#but it needed a round or two through the editing machine

[rowenabean]

Barbie was fun but I am not sure that it was in fact good

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: What We Did In The Dark {3}

Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Warning: Language, 18+ Mature Content, Angst, Small Time Jumps, Preggo Talk, Pregnancy Trope, Talk of Pregnancy Termination

Words: 6.4k

Summary: Neither of you planned any of it. You’d met by chance, and everything that happened after had to have been predestined. Now back to your own life, you find you have a special souvenir from your time in Mauritius and you have a tough decision to make.

As always, thank you for reading. I appreciate it!

As you enjoyed this, please, LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!!! ❤️❤️

***NOT Edited/Proofread***

***Interactive***

Previous:

What We Did In The Dark {1}**** | What We Did In The Dark {2}* |

Chapter Three: Better An Ooops….

“Take it easy!”

You groaned as you dropped face first onto your couch and let yourself spread out across the cool white leather. After 3 days in the hospital, tens of tests, and plenty of round-the-clock vitamin treatments to get your body up to standard for your condition you were finally released with prescriptions and doctor's orders to take it easy for a few days. You’d planned to come home and jump on your laptop to finish some things up, but Villie decided to bring you in and make sure you were settled. You knew she’d done it for a reason, and it was to make sure you didn’t do what you wanted to.

“So what do you feel like for dinner?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Tough shit. You’re going to eat. Your doctors said you need to take it easy, eat 3 balanced meals a day, and keep your stress levels down. So they took care of breakfast and lunch, now we order dinner.”

Villie dropped a heavy hand across your ass making you shout into the cushions of the couch. You shifted onto your side and rolled into a ball.

“What about the Halal spot that is on Blauvelt?”

You groaned and at the thought of all that meat covered with white creamy sauce, your stomach churned like the agitator inside of a washing machine. It didn’t feel right at all. Because of it, a ball of nausea formed in your chest, but your stomach grumbled.

“See, you’re hungry,” Villie assumed.

However, that was not the case. The thought of Halal made your stomach swirl like the letter “S”.

“No Halal.”

“Burgers, Mexican, Caribbean?”

None of those sounded any better. Suddenly, Villie gasped.

“Oooh, what about that Cuban spot?”

You allowed that to simmer for a few moments and when your stomach didn’t react you slowly sat up. In your mind’s eye, you saw a towering plate of empanadas beside another plate filled with Cuban-style seafood paella and a bowl of black bean soup and tostones. You looked to Villie and found her smiling widely.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You pulled out your phone and went to your food ordering app then found the restaurant she meant. You spent the following 5 or so minutes adding everything your stomach told you that you needed and had to have or else you’d die. By the time you’d checked out, your total and quantity were insane for just two people but as far as you were concerned everything was a necessity.

While Villie waited for the order, you took a quick shower. Or it was meant to be quick. Whenever you swiped your decadently soaped-up exfoliating gloves across your abdomen you paused up and your mind wandered. There was an actual baby inside of you right now—two to be accurate. You were carrying the babies of a man you’d only slept with once, well multiple times over the span of 5ish hours. You didn’t know him and you sure as hell hadn’t planned for this to be the outcome of your wanton night of pleasure.

There were so many things on your mind, so many worries to add to the ones you already had. According to Dr. Olumici, you had already reached the cut-off point to ethically terminate with her and most other providers. However, you could find other physicians who would perform an early 2nd-trimester termination. Through your research in the hospital, you educated yourself on why it was too unethical and brought so much controversy. Once you understood you couldn’t fathom doing it.

With that answer, you also couldn’t fathom yourself carrying these babies or giving them a life. You weren’t exactly stable in your life or career. You’d only just begun the path and had so many other things planned to accomplish before the whole adding to the population of the world thing. That meant you had a predicament on your hands that now only had one resolution—adoption. Even that didn’t sit right with you. Could you go on living your life knowing you had a life somewhere else in the world living, a being that came from you, a being you wouldn’t know in any way?

So you spent the entire shower going back and forth over your options but that only sent you into an endless circle with resolutions that weren’t real ones because they posed more problems and raised more questions. By the time you came out of the shower and returned to the living room, Villie was lost in her phone with the food spread out across your coffee table.

“That was longer than usual.”

“Yeah, I smelled like a hospital, I needed to smell like me.”

Villie nodded then grabbed the bottle that was in the center of the table, “Did you know you can get alcohol delivered off of Dash?”

You snorted. Leave it to her to try. You took a seat on the floor beside her ready to dig in but her phone resting on the table caught your eye. It was the picture of the man who’d showed up at the hospital, the one you’d rear-ended.

“You found him on socials already?”

Villie glanced at her phone then scoffed. “It wasn’t hard. Take a guess who he’s connected to.”

You thought about it for a second but the smells wafting from the containers took your attention. You went through pulling off the tops of the food containers and moaning as each new smell filled the room.

“Oh my god, I didn’t realize how hungry I was until now.”

Without another word, you dug into the food filling your plate with a lot of everything. Once you were satisfied with the bites you had taken you glanced back at Villie who was wide-eyed.

“What?”

“Glad to see your appetite has come back.”

You nodded and continued stuffing your face. Over the last few days, though you hadn’t vomited, you felt small bouts of nausea that came and went and the look of most of the hospital food left you not wanting to eat much. You’d worried it was going to be a permanent thing, but those worries were put to rest now.

“So, guess who he’s connected to,” Villie broached again.

“I don’t know,” you said mouth full of food.

Villie grabbed her phone and slid across her screen then held it up to you. When you looked, Lewis Hamilton’s face filled her screen. You gasped forgetting your mouthful of food then immediately began choking from the few particles that went down the wrong pipe.

“Oh my god!”

Villie leaped to her knees, patted your back with one hand, and poured some of the dark liquid from the bottle into a glass before she handed it to you. As you brought it to your nose your stomach turned from the strong scent of alcohol. You put the glass back on the table and shook your head. Villie kissed her teeth and then hurried to the kitchen before she came back with a bottle of water. You took several gulps in between coughs trying your best to dislodge the food that was stuck in your windpipe.

After a few attempts, you took a deep breath and hung your head back.

“Are you all right?”

You nodded, wiping your eyes from the tears that had slipped out.

“Jesus. I know the man is fine, fine but get a grip,” Villie teased.

You scoffed then pressed your palms to your face.

“Wait. Eh-em, you’re telling me the man I ran into is connected to him?”

“Yep. His name is Miles Chamley-Watson. He is the BFF to Lewis Hamilton, like for real BFF shit. They go everywhere together.”

Your eyes were bugged as you pieced it together. How small was this fucking world? How was this even real? The more you thought about it you began to wonder if he was in Mauritius with him. If so, did he know who you were?

“Oh my god.”

“Right! Like we kind of hit it off. I’m not gonna say there was flirting but there was flirting.”

“So you’re interested in him?”

Villie smiled as she drank down the glass of rum she’d poured for you. “I might be. What do you think? Do you think I shouldn’t be?”

How were you supposed to answer that? If she pursued things and they ended up becoming a thing didn’t that mean eventually one way or another you and Lewis would interact with one another? If you did wouldn’t he find out about the babies? If he found out--. The thought paused as a bigger item zipped itself up the agenda. Would he even remember you? He was after all Lewis Hamilton. You were sure there was no shortage of women he spent his time with. Why would he remember you from one night and 5 hours?

“Y/N?”

“Uh—um, well--.”

You saw the hope in her eyes and knew you couldn’t minipulate this because of your situation. Sighing you took her hand. “Valenza, I saw something between y’all. I say go with it and enjoy yourself. Who knows this could be it.”

Villie screeched then began laughing like an erratic high schooler who’d just learned their crush liked them back. Smiling you went back to eating. As Villie talked about Miles for a few more minutes your mind was lost in its own world. This shit was getting even more complicated.

~~~~~~~

4 Weeks Later

Your eyes never left the front door of 4057 Lake Drive Blvd. You’d been sitting in your car for the last 3 hours obsessively staring at the door with one hand on your steering wheel while the other rested on the door handle. You’d had every intention of getting out of your car and going inside 2 hours ago. However, that didn’t work out. Every time you tried to force your feet to move they didn’t. Instead, you sat outside the women’s health center as the time clicked closer and closer to your appointment until that same time clicked further and further away from your appointment time.

Now you were a whole 2 hours past your appointment time with no progress on getting out of the car. As you sat here you went over every single option over and over and over. You interjected every variable, every single con to every single choice. However, with every con, you found yourself seeing just as many pros. Now it was impossible to tell what the right decision was.

Never in your life had you thought you’d consider termination let alone a 2nd trimester one, but you were finding out that in most decisions no one knows what they would do until they are in it. You didn’t think you’d have unprotected sex with a stranger in your life but when the moment came you were one hundred percent DTF (down to fuck).

You closed your eyes for probably the hundredth time and took several deep, slow breaths. On the fifth one, you held it and allowed your heartbeat to steadily slow until it beat low and evenly. It was a trick you’d done most of your life to calm yourself and think clearly. When everything fell away, including the sounds of traffic, the sounds of the city you loved, and even the drum of your engine, you were left with your heartbeat and the rustling of the palm leaves. It was then that you felt the butterfly fluttering sensations again.

When you’d first felt them a week ago you hadn’t known what they were, and it took a few days to recognize what they were. Every Google search confirmed it—fetal movements. That was when it all became real and right now sitting in front of the health center where a doctor was waiting to perform your termination that you were now 2 hours late for because you were panicking and waiting for a sign to show you the right path to take, did it really become real.

Your hands left their current positions, the steering wheel and the door handle, and drifted to your belly which was now ever so slightly poked out. As if the minuscule beings inside of you knew your hands were there the fluttering intensified, crippling you with emotion. You dropped your head onto the steering wheel and allowed yourself to cry for the first time.

What could have been mistaken for sad tears weren’t. They were tears of resolution, tears of understanding, tears of acceptance—of fear. This was your sign, your answer, your path, and you were scared shitless. So your tears flowed down your cheeks and dripped all over you soaking your top. Even then you didn’t stop, you let it all out even turning up the music to drown out the sounds of your sobs.

From this moment forward, your life would never be the same and from this moment forward, you would face whatever came your way on this path with one thought in mind—what was best for your babies. When your tears finally subsided you wrapped your arms around your midsection, hugging yourself and the lives within you, and took a deep breath.

“Okay. I didn’t expect you and I surely didn’t plan you, but I won’t get rid of you. I hope you don’t regret choosing me because you’re stuck with me, and I promise I will do everything to protect you from today onward. Be gentle and patient with me and we’ll learn together.”

As if your words were heard, the flutters returned making you smile. pressing your head back on the headrest you sighed and tried to formulate a plan. That was when your phone rang sending audio caller ID off.

Villie calling. Villie calling. Villie calling.

You scoffed. Even the universe knew the plan was to tell Villie because she was good at coming up with a plan that ensured you were the primary benefiter. Truthfully, you should have told her weeks ago but since your release from the hospital she’d been spending a lot of time with Miles. Though he lived in the UK, they were always on Facetime dates, they’d now met up in London 3 times and you were sure she knew what Miles Jr looked like.

You hadn’t wanted to make things weird between them or add any stress given the truths of your situation. You really had wanted to keep things separate. Now with you deciding to keep the babies and raise them, there was no way you could keep everything from her anymore. She was your best friend after all. Tapping the answer button, you buckled yourself in.

“Hey V.”

“Hey. Where are you?”

“Umm--,” you stretched as you pulled out of the parking lot of the medical center and onto Berman Street.

“Getting on the highway, what’s up?”

“I feel like shopping. Are you down?”

“Yeah, tell me where to meet you.”

The drive through South Beach was unlike any drive you’d done before. Over the last few weeks, you’d been tense and stressed out to the max. It was evident in the way you gripped the steering wheel and sat in your seat. Now you felt differently. You were more relaxed, and more centered but also more cautious. You found yourself stopping and allowing more women and children cross even if they didn’t have the right of way, found yourself driving slightly below the speed limit and following every single traffic law that was in the driver’s manual that you’d neglected mere weeks before.

By the time you parked and fed your meter, you were 10 minutes late and intensely craving a massive green smoothie. After getting not one but two, you found Villie already well into her shopping in one of the lingerie stores.

“What took you so long?”

“Traffic and I needed a smoothie. So for you, shopping starts with lingerie.”

“Of course.”

You chuckled then began going through the racks. There were tons of cute stuff, but you knew soon you wouldn’t fit any of it and you had no one to wear any of this for. With that thought you looked at Villie.

“Valenza Tamina Chord, are you stocking up for a particular event?”

She smiled widely then walked off.

“No, no. Don’t try to slip away. What’s going on?”

“Miles is coming to town in a few weeks for a week and--.”

“You plan on getting your back broke, throat bruised, and internal organs rearranged. Okay!”

Villie giggled as she took down a navy blue strappy number that would look great on her and examined it.

“Okay I don’t know about throat bruised but the rest of it yep.”

You snorted and shook your head. “First of all, get that, it’ll look phenomenal on you. Second, let’s see if you have a voice when he comes.”

“Oh my god, Y/N, he is so cool, such a good guy.”

“He seems like it. I’m glad you’re having fun you deserve it.”

Villie’s eyes landed on you and for a few moments she studied you. “I’m not the only one who deserves it, you do too.”

You nodded and walked away to another rack and idly went through the hangers.

“I mean it. You’ve been single for long enough don’t you think?”

“I have a lot going on Villie. I don’t need another thing to worry about.”

“I understand what you mean but sometimes if it’s the right thing it doesn’t become a worry but something to bring you happiness, and peace.”

You sighed the words at the tip of your tongue but with no way to come out. This wasn’t something you could blurt out and be done with. You knew Villie, she would want to dissect everything on top of wanting a play-by-play of your dick down. This conversation couldn’t be had in the middle of a lingerie store.

“When do we meet the creative director of the station?”

“Boo! Always changing the subject. Fine, whatever. Next week is the meeting. Their name is Sadie Walters and she sent over some ideas for her vision along with some papers to understand your vision. So you got some homework.”

“Okay. I’m excited to get this off the ground and get back to traveling.”

“Workaholic. One day you will regret working so much and pushing your personal life to the side.”

You turned your back and quietly scoffed. If she only knew how little time you would have for a personal life in the next few years she’d take that back. For the next several hours you dipped in and out of almost every store adding bags and bags of clothes, shoes, makeup, and body products until you both were exhausted. After you had dinner at a nearby steakhouse where again you ate nearly everything in sight. When you both split at the end of the night you attempted to get the words out but still you couldn’t. You weren’t quite ready, and you worried you would be really showing before you were ever ready.

