).

And after that I laughed a little and wiped my eyes and said, "ok. I get it. It has to mean you're here right now. Thank you."

Maybe it came from Reita. I'd like to think so.

Had tons of fun with my sister. Come home. Worked Thursday. That night i shed a tear or two as i watched a few music videos in bed. And i just said outloud and in my head. "As long as he's okay. I'd like a sign that he's okay, please." And i fell asleep. Fast forward to today.

Today's our birthday. I planned to grab my free trenta from Starbies cuz $0 is the only amount I'll pay there unless I'm desperate. When I got to the screen in the drive thru, i meant to order 2 cake pops for my treat. Cuz fuck it. Im desperate. I'm a sad bitch and I want cake. It's my birthday. But I have anxiety and panicked and ended up asking for them at the drive thru window instead.

And they gave me the pops and I waited to hand them my card and after a few seconds she came back up and said, "oh don't worry about them today. No charge." Once I was sure they didn't want my money I thanked them profusely.

And I drove away. And I smiled from inside. Cuz I'd like to think that that was my sign he's okay. Maybe he pulled some strings to make me smile and to say, with that grin on his face, "don't worry about me. I'm here. I'll be here. Have a cake pop you sad bitch."

I meant it when I said before his spirit is here.. there's truly a feeling of the hole in my heart filling a little. I feel like emotionally and spiritually he's here in my peripheral stronger than ever before. Especially because I had become more of a backseat fan that would slink out of the woodwork when they had new content. My "obsession" (hyperfixation) died down a lot after saw them in 2016 and 2019, and I shared my gift of art and they shared their gift of music. But that love and adoration never ever left regardless of how often I talked about it and showed it. Or didn't. Cuz NO ONE else in my every day immediate circle knows anything about them.

Cuz here's the thing, and this is just me, too. I don't have any better way or words to string together to say this other than this way. I KNOW that they don't "know me". Like , I'm not missing the physical presence like they are. I didn't sit with him every day talking about all the most common shared passionate things we're doing, etc. Etc. So I can argue for myself that because of that the burden is likely to not be as heavy as any of theirs. But music and the arts connects hearts and minds beyond the physical. And for me listening to the music keeps him close, and I almost think that I can Feel him when I hear it. I can imagine him putting a hand on my shoulder (with his endearingly weird thumbs, they always made me giggle.)

Idk I think Im getting a little off track. Long story short, he was physically here with me when he was at the shows. When he wasn't he was still there, off across the world, doing his thing. and while I knew that like in an unconscious way, i never really sat with that to be like "what are they doing right this moment" or that i could energetically feel them all at any time, you know? And I remember getting upset with myself cuz my first coherent thought after I metaphorically picked my stomach off the ground after it fell out of my butt was "well, it HAS to be ok cuz the world's still gonna turn." And that felt horrible to say. And that's not fair to me or to anyone who needs time to process this. I mean, YA, I GUESS, it WILL. But once again. This WILL still hurt for a while. And that's okay. That doesn't mean i have to "get over" it right away either. Cuz once again. The physical loss isn't felt (yet) or as heavy as the bandmen will feel. But I will feel. And my feelings are my truth. And i can argue the band itself will have worse grieving till the sun dies, and that still doesn't mean my feelings are literally less than for my own personal experience. And thats okay.

But getting back to the point of this, thinking and believing Reita's making his way to us, I now just have this new vibration around me that I know is spiritual in nature and it is energizing the room, especially when I play their music. He's here.

I keep thinking about The Haunting of Hill House and Nell's words in the last episode. And I don't want that to ever fade. I'm determined to keep him strong in my heart and my mind. Just like ruki said he and the guys would.

Anyways, I hope yall are feeling as okay as you can. I hope this may touch someone and bring more healing. Free to share things in the comments if you want, too.

#the gazette #reita #visual kei #he's still here and he always will be.#gazerock is not dead #gazerock never dies

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sleepingdeath-light · 1 year

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my darling ; 18+

requested by ; anonymous (03/02/22)

word count ; 924

content ; praise kink, body worship, suggestive material (foreplay but no sex)

fandom ; black butler

pairing ; joker x female reader

read also on ; ao3

minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

‘I must be the luckiest lass in Britain,’ you cooed, allowing your fingertips to trace the length of his features, ‘to have such a beautiful husband.’

‘Well, love,’ he began, never one to just accept a compliment, ‘I’d have to disagree. Ya aren’t lucky to be stuck with something like me — a circus clown with blood on ‘is hands — but I’m surely the luckiest man alive to have landed a beauty like you…’

That made you frown slightly and you sat up straight, hips straddling his own as you spoke to refute him. Your touch gentle as ever as you caressed and adored every feature you mentioned, not stopping until he was red in the face and at a loss for words.

‘Now, my dear, ya may not be able to see it from your angle. But let’s try and see it from mine, yeah?’ You tilted your head playfully and he rolled his eyes in return, nonetheless letting you do what you wanted.

‘Your hair is the most stunning shade of red,’ you breathed, carding your fingers gently through his fringe and delicately working out each knot that you caught against, ‘the same colour that defines the start of the prettiest summer mornings and that ends the most exciting summer evenings. The sun could learn a thing or two about red from you, I reckon.’

Then you moved lower, pressing a brief kiss to each of his eyelids. ‘Purple is my favourite colour ‘cos of you, y’know? Those twin beauts in there are the talk of every town we visit and I’ve had to fight of a good few ladies who were talking a bit too fondly about ‘em. Called ‘em amethysts — but I can positively say that those gemstones can’t possibly shine anywhere near as bright as your eyes can, so they can’t even hope to hold a candle to you.’

Next you traced the smattering of freckles that were dotted about his nose and cheeks, grinning widely at the way his skin warmed under your feather light touch. ‘And don’t even get me started on these pretty little things; dotted on the white of your cheeks like stars in the sky. Could map out a new set of constellations on ‘em, finding the patterns and that, since that’s what you do with natural beauty. ‘Least that’s what rich folk say.’

Noticing him about to protest, you quickly ducked down and pressed a brief yet passionate kiss against his lips. Pulling back a hair’s breadth to whisper your next piece of praise.

‘And these pretty, soft lips of yours are the best. They turn into the most handsome smiles and fit just perfect on your face — and don’t get me started on how good they feel on my body, cos then we’d be here for a week.’

After that you paused for just a moment before you reached up and interlocked your fingers with those of his prosthetic. Not missing the way his eyes teared up when he looked over and saw it, as you continued, shuffling down just so as you brought your lips to the underside of his jaw.

‘You’re a beautiful, amazing man, even if you can’t see it yet. I don’t care if it takes you one year or a hundred to realise how wonderful you are, I’ll stick with you through it all. But tonight, please just let me show you how much I love you,’

And the shaky smile and nod he gave was all the response you needed to go ahead and start worshipping him.

To work your way down his body with soft kisses and softer touches until he, even if just for a moment, saw himself through your eyes. You started with his throat, licking and kissing your way down over his Adam’s apple and pressing a particularly wet kiss to his pulse point and smiling against his pale skin when you felt it jump beneath your lips. Then you moved down to his chest, paying equal attention to both sides as you alternated between the two — using your hand to play and roll and lightly pinch at one nipple whilst taking the other one into your mouth to lick and suck and gently bite before switching over to ensure that both got the same amount of attention. Finally was his soft stomach, which you delighted in kissing along and feeling it jump and tense with every breath and caught giggle whenever you’d brush up against a particularly ticklish spot.

Though when you reached the start of his happy trail, you paused. Feeling his hard cock straining against your chest as you rested between his legs, and oh so tempted to swallow him whole, but still taking that moment to stop and look up at him: taking in his hooded and dilated eyes, admiring the mess that his hair had become, drawing your gaze to his perfectly parted lips as he whimpered and gasped and panted under your attentions. Then you reached up and took his hands, one by one, to your lips and pressed a passionate kiss against each palm — first his flesh hand and then his prosthetic — before smiling up at him and speaking.

‘I love you so much,’

And whilst he didn’t need to say it (you could tell from his smile and his watery eyes), your husband still reached out and pulled you up into a kiss as he repeated his response over and over again against your grinning lips.

‘I love you, I love you, I love you,’

#sleepingdeath #female reader #female reader smut #smut #black butler smut #kuroshitsuji smut #black butler joker smut #black butler joker x reader #black butler x reader #kuroshitsuji x reader

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whatstruthgottodowithit · 1 year

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Here You Come Again [Part Eleven]

Fandom: Elvis Presley, RPF, American Actor

Pairing: Elvis Presley x Original Female Character

Characters: Elvis Presley, Addison Goodwin, Original Female Characters, Priscilla Presley, Colonel Tom Parker, Vernon Presley, Gladys Presley, Minnie Mae Presley, Marci Cunningham, Jerry Schilling, Red West, Sonny West, Marty Lacker, Joe Esposito, Charlie Hodge, Lamar Fike, Alan Fortas, George Klein, Memphis Mafia

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 8003

Summary: When Addison Goodwin was seventeen years old her life was turned inside out after a chance encounter with her past. Now, fifteen years later her life is the best it’s ever been. She has a home, a good job and a daughter she loves more than anything in the world but will all that remain when an old familiar face rolls into town.

Tags: Angst, Fluff, Graceland, Las Vegas, The International Hotel, Elvis In Vegas, 1970s, 1970s Elvis, Friends To Lovers, Rekindled Romance, Parenting, Time Line is Sketchy, Guilt, Betrayal, Teenage Pregnancy, Hawaii, Hidden Pregnancy, Jealousy, Sex, Absence of Parent, Single Motherhood, Trauma, Oral Sex, Tension

Notes: Jess should parent trap these idiots x

LINK TO ALL PARTS // LINK TO AO3 // LINK TO PINTEREST

‘Wait was that your last card?’ Jerry said looking at the pile of cards on the table in front of him and Jess’ now empty hands.

‘Yep,’ she beamed, ‘I win again.’

‘Aw hell,’ Charlie chuckled, throwing his dud deck on the pile.

‘You sure you ain’t cheating Vegas?’ Jerry said, narrowing his eyes as she beamed at him and shook her head.

‘Well if she is she does it better than her Daddy,’ Charlie smirked.

‘A whole lot less braggin’ too,’ Marty chuckled, throwing his hand down too.

‘It’s just pure talent,’ Jess smiled, gathering the pile of discarded cards so she could shuffle them.

‘Even so, don’t think I’m trustin’ ya to deal the next hand,’ Jerry said as his large hand came over hers so could pull the pile in his direction at which she rolled her eyes but allowed him to take over anyway.

Addison smiled to herself as she watched them, happy that Jess was enjoying herself especially since she wasn’t feeling quite as jovial. She was sitting across from the large table they were at, curled up on her seat with a book she had barely read two pages of as her mind kept wandering. Her nerves about going back to Memphis had grown over the week and though she knew being back in the place she had once called home would more than likely hurt she had been reassured because she had Elvis. She knew that even though he was excited for Jess to come home with him he would go slow for her benefit. Yet since he’d gotten on the plane he’d been different. He’d greeted them, but then he’d disappeared down to the back to what she had been informed was a bedroom and had yet to emerge even though they were beginning their descent over Tennessee. However as the Captain made an announcement that they were all required to take to their seats whilst they landed he reappeared, heading straight towards her until he was at the chair opposite.

‘Can I sit here?’ he asked tentatively. He had felt bad disappearing but after his talk with the Colonel he had had matters to discuss with his daddy and some of the boys. It had taken precedence but knowing how nervous she was about heading back home for the first time in years had been playing on his mind.

‘It’s your plane,’ she said with a smile. He smiled and took a seat opposite her, watching as she closed the book she was holding and slipped it into her bag. It was a small gesture but it was enough to make him realise he had her full attention which made his smile widen.

‘You doing okay?’ he asked watching her closely.

‘Fine,’ she said surprising herself at how true that was as she realised that her nerves had calmed the moment he appeared, ‘where’ve you been?’

‘Oh just dealing with some last-minute business stuff,’ Elvis said, it wasn’t technically a lie but given that the Colonel’s deal meant he wasn’t out of their lives just yet he didn’t want to tell her exactly what he had been up to.

‘Counting all your cash from Vegas huh?’ she teased.

‘Oh yeah,’ he chuckled, ‘it’s all out in ones in the back.’

‘I thought only strippers got paid in ones,’ she mused.

‘Maybe there are parts of my show you haven’t seen,’ Elvis smirked in a way that made an image flash through her mind and a throb to enter her lower belly. It was a thought she shook away immediately but as the conversation migrated to landing she couldn’t help but notice the distinct shuffle she had to do in her seat to get the feeling to leave.

On the way to Graceland she was quiet. Elvis took charge, pointing out places along the route home to Jess who seemed to have a question for everything he said. Addison nodded along as if she was listening but as they got closer and the scenery got all the more familiar she found she didn’t feel like laughing and joking along with them all that much. Eventually they pulled up outside those old familiar gates which were crowded by fans. The car didn’t stop though, instead Elvis offered a wave to his fans, then it rolled on in past the gate blocking them from view as they headed up the long and winding driveway.

‘Woah this place is huge,’ Jess said looking past him to the vast house as it grew closer, ‘I mean you could fit our house in it like five times.’

‘It’s not that big,’ Elvis said, suddenly feeling self-conscious as he felt Addison’s eyes on him.

‘It’s a literal mansion,’ Addison said. Though her words were teasing, the smile she offered him was one of reassurance, ‘I think you could probably fit our house in the stables let alone the house.’

‘There are stables?’ Jess asked looking at him excitedly.

‘Yeah, and a pool. Don’t worry I’ll show ya around,’ he said more relaxed. They’d stopped now and the door was being opened for them all to climb out.

‘Can we see them first?’ Jess asked as she stepped out following him up the garden path with Addison close behind.

‘Sure,’ he said as they entered, ‘they’re out back. We can head there first and then I’ll show you guys the rest of the house, okay?’

‘Okay,’ Jess said. He gestured for her to walk down the hall but as he went to follow her he noted Addison was still lingering by the front door, scanning each inch of the house in its entirety. It looked the same yet different. The neutral palette of the house she had left was replaced by darker, richer tones throughout the downstairs. Yet some pieces remained the same. The same hand-crafted grand piano still stood in the music room. The same China set Gladys had picked out on one of their errands was still standing proudly in the cabinet in the dining room. The staircase where she and Elvis had said goodbye still stood, unchanged as it was in her memories.

‘Addie?’ he asked pulling her from her thoughts. He was standing by the banister, Jess a step or two ahead of him, both of them watching as she lingered by the wide-open door.

‘Are you coming, Mom?’ Jess asked watching her mother’s face closely. She couldn’t read it. It was a mixture of happiness and sadness though she couldn’t tell which was winning.

‘No,’ Addison said, ‘you two go on. I’m good here.’

‘You sure?’ Elvis asked.

‘Positive,’ she smiled, ‘just don’t be outside too long, okay? It’s freezing.’

‘Okay,’ Jess said. Elvis watched her for a moment and then nodded directing his daughter to the back of the house. As they disappeared Addison glanced outside. Lamar and Marty had the bags stacked on the driveway threatening to come in at any moment so instead of lingering in the main part of the house she moseyed forward taking it all in as she went. It was different now and the memories in her mind scattered all over the place as she tried to account for what was still the same. Not much felt like it used to. There was a new room for one thing. It was ostentatiously kitsch with a jungle theme that struck her as mis-mashed in the scheme of things yet it was pretty in its own way. But as she wandered through the house she found that one thing felt entirely the same, her old room. It was bare of course, the only thing inside it was the stuff that had been there when she’d first arrived but other than that it was the same. The neutral walls remained the same colour they had been and though the bed wasn’t made when she looked in the wardrobe there was a folded-up bedding set she remembered every inch of.

‘Feels exactly the same, doesn’t it?’ she heard a voice say which startled her forcing her back from the wardrobe. When she looked towards the door she found Dodger standing in the doorway watching her with a kind smile.