~~~~~~

-2 Weeks Later-

Pop!

The champagne bottle top flew across the room colliding into the wall, making everyone cheer and clap. After so many weeks of work with finishing up your catalog, the vacation wear line, and getting the behind-the-scenes stuff of your travel show down everything was signed, sealed, and done. Tomorrow was the release of your catalog and vacation wear line, and you were absolutely freaking out.

“Oh my god. Thank you everyone!”

You went around your office and hugged each and every one of the people who helped you get here. You wrapped your arms around Zavier and squeezed.

“Thank you Z, you made this catalog incredible. I cannot thank you enough!”

“Congratulations. You’re more than welcome.”

Next, you moved on to Sabrina and Chloe, the interns who’d been hired to maintain some of the back-end things. “Thank you beautiful souls.”

“You’re welcome!”

When you moved to Villie she rocked you side to side. That was when the waterworks started.

“Oh Villie, thank you, thank you!”

“Shut up. I don’t need thank yous. I am so happy for you. It’ll be no time now before you are bigger than Anthony Zimmerman.”

“Girl, we are not alike. He travels to eat everything; I travel to party.”

Everyone laughed at that. When Villie handed you a glass of champagne you froze.

“We have to drink to you and all that you’ve accomplished and to this amazing team of ours,” Villie said holding her glass up.

Everyone followed her and tapped their glasses together. You brought the glass to your lips, but you didn’t take a sip as they all did.

“Thank you guys so much for all your hard work and dedication to these projects. It means the world to me.”

You hoped they understood how much they meant to you though you couldn’t fully express it because if you did, you knew you would cry uncontrollably which would be weird. You were having a hard time keeping your emotions under control over the last two weeks as your pregnancy progressed. You saw a dandelion blow away from a hard gust of wind earlier and that made you cry for the poor dandelion that would never be seen again. With that, you knew your emotional state was highly unbalanced.

When the bottle of champagne disappeared, everyone started to file out to get on with their own days leaving you and Villie. You scrolled through the virtual catalog in complete awe. You couldn’t believe that after so many months it was over and would be out for the world to see. The pride you felt was indescribable. You’d accomplished this without using anyone's clout, or influence to elevate it. You didn’t have any major help, most of it was compiled by you using your skills and talents. It wasn’t until near the end had you brought on more expertise. This was your baby.

“I can’t believe this is done, V.”

She doesn’t reply. When you felt her approach, she pulled up a chair beside you then sighed. “I can’t believe you haven’t told me what’s been going on with you since you were released from the hospital.”

You paused and fought the rapid beating of your heart because you knew she would hear it in the quiet office. “Uh--.”

“I’ll give you a few moments to come up with what you are going to say to come clean with me but the words out of your mouth better be the truth. I’ve let you go for all this time but right now I’m getting offended and hurt that you don’t feel like you can talk to me.”

You spun to her and grabbed her hands. “No, no. Villie, that’s not it I swear!”

“No? Then what else could it be, Y/N?”

You sighed then found your words. Gripping her hands tighter you looked at her. “Okay look. I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know how and honestly I didn’t know until a few weeks ago and since then I have been a mess trying to wrap my head around it and future my shit out. It’s a lot happening.”

“Are you sick? Please don’t tell me you have cancer.”

“What? No! I don’t. I’m not sick.”

Villie let out a relieved huff of breath then took a steadying one. “Then what? What is going on?”

“I’m—I’m—pregnant.”

Villie just stared at you with a blank expression. She didn’t move, she didn’t even look as if she were breathing. Leaning forward you studied her closer trying to gauge just what she was thinking. Biting your bottom lip you prepared yourself to repeat the words but just as you opened your mouth to, Villie sprang to her feet.

“What! P—pr—pregnant?”

She walked to the far side of the office. “I know you fucking lying.”

“Uh--.”

“No. It’s a lie. There is no way. How did you get pregnant? When?”

You understood her reaction. You hadn’t told her about your night with Lewis because you didn’t want to be one of those girls who bragged about spending the night with a celebrity and you honestly were kind of embarrassed by everything that happened that night. You’d turned into a completely different person and when the sun rose, and you’d found your limbs entangled with his and your very naked bodies still connected under the massive palm tree that was tucked out of sight you’d felt stupid and easy so you ran as fast as you could without looking back. As far as she knew you’d been in a sex drought for 2 years.

“Y/N!”

“Calm down. I should be the one freaking out. I’m the pregnant one.”

Villie’s eyes widened.

“I’m not lying. I am pregnant. I found out at the hospital after the accident and that’s what’s been going on for the last few weeks. I was trying to wrap my head around it all and figure out what I wanted to do about it. Because of everything that I have going on I didn’t think I could continue this, so it’s been a stressful few weeks,” you rushed out.

Ville was still standing across the room and now looking at you like you had two heads. “You’re not fucking with me?”

“I’m not fucking with you. I promise.”

Instantly Villie crossed the room to you taking you into her arms and hugging the life out of you. “Oh, honey.”

With your best friend comforting you, your tears began flowing. When she heard your sniffles she pulled back and pouted.  “You’re really pregnant?”

Nodding, you sniffled some more. Villie’s tear-filled eyes overflowed and the two of you hugged again and ugly cried together. Relief filled you as you relished the comfort of the one person who's had your back for over a decade. You weren’t alone with this anymore. You knew without a doubt that Villie would have your back the entire way.

When the two of you sat back down, you both wiped your tears and snot and laughed at each other for being so emotional about it.

“Oh my god, Y/N.”

“I know.”

“Oh my god,” Villie repeated.

“I know, I know. It’s huge.”

“Huge? This is—colossal. You’re pregnant.”

You nodded, “I am.”

“You’re pregnant with a baby, like a real baby.”

“Ha, try two babies. Two real babies.”

Villie shot to her feet again.

“Shut the fuck up!”

“Girl I nearly passed out when I found out.”

Villie screeched then and practically tackled you with another hug. “Twins! Aah, Y/N, how precious is that?!”

You snorted. Of course she would be the one to die over the cuteness of it all. Villie dropped back into the seat, then reached for your belly. When she realized it was not flat her eyes became the size of the moon.

“Holy fucking shit, Y/N. This feels so real.”

“Oh it’s real. It’s so real I have had to sideline 3 of my favorite pairs of jeans already and I’m not even halfway there yet.”

“So you’re keeping them, right? You better be keeping them.”

“I’m keeping them. I couldn’t do the procedure. It didn’t feel right in my heart.”

Villie nodded. “I get that. It’s different to hold my hand through mine than be the one in the stirrups getting your own. It’s a decision every woman has to make for herself.”

A few moments of silence stretched as both of you thought back to when Villie ended up pregnant barely one year into law school. Her then asshole boyfriend freaked and went as far as to transfer schools just to get away from the whole thing. After hours of tears, weeks of lamenting, and one in-depth heart to heart she decided it was best to terminate. So, you held her hand through the whole thing and per her request, the two of you never spoke of it again.

Squeezing her hand for comfort, you continued, “It was simply too late for me to have a clear conscious about it. Then I got a sign showing me what to do and—yeah, here we are.”

Villie squeezed your hand again. “Well, I am happy for you honey. You are going to be an amazing mom.”

You groaned. “Mom. V, this is insane. The show, the catalog, the line, all the traveling I’m going to be doing, the chaos of filming. I can’t do this, right?”

“Of course you can do this. You’re not going to be alone doing it either. I will be here. I will be with you for every single thing, ultrasounds, Lamaze, nursery planning, hospital bag packing, birth, and every day after. You’re not alone and you can do this,” she assured in her attorney voice.

Slowly you nodded as her words sank in filling you with confidence. Suddenly Villie gasped.

“Hold up. When did this happen? Who!?”

You let her hand go, stood, and grabbed your stuff.

“Let’s go to my place.”

Villie looked cautiously at you. “Oh god, is it Zavier?”

“What! Hell no.”

“What do you mean hell no? Zavier is fine as hell. You have seen his abs right and his tight ass?”

“Oh my god V, stop sexualizing Z.”

“I’m not. I’m just asking if you have seen his abs and his ass.”

“Yes, I have seen them and yes they are great.”

“Not to mention he is crushing so hard on you, has been for like a year now.”

“Shut up, he hasn’t.”

Villie rolled her eyes as she walked out the door first. “Oblivious fool. Can’t stand you bitches who don’t notice when you have men wrapped around your finger. until it's too late”

You snorted, “Who you calling a fool?”

The bickering continued as you made your way to your cars. When you separated to drive there separately, you made a quick stop at the Cuban spot near your house and once again picked up enough food for an army. When you got home Villie was already waiting for you. She helped you line out the food on the coffee table and get drinks ready, then you dug in. Halfway through eating Villie turned to you to press further.

“I know you’ve been stalling. Spill it already. Is he some struggling cartel clown who thinks he's next in line but is still the errand boy?”

“God no.”

“One of these struggling Miami rappers who swear they got bars but really don't understand the meaning of the word?”

You chuckled. “No.”

“Oh, a struggling underwear model who--.”

“Why do they all have to be struggling?”

“Because you’re stalling which means you’re either embarrassed of him or you regret letting him hit and most likely it’s because you’re ashamed of who he is.”

“I’m not—embarrassed or ashamed of him per se.”

“Okay if not who, then tell me when. When did this happen?”

“Mauritius.”

Her eyes widened again.

“Holy shit, did you Stella Got Her Groove Back on some hot barely legal island bway and brought back your very own Mauritian souvenirs.”

You busted out laughing sending food out of your mouth and onto the floor beside you.

“Wait, wait, wait. Barely legal isn’t my thing and since when have I been out of commission long enough to Stella Got Her Groove Back on anyone?!”

“It’s been 2 years, Y/N. You’re honeytrap was growing cobwebs.”

You laughed loudly again loving the feeling. It had been too long since you’d laughed like this.

“First of all. Fuck you!”

Villie laughed along with you.

“No, it’s who fucked you?”

You hugged her and rocked from side to side.

“Oh I love you Villie.”

“Love you too honey. That doesn’t mean I am letting this go. Tell me already.”

“Fine. Lewis Hamilton.”

Villie gave you a “yeah right” look then busted out laughing. She laughed so long that it gave you more time to keep eating. Slowly she realized you weren’t laughing with her and slowly she stopped.

“I didn’t mean lie to my face.”

“Who’s lying?”

Villie stared at you for a few moments then you watched every cell in her body light up until her face was bright and her eyes wide. That’s when it happened. She screamed. You nodded your head because it was either this reaction you’d expected or the complete disbelief. You’d gotten them both.

“No fucking way!”

“Oh yes fucking way.”

“You had sex with Lewis Hamilton in Mauritius? Oh ho ho, details. I need every single piece of information starting with who said the first word to whom, moving on to are his hands as big as they seem, then what he smells like, then can he kiss, then not skipping any minuscule detail like boxers or briefs, circumcised or not and finally how big and can he lay pipe.”

She screeched again, grabbed her bottle of beer, turned to you then cleared her throat. “Okay, begin.”

She was an absolute trip. You spent the few hours going over every detail of that night that you dared to with Villie. You even let her know how free you’d been with yourself and all the things you’d let him do to you, all the ways you’d let him have you and claim your body. With every piece of info, Villie looked like she was near an aneurysm. When you told her how you’d let him into your back door she lost her shit. She screamed so loud you were sure your neighbors would call the police thinking foul play was afoot.

By the time you finished, Villie was laid out on her back with a dazed look on her face staring at the ceiling as if she had been the one who’d gone through probably the best night of fucking ever recorded by man or woman. You gave her a few minutes to recover and let it all sink in and used the time to finish off the food.

“Oh my god, Y/N.”

Villie sat up panting, her hair a mess.

“Are you good?”

“Am I? Are you? All of that went down?”

“All of that went down. I got back to my hotel room and didn’t recognize myself in the mirror.”

“You a freak, freak, freak!”

Both of you laughed some more.

“I can’t believe you.”

“I know. Mauritian rum is no fucking joke.”

“No. I can’t believe you left him there naked in the sand. Why!?”

“What? Why? You’re joking. I couldn’t stay.”

“Why?”

“Because it was over, it was one night and—I—I,” you sighed. “I was embarrassed. I felt like a fool.”

“You were embarrassed to have slept with Lewis Hamilton?”

“Partly. You’ve heard the rumors about him, heard the stories of him having a harem and contractual relationships that center around sex and extravagance, and here I went and fell for him.”

“Wait, fell for him, fell for him?”

You sighed and thought back to your conversation and the vibe between you.

“I don’t know. I’d had a lot to drink that night and was on a high after that folk dance with the island’s natives and there was something when our eyes met through the flames of the fire. There was something that made me fall enough to let all that go down.”

“Do you like him?”

“I don’t know him. I don’t know I felt like I became this whole other person that I have never been before but it didn’t feel like a mask or me pretending and it makes me wonder why did it come out with him and not anyone else?”

Villie nodded. “So instead of finding out why by staying till he woke up, you ran away and brought back 2 souvenirs with his DNA that you now have to find a way to tell him about.”

“Tell him? Why would I tell him?”

Villie looked at you with incredulity. “You’re joking.” She stared at you longer then scoffed when she realized you weren’t. “No, Y/N, you have to tell him. Don’t you think he deserves to know he will have 2 children running around with his DNA?”

“---No.”

“Y/N--.”

“Okay wait. I can see how you would say yes and well—maybe—yes. Fuck. How do I tell him this Villie? Do I just DM him on Insta and be like hey remember me? He probably won’t if the stories are true he’s had nights like this plenty of times. What do I say?”

“Who cares about the stories, the rumors, and any of that other noise. Right now you are pregnant and you’ve decided to keep the babies—his babies. You have to tell him and let him figure out if he remembers you, and decide what he plans on doing. Whatever he decides won’t affect you. If he decides to man up great then you figure it out. If he decides to deny, deny, deny then fine, move on.”

You heard her words. They made plenty of sense, but you were still apprehensive. You didn’t want to be perceived as that girl. The one who showed up with a pregnancy from one night or a situationship where terms were clear.

“This is messy, Villie.”

“It is but what isn't messy these days? Oh my god, Miles.”

You looked at her as she finally thought about her connection to all of this.

“He’s his bestie right, and now your boo thang.”

Villie smiled at those words then scoffed. “The world is so fucking small.”

“Tell me about it,” you replied.

The two of you sat quietly for a few moments both in your own heads about your situation.

“Well, you have an in to talk to him when you’re ready to tell him about the pregnancy.”

“What in? Miles?”

“Yeah. We’ll tell him and ask if he can get you a face-to-face.”

“Face to face? Villie.”

“Is this the kind of news you really want to send over socials, text messages, or word of mouth?”

You hated when she was right.

“Also from a legal standpoint, if you kept this from him now and he somehow found out years down the line, he could file a lawsuit against you and seek damages.”

“From little ol' me?”

“If he was feeling really butt hurt, that’s the minimum of what he could do legally,” Villie confirmed.

You sighed then dropped back onto the floor. Your hands instantly went to your stomach and you felt your slight bump. This shit was messy and had the potential to get even messier. Villie was right though, you did have to tell him, it was the right thing to do.

Looking at it from a different angle, it was better to say "Hi remember me, oops I’m pregnant" than not and wonder what if.

You closed your eyes and groaned. Your life had turned upside down in the span of a few months and once again it was all because of the things you’d done in the dark.

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

TagList:

@chaneajoyyy @caramara3 @valkryienymph @babyflowa07 @est1887 @halfrican-heat @mauvecherie-writes @nunya7394 @lovebittenbyevans @gardenwonders2 @sweetlikecoffy @dillie60 @ olabelle757 @ophiaedits @kenequa @triton08 @skyesthebomb @shipatheart @keytodespair @xsweetdellzx @labella420 @coldmuffinbanditshoe @ak329 @shar74nett @youremysuperstar @whore-like-behaviour @sonjashuterbugjohnson

@alookintohersoul @asiaaisa77 @jd-now-jq @naturalthrone22      @mrsbarnes-rogers @beyourownkindofbeautiful @beccacupcakesxo @toni9 @wonderlandfandomkingdom @partypoison00 @queenoftheworldisdead @doublesidedscoobysnacks @sophiealiice @richonne4life @coffeebooksandfandom @siempremamita @raveviolet @dumbchick  @amennariee @briellableu @leebabe444 @31miw-inkpsycho

@rororo06 @disaster-rose @bugngiz @yourwonderbelle @queenbetter @melaninhawtie @bekindbecoolbeyou​ @heartfullofgolden @idkiwantchocolatee @missuniee @avngrsfangirl @a-highly-opinionated-mess @19jammmy ​@nunya7394 @eltima02 @motheroffae @luckydiorxoxo

@majx00 @bbhyuneee @queenanababy @ravenqueen27 @multi-fandom5 @xsweetdellzx @bqueensweet @misswolff @g-l-o-b-e-w-h-o-r-e @blveeeeeee @majx00 @rowansshit @tian-monique @venusesworld @motheroffae @gg-trini @notyouraveragemochii @viennakarma

[queen-of-the-avengers]

Shine Bright

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Star!Reader

Word Count: ~4k

Warnings: fluff, angst, being kidnapped and almost killed, but then fluff again

Summary: Hydra wants to reign eternally, and the best way to do that is to eat a falling star's heart. They knock you out of orbit but didn't expect the Avengers to find you first.

Squares Filled: stars (2021) for @buckybarnesbingo

Author’s Note: This takes place during or after FATWS, but I've made John evil, and everyone who died post-Endgame is alive and well.

I am absolutely in love with the movie "Stardust", so I decided to base this story on that! The picture down below DOES NOT represent the reader at all, I just wanted to showcase the movie.

x

The sky above is still and peaceful. There isn’t a cloud in sight that allows visibility to whoever looks up at it. John Walker looks through the telescope and positions it on the star Hydra is targeting. If he wasn’t on a mission right now, he’d appreciate the stars shining brightly for their human audience.

“John, is everything in position?”

“On my end. What about yours?”

John looks at his coworker who is in charge of the missile they plan on using for this mission. The man tweaks the numbers and aligns them with the correct star.

“We’re ready.”

All eyes turn to Valentina Allegra de Fontaine. She is in charge of this whole operation under the assumption this is for the CIA. She sits at the large desk in the middle of the room, leans back, and rests her hands in her lap.

“Fire away, gentlemen.”

John and his coworker turn the machine on and launch the missile at the star. John rushes over to the telescope and watches as it flies into the sky, breaks off into tiny pieces, and zooms straight into the heart of the star. Instead of blowing it up like most missiles do, it knocks the star off its orbit and sends it straight down to Earth. Whatever John is seeing through the telescope, everyone can see on the monitors in the room so that Valentina can see what’s going on.

Everyone watches it fall straight to Earth to a place they don’t know. They can’t predict the crash site for something as big as a star but it won’t be hard to track it down. Once they figure out where it is, they’ll have so much fun dissecting it for what they truly need it for.

It was Tony’s idea that the entire team kick back and relax after a hard working week. Sam and Wanda brought out the board games that can account for a lot of people since everyone lives at the compound. The only one not here is Thor but that’s because he has duties to complete on Asgard.

“Okay, this time, don’t cheat,” Tony says to Sam.

“Hey, that was one time and I was trying to get Steve.”

The game they’re playing is Cards Against Humanity, something they all love to play—adult edition. What’s a good night in with alcohol and friends if not for an inappropriate game?

“Bucky, you in or not?”

“Yeah, pass me some cards.”

With everyone on board, the game can get started. The first few rounds were hilarious and the next couple was causing a lot of people to drink. Tony loves to put a spin on his games. If he can get people to drink, then a lot of people are getting drunk. By the tenth round, everyone is relaxed and willing to kick things up a notch.

Tony brings out a Truth or Dare drinking game when something bright lights up the night sky.

“What the hell is that?” Clint asks.

Everyone gets up and gathers around the window to watch it fall to the ground. It lands not far from the Avenger’s Compound but far enough to where they can’t see it.

“Tony, Sam, let’s check it out,” Steve says seriously.

Tony and Sam get suited up while Steve fetches his shield. Steve catches a ride with Tony to travel two hours from the Compound in Madison County. There is a big crater on the ground from the impact of the white light, and the three men tread carefully over to it. Steve’s shield is in front of him ready to protect him, Sam’s drone, Redwing, flies next to him cautiously, and Tony’s repulsors are ready and waiting to be fired.

Tony expected to see some kind of weapon in the middle of the crater but instead of a thing, it’s a person--you. You’re wearing a white dress that goes down to your feet, and you have a white glow about you. You groan in pain just as the light dies down and you look up at the three men staring at you.

“What the hell happened?” you ask.

You look to the sky to see your sisters shining in the night sky. How the hell did you get from up there to down here?

“Who are you?” Steve asks.

“My name is Y/N. Who are you?”

“Steve, Tony, and Sam. What happened here?”

“I don’t know. One minute I was shining in the sky and the next I’m down here and in pain.”

“Shining in the sky?”

“I’m a star. I was minding my own business and someone knocked me out of orbit.”