‘You scared me,’ she said when Dodger didn’t say anything, awaiting a response to her first question she sighed, ‘yeah it does.’

The two women fell quiet for a moment and Addison shifted on her feet feeling Dodger’s motherly gaze on her. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know why out of all of them facing Dodger felt the hardest. Maybe it was because out of all of them she hadn’t done anything wrong. Though she hadn’t blamed Vernon he was still part of the Colonel’s scheme and no matter how she looked at that it hurt. But Dodger had been nothing but good to her which was probably why that guilty feeling was trickling in. The older woman seemed to sense her apprehension and not wanting to upset her she smiled and said, ‘what no hug?’

Addison looked at her, her arms open and waiting and sighed before she moved towards her and into her embrace. It was short and simple but the feeling it brought to Addison’s chest was one of comfort and warmth. When she pulled back Dodger put her hands on her face and smiled, ‘it’s good to see you.’

‘You too,’ Addison admitted, ‘Dodger about what happened-’

‘Oh no need to explain all of that,’ Dodger said, pulling back and waving her off.

‘But-’

‘It is what it is,’ she smiled, placing a reassuring hand on Addison’s shoulder. Maybe that was why Addison had anticipated this being the hardest one because she knew that no matter what Dodger would’ve understood, ‘now, where’s my grandbaby?’

‘Elvis is showing her the stables,’ Addison said.

‘I might’ve known,’ she said rolling her eyes as she moved away, ‘c’mon I’ll fix ya something to eat why you wait. Are you hungry?’

‘A little,’ Addison said. She wasn’t, in fact she had barely eaten anything all day as her stomach protested at the mere idea due to the nerves inside her but she knew better than to refuse a southern woman’s hospitality. As they entered the kitchen Dodger gestured for her to sit down at the table whilst she headed to the fridge and started pulling out random items.

‘Bet ya haven’t had some proper southern cookin’ in a while am I right?’ she said as she placed a container on the counter and then turned back to the fridge.

‘Not in a long time,’ Addison admitted.

‘Well I’m sure I’ll have you fifty pounds heavier by the time you leave,’ Dodger chuckled, moving around the kitchen as she turned the stove on. Addison didn’t even ask what she was making instead she just watched as she threw a knob of butter into the pan. Once several strips of bacon had been decanted out of the frying pan and onto a sandwich the older woman placed it down on the table in front of Addison and took a seat, wiping her hands on a towel that was over her shoulder.

‘So, how’s it feel to be back?’ she said as Addison took a bite of the meal in front of her and found it to be a BLT.

‘Weird,’ Addison said, covering her mouth as she spoke, ‘a lots changed.’

‘I’ll bet,’ Dodger said. Addison took another bite wondering if it was proper to ask what she wanted to. After all the way Dodger was treating her was as if she’d never left but there were things Addison didn’t know. Curiosities which sprung up that Elvis didn’t acknowledge probably as they had become commonplace for him. Eventually, curiosity got the better of her and she had to ask.

‘I noticed we dropped Vernon off down the road,’ she said, her eyes fixed on her plate though they darted to Dodger who was watching her closely.

‘Yeah, he lives down there now,’ Dodger said simply. Addison’s mind whirred. She had watched as Vernon had said goodbye, climbing out of the car with Dee in tow as they headed to their home. It was nice and of course only a stone’s throw away from Graceland but it had struck her as odd. Elvis had always said this home was for his parents; she wondered what could have made him change his mind.

‘What happened?’ she asked tentatively. Dodger sighed.

‘Dee,’ Dodger said earnestly.

‘Ah,’ Addison said.

‘Vernon and Dee met quite soon after Lovie passed. Now she’s a nice woman don’t get me wrong, but it just didn’t sit right with Elvis. So when he came back from the Army and saw that Dee had tried to make the house a home for her and Vernon he…let’s just say he wasn’t best pleased,’ Dodger said.

‘Oh,’ Addison said, her heart twinging at the idea of him rattling around this big old house all on his own. How empty it must’ve felt without his family. Without her.

‘Yeah, it was better for everyone that way,’ Dodger said.

‘And he still had you,’ she replied though she wasn’t sure who she was trying to reassure with that statement.

‘Oh I’ve told him the only way he’ll be getting me outta here is in a box,’ Dodger joked.

‘Well as long as that isn’t any time soon,’ Addison smiled.

‘Can’t be,’ Dodger said, ‘not when I’ve still got a grandbaby to meet.’

Addison smiled. She couldn’t believe she had been apprehensive about seeing Dodger. How she feared what the woman might say when she knew her well enough to know that this should’ve been the expected reception. Though in thinking about Dodger her mind drifted to another figure, one who had treated her just as well as she asked, ‘what about Mary?’

‘Oh she’s still here too,’ Dodger smiled, ‘only works a couple days a week nowadays on account of her back but we’ve got a new girl who picks up the slack.’

‘Bet she hates that,’ Addison giggled.

‘Eh she’s decent enough,’ Dodger said.

‘I bet it’s odd what without Gladys running things,’ Addison mused. She knew it probably wasn’t, given the number of changes she had walked past she was sure the good ship Graceland was still running as fine-tuned as ever and yet she couldn’t picture it. The house had been Gladys’ pride and joy, well besides Elvis, so seeing someone else at the helm felt odd.

‘Oh he’s had quite a few people running things,’ Dodger explained, making Addison’s brow furrow until she clicked on what the older woman meant. Of course there had been other people running it. With Vernon and Gladys gone Elvis was the head of the house, he always had been really, and of course he’d had his lady of the house. She cursed herself for being so obtuse as her suspicions were confirmed as Dodger continued, 'nice girls of course but never had that…spunk. Not like Lovie or you for that matter.’

The complement singed Addison’s cheeks not that Dodger seemed to notice though whether it was because of the casualness of which older people said things or the fact they could now hear Elvis and Jess coming in through the back door she didn’t know. Still she hid her face from the woman and turned to where she expected the pair to walk in at any minute.

‘That’s Lady,’ she heard Elvis say as they came into the room. Jess was behind him but he was looking back at her as he spoke, ‘she’s the perfect size for you but she’s Cilla’s and she can get real fussy about who rides her. Maybe you can try with her and if she’s not for agreein’ you could have a go on one of the others just until we can get you your own.’

‘Sounds good,’ Jess smiled.

‘Please tell me you aren’t talking about buying her a horse,’ Addison said as he turned around and noted the women sitting there.

‘I’m not buying her a horse,’ Elvis lied, ‘I’m buying a horse she may or may not have sole privileges in ridin’.’

‘Elvis she’s been here five minutes!’ Addison protested.

‘Exactly I’ve waited long enough don’t ya think,’ he teased watching as her eyes went wide. He was baiting her and she was falling for it and given he had been nervous about her stepping back into his world he was just happy she was relaxed enough to let him.

Dodger however wasn’t paying them any attention. She was looking at the young girl standing behind her grandson, watching her parents with a smirk on her face. She rose from her chair pushing past Elvis as she said, ‘forget about that! Let me look at her.’

‘Oh yeah,’ Elvis said, moving out of her way as she took Jess’ face in her hands, ‘Jess this is Dodger, uh your Grandma, Dodger this is Jessie.’

‘Nice to meet you,’ Jess said feeling her cheeks flame as the older woman eyed her closely.

‘Well aren’t you just as pretty as a picture,’ she said with a smile as her hands moved down to Jess’s shoulders ‘just like your Mama but there’s some of your Daddy in there too.’

‘It’s in the eyes,’ Addison said without thinking, dropping her gaze as Elvis smiled at her, ‘and the smile.’

‘You’re right,’ Dodger said, ‘she’ll be a heartbreaker that’s for sure.’

‘Not any time soon I hope,’ Elvis mumbled making Jess’ blush deepen. Dodger ignored him.

‘Question is do you have an appetite that rivals your Daddy’s?’ she said.

‘Why, are you cooking?’ Elvis asked as he took a seat next to Addison.

‘Did you think I was standing here for my health?’ Dodger asked as she moved back to the stove.

‘Well if you’re offering we won’t say no, right Jessie?’ he asked as Jess took a seat next to him.

‘If that’s okay,’ Jess said quietly.

‘Of course it is,’ Dodger said with the same easy-going nature she had offered to Addison, one that made Jess start to relax, ‘so, what do you want?’

Fortunately for Jess Dodger's easy-going nature was as infectious as Elvis' which meant she was able to relax so much so that when Elvis suggested he show them the rest of the house she felt dejected about having to leave her grandmother behind. Yet her curiosity was enough to make her agree. It was as huge as she suspected and though he explained a little about each room she still struggled to take it all in. It was surreal especially since they had gotten to know each other it had been what she had been thinking about. To be immersed in this world, his world. Now she was there it felt bizarre. Not to mention how strange it felt to see her mom in it, more comfortable in the surroundings that Jess had anticipated.

‘Now given the short notice I haven’t had a chance to sort everything out,’ Elvis said. They were on the stairs heading up to his floor something Addison noted now had a privacy wall installed at the top of separating the upstairs from everything else. He stepped through the door without thinking leading them to the old familiar landing she recognised, ‘now I thought you could either share the spare room or Jess you could bunk in Lisa’s room for the time being.’

‘Won’t she mind?’ Jess asked, glancing through the open door of the room he gestured at which was she assumed to be Lisa’s given the number of toys plonked inside.

‘She’s not gonna be here for another few weeks,’ Elvis said, ‘I just thought you might like it a bit more since there’s a TV in there.’

‘Oh yeah that’s fine,’ Jess said, peeking inside so she could see that large TV against the wall.

‘And when we’ve got some time maybe we could get the spare room set up properly… for you I mean,’ Elvis said nervously.

‘Like my own room?’ she asked glancing in the room next to Elvis’.

‘Yeah, I mean the boys normally stay in here but I’d rather have you up on this floor than somewhere else in the house so we can always move them elsewhere. If you’re alright with that,’ Elvis said.

‘Yeah, I’d like that,’ Jess smiled as she wandered towards Lisa’s room where her suitcases had already been put. Elvis looked at Addison who had been looking around taking everything in then he moved to the spare room door which grabbed her attention.

‘Are you okay sleepin’ in here?’ he asked watching as she peeked inside.

‘Yeah fine,’ she said as he pushed the door open further so she could enter ahead of him.

When she got inside she was surprised. It had never been a room she had spent much time in but even so she didn’t remember it being this way. It looked odd. There was of course a large bed in the middle but the rest of it seemed to have no cohesion as if things were flung in there without a second thought. She supposed it made sense, if the boys were using it as nothing more than a place to crash when Elvis needed them but still it felt impersonal. The rest of the house seemed to ooze his aura and personality out of every crevice and yet this felt stiff. It was only made more overt as she walked into the bathroom to find it was the one adjoining his room. It struck her as odd that the boy who had once wanted nothing more to be left alone would need someone so close by just in case. How he felt the need to have bodyguards and safety walls built within his own home.

‘What you thinking about?’ Elvis said. He was leaning on the door jamb, watching her as she surveyed the bathroom unable to process what might be going on in her brain. She looked up as he spoke, whatever it was flashing behind her eyes before she pushed it back and cracked a smile.

‘That we were idiots,’ she said coming towards him.

‘Huh?’ he asked puzzled.

‘You had a big ol’ room right next door to you and you put me at the other end of the house,’ she smirked.

‘Oh,’ he said catching her meaning, ‘I’ll have you know I was trying to resist temptation.’

‘Oh yeah? And how’d that work out for ya?’ she asked. She was close now, right in front of him, so much so he could smell the clean scent of her perfume – one he didn’t recognise off the bat but liked all the same.

‘If I remember rightly, it was you that wore me down,’ Elvis said in a velvet covered voice. She didn’t move away as he leaned in not even as that throb from earlier returned, instead she met him toe to toe.

‘Got us Jess didn’t it?’ she smiled.

‘That’s true,’ he conceded. They paused for a minute neither of them knowing where to turn now that the conversation had become a tad sentimental. Addison however leant into it and said, ‘thanks by the way for letting us stay here.’

‘It’s no problem,’ he said quietly.

‘I know I just really appreciate it,’ she said, ‘after this last week.’

‘I know,’ he said. And then without warning she leant in and hugged him. It took him off guard for a second but then his arms seemed to kick into gear and he wrapped them around her as she rested her head against his chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat against her ear. They stayed there for a moment each enjoying the sensation until they heard Jess call her.

‘Mom!’ Jess yelled from the other room. Addison paused, not wanting to pull back from the hug, not when she could tell that Jess’ call wasn’t one of distress, something that was proven as she called again.

‘Mom come and look at this!’ she heard her call again and with a sigh she pulled back. Elvis let her go cursing Jess’ timing as he did. She smiled at him and then moved past him without a word heading to wherever Jess needed her urgent attention. Elvis flopped against the door frame with a sigh. What a couple of weeks this was going to be.

✵✵✵

‘Hello?’ Addison said as the phone finally clicked on.

‘Hello?! That’s all I get? Hello?’ Marci said frantically, making Addison roll her eyes as she took a seat on the bed.

‘Okay I know it’s been a few days,’ Addison said.

‘Four days to be precise,’ Marci said, ‘when you said you’d call at least the day after you got there. I’ve been freaking out.’

‘Sorry, sorry,’ Addison said, ‘it’s been a little hectic.’

‘Well…I suppose I understand but don’t you ever leave me without a shred of news for that long again. I’ve been going stir crazy here,’ Marci said dramatically.

‘You mean you’ve been left without any gossip,’ Addison chuckled as she swung her legs up onto the mattress and rested back against the headboard. It was true she had told her friend that she would call her as soon as she could once she was in Memphis; it was just that life in Memphis seemed to move at the pace it always did which meant that Addison had barely had time to think let alone call anyone.

‘Exactly,’ Marci giggled, ‘so come on lay it on me how’s it going?’

‘Good,’ Addison said.

‘Really?’ Marci pressed.

‘Yeah,’ Addison said, ‘I mean we haven’t tackled the whole outside world thing yet but Jess seems to be adjusting well.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah, like a duck to water,’ Addison said.

‘Well that’s good, isn’t it?’ Marci asked. It was good and Addison was happy that Jess had managed to thrive here given how miserable she had been over the last week. It was just that she worried that being tucked away in the Graceland bubble would under prepare her for going back to the real world. And it wasn’t even all the fun stuff either like no school, endless activities and spending time with her dad, it was the fact that lingering outside the walls were people who still wanted to torment her. People who wanted to stick cameras in her face and hurl abuse at her just to get a reaction. That was what she was worried about.

‘Yeah, it is,’ Addison said, ‘I just hope she can adjust back that’s all.’

‘I’m sure she’ll be fine. Besides the more fun you guys are having the less attention you’re paying to the news, right?’ Marci asked.

‘I guess…how is all that going?’ Addison asked. She hadn't been paying much attention. Elvis had told her that over the years he had learned there was little point in keeping up with the tabloids. There wasn’t much they could do about it and trawling through the endless drivel would only end up making her feel ill, so it was best just to leave it alone. She had agreed though she had asked Marci to keep her finger on the pulse just in case she got curious.

‘Fine,’ Marci lied, sensing she had put her foot in it.

‘Mar,’ Addison warned.

‘Well…they're not talking about Jess,’ Marci admitted.

‘Oh, it’s about me huh?’ Addison asked, biting her lip.

‘Yeah…I mean it’s all trash. They don’t have any clue what actually happened so it's easy to question it I guess. Why now? Why so long without contacting him? Stuff like that,’ Marci said quietly. Addison took a deep breath. She supposed Marci was right. So long as they didn’t know she supposed they'd always wonder why she did what she did. But that didn’t matter, not when Elvis and those who did matter knew the truth. And so long as they weren’t slandering Jess’ name she supposed she could deal with whatever they had to say about her.

‘Anyway,’ she said moving on, ‘enough about me. How are you?’