Steve, Tony, and Sam walk down the crater’s walls and toward you cautiously. They still don’t know if you’re good or not until you get up and reveal what’s been behind you this whole time. A shell of a missile that has the Hydra symbol on the side of it.

“We need to get her inside. If Hydra wants her, then she must be special. We can’t just leave her here.”

“Leave me here? What the hell is going on here?”

“If Hydra wants you, it’s for a reason. We should get you inside before they come looking for you.”

Going with them beats sitting here and waiting for someone bad to find you. Everyone who was left behind waits eagerly for the men’s return, and they’re shocked when they return with a gorgeous woman. You’re scared of the many unknowns of your situation: who are these people? What do they want from you? Who is after you? Are you in danger? Will these people hurt you?

“Who is this?” Natasha asks.

“The white light.”

“Here, sit,” Steve offers, and you take a seat away from everyone else. He knows you’re scared so he’s trying to make this as easy as possible for you. “She’s a star.”

“A star?” Bucky asks with two eyebrows raised.

“As I said to them earlier, I was living peacefully in the sky when something knocked me out of orbit.”

“Hydra knocked her out of the sky. They must want a star.”

“Why? What’s so significant about a star?” Bucky asks.

“There’s lore around shooting stars,” you explain. “For centuries, people have tried to get stars to fall to Earth for their hearts. If our hearts are consumed, it’ll grant the person a sort of immortality. No one can live forever, but our hearts can extend life for centuries. Many of my sisters have fallen and died because of it.”

“Hydra must want to reign for a long time,” Steve theorizes. “Listen, why don’t you stay here until we can figure out how to get you back into the sky.”

“Can we even do that?” Natasha wonders.

“There’s a way. It’s complicated but there’s always a way.”

“Bucky, why don’t you show her to the room next to yours.”

“Sure.”

“Thank you,” you sigh and follow the man with a metal arm. He’s very quiet and doesn’t talk much which you relate to. “I appreciate your kindness.”

“Sure. Let me know if you need anything.”

Bucky leaves you alone in the room and you sit on the bed in thought. You never sleep at night and allow yourself to rest during the day so you’re not tired at all. Bucky looks at you before he leaves but pauses. You look so scared and nervous that he can’t help but walk back into the room to be with you. He sits next to you on the bed and wipes both hands on his jeans.

“I was once new here. I didn't know anyone besides Steve. I’m gonna help you figure out a way to get you home.”

“Thank you,” you smile.

The rest of the night is uneventful but right before the sun rose, your eyes started to droop. All of your sisters are sleeping as you’re supposed to be, but the Avengers are so loud you can’t fathom sleeping with this noise. If Hydra wants you then they must have a base somewhere to hold the equipment to knock a star out of orbit. All that equipment will take a lot of money to acquire and a lot of space to hold, so they all come up with places that can be potential bases.

“Ah, there she is. We need your help,” Tony says and waves you into the room.

“What are you guys doing?” you sigh and slump over to them.

“We’re trying to figure out where Hydra’s base is. If we can, then we can plan an attack before they try and come for you.”

“Great,” you sit down and place your chin in your hand.

All of them start talking over one another creating a small headache to form.

“Y/N, I know you’re tired but can you remember where the missile came from? If we can get a sense of direction, we can narrow potential places significantly.”

“I’m not tired, Steve, I’m exhausted. I never stay awake during the day. I need to sleep and rest but you’re all being so loud,” you sigh.

“Come with me,” Bucky offers.

Bucky leads you past both your rooms and to a wing of the compound that rarely is used. This place is the farthest from where anyone is gonna be. There is a spare bedroom down here that Bucky takes you to, and he opens the door for you.

“You’ll be able to get some sleep here. I come here when I want to be alone. It’s quiet.”

“Thank you, Bucky,” you smile.

Your entire body shines slightly to show how happy you are but Bucky doesn’t think much of it. You’re a star. You’re supposed to be shining. All he does is give you a friendly smile and leave you alone to rest. It’s easy for you to fall asleep and you stay asleep for the whole day. When the sun goes down, your body wakes you up to start shining. Then you remember where you are and your glow dims.

You’re ready to take the night on and wander until you find the majority of the Avengers. They’ve been working hard all day to figure out where the Hydra base is and are now taking a break to watch a movie.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Tony says when you enter the room.

“Got room for one more?”

Bucky moves over so you can sit next to him, and you blush slightly when your leg brushes up against his.

“Did you find out where Hydra is located?”

“No. They have defense walls that aren’t coming up on our radars, but we have Friday constantly looking for a way in.”

“Who’s Friday?”

“My AI,” Tony answers.

He turns the movie up so everyone can hear it, and you turn to Bucky with a shy smile.

“Thank you for letting me use your space,” you whisper.

“I don’t mind.”

“What movie are you guys watching?”

“Dumb and Dumber. They love it.”

You try to get into the movie but you’re not connecting to it as much as you hope to. Everyone laughs at the same time when something funny happens but not you. You’re not sure if you fit in well with this group. Humans have always been part of your fascination but you only know of the evolution of them, not them personally.

“Excuse me,” you whisper and get up.

Bucky watches you walk off toward our room without another word. He knows more than most what trying to fit in feels like and how bad he can feel when he doesn’t. He leaves his friends and follows you to your room. You’re sitting on the balcony and staring at the night sky where your sisters are.

“I promise I’m coming home. I’m figuring out a way to do that,” you sigh.

They twinkle to let you know they hear you.

“Mind if I join you?” Bucky knocks on the balcony doors.

“No.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m not really a group person.” Bucky sits next to you on the lounge chair. “I’m more of a loner. I didn’t have any planets orbiting me, and the closest star to me is my sister Vega. She’s such a sweetheart.”

“Yeah, I’m more of a loner, too.”

“My sisters are the only ones I can count on, and they’re watching over me right now to make sure I’m okay.” 

Bucky looks up and they twinkle so he can see where they’re located.

“When you were in the sky, could you watch over humans?”

“It was my favorite thing to do. I’ve watched humans grow since they first arrived. I see the value in human life because it ends. They’ve come a long way from where they first started.”

“I’ve never met a star before. You’re pretty nice and beautiful.”

Your body shines a bit at his compliment.

“Thank you. Stars are pure and innocent despite the violence and horrors we see on a daily basis. We represent everything good about the world. We represent beauty.”

“I can tell,” he smiles.

Your body shines a bit more the more you are happy being here with Bucky. The stars in the sky shine a bit brighter when they see their sister happy.

Hydra hasn’t made a move against the Avengers over the course of the following week because they’re not sure how they can approach the situation. Valentina knows exactly where the star is and she can’t charge in like she normally would. The Avengers are powerful that deserve careful planning and strategy to overcome.

 Meanwhile, you and Bucky have grown closer. When you’re not sleeping, you’re spending as much time with Bucky as you can. There is only a short amount of time you can spend with him before one of you needs to sleep. In the beginning, you were only allowed a couple of hours to be with him, but now you’re spending half a day with him. You’re slowly starting to fall asleep later in the morning and waking up later in the night. It’s something you’re willing to change in order to be with Bucky.

“Tell me something,” Bucky says.

You two are lying on the roof of the building admiring the night sky which is sure to come soon. Your skin is glowing brightly that if whoever were to look up at the roof, they’d see nothing but a white glow.

“What?” you ask and look at him.

“I know that stars shine but do you get to choose when you get to? I’ve seen you with and without.”

“I shine when I’m happy,” you say with a bright smile, “and I’m happy right now with you.”

You and Bucky stay on the roof until there is no more sunlight left in the sky, and you yawn tiredly.

“Tired?”

“A little bit.”

“Let’s go back inside.”

You and Bucky head back inside your room to get ready for the night, and you look at your bed in thought.

“You know, I haven’t been sleeping well. I’ve been transitioning into sleeping at night so I’m still struggling a bit. I might be able to sleep better if it were next to you.”

Bucky holds his flesh hand out, too scared to use his metal hand for fear of breaking you. He takes you to his room where you two get comfortable underneath the sheets. He’s shocked he can sleep with you shining next to him but it gives him a sense of comfort knowing you feel safe enough with him to shine.

The next morning, you wake with a smile on your face and your skin glowing.

“This is the first time I slept through the night.” You look beside you but Bucky isn’t there. The brightness dims on your skin until it looks normal. “Bucky?” You get up and walk around the compound in search of Bucky, and you find him in the main room where the other Avengers are. “What’s going on?”

“We found Hydra’s base. Nat’s gonna stay here with you,” Tony declares.

Your eyes immediately find Bucky’s.

“You’re not gonna stay here with me?”

“I know Hydra like the back of my hand. I have to go with them.”

“Oh, okay.”

Tony, Steve, Bucky, Wanda, and Sam get geared up to go while you and Natasha stay behind. She’s decked in her gear just in case something happens. She has the capabilities to keep you safe since you’re not a fighter--you’re a lover. You don’t think you could fight even if you wanted to.

“So, how long have you been with the team?” you ask.

“Too long.” You look away in thought and bounce your leg nervously. “Look, I haven’t known Bucky for very long but he’s trying. He used to be one of the bad guys but he’s doing a helluva lot more good to make up for the bad. He knows how to handle Hydra. He’s going to be okay.”

“I know,” you nod with uncertainty.

You and Natasha make conversation for the next couple of hours when the alarms start blaring inside the compound.

“Stay here.”

“You’re leaving me alone?” you gasp.

“I’m sure it’s nothing. Just stay here and don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

Natasha is gone before you have a chance to question her further. You wait nervously for her to come back because you have no clue where she is, what’s going on, and who is inside the compound. After an hour of waiting around, you get up and look out the window. Everything seems normal as if there isn't an intruder inside. Footsteps near the room you’re in, ad you turn to the door waiting to see Natasha.

The door opens and you smile.

“I was beginning to worry.”

The smile is lost when you see a strange woman with four soldiers around her.

“So was I. The easy part was tracking you down. Stars have a bit of… aura about them that is easily tracked. The hard part was infiltrating this place. I had to make sure I had all my bases covered. You’re coming with us.”

“No,” you stand your ground.

“No? Emilio.” One of the men takes out a tablet from one of the pockets and flips it open. He presses a few buttons and shows you what’s on the screen. All your friends are tied with Hydra soldiers all around them. Of course, you’re worried about all of them but you can’t help but look at Bucky. “Either come with me or your friends will be killed.”

You have no choice but to go with her.

The woman, Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, leads you through the large Hydra base to a big room with a staircase leading up to a small landing. A large table is on the landing with a  medical cart next to it. There is nothing but different sizes of knives--knives that will be used to cut your heart out.

“A shining star’s heart is the way to go, but I’ll settle for your scared little one any day of the year.” You’re only doing this because you’re scared of what these people are going to do to Bucky if you fight back. You’re forced onto the table where Valentina straps you down so you’re not tempted to leave. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll make sure to make it quick and painless.”

She grabs one of the sharpest knives and walks over to you. You close your eyes and send a quick prayer to your sisters in hopes they can hear you. She raises her knife when the double doors slam open. You both look to see Bucky storming in with his deadly gun.

“Bucky!” you smile and shine brightly at the sight of him.

“Get him!” Valentina orders.

A dozen guards make their way into the room and start shooting at Bucky who is more than prepared to handle them. Bullets fly as your concern for Bucky grows. However, he seems to beat every single one of them as he makes his way closer to you.

“Emilio!” Valentina yells.

The big guy who was with her earlier steps into the room with two charged electric gloves. His metal armor makes him immune to the bullets Bucky is firing at him, and he gives him an uppercut when he reaches him. Bucky goes flying across the room and uses his vibranium arm to slow his descent down the walkway.

Emilio and Bucky meet in the middle as they fistfight for your honor. There is no way Valentina is cutting your heart out now. She wants to see how this fight is gonna end. She is pretty confident that her soldier is going to win against the Winter Soldier, but oh how wrong she is. The double doors bust open and Wanda comes in with red magic at her fingertips. Tony and Steve are behind her ready to fight whoever they need to in order to save you.

Red magic encases Emilio to hold him still while Bucky delivers a deadly punch to the bottom of his jaw. Emilio is thrown across the room and knocks into a mirror, and he slides down it unconsciously. Valentina sees the urgency of the situation and raises the knife.

“Tony, heads up.”

Steve rears his shield back and throws it in Valentina’s direction, and Tony shoots his repulsors at the shield to make it fly the rest of the way. Valentina tries to escape but is hit before she can find coverage. She falls to the ground completely knocked out. Bucky runs up the staircase and over to you with an easy smile.

“You really thought I’d let you get sacrificed?”

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

Bucky undoes your ties and helps you off the table, and the both of you run down the staircase to the other Avengers. Before you can reach them, all the doors that lead into the room slam open. Dozens upon dozens of guards come in with their weapons, weapons that can kill everyone here. There are too many guards for Wanda to control and too many for them to take on.

They might not be able to but you can. You pull Bucky into you and wrap your arms around his neck.

“Hold onto me and close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“What do stars do best?” You pull him down so that his face is nestled into the shape of your neck. “They shine.”

Your entire body shines with the intensity of a real star. Your teammates cover their eyes to protect themselves but the same thing can’t be said for the Hydra soldiers. Your light kills whoever dares look into it, and the soldiers in the very back leave as quickly as they can before they can succumb to your light. You pull away from Bucky and dim your light knowing that these soldiers aren’t going to hurt them anymore.

After Valentina is apprehended and taken back to the States for punishment through the CIA, Bucky returns back to the Compound with you by his side. There is a lot of paperwork that Nick Fury has to fill out, and Tony and Steve offered to stay behind to scour through the base and see what kinds of things Hydra has been up to.

The night sky is shining brighter than normal because your sisters are happy for your safe return.

“They say thank you for saving me,” you say to Bucky.

“No problem,” he says to the sky before looking back down at you. “She’s worth saving.”

“You know, these last two weeks with you have been amazing. If I’m being honest, I’m having second thoughts about going back. I don’t want to leave you.”

“I don’t want you to leave either.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and he pulls you in closer by your hips.

“Maybe staying here for a while longer won’t be so bad.”

He slides one hand up your body to your jaw which he cups. He leans down and kisses you with such intensity that causes butterflies to erupt in your stomach. The stars twinkle in the sky as your own light shines brightly for all to see.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[boobo13cambridge]

Somebody to Lean On | Kylian Mbappé

Pairing: Kylian Mbappé x f.Reader

Warnings: Penetrative sex, oral (f. receiving), kissing, nipple play.

Summary: After being eliminated from the Champions League, you join Kylian while he channels his frustrations into working out hours after the training session is over. 

A/N: Hello, everyone! I've had this in the draft for a while and didn't have time to edit it. I hope you enjoy it and lemme know what you think!

______________________________________________________________

You could hear the hard clank of the weight machine through the loud music playing from the door leading to the home gym that Kylian had installed since moving into his Paris apartment from AS Monaco years ago. A sigh escaped your lips, knowing that Kylian had been channeling his frustrations into working out ever since PSG got eliminated from the Champions League round of 16 knockout stages. Winning the trophy this season after renewing his contract for another two years had meant everything to him. However, Kylian wasn't the most forthcoming person when dealing with emotions, especially after such a loss, and you wanted to be there for him.

You opened the door and peeked inside, seeing your boyfriend shirtless, wearing only a pair of the shortest basketball shorts you'd ever seen in your life. The sight of him covered in sweat, his bronze skin glistening under the dim light, made your heart skip a beat. The low flame of heat that curled in your stomach was undeniable. You had started training alongside him at the gym when you realized that all your reassurances fell on deaf ears. You knew that at this point, the only thing you could do for him was to give him company, and if that meant spending hours at the gym, then so be it.

Clad in a pair of light pink leggings with a matching sports bra, you went straight to Kylian, giving him a quick peck on the lips as he gave you a little smile. “Salut, bébé. Je ne savais pas que tu étais déjà arrivée à la maison.”

“Il n’y avait pas grand chose à faire au bureau, alors j’ai pu partir un peu plus tôt,” you replied, making your way to the treadmill, wanting to start off with a bit of light cardio. For the next ten minutes, both of you were quietly working out. 

The tension between you was palpable, but you didn't know how to break the ice. You were there for him, but it seemed like he was lost in his own world. You knew how hard he was on himself and how personal he took each loss. The ruthlessness of the french media made it much worse. It was a different kind of helplessness knowing what you’re other half is going through but not being able to do anything about it. 

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Kylian broke the silence. “I'm sorry you had to come here to watch me wallow in self-pity.”

You shook your head, turning off the treadmill. “You don't have to apologize for anything, Kylian. I'm here for you, no matter what.”

Kylian's eyes softened as he walked over to you, taking your hand in his. “I know. And I appreciate it more than you'll ever know.”

He pulled you close, his hot breath on your neck making your heart skip a beat. You wrapped your arms around him, and for a moment, everything felt right in the world. In each other's embrace, you both felt a sense of peace that had eluded you for the past few days.

After a few moments, you attempted to pull away from him, but Kylian tightened his hold around you, his lips hot and eager on your neck, trailing wet kisses down your skin. Sighing in pleasure, you tilted your head back to give him more access.

"I need you right now, bébé," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. One of his hands trailed down your body, gripping your waist tightly, while the other tangled itself in your long black ponytail.

You couldn't resist him any longer, the tension and chemistry between you both too strong to ignore. You turned your head, pressing your lips to his in a fiery kiss, tongues tangling together. The gym equipment around you faded into the background as the only thing that mattered was the heat and passion between you and Kylian.

As you deepened the kiss, his hands roamed over your body, exploring every curve and dip. You moaned into his mouth as he squeezed your ass, the sensation sending shivers of pleasure through your body. You ran your hands over his muscular chest, feeling his heartbeat pounding against your palms.

In this moment, there was no loss or disappointment, just the intense desire and love you both shared for each other. 

Needing to catch your breath, you pull your lips away from his as he seizes the moment to stroll backwards and sit down on the bench, his nimble hands clasping at your hips, drawing you towards his waiting lap. You comply, gliding lazily over his thighs, and moan when you feel your clothed core brush against the bump of his arousal, barely concealed by those minuscule shorts.

Straddling him, Kylian pulls your body tightly against his with his muscular arms as you return to kissing him, your lips moving in sync with his in a heated dance. You gently scratch the back of his neck, causing him to let out a delicious whimper and buck his hips up into you. You break away with a gasp, feeling a tight emptiness between your thighs. He's so big, and no matter how many times you've been with him, you could never get used to his size.

Kylian takes the opportunity to pepper kisses down your jaw, enveloping your pulse point in his hot mouth. His hungry, wet kisses make you leak like a faucet. "I love you so much, bébé," he whispers.

You bite your lips, trying to contain the goofy smile threatening to split your face.

"Prove it, mon amour," you challenge him, feeling a surge of desire coursing through you.

He grins against your skin. "Is that a challenge, princesse?" he asks, his voice thick with desire.

"Mmhm," you respond, sighing erotically as his sexy chuckle sends shivers down your spine.

Kylian trails his hands up your waist, cupping the underside of your boobs. Flicking his thumbs across your nipples, you let out a whine while unabashedly riding his crotch. He stops kissing your neck to slowly rid of your sports bra. Kylian lets out the sexiest groan seeing your nipples harden due to the sudden exposure. The way his eyes gaze at your breast with such desire cause liquid heat to pool in your panties as you feel your body burning up with lust.

“Putain, bébé. T’es fucking belle,” he whispers before enveloping your left right nipple in his hot wet mouth. You feel yourself losing control in his arms, the sloppy sounds of his mouth sucking your tit and his scent driving you wild. You were absolutely losing your mind. Kylian was always so attentive and knew how to play your body like violin. God, you couldn’t take it anymore, you needed him inside you.

“Ky… please…I need you inside of me…” you whimpered, lifting his head from your chest. The carnal lust on his face almost made you cum on the spot. You could see the absolute torment in his eyes, and you wanted nothing more than to free him from it. “Take my cock out, bébé,” he rasped out. Biting your lip as his command made you gush further dampening your soaked panties, you trailed your hands down his sweaty toned chest, reaching into his shorts and taking out his pulsating member. 

One of the many things you liked about him was how pretty his cock looked, and you knew that’s where half of his ego came from. You couldn’t blame him though with how much he made you cum with it. He was so hot and heavy in your hand, and whimpered when you swiped a thumb over the tip spreading the drops of precum to aid your slide. You pump him gently, listening to him sucking in a hard breath, suppressing a groan. “I thought you needed me inside you, mon amour, hmmm,” his voice heavy with lust as he grabbed your face with one hand giving you a smirk. Cocky bastard, he knew how much you loved his dick, but you knew exactly how to have him begging. Rolling your eyes at him, you quickly got out of his lap causing him to frown, and teasingly pulled your leggings down your legs alongside your panties. 

Kylian let out a deep groan, his dark eyes devouring your naked body, “Viens ici, princesse.” Ignoring him, you walk back and lay down on the fitness mat. Spreading your legs, you glide your fingers down your wet slit, gently circling your clit. You throw your head back in pleasure, hearing Kylian swear in the background. “Merde, tu joues à quoi, mon amour? Je t’avais dit de venir ici.”

Opening your eyes, you see the frustration in his brows as he pouts. “Did I not tell you to prove to me how much you loved me, Ky or did you already forget?”

Realization dawns on his face, as he chuckles getting up from the bench and removing his shorts and boxers. His cock slaps against his abdomen, leaving a wet patch that has you clenching. “Is that how you wanna play, bébé?”

He stalks towards you, kneeling down between your spread legs. His large palms rest on your knees as he opens you to accommodate him. He trails kisses from your right knee and stops right before touching you where you need him the most, and repeats this on your left knee. You pant, eyebrows furrowed and body strung tight. “Ky… please,”

“You wanted to be a little tease, mon amour. You gotta beg better than that,” he tuts lightly blowing on your sex causing you to arch your back from the sensation. Frustrated, you narrow your eyes, “You’re not being fair, Ky.”

“All is fair in love and war, princesses.” He gives you the most shit-eating grin known to men which almost made you slap him before he opening his mouth and covered your pussy in his spit which made your mind short-circuit as you whimpered his name. For fuck’s sake, this man knew exactly how to play you to get what he wants. “Are you going to beg now, bébé?”

You were so wet and horny that you couldn’t think straight, so you gave in, begging him to give you something. Just as his mouth engulfed your throbbing clit, you couldn’t find it in yourself to regret giving in to him. The pleasure he gave you was out of this world as he sucked your clit while pumping two fingers in your pulsating channel. You sigh out pornographically, practically suffocating Kylian between your thighs. Your hips develop a mind of their own as the sloppy sounds of Kylian eating you out fill your body with uncontrollable desire. 

You pant with with pleasure, as you feel yourself hurtling towards your release. “Merde… Kylian, I’m gonna come.”

Hearing that, Kylian increases the pace of his fingers as his tongue continues to draw tight circle around your sensitive nub. A few seconds later, you feel the tight knot in your stomach burst, as you come all over your boyfriend’s tongue. Kylian pulls away from your core, his full lips glistening with your cum. Coming down your high, you look at him, heart so full of love that you can’t help but grab his face, pulling him down on you and kissing him deeply. You taste yourself on his lips, moaning into his mouth. Mine, you think as you grind against his groin, wrapping your legs around him. 

“I need to be inside you right now, mon coeur,” Kylian moaned into your mouth. “Do it, Ky. I want to feel you.”

That’s all the incentive he needed, as he gripped the base of his cock, lining himself up at your entrance before pushing in causing the both of you to moan. The glide was seamless due to how soaked your pussy was. Kylian lets out a delicious groan as he bottoms into you stretching your walls to the brim, his nose flush against yours as your breaths mingle. “Putain, this pussy is always so tight for me.”