‘Fine,’ Marci said airily. So airily in fact it made Addison pause.

‘How’s Tom?’ she asked.

‘Busy as always,’ Marci replied.

‘What about you? Have you got the plans for the new shop through yet?’ Addison asked.

‘Not yet but it’ll be fine,’ she said though the way she brushed it off made Addison suspicious, but her friend didn’t give her time to comment on it as she continued, ‘you know I spoke to Jess the other day.’

‘Oh?’ Addison asked allowing her friend to change the subject.

‘Yeah, apparently she’s got an Uncle Jerry now,’ she said teasingly.

‘Oh, yeah,’ Addison said with a smile, ‘he’s a sweetheart.’

‘He is?’ Marci asked curiously.

‘Well yeah I mean he’s exactly the same as he’s always been,’ Addison chuckled though the change of subject had now sparked her curiosity, ‘why do you ask?’

‘Just wondering,’ Marci said quietly.

‘Wondering about?’ Addison pried feeling intrigued.

‘Nothing,’ Marci said quickly, ‘look Addie I gotta go. Call me soon, okay?’

‘Okay?’ Addison said, perplexed.

‘Bye love you!’

‘Love you too,’ Addison said and before she could say anything else the phone clicked off leaving her sitting there confused. Addison had been anticipating the call to be a marathon one. Marci had been waiting for her to call and she figured they’d get into the whole trip at some point. Not to mention Addison was just as intrigued to hear about the plans Marci had been making to open her new salon now that she was properly situated with Tom in California. Yet once the conversation had fell on her she’d run for the hills which Addison thought odd. In fact she thought about it all the way downstairs until she was in the kitchen where Jess and Elvis were sitting at the kitchen table eating lunch.

She was dressed in jeans and a thick blue sweater as well as a pair of cowboy boots Addison was sure she hadn’t seen before. She fought the urge to roll her eyes. Whilst she was sure she didn’t need them she had decided to become a little more lenient when it came to his purchasing especially given that they were on his turf. In fact Addison was glad in some respects that Elvis had the money to burn. Between horse-riding, guitar playing, and the couple games of touch football games Jess had been participating in her daughter was becoming a kid Addison didn’t even recognise and definitely one she couldn’t afford to fund the new hobbies of.

‘Good afternoon,’ she said as she moved to make herself a coffee. Though he didn’t say anything Elvis looked up from his chair and smiled as Jess said, ‘good afternoon.’

‘Did you two have fun out there?’ she asked.

‘Yeah, it was good,’ Jess said as her mother rested back waiting for the coffee machine.

‘She’s a real natural,’ Elvis said, ‘Lady even seems to have taken to her and she don’t like many people.’

‘Maybe she knows if she doesn’t cooperate you’ll buy another horse,’ Addison jested.

‘Maybe,’ Elvis smirked, turning his attention back to his meal as she poured herself a coffee. As she walked to her seat though she placed one down in front of him, a gesture she seemed to do without thinking.

‘What have you been up to?’ Jess asked as she sat down.

‘Oh not much. Had a shower, called Aunt Mar,’ she said, taking a sip.

‘Only just? Mom it’s been four days,’ Jess chastised.

‘Yeah, I know,’ Addison said, ‘believe it or not I’ve been a little busy.’

‘We haven’t even been anywhere,’ Jess giggled making Elvis smile wryly.

‘Well forgive me for not being on top of things,’ Addison said, eyeing her daughter as a thought came into her mind, ‘besides it’s not like she needed me to apparently you called her last week.’

‘Yeah so?’ Jess asked.

‘Told her all about your new Uncle Jerry she said,’ Addison said, raising an eyebrow. Jess’ face flooded crimson.

‘Oh that,’ Jess said, ‘well you told me about them dating…I was curious.’

‘You wouldn’t be trying to set them up now, would you?’ her mother asked making Elvis’ ears perk up as he watched Jess squirm.

‘No,’ she said though as Addison pressed with a look she sighed, ‘okay maybe. But you said she used to really like him! And he’s single.’

‘And Mar’s getting married,’ Addison reasoned.

‘To some weirdo,’ Jess said.

‘That’s none of our business,’ Addison said.

‘She’s our family of course it’s our business!’ Jess protested. Addison sighed and placed her cup down as she prepared to speak. She wondered why Marci had gotten all funny and hung up quicker than she should have. Now she wondered what nonsense Jess had been filling her head with. Before she could reply though Elvis jumped in feeling an argument mounting.

‘I think your mom means you’ve gotta let people figure out stuff on their own Jessie,’ Elvis said with a sympathetic smile. Jess looked between them both and then flopped back on her chair with a pout.

‘Okay fine,’ she said, ‘but I’m telling you he likes her too.’

‘Well if they end up together I’m sure your mom will agree you can say I told you so till the cows come home okay?’ Elvis chuckled.

‘Fine,’ Jess said though her face remained sour.

The trio fell silent with Jess pouting at her sandwich as she picked at it. Addison watched her daughter exasperatedly as she sipped her coffee. It wasn’t that she didn’t agree with her. Tom wasn’t her favourite boyfriend of Marci’s, but her friend did seem happy. And it wasn’t as though Marci tended to listen when it came to men. Addison had learned early doors that the best course of action was to let her friend do as she saw fit and then help her should she need it. Trying to push her back into the arms of someone she dated over a decade ago would surely only bring disaster. Elvis seemed to sense the animosity between the girls and decided to intervene. After all, the past few days had been going well. In their own little bubble they had been thriving and he didn’t want a couple of crossed words to start to ruin it.

‘So what are we doing today?’ he asked making the pair of them look at him.

‘I don’t know,’ Jess shrugged.

‘Maybe we could go out someplace,’ he suggested. Maybe that was for the best. Even in a house this large it didn’t always stop people from getting on top of one another.

‘Where?’ Jess asked.

‘Wherever you guys want,’ he shrugged.

‘Aren't you supposed to be our tour guide?’ Addison quipped deciding to let the small argument go hoping Jess wouldn’t feel too put out at her mother’s disagreements.

‘Hey you’re from here too y’know,’ Elvis replied.

‘Nah I’m a native Nevadan by now surely,’ she said, ‘just like Jess.’

‘There’s still a southern bell in there somewhere I’m sure of it. What do you think Jessie?’ Elvis said, making Jess giggle. She didn’t mean to, since she still felt chastised, but he had this aura about him she couldn’t resist.

‘I don’t know,’ Jess said smirking at her mom, ‘she doesn’t even have her twang anymore.’

‘I bet it’ll come back by the end of the week,’ Elvis said.

‘Oh you think?’ Addison asked. She was feeling a touch ganged up on as she did a lot of the time when it came to the pair of them, but she didn’t mind. Not when she could see Jess was pulling out of the funk her words had put her in.

‘Hundred percent right Jess?’ Elvis said. Jess nodded.

‘And here I was thinkin’ my own daughter would have some faith in me,’ Addison said, shaking her head, ‘but you’re on.’

‘Well in that case we better go somewhere ya don’t have to speak. You’ve already lost Jess’ faith can’t be losin’ anything else,’ Elvis said raising an eyebrow making her eyes narrow.

‘How about the Memphian?’ Addison said.

‘Sounds good to me.’

✵✵✵

It was weird for Addison to be back at the Memphian though these days that weird feeling seemed to be permanently there. It, like Graceland, seemed to have this timeless quality though there were obvious changes not only to the building but to the set-up itself. As they walked in Elvis led them down to the front where a station had already been set up for him containing a little table with a bottle of Pepsi and a bottle of spring water on top of it. He sat down gesturing for them to take a seat on either side of them which they did, Vernon sitting on Jess’ other side. Addison took her seat and glanced around. Again it struck her as different. Where nights at the Memphian and been a group affair he was now isolated, save for them being there, watching a movie all on his own. As the film rolled on silence fell, though he did lean into Jess at different moments to explain or talk about something that had amused them both, Addison kept her gaze on the screen but every so often she couldn’t help but glance at him.

He still seemed so much of the boy she knew and yet she knew he was so different. It was hard to notice especially when he was around her as he seemed to become her Elvis but there were subtleties. Things that made her realise how much he had changed. As if the innocence in him was gone. She supposed she couldn’t fault it. After all, whatever scrap of innocence she had was ripped away the moment she left Graceland yet still it made her sad. It made her think of the kids they used to be, to yearn for what they might have become given the chance. She didn’t know why she was thinking of that instead of the movie that was playing out on the screen, but she couldn’t think of much else.

If they were together now, if they had been all along would it still feel the same? Would the love have lasted with this new man that stood before her or would Germany and the loss of Gladys ruined them either way? Would they have stayed together for Jess or any other kids that may have come along? She didn’t know, but she couldn’t help but wonder. Because for all the newness of him he was still that boy when he was with her. He was still that boy who made her smile over pancakes, still the boy that teased her something chronic but took it when she dished it back, still the same boy who held her when she cried immediately springing into action to fix it so that she would smile again.

But it wasn’t that simple. Because he wasn’t just that boy and she wasn’t that girl, not anymore. They had to think of Jess. In fact, he had more than one daughter to think about and she couldn’t help but think of the fact he already had a marriage that had failed despite the love being there. Was that something she could picture for herself? She had already lost him once. To do so again would ruin her, she was sure of it.

She stayed quiet through the movies, lost in her thoughts until she realised the credits were rolling on the second film and people were starting to shift. When Elvis looked at her waiting for her get out of her seat and walk ahead of him, that adorable lopsided grin on his face, that was when she knew. It would ruin her. All the ifs and the maybes she couldn’t think of them because she couldn’t let herself.

‘What did you think?’ Elvis asked the pair of them as they headed out towards the lobby.

‘It was good,’ Jess said, ‘didn’t see the end coming though.’

‘Yeah, it was a good twist,’ Vernon said from behind them.

‘What about you Addie?’ he asked, she looked up at him as though she had been listening and said, ‘oh yeah good.’

‘She was probably too busy ogling Paul Newman,’ Jess giggled.

‘He’s distracting what can I say,’ Addison joked, smiling at the pair of them thankful neither seemed to notice how far her mind had been wandering. Elvis smiled too but then turned away trying to ignore the sudden ache in his gut at Jess' words. They were in the lobby now, the boys gathered around wondering what the next move of the night was going to be.

‘So you girls wanna get some dinner?’ he asked.

‘Ooh yes,’ Jess said with a smile looking at her mom who seemed to hesitate.

‘Sure,’ Addison said tentatively, ‘where?’

‘How about Lombardi’s?’ Elvis asked.

‘Sounds good,’ Addison agreed with a smile.

‘Great, wait here I’ll get Joe to call ahead,’ Elvis said returning one before he walked over to Joe and offered him instructions. As he walked away Addison watched him trying to ignore the flutter inside her chest as she did. She shouldn’t be feeling like that, she couldn’t be feeling like that. Yet it was hard not to. Not when he looked so good in his deep blue suit. Not when he looked over at her, throwing her a smile though they had been apart mere seconds.

Whilst watching him however she didn’t notice Jess’ blue eyes watching her as they had been all week. In fact she had been watching the pair of them like a hawk since they had come to stay with him and because of it she was sure they liked one another. That had been why she had been talking to Marci about Jerry. Not because she was trying to meddle in her aunt’s love life but because she was sure what she was watching unfold was love. She’d been trying to get some intel on what had been like the first time around, how they had acted around one another, but Marci had deviated off on a tangent and not wanting to be too obvious about what she was after Jess had let her. Yet she didn’t need Marci’s intel to see know that what she was watching was what she had suspected all along.

She didn’t need Marci to help her realise he only told jokes when he was sure she was listening. She didn’t need Marci to notice the way her mom put her hand over his as she pointed out something on the menu. She didn’t need Marci to notice how her dad’s arm ended up behind her on the restaurant booth, close enough she was practically flat up beside him. They were little nuances she didn't miss and though she tried to pay attention it was hard to as every action had her head spinning. She wasn't even listening to Billy properly who was telling her of a film he and Elvis had worked on a while ago.

‘-Yeah wouldn’t let me go,’ Billy chuckled, ‘had my arms locked in his so I couldn’t run away.’

‘Yeah, and you deserved it,’ Elvis smirked taking a sip of his water, 'you're just lucky I didn't break your arm.'

'That's mean,' Addison chastised though her expression was one of bemusement.

'He got out eventually, didn't he?' Elvis reasoned with a smirk that made her roll her eyes. Jess' gaze was glued on the pair of them not that they noticed as they continued talking with Billy who was now explaining how he had become a stunt double for Elvis' leading lady. Jess was trying to listen but her eyes glazed over as questions spun around in her head. In fact, she only really pulled back to reality as Vernon slipped back into his seat beside her finally returning from the phone call her had been pulled away for nearly ten minutes earlier.

‘Everything alright Daddy?’ Elvis asked as Vernon slipped back into his seat.

‘Yeah fine,’ Vernon said, ‘that damn garbage disposal again. Tripped everything in the house.’

‘I’ve told you just get someone in to fix it,’ Elvis said.

‘I know, I know,’ Vernon grumbled, ‘I thought I’d managed it this time but must be a wire faulty somewhere in there. Left her sitting in the dark that’s why she called.’

‘Has she fixed it?’ Addison asked.

‘I told her what to do,’ Vernon shrugged.

‘What so she could be sitting in the dark?’ Addison said her brow furrowing as Vernon made no excuses to leave, ‘why don’t you go home and help?’

‘Oh uh I’m sure she’ll be fine,’ Vernon said glancing at Elvis which caused Addison’s gaze to land on him. He didn’t want to agree. After all Dee was a grown woman, she could figure a fuse box out for herself, but he could feel her watching him, wondering why Vernon was hesitating to go home.

‘Yeah, why don’t you,’ Elvis said after a moment, ‘I mean dinner’s over.’

‘Right, uh sure,’ Vernon said not expecting the leniency Elvis was giving him though he took it all the same, ‘I’ll see you all later?’

There was a murmur of agreement from the people situated up that end of the table as he slipped out from behind the table but before he could leave Jess spoke and said, ‘actually can I come?’

‘To fix a fuse box?’ Elvis asked looking at her sceptically.

‘No,’ she said rolling her eyes, ‘I mean can I go home?’

‘Why?’ Addison asked. They were both watching her suspiciously, something she knew was bound to happen, but she didn’t let it phase her. She had been thinking a lot over dinner and though she had realised she didn’t need Marci’s help to recognise what was happening between her parents that didn’t mean she didn’t want to understand what had happened. They were never going to tell her but they weren’t the only people who had been around then. And she figured no better time to pry than a twenty-minute-long car journey with her grandpa.

‘I said I’d call Elaine,’ she said.

‘Can't you call her after?’ Elvis asked. He had been enjoying himself and he knew if Jess wanted to go home Addison probably would too which was something he didn’t want to happen.

‘Her mom only lets her use the phone until seven. I don’t want to miss her. Please?’ Jess asked in her sweetest voice. Addison looked at her curiously, glancing at Elvis as she said, ‘if your dad doesn’t mind dropping her off I’m okay with it.’

‘Sure. Uh Daddy do you mind?’ Elvis asked heaving an internal sigh of relief.

‘Of course not,’ Vernon smiled, ‘come on kiddo.’

‘You guys are the best,’ Jess smiled as she stood up from her seat.

‘See you later,’ Elvis smiled.

‘Yeah, see you later,’ Addison said watching as her daughter and Vernon headed towards the exit before she looked at Elvis.

‘What?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know,’ she said doubtfully, ‘but I kinda feel like we just got played.’

‘Eh she’s a good kid. I’m sure whatever she’s up to is harmless,’ he chuckled. Addison chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment watching as he waited for her to agree. He was right, Jess was a good kid and whatever she was up to probably was something innocent. She nodded and sat back, feeling his arm touch the back of her shoulders. As Billy threw the conversation back into gear she thought of Jess and hoped that their faith in her was right because not to trust her would mean leaving the fun she was having and she didn't want that. Even if they couldn't be more, having him back as her friend was good enough.