You can feel your second orgasm already simmering as you tighten your legs around Kylian. “Ky… please move…I need you so bad,” you practically sob. 

“Fuck, no need to beg, bébé. I got you…I  got you so bad, bébé.” 

He thrusts into you slowly a few times, letting you adjust to his incredible size. The pain always gave you so much pleasure. Kylian was the only one who could hit all your spots, and make you see stars. 

“Faster, Ky…Take me just like you want, baby.”

That’s all the greenlight Kylian needed before he started jachammering inside you instantly finding your g-spot, making you scream. His pace is fast and brutal making you see stars as your pleasure skyrockets making you clench him hard. 

“Fuck, bébé, your pussy’s so fucking perfect…Merde…I’m not gonna last…”

Kylian unwraps your legs from around and throws them over his shoulders, bending you in half causing him to drives himself deeper into you with such jaw-droppingly good friction, that you feel tears streaming dow your face. 

“Fuck, Ky…Too much…I can’t…I’m gonna cum!” you sob, digging your nails into his biceps as your body stars spasming, your orgasm ripping through you, whitening your vision.

“That’s right, princess. Fuck…soak my cock.” Kylian buries his face in the crook of your neck, as he cums a few strokes later, fucking you both through your orgasm. Coming down from your high, you open your eyes and gently stroke the back of Kylian’s head as gently lifts your legs from his shoulders, rolling onto his back with you in his arms. Tiredly giggling, you prop yourself up and gaze down in his face. He looked so adorable with his swollen lips and reddened cheeks that your couldnt help but lean down and kiss him. Breaking the kiss, you look into his eyes, gently caressing his cheek, “I love you so much, Ky. I want you to know that I’ll always be there for you.” 

Softly gazing at you, Kylian pecks your lips, resting his forehead against yours. “I know, bébé. Thank you for always being by my side. I love you to the moon and back,” he says cheesily making you giggle. The both of you stayed wrapped up in each other’s arms knowing that no matter what happened, you would always have each other to lean on. 

[heytherehowdyworld]

Saturday Night Frights

Summary: Eddie's an angel. Your boyfriend kind of really sucks.

Disclaimer: Y'all I haven't written anything narrative in months and this popped out. The pacing is weird, there's more show than tell, and I do not have time to edit it properly. Bear with me, man. This content is like totally relatable to other people, right? Right?

WC: ~13k

Warnings: language; obviously MDNI bc this is NOT a blog for kids; poor characterisation and general story flaws; way too many commas. Enjoy.

“And that’s what I said!” You say emphatically into the phone, the grimace lining your face bleeding into the theatricality of your tone.

“But he still said no?” One floppy-haired Munson replies, pure derision lining his voice. “You went over the importance of Tolkien’s amendments in The Hobbit as they relate to the Lord of the Rings and he still ‘doesn’t get why you need two copies of the book’? What a loser.”

You snort, ever-amused at how intensely Eddie reacted to fantastical media matters. It was nice to have someone with common interests, especially since your boyfriend of six months felt no need to learn anything more about you than your shift start and end times.

The door to the bar smacks lightly against the opposite wall as you open it. “Right? But I’m supposed to remember the names of every World of Warfare character?” “What a dick.” The phone echoes weirdly as you reach the backroom, Eddie’s voice ringing through both in person and on the mobile. You end the call with a smile. “Tell me about it.”

Eddie startles, grinning when he sees you. He slips his phone into one pocket of the Tardis-like denim jacket he always wears, tilting his head at you.

“Why do you still hang around this guy, then?” The smile on his face tells you he’s not entirely serious asking the question, but with all the other flaws in your romantic relationship — which you’ve spent time telling Eddie about — it feels abrasive.

You sigh. “He’s nice to me, Eds. We get along.”

“We get along too,” he shrugs, “so?”

“It’s different between you and me, you know that. Matt and I are dating so it’s good to have our own things, right?”

“There’s a difference between ‘having your own thing’ and ‘ditching your girlfriend on date night because the boys asked you to play another round with them’,” Eddie gives you a pointed look, shucking off his jacket and hanging it up on a stray hook. He busies himself by tying the customary apron around his narrow hips, unaware of the way your eyes linger on the flex of his fingers as he does so.

“That only happened twice,” you rebut, shrugging off your own coat and hanging it neatly by his, “and he apologised for it.” Without saying more, you offer Eddie your apron by habit. He takes it from you gently, brows furrowed in thought.

“You could ask Ted to get you an apron with longer straps,” he deflects, his careful fingers wrapping the material around you, tying it with practiced precision. This action had become commonplace since a few weeks after you’d started working here, when Eddie had noticed your trouble with tying the narrow threads behind your back. And while yes, it was true you had a problem with securing the apron on you before your shifts, it was specifically Eddie you went to for help because there was something far too comforting about the way his large hands circled your waist whenever he did.

“Longer straps won’t stop my fingers from getting caught in the knot when I try to tie them, Eds.” You nod your head in thanks, stepping away from him to put your hair up in a comfortable bun.

Eddie hums, still deep in distracted thought.

“We’re good, Matt and I.” Your voice is hardly above a whisper, barely audible over the hum of the ice machine in the serving area of the bar. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

Eddie makes a slight sound of disagreement, but before anything more can be said of the matter, your co-worker Nicola walks in.

“Hi guys,” she waves, pierced lips parted in a grin. Her leather jacket creaks as she hangs it up, tinny metal music still playing through the headphones balancing around her neck.

“How was your weekend?” Eddie asks as you watch Nicola check her eyeliner in the mirror hanging above the oddly-placed backroom sink. As per usual, she’s used a graphic liner to test out a new pattern — spiders hanging from the outer corners of her eyes to tide in the hallowe’en season today.

She groans, eyes rolling up in annoyance. “My fuckin’ landlord decided to play music all night Friday,” Friday being the one day off Nicola had for the week, the others filled with classes and odd shifts at the bar, “which was terrible. Then, when I asked him to not do that again on Saturday, he threatened to evict me. And then he did it again! Saturday and Sunday!”

A sympathetic ‘humph’ leaves your throat, and you make an attempt at humour by outlining a plot to exact revenge on her landlord. Nicola laughs kindly, focussing behind you at Eddie once more.

“And yours?” Nicola braces herself on the edge of the sink, one brow arched in artful inquisition as a finger plays with a few loose strands of hair.

Flirting with him.

You suddenly feel a little out of place, existent, but no longer necessary to the conversation.

Eddie shrugs at her, signature grin igniting the dimple in his cheek. “Worked closing on Saturday, slept all day Sunday. The usual.”

You slip away, into the bar, and begin arranging liquors for tonight. The sounds of Nicola and Eddie engaged in happy discussion are quieter here, easier to ignore.

It feels wrong, bad, to be in a relationship and still yearn for your coworker and friend. There’s no reason for jealousy to pool in your stomach at the thought of Eddie and Nicola in a relationship, but it does anyway, and it makes you ill.

Really, if you hadn’t been dating Matt before you’d started working here you’d also try flirting with the man in question. And that fact disgusts you.

“Where’d you disappear to, sweets?” Eddie slides in next to you, the narrow space between each side of the bar resulting in the heat of his body warming you as he passes. The tip of his thumb brushes against you as he moves, trailing a hot line across the small of your back.

You cough, trying to dispel the want for his warmth blooming in you. “Just wanted to get ready for opening. It’s almost five.”

Eddie nods, glancing behind you as Nicola enters the small bar. Together, the three of you ready the space in preparation for its opening time. Chairs are taken off tables, odd dust is wiped away, and glasses are dried in advance.

The night itself passes steadily enough, and gossip is passed around between serving tables and shaking up cocktails.

It’s the next evening that Matt comes to visit you, all bright smiles and sparkling eyes as he greets you where you stand behind the bar. He’s brought you a treat, as a surprise, a small coconut-flavoured cupcake. You thank him, grinning, all the while mentally planning to pass it off to Nicola. She likes coconut, you never have.

It’s fine though, an easy thing to forget, and you take the kind gesture for what it is: thoughtful.

“Do I get a kiss, baby?”

“Matt, I’m at work, you know I can’t.”

“No one’s watching us.”

He’s right, a glance to either side of you will prove as much — Eddie is busy chatting up one of the groups of older women that frequent the bar, valued regulars who you’re convinced only come because they have a crush on him; Nicola and Robin are working alongside you but on the far side of the bar, busy prepping some complicated-looking cocktails and chatting up the patrons.

“Matt,” you implore, voice almost a whine.

“Just one kiss.” Matt leans over the bartop and into your personal space, drawing the attention of some regular who comes around often enough that you’d consider him a friend.

“You alrigh’?” The man asks, tone gruff.

A soft smile mollifies him enough to return to his drink and stare once again off into the middle-distance. Matt garners your attention again, and you nod in the hopes that it will pacify him.

“Just the one?” You double-check.

Matt smirks, “mhm.”

You bend at the hip, almost on your tiptoes to reach Matt over the high bartop. He leans the rest of the way over, thankfully, and you grant him a chaste peck. Before you can pull away, however, his hand wraps around the back of your neck and draws you back towards him.

The kiss deepens, turning into something that’s half tongue and all messy, and a sound of disgruntlement leaves your throat.

You finally manage to push Matt away, hands braced against his firm chest. “You said one, Matt,” your voice is chastising, but there’s no malice in it.

“Couldn’t help myself, baby.”

Your brows furrow, and you can’t help but remember the last time something similar happened. He’d aid the same then, too, pacifying apologies and sugar-sweet smiles to win your forgiveness. “Matt, I’m at work. Please help yourself next time, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll try to, baby. It’s hard to around you.”

“You said the same thing last time.”

Matt scowls, the action sprouting wrinkles across his nose, up his forehead. “Baby, why are you getting so stuck on this? It’s not even a big deal. Just a kiss. I don’t know why you’re getting all mad at me for it.”

He stands up, and you panic.

“I’m not,” you reach over the bar to catch his hand as he begins to stand, worried that you’ve said something wrong. “I’m not mad, honey. Just don’t want to get fired, y’know? Company policy that we can’t french the customers, and all.”

“Whatever.” He rolls his eyes, scowling. At least he’s sitting again.

“Are you mad at me?” Your voice is wan, scared.

Matt crosses his arms, shrugging. “No.”

“It’s just, you sound mad…”

“Jesus fucking christ, I’m not mad, okay? You wanted me to leave you alone so I’m leaving you alone.”

“Right.” Somehow, you don’t believe him, that aching in your chest that you’ve screwed up blossoming into something near-lethal. The urge to apologise consumes you. “I’m sorry, honey.”

“Whatever.”

The rest of the night goes in much the same way, with you checking in on a moping Matt every fifteen minutes to make sure you haven’t irreparably damaged your relationship. You offhandedly notice him watching Nicola and Robin, calling them over to order drinks instead of you, and it hurts.

Even more so, you’re slightly offended when Robin comes up to you with sorry eyes and apologises for it, as though it’s her fault he’d been giving her attention. You’re not mad at her, you don’t think you could ever be, but you do find your mind drifting to comparisons between your appearances.

And that’s the state of mind Eddie finds you in minutes later, still stuck in a rut where you’re listing all the ways Robin and Nicola are better than you. Shorter, because guys like that, right? Skinnier, maybe he thinks clothes lay better on her? Hotter, because of the tattoos? Funnier, because-

“Y’alright, pretty girl?” Eddie braces his elbows against the bartop, clearly taking a break from his club of adoring fangirls.

“All good,” you smile at him, eyes uncontrollably woebegone.

Eddie hums, leaning down to get closer to you. “Do you want me to believe that?” He asks, somehow reading you to dirt despite your best efforts to mask the insecurity biting at you.

“Most people believe the truth, Eds. So, yes.”

The sound he makes in reply is less than agreeable, but he nonetheless backs off. “How’s Matt?”

“Eds,” you say, a degree of warning lacing the word.

“What? If you’re all good then why shouldn’t I ask about Mr Skulk over there. Especially since he’s staring right at us.”