SERIES TAGS

@girlblogger2002 @sania562 @caitlin1996 @literally-just-elvis-fics @notstefaniepresley @artlesson8892 @18lkpeters @velvetelvis @jaqueline19997 @elvispresleyxoxo @amydarcimarie @presleyenterprise @everythingelvispresley @elvispresleywife @lillypink @richardslady121 @lettersfromvenus @louisejoy86 @ccab

#my writing #elvis #elvis presley #elvis presley x ofc #elvis x ofc #elvis and addison #here you come again

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dannystheone · 1 year

Text

The Guys Play ‘Interronation’ (Main Four South Park Tickle Fic)

Hey guys omg I know I haven’t been active but my current hyperfixation is South Park and I’m in LOVE I haven’t been this sucked into a fandom since like Rick and Morty I think LOL

So in this fic the boys are their kid selves, but there’s the usual swearing you can expect, but nothing sexual, no shipping or anything (not that I have a problem with shipping! It just doesn’t show up in this fic :))

I HOPE YOU ENJOY AAA I LOVE THEM

WARNINGS: KIDS SWEARING!! and one anti-semitic comment lol

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“HAH! You picked it up again, Kenny! Go directly to jail.”

“Whmph themph! Womph themph fumph...” Kenny muffled as he angrily moved his shoe piece to jail.

“Dang Kenny, better luck next time. Alright, my turn.” Stan picked up his dice as Kyle’s bedroom door burst open.

“YOU GUYS!! YOU GUYS, SERIOUSLY!! I JUST SAW ‘THEE’ COOLEST THING EVER ON TV!” Cartman rumbled through the Monopoly game in progress, scattering the cards and game pieces all over the board.

“Aw Cartman, you fucking idiot! That was a good game!” Kyle exclaimed. Kenny giggled behind his hoodie at Kyle’s anger.

“Are you kidding Kyle?! This is way BETTER than any Monopoly game you’ll ever play.” Cartman stood before the guys as they still sat around the discarded game.

“Well what is it Cartman? Was it a new Terrance and Philip episode?” Stan asked, genuinely curious. Cartman shook his hand to clear their questions.

“No no no, listen! I was scrolling through the TV and I found the history channel. They did this thing to people back in the day called ‘interronation’ and the people tell you any information you wanna know!” Kyle stared at Cartman in disbelief.

“You ruined a perfectly good Monopoly game for that?” Cartman rolled his eyes at Kyle’s question and splayed his hands in explanation.

“I’m saying we can do it to each other and it’ll be totally cool and rad! Here, clear the board game and shut the door.” The guys knew better than to try and convince Cartman otherwise of whatever is going on through his head. Stan cleaned up the board game by shoving all of it under Kyle’s bed, and Kyle stood up to close his bedroom door.

“Alright, Kenny, you’re gonna be the guy being ‘interronated’. You’re gonna lay down on your back and we’re gonna sit on you.” Cartman explained. Kenny furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head.

“Whmmph? No waymph!” Cartman sighed and directed Kenny to the center of Kyle’s bedroom floor.

“It’ll be fine Kenny, don’t be a pussy. You’re gonna lay on your back and we’re gonna sit on you, and I’m gonna give you a password. All you have to do is not say the password no matter what we do to you.” Kenny looked around to Stan and Kyle. They now looked as curious as Cartman did.

Kenny let out a grunt as he obeyed and laid on the floor, his orange jacket shuffling against the carpet. Kenny spread his arms; Stan sitting on his right arm and Kyle sitting on his left arm. Cartman leaned in and whispered a password to Kenny that Stan and Kyle couldn’t hear before taking his seat on Kenny’s legs. Kenny winced at his weight.

“Take it easy fatass, before you break Kenny’s legs.” Stan remarked.

“AYE! Shut up! Alright, now all we have to do is ‘interronate’ Kenny and get him to say the password.” Kenny looked a little worried. He tried pulling on his arms and legs, but he could barely move.

“Cartman, this is a little gay.” Kyle narrowed his eyes at the fact that three guys were sitting on one dude.

“It’s not gay it’s gonna be fucking awesome! Okay, 3, 2, 1, GO!” Still unclear about what they were supposed to do, Kyle and Stan watched Cartman launch into squeezing Kenny’s sides over his orange jacket.

Kenny let a surprised muffle of sound before squeezing his eyes and squirming on the floor. “Mmpph!! Mmmhmhm!” Stan followed suit by silently scritching in Kenny’s armpit, which made Kenny buck underneath the three of them.

Kyle watched in disbelief.

“Cartman! You didn’t say this would involve any tickling!” Kyle grew flustered at the sight. Kenny giggled and pulled underneath his friends, but he couldn’t get any register.

“What’s the big deal Kyle, it’s just ‘interronation’! We have to get the password by ‘interronating’ Kenny like we’re spies!” Cartman explained while grabbing Kenny’s sides. He wasn’t a very good tickler, he just knew how to grab and pinch. Stan had a bit more method though, with Shelly being his sister.

Stan looked up at Kyle while spidering his hands over Kenny’s armpit and ribs. It seemed to be a good spot.

“Yeah Kyle what’s up? Do you have a problem with tickling or something?” Kenny’s eyes were squeezed shut as he leaned to Kyle’s side to try and get away from Stan.

“Nohmhmhmhm! Sthmhmhmph!” Kenny’s muffled laugh rang in Kyle’s ears.

“N-No, there’s no problem. I just wasn’t expecting ‘interronation’ to be so childish, that’s all.” Kyle started scratching in Kenny’s right armpit and kneading in his ribs. Kenny squealed underneath his hoodie while Cartman gaped at Kyle.

“How is this childish Kyle?! It’s fucking awesome! Look he’s about to break at any second! We just need to find the right spot-” Cartman started poking and prodding all over Kenny, making Kenny flop around like he was getting electrocuted.

“Tell us what you know, criminal!” Cartman yelled out, and settled at Kenny’s hips, prodding quickly and tazing into the bare divets. Kenny wanted to crawl into himself as he bucked his waist, his threadbare Converse drug against the carpet.

“Okahmhmph! Imph Terramph Amph Phillimph!” Kenny called out the password. Cartman cheered as the boys stopped tickling Kenny.

“Yeeeah, we did it! Wasn’t that cool you guys? We made him say the password!” The boys got off of Kenny; Kenny’s blonde hair matted over his forehead.

Stan pat Kenny on the back. “Yeah I guess. How do you feel Kenny?” Kenny caught his breath, a small blush dusted over his cheeks. He shrugged his shoulders.

“Eh, imph bettem than dyingm.” The boys laughed at Kenny’s joke, glad there were no hard feelings.

“Alright, who wants to go next?” Cartman asked.

“Cartman this is stupid. And it makes us look like fags. Is there anything else we can do?” Kyle remarked while folding his arms.

“Goddammit, it’s not fucking gay Kyle!” Stan looked around at the other guys before raising his hand in a nonchalant way.

“I can go. I mean, I don’t think I’m that ticklish, so it’ll be harder to get the answer out of me.”

“Oho, we’ll see about that, Stan. Kenny, you sit on Stan’s right arm cause he sat on yours.” Cartman directed. Kenny let out a muffled ‘okay’ and did as he was told.

“Here’s the password Stan-” Kyle held a hand up to Cartman’s chest and looked to Stan.

“Wait, I have an idea. We can use interronation to get information out of people right?” Cartman nodded, not quite following what Kyle’s logic was here. Stan was now a little uncomfortable as he felt the weight of each boy settling on his arms and legs, securing him in place.

Kyle turned to look down at Stan, his face as blank as stone.

“Stan, what happened to my Red Mega Man that went missing right after you visited my house last time? And it just so happens that the Red Mega Man is the only one missing in your collection?” Stan’s eyes went wide as he started struggling underneath his friends.

“I- I don’t know Kyle. You said you lost it, remember? We- We tried looking for it everywhere but we couldn’t find it!” Stan became increasingly more nervous as it seemed he wasn’t convincing Kyle. Kyle’s eyebrows furrowed as he started kneading into Stan’s tummy. Stan jumped and started laughing immediately.

“That’s the answer we came up with, but I’m not convinced! I think you stole it!” Kyle accused, with Stan giggling in the background. Stan’s laughter filled up the room, unlike Kenny’s muffled laughter.

“Aw dude sweet, this is just like how it was in the TV show! Kenny, start ‘interronating’ the suspect.” Cartman started looking for tickle spots on Stan, while Kenny prodded along Stan’s ribs.

“Kyhyhyle I didn’t steheal it! I swear! You sahahaid you lost it!” Stan’s giggles petered out as he was prodded with the hands of all his friends.

“I don’t believe you Stan! I had my Red Mega Man right before you came over to my house, and as soon as you left, I can’t find it anywhere!” Kyle removed his green gloves and started to wriggle his fingers in Stan’s open armpit. Stan snorted and squeezed his eyes shut in laughter.

“Hmm, after calling me a piggy after all these years, seems like you were the little piggy Stan~ Kyle, make him snort again.” Cartman commanded.

“Shuhuhut the fuhuhuck up fahahatass!!” Stan retaliated, yet snorted again against his will. Cartman started arguing at a laughing Stan about how he wasn’t fat while Kyle angrily tickled his best friend. Kenny accidentally found one of Stan’s most ticklish spots while dotting around Stan’s upper body with his fingers. Kenny’s fingers brushed past his connecting rib between his armpit and his ribcage. Kenny dug in and surprised himself with the reaction.

“GAH! Kennehehey! Gehehet ohohout of thehere!” Stan’s fists balled up as he retreated from Kenny’s side of the carpet.

“Kenny what spot is that? I wanna see if I can get him on this side too.” Kyle asked, Cartman poking along Stan’s waist and getting dangerously close to another spot.

“Imph thm highemph ribmph im himph rimbcamph.” Kenny answered underneath his jacket. Kyle grew a sinister smile as he cracked his knuckles.

“Kyhyhyle dohohon’t dohoho it! I didn’t steheheal the Mehehega Mahahan!” Stan’s eyes were squeezed tightly in his laughter. Cartman turned to Kyle and nodded his head.

“Do it Kyle. The bastard totally stole your Red Mega Man. Your Red Mega Man is living in the same house as the kid who jacked off his dog and didn’t wash his hands after.” Cartman added more fuel to the fire as Kyle dug in to the same spot Kenny did. Stan spazzed on the floor as both bad spots of his were getting targeted.

“KYHYHYLE!! Stohohop plehehease!! Okahahay okay okay!! I stohohole it! I stohole yohour Mehehega Mahahan! I’m- I’m sorr-EHEHE!!” Cartman found another one of Stan’s ticklish spots during his confession. He squished Stan’s upper thighs, making him pull and buck as hard as he could muster.

“Hmm, alright that’s enough. He said he stole it.” Kyle waved the guys hands off Stan as he caught his breath, and curled up in a ball on the floor.

“You fucking bastard Stan, you knew I was looking for it and you pretended to help me? But you knew you had it the whole time?” Stan was suffering from residual giggles as he could feel his friends fingers brushing past his skin.

“I- hehe- I’m sorrehee- You left it right out in the open so I thought you didn’t care about it that much-”

“If I was looking for it for over an hour then OF COURSE I care about it, dickstain! If I don’t have it back by tomorrow, I’m gonna kick your ass!” Kyle absent-mindedly switched places with Stan, as he now took the middle position of the group.

“Oh thank you Kyle, for volunteering yourself to be the next person to be ‘interronated’.” Cartman expressed as he took his seat on Kyle’s legs. Kyle’s eyes flew open as he was late to find out what was happening.

“Woah woah woah! I-I didn’t volunteer myself! I don’t wanna be ‘interronated!’” Kyle pulled on his legs as Kenny and Stan pulled his arms apart to sit on his elbows.

“What’s wrong Kyle? Nervous after how you treated me, huh? You know I actually have a question of my own.” Stan loomed up over Kyle, Kyle now wearing a nervous face.

“Wamph! I hamve a quemphon!” Kenny raised his hand excitedly. Stan gave him a sideways glance.

“Kenny save your question for Cartman’s turn. Kyle, did you ever have a crush on Wendy Testaburger? I knew you said you didn’t try to impress her when we had to take care of our eggs, but I’m not convinced.” There was a drawl to Stan’s voice, as if he knew he was using Kyle’s words against him. Kyle sagged against the floor at the impossible question. He could say no to this question all he wanted, but it would never convince Stan unless he gave him the answer he was looking for.

“Of course not Stan, I never had a crush on Wendy. I don’t even like her!” Kyle pleaded in his voice, but Stan wasn’t having it. Kyle’s heart started to beat. The boys would soon find out that Kyle was the most ticklish one in the group really fucking quick. He’d have to hold out as much as possible.

“Uh oh Stan, looks like he’s lying. You know what we do to liars around these parts, don’t you Kyle?” Cartman, always the instigator, butted in. All three boys stared down at Kyle. He swallowed nervously.

“W-Wait a second! Give me another question, that isn’t even fair! Stan you know I never had a crush on Wendy and I never will!” Kyle pulled on his arms as Stan’s hands started to slip under Kyle’s jacket.

“Damn, trying to steal Stan’s woman Kyle? That’s totally not cool. Stan, you should show him what happens when you cross a Marsh.” Cartman butted in once more.

“Cartman shut the fuck- uhuhuhup! Stahahan stohohop!” Kyle shook with laughter as Stan gripped his fingers all over Kyle’s freckled tummy. Cartman and Kenny followed suit and started tickling the usual spots, but on Kyle the reactions seemed to be doubled.

“Stohohohop!! I’m- I’m seheheherious!” Kyle’s eyes narrowed in his high pitched laughter.

“Ohm, hemph som timplhish!” Kenny remarked brightly. Stan started squeezing around Kyle’s belly button, which Kyle let out a shriek.

“Tell me, Kyle! Tell me you had a crush on Wendy!” Stan actually was interrogating Kyle at this point, which filled Cartman with a sadistic glee, to see Stan and Kyle bicker and to see Kyle in such a predicament.

“Oh, did you hear that Stan? Kyle totally called you a pussy!” Cartman instigated.

“YOU SAID WHAT?! I’LL KILL YOU!!” Stan growled and started kneading into Kyle’s ribs. Kyle let out a cry of half pain and half unabashed laughter.

“NOHOHO!! He’s lyhyhyhying! Cahahartman I’m gohohonna fuhuhucking fihihhight yohohohou!!” Kyle let out. Kenny kept his tickling to a minimum. He knew what it was like to die of laughter, and he didn’t want to subject that to Kyle. Cartman and Stan were having fun hearing Kyle in such a state.

“Oh oh, did you hear that Stan? I belieeeeve Kyle just said you’re a pussy whipped cuck who has no chance with Wendy, you have a better chance with your sister Shelly!” Cartman was having an incredible time watching Kyle flail and pull on his limbs to escape. Cartman started kneading into Kyle’s waist and thighs while Stan dug into Kyle’s sides.

“Shut up Cartman, he didn’t say all that. Come on Kyle, say you had a crush on Wendy already and this can stop.”

“Unleph hem limph it.” Kenny interjected. A lightbulb appeared over Stan’s head.

“Ooooh, that’s it huh? You’re not letting up cause you like it, Kyle? Just admit it! You admit liking getting tickled and you liked Wendy!” Kyle was experiencing too many things to answer. Stan’s hands sped up under his jacket, making Kyle laugh so hard his hat was knocked askew from his head.

“I dohohohon’t lihihihike gehehetting tickled!! Ahahand I dohohohon’t lihihihike Wendeheheey! Plehehehease Stahahahan!!” Kyle shook his head back and forth to try and throw the tickles off of him, but that just knocked his hat off his head. His ginger hair was unleashed; his velvety curls splayed all over his carpet.

“Oh come on Kyle, if you just admit that you like it, it’ll stop. The fact that you’re nooooot admitting it leads us to believe you like it afterall...” Cartman reasoned with Kyle.

“Duhuhuhude nohohoho wahahay! STOP! STAHAHAHAP STAHAHAHAN!!” Kyle belted out his laughter when Stan fluttered his fingers over his bare ear. Stan scribbled all around it, his fingers getting lost in Kyle’s red curls. Kyle was sent into a spiral of silent laughter.

“Ohp, you’re killing him Stan. Welp, that’s one less Jew to worry about, I guess. Heh heh heh.” Cartman snickered while Stan rolled his eyes and lessened up his tickling.

“Alrihihihight! Alright stohohop nohohow please! I ahahahadmit it! I lihihihike tihihihickles ahahahand I like Wehehehendy!!” Kyle blurted out. Stan waved everyone’s hands away as soon as Kyle uttered his confessions. Kyle’s heart beat quickly as he lay on the floor breathless.

“Aw sweet! I got that on video!” Cartman had a shit-eating grin on his face while he replayed Kyle’s laughter filled confession. “Oh I’m totally turning this into my ringtone.”

Kyle turned to Stan while he still laid on the floor.

“S-Stahan, I don’t like Wendy, I never did. I only sahaid it, so it would stop-”

“I know dude. I just wanted to get you back for how you had me before.”

“What?! But you actually stole something from me! It was what you deserved!”

“Yeah well-” Stan shrugged. “-Now I know you’re crazy ticklish, so I can tickle you whenever I want.”

Kyle sat upright and dove after Stan, Kenny backing up from the fight.

“You bastard! I’ll kill you!” Stan and Kyle started rumbling on the carpet, while Cartman got up and broke them apart.

“Hey wait a minute! I never got a chance to get ‘interronated’!”

Kyle and Stan stared at him blankly.

“....Dude, nobody wants to tickle you Cartman.” Kyle remarked.

“Yeah nobody wants to tickle you, fatass.” Stan agreed.

“What the-” Cartman sputtered as he looked to Kenny, and Kenny just shrugged.

“Well fine! I didn’t wanna get ‘interronated’ anyway! I would have outlasted all of you guys and I would have been the coolest guy in the room! Well now you don’t get a chance! Screw you guys, I’m goin’ hooome!” Cartman left Kyle’s room with Stan and Kyle still on top of each other.

Stan got off of Kyle and turned to Kenny.

“Well, that was the gayest thing I’ve ever done.” Stan claimed.

“....Wanna play Monopoly again?”

#south park #south park tickles #lee kenny #lee stan #lee kyle #ler kenny #ler stan #ler kyle #ler cartman #danny writes

96 notes · View notes

sweeter-innocence-fics · 1 year

Text

She Has No Idea (That I’m Even Here) - Chapter Four

Pairings: Steve Harrington x reader, one-sided Billy Hargrove x reader, side Nancy Wheeler x Robin Buckley

Work Summary:

Steve Harrington x reader Summer Camp AU with a side order of Billy Hargrove being a dick.

Chapters: 1 2 3 4

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 4387

Read on AO3.

Masterlists.

Taglist: @mrs-kai-anderson @ang3l1te @missryerye @nix-rose @fandom-princess-forevermore

Taglist info

Previous Chapter

Notes:

Final Chapter!

warnings for slut shaming, bullying, slight ED themes, Jason Carver being a dick, Billy being slightly less of a dick, little bit of fighting/violence, ronance <3, jealousy, being kinda attracted to billy despite him being a dick, sex mentions, boner mentions, weed, (potentially underage?) drinking, hellcheer friendship, mentions of roofies (nothing dub- or non-con happens though), protective stevie, chrissy cunningham deserves to be happy, mentions of homophobia

---

The last couple of weeks of camp went by in a blur. Billy had avoided you since your awkward moment in the cafeteria, but you’d been so busy with activities and a surprisingly bustling social life that you hardly noticed.

Most evenings after dinner, some combination of Steve, Eddie, Jonathan and Argyle came to hang out in your cabin, which eventually got dubbed ‘the party cabin’. The staff turned a blind eye.

A few days before the camp closed at the end of summer, you and your cabinmates, plus Steve and Eddie, were playing a card game on the floor of the cabin. The windows were all open due to the sweltering heat.

Over the sounds of cicadas chirping and Steve shuffling the deck, there was a knock at the door.

“Probably Jonathan and Argyle,” you said, about to get to your feet, but Eddie was closer to the door so he made it there first.

It was not Jonathan and Argyle. On the doorstep was Jason Carver, flanked by his friends. He seemed taken aback to see Eddie.

“What the fuck are you doing in my girlfriend’s cabin, freak?” he snapped.

“I’m in my friends’ cabin, actually,” said Eddie. He didn’t back down, so Jason shoved past him to get in. Steve was on his feet immediately, blocking Jason’s path. You couldn’t help but notice that he’d positioned himself between Jason and all the girls in the room.

With considerably less grace, you got to your feet too.

“What’s your problem, man?” asked Steve, raising both hands placatingly.

Jason glared back at him. “Stay out of this, Harrington. I’ve been hearing whispers around camp that guys have been coming and going from this cabin a lot. I’m not okay with my girlfriend hanging out with other guys without telling me.”

“Without your permission, you mean?” you snarked back at him.

His gaze fixed on you then. You felt like he was trying a bore a hole right through you with his eyes. “I never said that.”

“Regardless. Chrissy isn’t only person in this cabin. We’ve all been hanging out with our friends in the evening. Chrissy hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“Oh, so all of the guys are here to see you, are they?” He scoffed, looking you up and down. “Running a train on Y/N every night? I gotta tell you, it doesn’t surprise me that you turned out to be a massive sl-”

Jason didn’t get to finish his sentence, because Steve launched himself at him, pinning him to the wall.

“You keep your damn mouth shut, Carver,” he growled at him. Chance and Andy began to advance on Steve, but you stepped into the space between them. You could feel Eddie coming to stand at your other side.

“You need to get out of my cabin, right now,” you said.

Jason glared at you. “Or what?”

“Or I throw you out,” said Steve, redoubling his grip on Jason’s shirt. “You don’t get to just come into the girls’ cabins without asking, even if your girlfriend is staying there, asshole.”

Jason shoved back at Steve, who stumbled back, letting go of his shirt. Straightening up, Jason dusted himself off, a look of disgust on his face.

“I’m here because Chrissy has barely been talking to me, and now I know why. All you little satanic freaks have been poisoning her mind.”

“Jason.” Chrissy’s firm tone cut through the air. The room fell deadly silent. “They’re not freaks. They’re my friends. You need to leave now. I can’t date someone who acts like this.”

Jason’s face went white as a sheet. “Baby, wait-”

“Don’t ‘baby’ me. It’s over, Jason.”

His brow furrowed. He pushed Steve aside and made for Chrissy. “Baby, please, let’s talk about it.”

You stepped into his path. “She said it’s over, Carver. Move on.”

“This is none of your business, slut.” He barged past you, knocking you off balance. Steve caught your arm so you wouldn’t fall, and Eddie stepped in front of Jason. Steve was poised, ready to fight, but you put out a hand, trying to calm him.

“I’m not trying to steal Chrissy away from you, Carver,” said Eddie. “She doesn’t want you here anymore. So you should get lost.”

Jason looked over his shoulder at his friends for backup, but they looked uncertain. “We don’t want any trouble,” said Patrick. “Maybe we should leave?”

“I’m not going anywhere without Chrissy.”

“Jason… We should go.”

With his friends backing away, Jason didn’t seem so tough anymore. Both Steve and Eddie were taller than him, and it was clear that if it came down to a fight, Patrick, Andy and Chance weren’t going to get involved.

He glared at Chrissy, and then at Eddie, before turning on his heel and walking out the room. The door slammed behind him, making the whole cabin shake. You let out a shaky sigh of relief.

Behind you, you heard a strangled cry. You turned to see Chrissy with her hands over her face, shoulders shaking. Eddie knelt down beside her and put a tentative hand on her arm.

“It’s okay, he’s gone, you’re alright,” he said, and she shook her head, moving her hands. She was laughing. It was a strange, hysterical laughter, but it was better than her crying.

She wiped a stray tear away with the back of her hand and said, “I’ve been wanting to do that for weeks.”

Nancy put her arm around her and squeezed. “Proud of you.”

A moment later, there was another knock on the door. You tensed, but this time, it was only Argyle and Jonathan.

“I just ran into Carver and he told me to fuck off,” said Jonathan, sitting down next to Nancy. You watched Robin’s eyes dart between them.

“Thought you were gonna get schmacked,” said Argyle, grinning hazily.

“I just broke up with him,” said Chrissy, and then she giggled.

“I’ll cheers to that. Sounds like you’re in need of a celebration.” Argyle pulled out a little baggie of weed, some rolling papers and a grinder. Eddie not so subtly sat down next to him.

“You okay?” Steve murmured to you. “Thought Carver was about to start swinging.”

“I’m okay. Are you okay?”

“Wouldn’t be my first fight,” he said, smiling at you.

“I reckon you could actually take him.” Unlike Jonathan. Unlike Billy. You hadn’t been present for either of those beatdowns, but you’d seen the aftermath.

“Thanks for your faith in me.”

On the last evening of camp, after a day of activities, there was a party for the kids. The cafeteria tables had been rearranged to make space for a dance floor, and the whole place was decorated with streamers that you and Chrissy had spent hours meticulously putting up.

The tables were laid out with pizzas and soda, and a stereo had been brought in to play music. Nancy had been in charge of putting together a mixtape for the party; Eddie had also volunteered, but had been overruled.

Even though it was for the kids, it was fun. You ate pizza until your tummy hurt, sitting on the sidelines with Eddie and Chrissy, watching the kids doing their ridiculous dances in the middle of the open space.

Jason sat across the cafeteria from you with his friends, watching Chrissy instead of the kids that they were supposed to be chaperoning. It surprised you that Chrissy didn’t seem all that bothered by it. She just sipped on her soda and clapped along, encouraging the kids to dance.

You even managed to persuade Erica Sinclair to dance. Despite her confidence, she was pretty inhibited. She was afraid of seeming ‘uncool’ for even a second. So you stood up with Eddie and Chrissy and did a few ridiculous dance moves of your own, until you noticed her out of the corner of your eye, challenging her older brother to a dance off, the winner of which was highly contested. Mission accomplished.

Once the kids had all been sent back to their cabins – full of food and sugar and caffeine – the counsellors had a celebration of their own. Your ‘party cabin’ wasn’t big enough for everyone, so you gathered in a big clearing in the woods.

Argyle brought the weed, while Eddie had managed to source a crate of beer and a couple of bottles of vodka. Nancy had squirreled away the leftover soda from the kids’ party, which meant you could have mixed drinks. Steve and Robin had built a campfire, bickering about it the whole time. Even so, it turned out pretty well.

The staff had all turned in early for the night (though you suspected they may have been having their own party in Hopper’s office) and as such, you weren’t worried about getting caught. There was no music – no one wanted to risk drawing the attention of the campers – so the air was filled with the sounds of people talking and the campfire crackling.

You were glad to see that, while Jason’s three friends were here, Jason himself was not. You imagined that he was sulking in his cabin, pining over Chrissy. Good.

There was a big, smooth-looking rock at the edge of the clearing. You squatted down and dug your hands under it, trying to lift it. It was heavy, so you only managed to get it about a foot off the ground before one side tipped to the ground again.

“Need a hand?”

You looked up to see Billy standing over you. You straightened up immediately, letting the rock fall back into its original position.

“It’s fine.”

“Come on.” He gave you a half-smile. “Where were you trying to put it?”

“Near the fire.”

“Okay.” He bent down and heaved the rocked into your arms with considerably more grace than you had. His arms and abs clenched with the effort. “Show me where you want it.”

Feeling a little embarrassed, you led him back over to the fire and pointed to the spot you’d been eyeing up (close enough to feel its warmth, but not close enough to be bothered by the smoke). He lowered it into position and even straightened it up for you. You had a perfect little bench for one.

It was a warm night, so you slipped Steve’s hoody off your shoulders and lay it down on the rock for you to sit on.

Billy cleared his throat awkwardly. “What are you drinking?” he asked.

“Uhh… vodka lemonade?”

“Alright.” You watched him walk over to the tree that the drinks were being stored under and grab you a cup.

Normally, you weren’t sure you’d trust a drink prepared by Billy Hargrove, but you had just watched him make the whole thing, step by step. Besides, you knew that Nancy, Robin and Chrissy would never let you wander off with Billy even if he did slip something in your drink.

“What was the point of me bringing this all the way over here if you’re not even gonna sit?” he asked, gesturing at the rock good-humouredly. He had a beach chair under his arm and a can of beer squeezed in the crook of his elbow. “Or you could sit on this. It’s actually designed for sitting.”

“I prefer the rock. It’s more rugged.” You sat down and he passed you your cup. With a hand now free, he unfolded the beach chair, sat down and cracked open his beer. As he took a sip, you watched a bead of condensation roll down his chin.

His attractiveness was undeniable, but it was at times like this that you realised that he was beautiful. If he hadn’t treated you so badly for all these years, you probably would’ve thrown yourself at him that night at the cafeteria, in spite of your feelings for Steve. Unlike Steve, you were sure that Billy liked you.

But in the real world, Billy had spent years finding little ways to poke and prod at your insecurities, chipping away at your self-esteem. Had he liked you back then? Or did saving his life make him see you in a new light? Was his bullying all some kind of strategy to make you feel like you couldn’t do better than him, or had he been in denial, taking out his confusion at his own feelings on you?

It didn’t matter. He was an asshole. An apology, a drink, and moving a rock weren’t enough to make up for years of ill-treatment. Could you like him in the future? Maybe, but there was a lot more work to be done before that.

Steve had been an asshole once, and now you were head over heels for him. It stood to reason that, if people could change, your feelings about them could too.

“Are we gonna talk about what happened that night at the cafeteria?” you asked.

“I’m gonna need more beers before that.” He started to stand up, but you grabbed his forearm, and he froze.

“Sit down and start acting like an adult for once.”

He met your eyes and slowly lowered himself back into his chair. “What’s there to talk about? I got the message. You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you, Billy.”

In spite of everything, you found it hard to hate him. You knew that he’d moved out of his dad’s house as soon as he turned eighteen, and at that point, he’d changed. He wasn’t nearly so violent and volatile as he had been.

Of course, you’d never witnessed it yourself, but there had been rumours about his dad. That he’d hit him. And sometimes Billy would come to school sporting a shiner, and he’d tell everyone that he’d got into a fight, but you hadn’t been quite sure.

Maybe people are all products of their environment. Steve was only ‘King Steve’ in high school, surrounded by adoring admirers who were too sycophantic and cruel to tell him when he was being an asshole. Without those admirers, he was kind and caring and sweet and protective.

Maybe Billy was Billy because of his dad. But that didn’t change anything. He’d still done everything he’d done. He’d still tormented you for years and beaten the crap out of Steve and threatened to hurt Lucas for dating Max, and probably a lot of other stuff you didn’t know about.

Maybe someday he would stop being the boy who did those sorts of things. But he would always be the boy who had done those things.

“I don’t hate you. I just don’t want to date you. You’ve spent years making me feel like shit. How could anyone build a relationship out of that?”

Billy sighed. “I know I’ve fucked up. I know I have. But I’m trying to make it better.”

“Well, keep trying.” You took a deep swig of your drink. You were pleasantly surprised to find that Billy had even put ice in it.

“Alright, you don’t want to date me. How about we just have some fun? I could show you a real good time.” He leered at you, but you now saw this for what it was. He was falling back on a defence mechanism, acting like a perv to try and push you away. Or maybe he just really wanted to fuck you. Either way you leant back in disgust.

“No thanks. I’m not interested in having a ‘good time’ with you.”

“Because you’re in love with Harrington.”