Hands busy cleaning off a glass, you glance slightly to the side to find that Matt is indeed glaring at you.

“Bad day at work, probably. Nothing you’ve to worry about.”

Eddie shrugs, silent for the moment, and leaves you be with a gentle squeeze to your shoulder.

“What the fuck was that?” Matt asks the moment you’re seated in his car.

“What do you mean?” You’re tired, your cheeks hurt from smiling all shift, and your head is starting to hurt with the terrible thoughts you had circling your mind the entire time you worked.

“Don’t play dumb, okay? I know that guy was flirting with you.”

You press your fingers against your temples, the action helping none. “Eddie wan’t flirting with me, Matt. He just wanted to know if everything was okay. Just checking in on me.”

“Oh, so you’re saying he didn’t touch you, then?” Matt starts the car, movements abrupt and aggressive.

“He touched my shoulder, Matt. It was just a friendly touch.”

“You’ve got to be all sorts of dumb if you don’t think he’s into you. I don’t want you being friends anymore, okay?”

“Matt…" “Me or him, babe. Take your pick. I don’t want you being around men who want you in their beds, and I don’t think that’s a big thing to ask of my fucking girlfriend. Unless you’d rather be his girl?”

“Matt, you know I love you.” Matt speeds through a red light, and your hands grip either side of your seat. “Matt… Matt, please slow down, I love you.”

“If you loved me, you’d stop being friends, or whatever you call it, with that freak.”

“We work together, Matt. It’s not that easy.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to make it up to me some other way,” he says, looking at you with a kind of feral gleam in his eye that causes goosebumps to rise along your skin.

You know what he wants, it’s what he always wants, and for all the love you hold for him you really don’t think you’re ready for that step.

And his reaction is the same as always when you tell him so.

He drops you off at your place, speeding off before you can say much more, and remains radio silent for the next week.

He texts you on Wednesday, eight days after the “argument”, asking you to meet on Monday before work. You agree, thrilled that he still cares about you, hoping you can make your inadequacies up to him.

Sunday is a difficult day, the first weekend shift you’ve had to work in a while. There’s customers filling the small bar from opening until closing, and because you offered to take over Robin’s shift so that she could flirt some more with a girl at her other job — in a bookstore, no less — you’re utterly exhausted. The thought of seeing Matt the next day truly does smooth things over, though, makes it easier to smile for the men who insist that they’d treat you right, if you just gave them a chance.

So, when you wake the next morning with your legs throbbing and tired as they always are after a long shift, it’s with a grin.

You’re excited to see him. It’s been a while since you’ve been able to spend time just one-on-one with each other, without the addition of either his friends or his roommate or your coworkers to lessen the intimacy of your shared moments.

This will be good, it’ll quell the worries flurrying within you, the thought that maybe Matt doesn’t feel for you what you do for him, the thoughts that maybe Eddie would be better.

Your phone, buried somewhere beneath yesterday’s clothes, rings. “Robin?” You say by way of greeting, mind still sleep-addled and groggy.

“Ok, so you know that girl I was telling you about?”

Yawning, you hazard a guess, “Lisa?”

“Aimee. Well, I asked her out and she said yes!” Robin’s voice turns almost shrill as the phone struggles to translate her excitement, a squeaky glitching that makes your ear hurt. “So I need you to help me pick out something to wear. Something that says I’m a lesbian, but my soulmate is a guy, but I like, really really love women.”

“That might be hard to do, Robbie. Why don’t I just get you a shirt that says all of that instead?”

“Come on, please? You’re my last hope.”

“Why can’t you ask Steve for help?” The duvet rustles beneath you as you stand, finally ready to prepare for the day ahead. “Since he’s your soulmate and all.”

“‘Cause he’s a dude. He’s gonna tell me to wear a low-cut shirt and a short skirt and like, that is hot, but does it really look gay?”

You chuckle, heading to the small kitchen of your apartment. “Sounds like you’re stereotyping here, Robs. Tsk tsk.”

“You know what I mean,” she whines, “if I take advice from a straight dude on what to wear, I’ll end up being appealing to other straight dudes. I need your feminine sensibilities. Make me look like I’m a pussy-eating champion.”

“Robin,” you laugh, feminine sensibilities shocked by her brashness. “Fine. What time is your date?”

“Six.”

“Alright,” with your phone knocking on death’s door, you manage to send a quick text to Matt alerting him of this new appointment — ‘Is it okay if I meet Robin later today?’. “I’m meeting Matt for breakie in a bit, and afterwards I’ll head over to yours?”

“Text me when you’re on your way.” The phone call ends with the customary ‘love you, love you too’ alongside best wishes on your breakfast date. You look at the clock, surprised you’d managed to wake up with so much time in the day to spare.

Matt had asked you to meet him for eleven, so you have two hours to shower and dress. You decide to pull out all the stops in an effort to impress him.

After a thorough shower — body hairless as one of those raw-chicken-looking cats and shining with some shimmer body lotion you’d been gifted a birthday or two ago — you look over your closet. It’s warm today, but cloudy on the horizon, so you opt for a comfortable sweater and dark-coloured skirt.

By the time you’ve done your makeup to a degree that suits you and twisted your hair into something comfortable, it’s ten forty-five. You decide, then, that it’s time to head over to Matt’s place. He always had valued punctuality.

Matt’s apartment is on the third storey, and you feel a cosmic gratitude at that fact because the lift is still out and you don’t think you’d manage to climb more flights of stairs than you already have to. Finding his flat when you’ve passed this obstacle is easy enough, front door marked by evidently college-boy humour.

The “babes this way” doormat stares at you as you knock on the door, afraid to ring the doorbell because last time you had it Matt had gotten so startled he’d hit his head against his bedroom door. The impact had been so hard that it had cracked almost in two, logwood splintering with every touch. It had taken you a few hours and a lot of grovelling to make sure that his landlord didn’t blame Matt for the accident — after all, it had been your action that had caused his reaction.

Needless to say, you were now wary about using the bell unnecessarily.

You knock again, rolling from the balls of your feet to your heels as you wait for an answer. When still you hear no sign of life, and the clock on your phone says it’s eleven-ten already, you try the doorknob.

It opens under your hand, pushing in to reveal the apartment expanse to you. While normally you’d have no qualms with entering Matt’s house, the idea of doing so without him stalls you some. Would he consider it invasive? But you had plans today, for this time, so maybe he lost track of time while getting ready and left the door open for you to enter when you got here?

The latter option does seem likely, although you can barely count on one hand the times he’s done something similar. Still, by Occam’s Razor, it makes sense.

You step into the short hallway and toe off your shoes, calling out for Matt. No one answers, but somewhere within the flat you think you hear muffled conversation.

You make it to the door to his bedroom before realising the sounds for what they really are — hushed moans and laboured grunts that make you nervous. Maybe he’s working out?

“Matt?” The door opens quietly as you step into his room.

The first thing you notice is its general disarray. Clothes are thrown about everywhere, feminine and masculine alike. You spy a pair of panties tossed over Matt’s study desk in the corner of the room. On the carpet, a heel eyes you mockingly.

Next, your eyes focus on the small pack of condoms on the nightstand that has been completely torn open. Little metal packets glint in the mid-morning light, spread about the small table and around the floor beneath it.

And of course, the most notable thing you see is the woman balanced on your boyfriend’s hips, riding him into oblivion. Her motions don’t stop as you enter, don’t stop as you take the whole scene in, don’t stop as you finally realise what this is and scream because how else should you react?

The girl screams too, shocked utterly. She hides beneath the blankets, and you can’t fault her for being surprised at the invasion. Hell, if it were the other way around, you’d be hiding too.

But Matt looks at you in a way that makes you think he’s not fully present, mentally. Generous as you are, you decide to bring him back into his body by tossing some odd socks lying on the floor at him.

You turn and leave, quickly, as he begins shouting. His bedroom door slams against its frame, the thin wood even less of a barrier than you thought it would be because now that you know what’s going on behind it, it’s difficult to mistake the sounds for anything else.

Matt lets loose some strangled cries, somewhere between pleasure and panic. You don’t care to figure out what he’s trying to say through them, pulling on your shoes with blurry eyes and throwing open the front door.

You make it halfway down exterior hallway before he catches up to you, swinging out his front door to yell “stop!” in your direction.

“Save it, Matt.”

“Please, baby, it’s-“

You round on him, pissed beyond belief at yourself for not seeing the signs, at the tears threatening to spill down your cheeks, and most of all at him for doing this to you. “It’s what, Matt? ‘Not what it looks like’? ‘Not real’?”

“God, what is fucking wrong with you? You barge into my apartment and then get mad at me when you see something you didn’t want to? Are you fucking insane or something, thinking you can invade my privacy like that?”

“Invading your privacy, Matt? We had a date today, one that you clearly forgot about, and I thought you’d left the door open for me. Must’ve been stupid to think you’d ever even imagine doing something like that for little old me.”

“It’s all your fault anyway, you know? ‘Cause you’re such a prude, frigid, bitch I had to find entertainment somewhere else.”

Your throat closes around any words that you might’ve begun saying, hurt taking over where anger had burned.

“What?” The word comes out more broken than you would have liked, and you make up for its weakness by running through the stairway door. You don’t want to hear the answer to your question. You don’t want to break down in the middle of the hallway, in front of Matt.

He walks after you, leaning over the third storey railing to call you a “bitch” a few more times. “Wouldn’t have to fuck other women if you just did your job right.”

In your car, you beeline for Robin’s place. You know that it’s probably not right, helping her prepare for the flush of new love when your relationship is falling to pieces, but you also can’t let her down. You said you’d show up, so you will.

You’ll bury the hurt because Robin deserves for this date to go well.

“Hi!” Robin is smiling more widely than you think you’ve ever seen, practically glowing with excitement.

“You seem excited,” you let her joy be contagious, revelling in the purity of it.

She blushes, inviting you in by way of walking further into the house and assuming you’ll follow. “Me? What reason could I possibly have to be excited?”

“None, I suppose.” You pull off your shoes, placing them neatly beside each other in the doorway. “Have you thought any more about what you’ll wear? Maybe had some breakthroughs?”

Robin shakes her head, bobbed hair twirling around her with the force of the movement. Her room, when you enter it on her tail, is in utter disarray. Skirts, shirts, dresses, pants, and all sorts of hard-to-discern items of clothing lay about the place in a way that makes you question just how she managed to make such a mess by herself.

“You’re earlier than I thought you’d be,” she says, pointing to a pile of clothes in a way that you presume means they’re contenders in the race for tonight’s outfit. “It’s only twelve thirty.”

“We, uh… ended up cutting it short. Matt had some things to take care of. No biggie.”

“Oh, babe, I’m sorry.”

You shrug, putting on a sweet smile for her, “it happens. So, tell me more about this Aimee?”

And Robin does, the adorable nervousness of going on a first date shining through in her words. This Aimee character, though you’ve never met her, seems absolutely wonderful.

Robin manages to spend almost an hour listing her attributes, and another hour just gushing over her. In that time, you manage to piece together a few potential date outfits, weed out some items of clothing that Robin had long since forgotten she owned, and found a few things to borrow from her.

“Ok, I’m thinking this is good?” Robin twirls, flare-leg pants following the movement. The outfit itself is simple enough, and considering they’d decided on a casual movie date, it seems fitting: jeans, a tight-fitting button-up vest, and a turtle-neck underneath that. She looks good, and you have the impression that she feels good too.

“I’m thinking hell yeah, Robs. You look great. I’ll be surprised if Aimee doesn’t jump your bones the second you meet her.”

“You know I never put out on a first date.”

You laugh, and it doesn’t feel as forced as you thought it would.

Spending these few hours with Robin has been lovely. It’s been refreshing, and the weight on your shoulders is lessened some as you say goodbye to her, heading to work.

Everything is good — greyscale, still melancholy, but good — until you walk into the backroom and Matt is standing there and you gasp and Eddie immediately just knows everything. His face falls as he looks between you and Matt, grin disappearing, and no amount of prompting from Nicola drags his attention back to her and the conversation they’d clearly been having before.