“This has nothing to do with Steve!” you snapped, far too loudly. There was a lull in conversation as people turned to look at you. Your face was hot, from the fire, the booze or the embarrassment, you weren’t sure.

“You should probably tell him that. He’s been staring at me like he wants to kill me for the last five minutes.” Billy took a sip of his beer and nodded towards the edge of the clearing. You followed his gaze and saw Steve leaning against a tree, crushed beer can in his hand. When he saw you looking, he quickly looked away.

“I’m man enough to know when I’m beat. I hope he makes you happy,” said Billy. And with that, he stood up and patted you on the shoulder.

You realised with horror that he was walking over to Steve. Steve visibly tensed, but Billy just said something to him, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at you. Steve looked up and your eyes met. While you were looking at Steve, Billy tossed his beer can on the ground and walked off into the trees.

You had told Billy that none of this had anything to do with Steve, but you wondered if you had been wrong. Steve had been a constant presence this camp season, always there to feed you that little bit of hope that maybe you had a chance with him.

If you had truly believed that nothing could ever happen with Steve, if he hadn’t showered you with compliments and carried your trays and lent you his hoody as well as a hundred other little kindnesses, would you have let Billy kiss you?

There was a time when you had felt desperate to be loved. Billy had fueled that, with all of his insults and teasing that made you believe no one desired you. Maybe in another world, you would’ve been desperate enough to let him kiss you, and fuck you, and take whatever else he wanted from you because that’s all you thought you were worth.

But in this world, there was Steve. Steve let you know that it was okay to hope for better. To want someone who made you feel like you were worth wanting.

A moment after Billy disappeared, Steve pushed himself away from his tree and walked towards you. Your heart was starting to speed up. You drained the rest of your cup nervously.

“You want another one of those?” he asked you.

“Sure. Vodka lemonade, please.”

“I know. I watched Billy make it for you.”

He took your cup and went over to the drinks. Your eyes scanned the rest of the party, looking for your friends. Chrissy was smoking a joint with Eddie, Argyle and Jonathan. Her hair, normally tied back in a tight ponytail, hung loosely around her shoulders. She looked happy.

You looked around for Robin and Nancy, but couldn’t see them anywhere.

As Steve slid into the seat next to you, you asked him, “Have you seen Robin?”

He looked around and then leant closer to you. “She snuck off with Nancy a few minutes ago, after I told her to stop being such a dumbass about it. She had to take a couple of shots, but she did it.”

“You know about Robin?” you asked in disbelief.

“I’m the first person she told.” He grinned at you, looking proud. That surprised you. You knew that her and Steve were close, but you couldn’t imagine her confiding something like that in him. You supposed you knew them both less well than you thought. “And a couple of weeks ago, she told me that she’d told you too. She’d been so nervous, but she said you took it well.”

“Robin is my friend, no matter what.”

“Good. ‘Cause she’s my best friend, and I can’t be spending time with anyone who’d hurt her.”

“I’ll cheers to that,” you said, mimicking Argyle as you clinked your cup against his beer can.

“So, I see you gave Billy the bum’s rush.”

“I was nice about it!” you protested.

“Nicer than he deserved, I’ll bet.” His fingers tapped against the arm of his chair. You wanted to put your hand on his, but you were nowhere near drunk enough.

“He, uh… He tried to kiss me a few weeks ago. I didn’t let him.”

Steve swallowed a sip of beer, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion. After a moment, he said, “Good.”

“Why’s that good?” you asked, hoping that you knew the answer.

“Because he’s an asshole.” Your heart sank a little, but then he said, “And you deserve better. You deserve someone who makes you feel you could tell them anything. Someone who won’t turn around and use your insecurities to hurt you.”

“Uh-huh. You got someone in mind?” You had almost finished your second drink now, and you were starting to feel a little bold. As Steve opened his mouth, a wave of anxiety overcame you, and you got to your feet. “I’m gonna go get another drink. You want one?”

“Sure.”

You expected him to wait for you, but after a moment, you realised that he was following you. As you poured a more generous helping of vodka into your cup, he said, “Can we talk? Somewhere more private?”

Afraid of what might come out of your mouth if you spoke, you just nodded.

You followed him through the trees, wondering how the fuck he managed to navigate through the thick foliage, until the two of you emerged into a familiar clearing. The big wide stump was waiting for you, looking enticing under the moonlight.

Steve didn’t sit down though. He took a big swig of his beer, swallowed, and then said, “I’ve been kinda messed up over you all summer. It’s been a long time since I felt this way about anyone.”

Your heart stuttered. Under the moonlight, his eyes were big and dark and bright as they stared into yours.

“Robin said I was being an idiot. And a hypocrite, because I was always telling her to shoot her shot with Nancy. Every time I was alone with you, I’d get so close to telling you how I felt, and every time, I clammed up. I was scared to make a fool of myself, which is stupid because I’ve been making a fool of myself in front of girls for years. Just ask Robin. She used to keep a tally of all the times I struck out. I wasn’t scared to put myself out there. But with you, it’s different. I was just so terrified that you’d turn me down. So I chickened out, every time.”

“Steve…” you breathed, unable to believe what you were hearing. Steve Harrington had thought you would turn him down. The world was upside down.

“But then you rejected Billy and I thought that maybe… well, maybe you might like me too? Even though every time I got close to you, you’d end up backing away. You were always the one who left first.”

“Because I was scared,” you said. “Scared that it was all a joke. Or that you were just being nice. Scared that I’d get too close and become too clingy and you’d think I was a gross creep or something.”

“I’d never think that.”

“Steve…” His name came out as half a laugh and half a sigh of relief. “I’ve had a crush on you since, like, fifth grade.”

The invisible bar that had been holding you at arms’ length from him seemed to collapse, hitting you right in the stomach. Steve crossed the distance in one stride and cupped your face in his hands. He kissed you, and you felt like stars were bursting inside you.

It was a sweet, gentle, chaste kiss at first, but you were a little tipsy and a little horny from the way Steve was touching you, so you kissed him back sloppily, licking at the inside of his mouth.

He responded in kind, hands touching you everywhere, trailing kisses down the column of your throat as you gasped for breath. He manoeuvred you both until your butt was pressed against the tree stump, his hands sliding up the outside of your thighs until they reached the hem of your shorts.

You kissed until you ran out of breath, and then you leant your head back, letting Steve nibble and suck at your neck. The moon stared back down at you, almost full. You wondered if the moon was making you crazy, or if it was just Steve making you feel like this, desperately grinding on him in the woods.

You hooked one leg over his hip, tugging him closer.

“We need to stop,” he panted, fingertips sliding up under your t-shirt. “Or else I’m gonna have a problem.”

“Feels like you already have a problem.” And it was true that you could feel him through his shorts, half-hard and pressed up against your leg.

He stilled. “As tempting as the idea of fucking you in the woods is,” your stomach swooped at the suggestion, “I want to take my time with you. Somewhere where no one is going to interrupt us.”

You swallowed and nodded. “Okay.”

A smile flitted across his face. “When camp is over, do you wanna go out with me?”

“Yeah, I really do.”

When you finally managed to drag yourselves away from each other, you helped each other straighten your clothes before heading back to the main party.

Nancy and Robin had re-emerged, sitting on a log by the fire, thigh to thigh and both looking very giggly. Nancy’s hair was messier than you’d ever seen it, and you thought that maybe you could see the trace of a hickey on Robin’s neck.

Your eyes met hers, and she stared at the way Steve’s arm was slung casually over your shoulder. She grinned at you, and you grinned back.

You passed by Eddie, who looked at you both with wide eyes and an excited smile. He was about to say something, but Steve raised a hand.

“Don’t you dare,” he warned, and Eddie raised both hands in surrender.

Steve’s hoody was still on the rock where you left it. You tried to offer it back to him, and he looked positively offended by the suggestion. He picked it up and draped it over your shoulders, and then sat down on the rock himself. You were about to sit in the chair beside it when he tugged you down to sit sideways across his lap.

“How are people gonna know you’re my girl if you’re not wearing my hoody?” My girl.

“Well, I think the fact I’m sitting in your lap right now might be a clue.”

“You’re so smart,” he said, grinning at you dopily. You couldn’t help but giggle. “My girl’s so smart.”

---

Notes:

Thank you for reading <3

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x yn

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chockfullofsecrets · 1 year

Text

Top Gun Maverick: Kid Shit

(Read on AO3)

Rating: Gen

Summary: He scoffs. “I’m not ticklish anymore, Mav. That’s kid shit.”

Mav uncrosses his arms. “Yeah? Wanna bet?”

In the aftermath of the mission, Bradley and Maverick revisit some old traditions.

Wordcount: 1769

A/N: Yeah, this was just about the stage of the [watch the new Mission Impossible > start catching up on Tom Cruise movies > start looking for fic > read everything @ticklish-academic has ever written for this fandom > get ideas] pipeline I expected I'd get to. Feel free to hit me up if there's anything else you want to see for M:I/TGM while the hyperfixation lasts :P

After the crush of people on the deck breaks up, handshakes and hugs and general oh-shit-we’re-alive energy starting to fade back into the normal schedule of things, he and Mav get shuttled off to sickbay and told in no uncertain terms to stay put until the adrenaline wears off enough for them to tell exactly how bad they’re hurting. Mav puts up a fight, of course, but Bradley knows better - every aviator’s heard the horror stories, herniated discs and torn muscles from the force of ejection, and he’s got one that’s more personal than most.

Mav does too, to be fair, but it’s not like anything short of a direct chewing out from the Almighty himself would keep him from being stupid about his health. And even then, it’d be a toss up.

A week ago, he’d have pulled one of the staff aside and asked to be as far away from Mav as he could possibly get. The urge isn’t completely gone. Mav promised him they’d talk it out, when they got back, but after the mission - Mav saving his life and him saving Mav right back and sitting there in the backseat of that old as shit plane with nothing to do but trust him and try not to pass out - maybe they’ve bonded, okay? Maybe talking’s just going to make it worse. He’d rather wait until he has the option to walk away, if he needs to.

Really earning that Rooster callsign, huh. He’d be angrier at himself if he had the energy for it.

As things are, they’re pointed to adjacent cots and left to stew. Five minutes pass. Fifteen. He avoids looking at Mav like it’s his new vocation in life and starts counting wall rivets.

Half an hour in, he groans for the fifth time in as many minutes and slides down until he’s laid out flat enough to adequately convey his despair. “Come on.”

There’s a shuffle from the cot next to him. “I hope that’s not you realizing you broke something,” Mav says dryly.

He groans again. “I’m bored, Mav. Where the hell are the rest of the Daggers? You’d think they’d at least bring us a deck of cards or something.”

Mav makes a noncommittal noise. Emboldened, he props himself up on an elbow and dares to look over. “How are you okay with this, anyways? You hate sitting still.”

Mav’s reclining into the curve of his rickety half-raised bed, arms folded neatly over his chest like he hasn’t got a care in the world. Bradley’s struck by an intense, childish urge to get up and flip the whole thing. “Believe me, I’m not thrilled either. Not my first time playing the waiting game, though.”

Of course it isn’t. Come to think of it, he’d be surprised if a mission for Mav didn’t end in medical intervention.

He says as much, a little more snidely than he means to, and Mav turns his head with glacial indolence to raise an eyebrow in his direction. “Bad mood, huh.”

And doesn’t that just - it makes him feel like he’s a teenager again, gangly and sweaty and more upset about everything than he should be. Not the tone, even, just that Mav hasn’t been around to look at him like that in so long - and the words come out almost without his permission. “Yeah - well, I’m stuck in here with you, aren’t I?”

Mav’s bland expression flickers, just for a moment, and he instantly feels like the worst person on earth. The man saved his life less than twenty four hours ago, and here he is mouthing off like he’d used to when they’d known each other well enough not to take it seriously.

He lays himself back down, too much of a coward to see whatever else Mav’s face is broadcasting at him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

Mav’s still looking at him, he can feel it. The silence stretches out before them like a ship’s runway, pitching and yawing like he’ll launch straight off it and into the water if he’s not careful.

And then, like he always does, Mav takes the challenge and starts taxiing. “Lighten up, kid, or I’m going to have to cheer you up the way your dad used to.”

Bradley’s surprised enough to look back at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mav cocks his head, mouth twitching. “What, you don’t remember?”

Something about the tilt of Mav’s smile, the not-entirely-begrudging amusement in his eyes, registers somewhere in the back of his brain - and he does remember, then, though it’s not his dad he’s thinking of.

It’s Mav - Mav sneaking behind him and sweeping him up before he can run, Mav reaching over to him in the passenger seat where he’s buckled in and can only move so far before the seat belt catches him, Mav dumping him onto the couch and grabbing one of his legs before he can start kicking and-

He scoffs. “I’m not ticklish anymore, Mav. That’s kid shit.”

Mav uncrosses his arms. “Yeah? Wanna bet?”

He tells himself firmly that the reflexive flinch when Mav starts getting up is fear for the old man’s spine and absolutely nothing else. “Mav, come on, you’re not supposed to be moving around - Mav!”

He scrambles back the singular inch that his cot allows, barely managing to sit up before Mav’s perching on the edge of it and smirking at him. “Hey, you don’t look bored anymore.”

Well, Mav’s got one thing right. His entire brain’s diverted from boredom to run a diagnostic on what feels like every single one of his nerve endings, and he’s more than a little suspicious of the results. “You’re - I’m being threatened here, that’s not-”

Mav shakes his head disbelievingly, still grinning like the devil himself. “Threatened? What happened to ‘kid shit’?”

“I’m not ticklish,” he insists. He can almost make himself believe it, too, that his body’s just operating on decade-old instinct, responding disproportionately to a memory meant to stay in the past. “Try me, it’s just going to be awkward for both of us. You probably pulled something just coming over here, old man.”

It’s not a go fuck off and die, and Mav knows it - Bradley watches him pause for a moment and mull it over, grin softening into something warmer and less provocative, and has to consciously pull the corners of his mouth back into the stern line he wants them in to prevent himself from smiling back. “Bold words, kid.”

“True words,” he fires back, just before Mav’s wriggling fingers hit his stomach and prove him very definitively wrong.

He’s laughing before he can even try to stop himself, doubled over and curling up like he can somehow still manage to keep Mav’s hands away from the spot they’re already attacking. “Shihihit! Mav!”

“That’s me,” Mav says flippantly, sliding close enough to get an arm around him when his body makes a commendable attempt to escape by rolling off the far side of the bed. “Not ticklish, huh? Pretty sure things went in the other direction.”

Mav’s obviously messing with him, but he’s not wrong - Bradley doesn’t remember anything tickling as badly as Mav’s fingertips kneading into the bend of his waist do. “No!” he yelps anyways, smashing one arm over his mouth in a desperate attempt to stay quiet and throwing the other out frantically to get Mav the hell off him.

Mav’s arm tightens across his chest. He’s being reeled back in, forced out of the fetal position he’s locked himself into and giving Mav even more room to wreak havoc - it’s too much, all at once, and he squeals. Squeals, like he’s a teenage girl at a concert and not a naval aviator in his thirties. He has the sudden, paranoid thought that Hangman might hear him through the vents.

The thought of it makes him laugh even harder, frantic - smothering himself in his elbow is keeping him quiet enough for now, but if Mav keeps tickling him like this it’s only going to last so long. “Ha - ahaHA - quit it,” he pleads, sacrificing his assault on Mav’s iron band of a grip to wrap an extra arm around his face. “Ihihi - I can’t-”

Mav releases him almost instantly, letting him flop onto his side and curl back up until he can stop wheezing out giggles into his kneecaps. “Well, that’s different,” he offers - Bradley can hear him grinning, the bastard. “You never used to ask me to stop.”

Just the thought of being tickled more nearly sets him off again. Thankfully, Mav decides to shut up and wait for him to catch his breath before he coughs himself to death on Navy property.

He calms down. It’s easier, now, less charged, to roll over onto his back with his hip mashed up against Mav’s thigh and reach up to smack him in the shoulder. “Well, yeah. We’re in public, Mav,” he says defensively. “You can’t just go around doing that to people.”

Mav catches his hand before it can drop back down to his chest, squeezes it playfully with his eyes lit up like fireworks. “Hey, you asked for it!”

Bradley hasn’t seen him this happy in - well. That’s kind of his fault, isn’t it. He wrestles his hand free for a moment before thinking better of it, relenting and letting it fall somewhere in the vicinity of Mav’s legs. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

Mav laughs to himself, then, just long enough that it’s worth Bradley cracking an eye open to glare at him. “What.”

“Nothing,” Mav says quickly.

Bradley glares harder.

“Nothing!” he promises, then just as quickly retracts it. Typical Mav. “It’s just - my hangar, I’m working on a P-51 Mustang out there. You could come out and see it sometime, if you wanted to.”

He’s not sure what’s so funny about it, but he lets himself grin anyway. “As long as we don’t have to dogfight in it - that sounds good, Mav.”

“It’s about as far as you can get from public, though,” Mav adds, teasing, “so I can go around tickling anyone I want. Fair warning.”

Oh, there’s the joke. He can’t even bring himself to pretend he doesn’t want to go, though, just scoffs and shoves at Mav’s arm again before letting his eyes fall shut. “Go lie down before I change my mind, Mav, I saw that wince.”

“Yeah, yeah.” A hand ruffles through his hair. It’s nice. “You look tired, kid, knock it off.”

Mav doesn’t move until he falls asleep. Maybe it’s not so bad being someone’s kid again after all.

#tickling #top gun maverick #pete “maverick” mitchell #bradley “rooster” bradshaw #chocfic

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green-fifteen · 8 months

Text

Day 2: unauthorized surveillance in the boys room

Prompt: Eavesdrop Fandom: X-Files (TV) Pairing: Scully & Mulder / Gen Summary: In a world where Scully and Mulder meet as Dana and Fox, two teenagers take on a high-stakes case. (I wrote a high school AU for some reason.) Word count: 2,889 read on AO3 instead

for @fluffyfebruary

Fox opens his locker and dumps his books inside. They land noisily in an uncomfortable-looking pile. He can hear the locker to his right opening as he shuffles through the mess of papers on his shelf. Where is his damn essay?

The girl next to him tucks a few strands of orange hair behind her ear and adjusts something neatly within her own locker, then closes and locks it. There's a tall boy standing at her side who looks like he was sculpted by the head coach to fill out a football jersey. Fox looks away from them when he bends his head to kiss her.

"Come to practice?" he hears.

"I can't today. There's a lab after school."

"Danaaaaa," he whines. Fox wrinkles his nose and his search starts to feels a little more desperate. He hates it when he has to listen to this guy. If he could just find that stupid essay! He knows it's here somewhere. He wrote it a whole week in advance, then put it in his locker for safe keeping until it was due. Which it is. Right now.

"Maybe you could come over for dinner tonight, when you're finished. Mom keeps asking me to invite you, even though I told her I have. Like seven times. She wants to meet you."

"I'll try. I'll be real tired after practice, though. How about I call you when I get home and let you know then?"

"Okay. I think my dad is making pasta, so there'll be plenty if you decide to come. I hope you do."

They're quiet after that while they lean in to kiss each other again, this time longer and more noisy. Fox scrambles through his mess one last time and finally spots what he's looking for. He nearly crows in triumph, but a glance at his watch shows him he doesn't have time to celebrate. He has to be on the other side of the building in one minute. He slams his locker shut and dashes down the hall, away from Dana and away from her lying boyfriend.

For Fox, school is (mostly) easy and very boring. As his report cards show, he doesn't have any trouble performing above the standard, academically (if you ignore his D+ in German). His extracurriculars are impressive, too; he's a cross country runner, and a whiz on the debate team.

The people at his school are also very boring. And, in a sense, they're also easy. There are lots of 'in-groups' that he's noticed: mean and pretty people, technology obsessives, artistic flunkies, just to name a few. Despite not caring about any of the things that bind these groups together, he's managed to become friendly with almost all of them. It's all surface level for him, though. It isn't that he doesn't care about people, or that he doesn't want to have real friends. It's just that everyone he goes to school with is too easy to read.

Take Dana's boyfriend as an example. He doesn't want to meet Dana's parents, likely because he doesn't take their relationship seriously. Despite this, he feeds her fake and obvious excuses to string her along, pretending he's as serious as she is. Once, Fox heard him say he "needs to clean the oven," after Dana invited him to her sister's birthday party.

And, unfortunately, Fox is never taken in by the little lies people tell to make and keep relationships. He hopes it will be easier when he's older, but at 17, he sometimes feels like he's the only genuine person he knows.

After he turns in his essay and manages to stay awake through the rest of class, he strides back to his locker. Dana is already there, bending to arrange her textbooks into some kind of order. When he opens his locker, she straightens and turns to face him.

"Hey, Fox," she says, voice friendly. It isn't hard to hear the nervous tension underneath it.

"Hi, Dana," he replies. He's pulling his folders from his backpack, tugging them out three or four at a time.

There's a moment of silence where he knows she's chewing on her lip. "You heard what Paul said today, right?"

Fox snorts and looks at her. Her face is a little pink and her eyes keep darting to him and away again. She holds her mouth in a straight line. He can't help but feel sorry for her.

"Yeah, I heard him."

"Do you think…" the words catch in her mouth, but she soldiers on. "He's not coming over for dinner, is he?"

He tries on a gentle smile, then says, as kindly as he can, "I don't think so."

She straightens her back and turns to lean on the front of her locker. Her entire posture signals determination to him all of a sudden, and he gets an uneasy feeling.

"Okay," she says. "I want proof."

"Proof?"

"Yes. No offense, but I'm not sure if I can totally trust your perspective on the situation. I don't know you that well." She shakes her head and the white light in the hallway glints gold off her glasses. "I want to break up with him. I think I need to. But I want to be sure."

He nods, slowly. "And you are going to do this… how, exactly?"

She faces him fully, arms crossed and gaze direct. "I need your help."

Fox feels his eyes go wide.

He's only spoken to Dana Scully twice since the beginning of the school year. The first time it happened, he'd been rushing to cross country and he was already late. He'd closed his locker and immediately lunged into her. Their books and homework pages had flown across the hallway and they'd worked together to sort everything. He didn't have much time for pleasantries, but when she'd said "I'm Dana," he'd said, "Fox," and "Nice to meet you," before sprinting away.

The second time was only five or six days before now. She'd been humming to herself, rummaging around in a bag of cosmetics. He'd been leaning against the locker on the other side of his, fiddling with an origami crane. He couldn't get the neck to fold correctly. Boyfriend Paul had come up and startled both of them, his huge hand slapping on metal.

"You look like a fish when you make that face," he'd said. "Like some deep sea thing with huge eyes."

She'd whacked him hard with a notebook and then they'd kissed. Their interaction after that had been almost identical to the one Fox saw today. Dana had asked him to come over, Paul had said "Sorry, Dana, I volunteered to babysit my nephew tonight," and then he'd gone away again.

And apparently, that was enough to push Fox over a line he didn't even know he'd been toeing.

"He's not going to come over," he'd said.

Dana had been surprised to hear him talk, at first. Then she'd been angry.

"Excuse me?"

"You have to know he's stringing you along."

"I don't--" she spluttered. "As a matter of fact, it is none of your business." She kept her voice low as she turned away from him, stuffing her backpack in an uncharacteristically haphazard fashion.

"Listen," he pressed. In for a penny, in for a pound. "I just wanna know why. Why are you still with that guy?"

She laughed like she was being forced to. "Oh, I see what this is. You're--"

"I'm not coming onto you." He ran a hand over his clammy forehead. "It's just been bothering me."

She slammed her locker shut and didn't meet his eyes. "Well, now you're bothering me." As she walked away, she looked like she'd like to turn back and say something else, something really biting. She appeared to think better of it and just marched away from him instead. Her orange ponytail swung in lockstep with her stride.

Now she's asking him for help.

"What?" he says, mouth hanging open a little.

She ignores him. "Football practice is tonight. Paul will be in the locker room in about," she checks her watch. "Fifteen minutes."

Fox just gapes at her.

"You're in cross country, right? I looked you up in the yearbook." He nods. "Good. And where are you going now?"

He looks at her with suspicious eyes. "Cross country."

"Perfect." She closes her locker with a bang like a striking gavel. "You'll take me with you."

"You can just go to the track yourself," he says. "You don't need me to take you there."

"No," she clarifies. "I want you to take me to the locker room."

Fox tries to argue, he really tries. He isn't nearly invested enough in this relationship to risk being punished when they get caught. He speaks at length to this point, at a rising volume. Unfortunately, Dana has a strategy of her own. She gives just as good as she gets while they argue, but then, when Fox has had enough and stomps away, she follows him. Realizing she'll just follow him all the way to the locker room, he takes an awkward minute to re-evaluate the situation, Dana standing fuming behind his back.

"You really think you're going to see or hear something about you?" he asks.

"Well, no, of course not. Not naturally, anyway."

He sighs. "You want me to bring it up." She nods. "But I don't even know Paul, I have never spoken to him!"

Dana gives him a hard look. "Fox, if it bothers you so much to listen to him lie, you should be happy to get him to tell the truth."

And she's right, he realizes.

That's how they find themselves in the empty locker room, mere minutes from being discovered, Dana's hands over her face while Fox changes faster than he ever has in his life.

"Okay, get in," he says, once he's crammed his school clothes into his backpack and placed everything on the hook. She's lucky the bottom of his locker in here is much emptier than his regular one.

She folds herself down into the cramped space and gives him a thumbs up. Before he closes it, he says, "You won't be able to say anything after I close this."

"I know." She looks annoyed.

"So do you want to say anything?"

"Yeah." She glares up at him, her eyes the only part of her that isn't in shadow. "Close the damn door, Fox."

He sits on the bench with his homework in his hands as the other athletes trickle in. The pages are just a prop-- he's listening for Paul, who comes in after a few minutes with a group of football players, laughing raucously. They're at a different group of lockers, somewhere behind him. His cross country teammates have already arrived and are making noise and chatting too loudly for Fox to make out what the footballers are saying, so he stands and pretends to stretch.

Then, his heart pounding, he sidles over to his teammate, Collins. "You know Dana Scully?"

Collins looks confused. "Yes? She's in my history class."

He makes himself fidget, like he's nervous to be asking, and says, "Does she have a boyfriend?"

"Why are you asking me? I hardly know her."

"Well, who might know? Could you ask around?"

He heaves a put-upon sigh, but walks over to another of their teammates and speaks to them. From there, it isn't long until one of them darts gleefully over to the football players.

Paul's voice cracks over their heads like a whip, halting all conversation.

"Who the hell is asking?"

And then he's coming around the corner, looking pissed off. His jersey hangs on his shoulders at a weird angle, like he just got it over his head before he came over.

"Mulder? You wanna date my girlfriend?"

Fox is a little afraid, he'll admit it. Some of the blood from his face seems to drain into his feet, pumping in and preparing him to run.

"Oh, uh." He looks around. Everyone is watching them, eyes darting from one to the other. The football players are leaning around the corner, wide grins on their faces. Even the swimmers have come around to see what's happening, padding over barefoot in their swimsuits.

"I was just asking if she was dating anybody. I didn't know she was your girlfriend. I don't even care about her that much." He's aware that this could be the fatal flaw of their entire plan-- that this innocent act depends on Paul being so blithely unobservant that he never noticed Fox listening to their conversations at Dana's locker.

"Well, now you know, idiot. Watch your mouth."

Well, there's that. Still, Fox knows he should to be very careful about what he says next. He's still not really sure how this is going to play out. What if he was wrong about him? He takes a deep breath.

"I will. I'm just curious, though-- how did you land a girl like that?"

Paul's eyes flash dangerously, but he laughs. "Oh man, Mulder. You did not just say that." The rest of the football team is laughing, too.

"No, I'm serious. Dana is great. How did you get her attention?"

Paul sobers and looks right into Mulder's eyes. "Dana is a redhead and boring as hell. I have never met a chick who talks more about her grades. On the other hand, I could date anyone I wanted in this school. Do you know why I'm still with her?"

Fox shakes his head.

"Because she's almost ready, man." At this, the footballers holler and make lewd gestures. Fox interprets them correctly.

"You think she'll have sex with you?"

One of the football players guffaws. "It's been two years! She'd better put out after two years!"

Another one says, "I wouldn't be surprised if she gives it up tonight."

Furrowing his brow, Fox asks, "What's tonight?"

Paul takes a menacing step closer. "What's it to you, dork? Why are you asking these questions? Researching how to make Dana fall in love with you?"

"Is she in love with you?" he asks, and it sounds like a challenge.

Paul's nostrils flare but he turns his head. "What do you think? She's been begging me to meet her family. Trying to take me tux shopping for prom. Of course she's in love with me." As he speaks, he's scanning the room just like Fox had, gauging the reactions from their classmates.

"And tonight," he says, almost grandly like he's making a royal announcement, "I'm gonna tie off the net."

"What does that mean?" he asks, honestly puzzled.

"I'm gonna come over for family dinner and convince her to go all the way." He says it like he thinks Fox is an idiot for needing an explanation.

After that, the locker room is a chorus of hooting and jabbering. Paul turns away from Fox to sneer something to his friends when a whistle suddenly cuts through the noise-- time to hit the field. Before he's tugged away, Paul looks at Mulder again.

"Maybe you can date her when I'm finished, jerk. Hope you like sloppy seconds."

And then he's gone, rushing away to football practice.

When everyone is gone and the locker room is empty again, Fox realizes he's smiling. He feels incredible. It had taken no time at all to get Paul to spill his guts to him, and he was right about everything! Well, Paul was planning to go to Dana's house for dinner tonight, but he really had been stringing her along the rest of the time! And what a confession it was-- not only the incriminating evidence he wanted, but even more besides! This proves Paul was operating with forethought, that he'd planned to use Dana in this way for a long time--

A thump comes from his locker and Fox spins the combination into the lock, feeling triumphant. He flings it open and grins at Dana.

She's still crouched in the same position, but now her face is hidden in her knees. The smile dies on his lips as he takes in the way her shoulders are shaking and the near-silent gasps of air he can hear despite her efforts to muffle them in her jeans.

"Dana?" He lowers himself on the bench on front of her. She doesn't respond.

"What do you think?" he asks, feeling helpless and a little lost. "Is that enough to break it off?"

She makes a wet sound that he realizes is supposed to be a laugh, then she lifts her head to blink up at him.

"Truthfully?"

Her eyes and nose are red and watery and her voice sounds choked and frail like she just woke up. He can't look away.

"Of course I want the truth."

She wipes her eyes with her sleeve. "I think Paul is getting single-er as we speak."

His mouth twitches and hers does too, and then they're laughing together.

He doesn't know why she decided to trust him with this, why she came to him for help even though she'd been angry at him for telling her the truth. In the end, it doesn't matter. When he listens to Dana laugh like this, he can honestly say he has never heard a more genuine sound in his entire life.

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pocket-luv101 · 2 years

Text

Beneath The Lantern’s Glow

Fandom: Genshin Impact Ship: CynoNari

Summary: Tighnari invites Cyno on a trip to see the lanterns. (CynoNari, Lantern Rite)

“Master Tighnari, what are you going to write on your lantern? It’s almost time to release them.” Collei asked after she noticed the blank paper charm attached to the xiao lantern. While Tighnari wasn’t the type to believe in relying on the gods to achieve one’s wish, he bought lanterns so Collei could participate in Liyue’s tradition. Her childhood was difficult but he would give her fulfilling memories for the future.

“I will write my wish once Cyno does. The three of us should release our lanterns at the same time. However, he appeared to have wandered off during my discussion with Albedo. Cyno is already difficult to find while he’s working but we’re supposed to be on vacation.” Tighnari sighed under his breath. He closed his eyes and focused on the voices passing through the night. “From what I hear, he’s playing Genius Invokation. I’ll get him so you should wait here, Collei.”

Tighnari left Collei with Albedo and then followed the sound of Cyno’s voice. As he walked over the bridge to the balcony where Cyno was sitting, he admired the stunning architecture of Liyue Harbour. The lanterns framed the buildings in a soft, yellow glow and the red hues stood out more. The warm colours helped him feel at ease.

Lively music and cheers filled the air but Tighnari was focused on the subtle sound of shuffling cards. He sat in the chair next to Cyno and glanced down at his cards. Neither of them said a word immediately and they took the chance to enjoy the atmosphere of the festival. From where they sat, they could watch the stars reflected in the water.

“It looks like you won.” The game in front of them was unfinished but Tighnari concluded that Cyno would’ve won from the cards in his hand. Itto and his friends didn’t argue with him because they were sleeping on the ground. Tighnari reasoned that they had drunk too much. “I packed herbs for the journey so I can make a hangover cure for your new friends. This is a festival but people still need to be mindful and responsible. It might be a while before he wakes up so come spend time with me.”

Tighnari collected Cyno’s cards and carefully arranged them in a neat pile. He knew how important the cards were to him and wrapped them in a cloth as he would. “I spent a month planning this trip but you hardly spent time with Collei or me.”

“I heard an explosion and went to investigate. You just said you put a lot of effort into our trip. The time you spent would’ve been wasted if someone planned to attack the festival. Luckily, we found the other bombs that Klee made. My question is how a child learned something so dangerous. I’m glad Collei was a good natured child beneath all of her sarcasm.” Cyno chuckled as he remembered their journey from Mondstadt to Sumeru.

“Collei has grown up a lot since then.” Tighnari nodded. He welcomed Collei into the Forest Watchers but he never imagined how the three would become a small family. He placed two lanterns on the table and added: “She is also waiting at the dock for us to release lanterns. Write down your wish and we can go meet her. I agreed to let her stay up late to watch the lantern but I’m still worried about her health.”

He hooked his arm around Cyno’s and started to pull him to his feet. He didn’t move from his seat and the unexpected resistance made Tighnari stumble slightly. Tighnari sat down again and raised an eyebrow at Cyno. They had been together long enough for Cyno to know what he wanted to ask him from the way he looked at him. Despite that, he remained silent.

“You agreed to come to Liyue with us but, the moment we stepped into the festival, you became distant. We don’t get the opportunity to go on a vacation like this and you should let yourself relax.” Tighnari idly twirled the ribbon of the xiao lantern around his finger. He had told Cyno that he needed to work less each time he visited out of both concern for his health and the fact that he loved him. However, Cyno’s expression was different. “Is something wrong, Cyno?”

“I want Collei to have fun but that would be impossible if I’m there. With me, the only thing she’ll think of is the sealing ritual. I agreed to escort you and Collei to Liyue because I was worried something might happen to you.” He confessed. In response, Tighnari wrapped his tail around Cyno’s waist. The night wasn’t cold but he savoured the warmth and comfort the gesture provided.

“When Aether invited Collei to Lantern Rite, she asked if you and I would go with her. You left an impact on her and it’s beyond sealing a god. Do you want to know what she tells me about most often? Those jokes you told her on your first trip together.” Tighnari didn’t add that Collei would complain that Cyno’s jokes were far too complicated and dry.

“Have you heard of the lantern who had a crush on the person who carved it? Everyone could see that the lantern held a candle for them.” Cyno pulled the lantern closer. While he wrote down his wish on the paper, he hid it from Tighnari. “I should buy a rocket for Collei too. She'll be over the moon.”

“Cyno, I’m going to ban you from our room if you continue to make such terrible jokes. Itto and his gang are fun drinking buddies but sharing a room with them will be troublesome.” He said and crossed his arms. Despite the threat, there was a small gleam in his eyes. He wouldn’t admit that there was a confusing charm in his jokes because of how earnest Cyno’s feelings were.

The moment was interrupted by a thunderous crack of fireworks that made his ears ring. He flattened his ears against his head and did his best to block out the roar of the fireworks. Cyno saw how he winced and tenderly stroked his ears to ease his pain. Tighnari never understood people’s negative impression of Cyno when he had only been kind and considerate to others.

After the firework show passed, Tighnari stood and took Cyno’s hand. “Aether said that we will raise the lanterns once the fireworks are over. We should hurry back to Collei.”

Cyno allowed him to pull him out of his seat this time and followed him. Lanterns rose into the air as they walked over the balcony. Cyno watched how they lit Tighnari as if they were standing in a desert sunrise. No matter if he wanted to go to Liyue, the desert or the Abyss, Cyno would go with him so he could protect him.

He quickened his steps so they would be walking side by side. Cyno caught a quick glance at Tighnari’s lantern and the wish he made. Help Cyno always come home safe to me and Collei.

#genshin impact #cynonari #cyno and tighnari #genshin impact cyno #genshin impact tighnari #genshin impact collei #fanfiction

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kuriboo · 1 year

Text

Magical Hats

Rating: General Audiences

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)

Characters: Mutou Yuugi, Yami Yuugi

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, pre-duelist kingdom, Mental Health Issues

Words: 2,307

Chapters: 2/?

Summary:

"I knew you wouldn't be able to follow the rules. Not only did you steal Yuya's card, you're trying to steal my card as well. I won't tolerate thievery or rule breaking, especially in my grandpa's shop. Penalty game!"

Business was never exactly booming at the shop. Oh, they had customers file in here and there, but Yugi would never claim the store was packed. They got enough business to get by, and that's what the family cared about. But it also gave him some alone time. Waiting for the next customer of the day, he idly shuffled a plain deck of cards, getting ready for a round of solitaire. It was enough to keep his mind occupied without getting him so absorbed that he wouldn't notice if a customer came in. Sure, he got away with gaming on the job, but work came first!

(If he was working with customers at any other store, maybe, it would be scarier. In his grandpa's shop, though, he felt at home. He had the advantage here.)

(Link to ao3 in the notes. First two chapters posted under the readmore)

It was early in the morning. The shop was just opening up, and Yugi was mentally preparing himself for another day of dealing with customers. Not that he didn't like the customers! Dealing with people just wasn't his strongest suit.

It was made easier, though, that he was dealing with games.

Not just Duel Monsters, either! Games of all kinds: card games and board games and more! If a new game came to the shop, Yugi was already playtesting it. If a new game came in to a different store, he had to have it. That was just the kind of person he was.

So if he was working with customers at any other store, maybe, it would be scarier. In his grandpa's shop, though, he felt at home. He had the advantage here.

He had just about set the game up to start when the door opened. Two people came inside: a teenager with red and green hair, who held the hand of a younger kid holding a teddy bear in their other hand. The younger kid was hiding under a hat and had the hood of their hoodie pulled up, making it difficult to make out any of their features.

“Who knew there was a game shop like this all the way out here?“ the teenager asked.

With a smile, Yugi waved to the two of them. “Hey, welcome! Let me know if you need anything!”

“Thanks!” The teenager squeezed the younger kid’s hand. “You wanna look at cards, Riley?”

Riley nodded, and the two made an immediate beeline to the Duel Monsters cards. It made sense, Duel Monsters was extremely popular these days. Their shop had lots of other games, too, though! Yugi wished more customers would give the other games a try, but it couldn’t be helped.

These days, rather than sell specific cards individually, the shop specialized in selling boosters, structure decks, and tins. In most forms, duelists had no idea what cards they were getting. Part of the fun was the surprise of seeing what cards they got! Yugi always enjoyed seeing what cards people got out of booster packs.

(There was a rumor going around their customers in Domino that Yugi’s co-worker knew what cards were going to be in booster packs and tins before they were opened, but Yugi didn’t pay much attention to rumors like that.)

Riley looked over the booster packs carefully; not just looking between each set, but giving each individual pack careful consideration. After some time, they grabbed a pack hiding behind several others. “This one.” Without waiting, they pulled their companion to the cash register and paid for the pack themself.

The teenager smiled. “So, what cards did you get?”

Riley carefully opened the booster pack, making sure not to rip the art on the front. Carefully, they leafed through the cards, before handing one to the teenager. “For Yuya.”

“Oh!” Yuya seemed surprised by the gift, but he took the card. He looked it over. “Performapal Kuribohbole…”

“It was calling for you,” Riley said.

The pair looked through the rest of Riley’s cards carefully. For each one, they debated the pros and cons of adding it to Riley’s current deck. Yugi smiled as he half-listened to the conversation. It sounded like they were having fun, and that was the most important part of Duel Monsters.

Someone else entered the store around then, and Yugi greeted them with a smile. As the new customer looked around the store, they bumped into Yuya.

That’s when Yugi saw it happen.

Carefully but quickly, the customer knocked Performapal Kuribohbole out of Yuya’s hand and grabbed it before he noticed. Yugi waited for them to return it, but instead, they pocketed the card.

Yugi’s feet started walking before he made the conscious decision to move. He approached the new customer quickly.

“You know, you really ought to give that card back. We don’t tolerate stealing here in my grandpa’s shop.”

The new customer faced him. “Huh? Why would you accuse me of something like that? I’d never steal.”

Yuya, in that moment, noticed his own card was gone. “Hey, where’s Kuribohbole?”

“I saw what you did. But if you want to keep that card so bad, why don’t we play a game for it?” Yugi smiled. “I win, you give the card back. You win, you can keep the card. I’ll even give you a card more rare than that one. Do we have a deal?”

The challenge, the confidence, it didn’t sound like Yugi. And then, Yugi realized.

His body was moving and talking of its own accord. He wasn’t in control of it.

Fear gripped his heart. What was happening? How was this happening? This wasn’t normal, this didn’t seem normal.

Wait, he remembered-- the roleplaying game with Bakura. There was another him. Another Yugi. That was an undeniable fact, after seeing each other face-to-face. Was it the other Yugi that was moving and talking right now? That had to be it; he couldn't think of another explanation, and even now that he was aware of it, nothing changed. He was still a passive observer in his own body.

Other me, what are you doing?

"Sure, why not? I'm not saying I stole anything, but I won't turn down an offer for a rare card."

The other Yugi reached into his pocket and pulled out his deck of Duel Monsters cards. He then carefully shuffled it. Yugi didn't even remember bringing it with him to work. How long had he had the deck on him? The other Yugi walked back to the counter and placed the deck on it.

"The rules are simple. We each draw the top card from my deck. Whoever draws the monster with more attack wins. If either of us draws a spell or a trap, that person loses. If we both draw spells or traps, we draw again."

"Sounds easy enough," the customer agreed. "I'll draw first." Without waiting for the other Yugi's response, they drew the card on the top of the deck. Seeing what it was, they grinned. "Gaia the Fierce Knight! Beat that!"

Yugi was terrified. What if the other Yugi drew a spell or a trap? What if he drew Kuriboh? Gaia the Fierce Knight was a strong monster, there weren't many cards in the deck that could overpower it. And if that happened, because of him, Yuya would lose the card gifted to him...

I hope you know what you're doing...

The other Yugi drew the next card from the deck without responding. Yugi wouldn't be able to look, if he had any choice in the matter. But when he saw the card, he smiled. It was Dark Magician. He won!

"You lose. Now, return the card you stole."

"You've gotta be kidding me." The customer glared at Yugi. "Look, I didn't steal any cards, okay? Leave me alone! I'm outta here!" They turned around and stormed off towards the exit.

Yugi's eyelids felt heavy.

⁂

The next thing he knew, Yugi was back in his room. Sitting at his desk.

In his hand, he was holding a card. Gaia the Fierce Knight. The card that guy had tried to steal.

The last thing he had heard was his voice, saying the words 'penalty game'. Though it wasn't him...it was the other Yugi. Penalty game? What was that?

His whole body felt exhausted. He felt like he was going to be sick. He checked the time. Three hours had gone by since he last looked at the clock. His shift had ended, so it didn't look like he left the shop early. It was also past dinner time, and his stomach was informing him he hadn't eaten. That was probably why he felt like he was going to be sick; he needed to eat.

He pushed himself downstairs and into the kitchen. It sounded like he was the only one in the house, so better just to warm up something leftover. He found some leftover soup. Warm that up, and pretty soon he had the perfect meal in his hands: real food, but something light in case he really was sick.

Yugi sat down at the table and began sipping his soup slowly, trying not to overwhelm his stomach. In the meantime, he went over what he knew.

There was another Yugi.

There was a gap, a couple of hours long, in his memory.

He just had an experience of hearing himself say things and seeing himself do things, all outside of his control, before losing time.

And right before he lost time… He knew what happened. He could recall the things he observed himself do and say. But he couldn’t remember what he was thinking at the time, or even how he felt. It was all a blur.

Yugi made sure he had a firm grip on the spoon in his hand. Despite that, he could see the spoon shake.

What was happening? What was going on? This wasn’t…this wasn’t normal. He knew it wasn’t normal. It wasn’t like his grandpa had an other him that Yugi knew of. Anzu didn’t have an other her.

It wasn’t normal. But Yugi still needed to figure out what was going on.

Of the times the other him had taken over that Yugi knew of, there was, of course, Death-T. The time he told his friends there was another him. The time Seto Kaiba tried to kill him in revenge for…something he couldn’t remember. Another time the other Yugi took over? There was the time that they played that game with Ryou Bakura, where Yugi and his other self saw each other face-to-face. When Yugi and his other self chose to trust each other, and won. And then, there was a few hours ago. When he felt like a man possessed, watching his body move and speak out of his control.

There were other times, Yugi knew there were. He hadn’t noticed the gaps in his memory before solving the Millennium Puzzle, and even after, when they started to become more obvious, it was like his own mind wouldn’t let him think about them. Like his mind was purposefully hiding the other Yugi from him.

That didn’t work out, of course, because now Yugi knew.

He knew…he knew there was another him. He felt like he didn’t know anything other than that. And, maybe he didn’t.

…

It was scary, not being able to control himself like that. Yugi realized he wasn’t just shaking because of his exhaustion; he was scared.

Was the other Yugi something to be scared of?

The other Yugi had helped him and his friends during the game with Ryou Bakura. The other Yugi helped him and his friends survive Death-T. And, hours earlier, the other Yugi had helped the victim of a crime.

All good things.

Yet, Yugi couldn’t shake the feeling from his head that the other Yugi could be dangerous. Whatever a penalty game was, it left him feeling sick to his stomach and bone-tired.

So, Yugi reasoned, exercising some caution may not be a bad idea. But he wanted to be optimistic. He wanted to believe the other Yugi could be a friend.

Didn’t he wish for friendship when he solved the puzzle?

His soup gone, Yugi carefully got up and made his way to the sink. He could wash his bowl and spoon when he felt better, but for now, he rinsed them out before putting them in the sink.

He made his way back to his room.

His desk was covered in school supplies. A textbook laid open and forgotten. Pens and pencils strewn about. Notepads and pads of sticky notes here and there. A pile of notebooks in the corner.

And the card for Gaia the Fierce Knight. It sat face-up in the middle of the desk, left behind while Yugi tended to his needs.

This was the card his other self had protected for him. This was the card the other him did whatever it took to get back. The card was important to Yugi, just as all his cards were. Growing up surrounded by games and lacking in friends… To Yugi, his cards were friends. It was important to him, and it seemed to be important to his other self.

Yugi couldn’t help but wonder if the other him had protected this card because it was so important to Yugi.

He reached out for a sticky note.

This felt so silly, but how else were they to communicate?

Picking up a pencil, Yugi scribbled out a message.

‘Hi! My name is Yugi.’

He put his pencil back down on the desk and placed the note next to Gaia. Obviously, he wasn’t going to get an answer right away. It was worth a shot, though, right? Yugi would have to keep an eye out on this desk for the next few days, and see if he got a response.

#yugioh #yugioh dm #yugi muto #yami yugi #tater writes

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