With a quick apology in her vague direction, he steps over to you.

You can’t control it, can’t stop it, and luckily Eddie envelops you in a hug before the first tears fall. He manages to manoeuvre you into the small bathroom across from the bar, the resounding click of the lock working as almost a trigger to the sobs fighting free of your throat.

“What’s going on?” Eddie whispers against your head, running a soothing hand through your hair. “Tell me what’s happening, darling?”

“Matt and I…” You don’t manage to finish the sentence, the burning “I walked in on him with another woman” sour in your throat. You don’t have to, though, because Eddie always knows.

Eddie wraps his arms tighter around you, if such a feat were possible with the way he’s already positively squeezing you. “I figured it was something like that when he showed up here, askin’ about you. Sorry I couldn’t get rid of him.”

“S’not your fault, Eds.”

“Maybe, but you’re still my responsibility.”

Your heart soars. “You’re too nice to me,” you say, warmed by his concern as always.

“As nice as you deserve,” he presses his lips to your forehead, “wanna tell me what happened?”

You did, you did, because you wanted the support of your friends and you couldn’t ruin Robin’s date, but now Eddie was here and asking you and it was nice. Your chest bloomed with warmth.

And then bloomed with embarrassment, fear, mortification.

“Just, uh…”

“No judgement,” he said, hands tracing a comforting line up and down your back. And you knew there wouldn’t be, this was Eddie.

You inhaled and exhaled a few times, hoping the action would soothe you, steady you. “Matt, he, uh… we had plans for breakfast, and I got to his this morning… I guess he forgot, or something, and there was this girl there and I…”

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. What a dick, I should’ve known you shouldn’t trust him based on his choice of DnD class. I mean, who picks a bard and then plays it straight?”

You giggle, wiping away tears with the palm of your hand with a sniffle. Eddie’s eyes flicker across your face, small grin dimpling his cheek in reflection of your expression. Shame still squeezes your throat, though, choking you up.

Eddie, ever aware of your emotional state, notices. “Is there something else, sweets?”

Before you can answer, Matt’s voice rings through the door, angered. The door creaks as he knocks on it, and Eddie gently moves you behind him.

“The fuck do you want, man?” He yells over the noise, one hand wrapped around your bicep and other spread out in front of him.

Matt’s voice is loud in the silence from the cessation of his action. You shiver, not necessarily scared that he’ll hurt you but worried nonetheless. You don’t want him to shout at you, don’t want to see him mad in your space. Don’t want Eddie to see your reaction at Matt being cross with you.

“Is she in there with you?” Eddie looks down at you, silently asking for the next move.

“Yeah,” you call out, “I’m here.” The three steps to the door feel like a mile, but you manage to reach it and click open the lock. Matt stands there, Nicola behind him, and if you hadn’t spent six months getting to know his habits you’d think the slouched stance he sports is casual. Instead, your eyes focus on his flaring nostrils and clenched fists.

You step away from the door, waving him in. He declines.

Matt is abrasive as he asks, “can he leave?” chin jutting in Eddie’s direction.

It’s impossible to look away from Matt, but you can picture Eddie’s face at this moment — concerned, caring. “I’d rather he not.” When Eddie, behind you, makes a noise as though to disagree, you reiterate the sentiment.

“I’d like him to stay, please."

Matt rolls his eyes, entering the small bathroom and shutting the door behind him. Nicola’s prying eyes look through the crack as it closes, and you don’t blame her for the interest. You just hope the door is thick enough that she can’t hear the conversation to come.

You start, worried that if you wait Matt will explode. “I’m sorry for running away from you today.”

“Not going to apologise for barging into my apartment, no?”

The pebble in your chest grows into a boulder, air leaving your lungs. “I’m sorry for walking in on you.”

“Dude,” Eddie cuts in, “doesn’t matter what she did, you cheated on her.”

Matt’s brows pull together, stress lines marking his forehead. He steps forward once more, hand reaching for yours, and his mouth shapes a grimace when he feels the tremor in your fingers. It looks real, genuine, but his eyes are sharp and dangerous.

“Baby,” Matt implores, “I’m so sorry. It didn’t mean anything to me, she doesn’t mean anything to me. It’s just hard, y’know?”

You nod, a slight movement that brings a frightening sparkle to Matt’s eye. He trails a hand up your arm, embracing you closely, and you let him pull you into the hard planes of his chest.

It feels awkward, sure, Matt’s hugs always do, but it’s the sentiment in the hug that counts.

“Just been hard to not get that kind of attention, baby. You’ve been holding out on me, right? Needed to go to someone else to take care of me, didn’t I?”

Eddie grunts somewhere behind you.

Matt’s words hurt, but on the best of days he makes you feel wanted. Makes you feel desirable, even if you’re not ready for that step. He’s been patient, you think, kind with the way you’re uncomfortable with intimacy.

“Yeah,” you agree, halfheartedly.

“Yeah.” Matt’s arms tighten around you, breath catching in your chest. “You forgive me, right?”

You nod, then vocalise again, “yeah.”

Eddie coughs, and it’s fake in a way that you know is meant to make a point.

Matt lets you go, slightly, just to look over your shoulder at Eddie. From your vantage point pressed against his ribcage, you can only feel as Matt’s muscles prick with the movements of what you’re sure is a silent conversation with him.

Eddie leaves the room, the clunk of his boots only ceasing for a second as he reaches the space where Matt is holding you close. “Are you okay?” He asks, voice pitched low not for the purpose of privacy, but to make it apparent that his words are only for you to respond to.

“‘M okay, Eds. Thank you.”

And Eddie leaves, the door closing softly behind him.

Things were good for two weeks.

Almost as though he were crushed by guilt, Matt played the part of the doting boyfriend with all the vigour of an actor shooting for an Oscar.

Flowers showed up in the backroom every day you had a shift, red roses and lilies, and you’d come back to your flat with him having cooked a meal often enough that you worried for the state of your pans — though, of course, it was the thought that counted, you were tired of spending hours scrubbing the burnt-on food off of them after dinner, as Matt relaxed with a movie.

Still, things were good.

Eddie still checked on you every once in a while, kind touches on the small of your back as you read the little notecard supplied with the flower bouquets; versions of “love you baby”, “would wait forever for you”, “whenever you’re ready”. You’d smile up at him, make an off comment about how kind Matt is, how considerate and thoughtful, and go on with your day.

If only the flowers made you feel as confident in your relationship as Matt seemed to be. He’d show up at least once a day when you were on shift and shower you with praise, go for kisses and hugs even though you were working.

Things were good.

They had to be. Matt was putting in so much effort, trying his absolute best, and yet there was this niggling feeling that something was wrong. Shit, you felt guilty at the thought.

“Baby!” Matt leans over the bartop, lips pursed for a kiss. With a quick look around the limited clientele here at five in the evening, you give him a quick peck and dodge his hand before he can deepen the kiss.

“How was you day, love?”

“Good,” he answers, voice light.

“Good,” you echo, painted smile crinkling the corners of your eyes.

Things were good for two weeks, and it’s the next day when that fortnight ends.

It’s a Saturday. You don’t usually work Saturdays.

You’re only working today because Robin and Aimee are having their sixth date in as many days, swept up in the excitement and nerves of new love. From their first date on that fateful days two weeks ago, they’ve spent nearly every moment possible together.

As a joke, you’d bought Robin a little Hallowe’en present of a tiny U-Haul truck key charm, which both her and Aimee had loved. The keychain became a staple decoration of the checkout counter at the bookstore they both worked in, hanging on a little hook for all to see.

Working closing isn’t particularly familiar to you, having only taken late shifts once or twice in the months spent under Ted’s employment. The basics are obvious: clean the bar, the bar floor, and the backroom; kick out the stragglers. Still, you call up Eddie to chat with him and maybe double check some of the standards.

Normally you’d just ask the other people on shift — Wren and Mindy — but neither of them seemed particularly poised for helping today.

Wren, you’d interacted with before, so you knew they preferred to just stand threateningly in the corner until closing as opposed to interacting with either staff or patrons. You didn’t mind that much, introversion was a trait you managed to share with them most of the time.

Mindy was nice too, and you chalked her lack of willingness to talk to you to the rush of people. It was difficult to get to know someone, after all, when there were rowdy folks yelling after a pint over one another.

And on another level, you’d felt as though you’d seen her before, but it was difficult to place when. Maybe she’d visited the bar once during your shift?

“So, are the toilets usually this bad?” You grit out, utterly disgusted at the toilet paper that has somehow wound up wrapped around each leg of the bathroom stall.

Eddie laughs on the line, “pretty much. Has everyone left?”

“Yeah.” You check the time on your phone quickly, nothing humourlessly that the sun would be rising soon. “Sorry to have woken you up so early.”

Eddie barely lets you finish the apology before interrupting with a fierce, “I was already awake. And anyway, I would’ve woken up just to talk to you.”

You thank any stars still in the early-morning sky that you’re alone in the bathroom, flushed at Eddie’s kindness.

“Insomniac.” You say.

“Slave to the Man,” he rebuts.

“Are you going to have an early night today, then?” You’re asking off-handedly, mostly concerned with cleaning your hands after having to touch — even through gloves — that disgusting mess.

Eddie laughs. “At least pretend that you know me, sweets.”

It’s your turn to chuckle, feeling light despite how bone-tired you are. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning with your three-sugars, half-full of cream, oat milk latte, Eds, to settle this.”

Finished washing up, you tidy away the cleaning supplies and lock down the bathroom. Odd lights are shut off as you scoot around the outer corridor of the bar, the hallway leading to the main serving area.

You hear voices, one you recognise as that of Wren saying their goodbyes and the others as Mindy and, well, someone.

“Are you going straight home after this?” Eddie asks, stealing your attention away from much more consideration of the voices.

“I should.” The heavy wooden door creaks open as you step out of the side hallway.

You gasp.

Eddie’s voice rings out from your phone speaker, but it sounds distorted and fuzzy and wrong.

The breath leaves your lungs in one exhale, one pitiful whimper.

He turns.

Mindy is balanced on his lap, one hand wandering under the hem of his shirt and the other disappearing into his pants. Matt is in no less a compromising position, clearly having been in the process of pulling down her jeans as you had walked in.

Mindy breaks the silence, voice rubbing against some feral, angry part of your brain. “Oh,” she says, “I thought you left.”

I thought you’d left.

“Still here,” you trill, already feeling the prick of fresh tears on your waterline.

You look at Mindy, who looks at Matt, who looks at you. He turns around, faces Mindy, and tucks some hair behind her ear.

“Is this a friend of yours?” he asks her, and you feel chest crack, your heart break. Again.

“I was just leaving,” you direct your words directly at Mindy, “sorry to bother you.”

Things were really good for two weeks.

Matt starts ringing you at midday, and continues to do so until you answer his call.

It’s dinnertime, and you’d managed to rustle up a hearty meal of some grapes, two grilled cheese sandwiches, and a handful of odd cereal you’d found laying about in your cupboard.

“Why haven’t you been answering me?”

You don’t want to talk to him. You don’t. You can hear Eddie’s voice in every corner of your skull saying “no! Don’t do this!”. Robin is chiming in with her two-pence, too, ever and annoyingly right: “this is a bad idea!”

You suppose you don’t owe him this, closure, after he’d managed to betray your trust twice — that you knew of. But you wanted it for yourself. You wanted to be able to talk about Matt as a silly little mistake you’d made in the past and learnt from.

“What do you want, Matt?”

“So sorry, baby.” He sounds tearful, you think, but maybe you’re projecting. You had spent the better half of the morning after returning home curled up in a little ball, overstimulated from equal parts exhaustion and anger at yourself.

You allow his ramble, allow him talk about how shocked he was seeing you there this morning, confused because he didn’t know you were on shift and why didn’t you tell him you were on shift? You should have told him you were working, it’s really an asshole move that you didn’t, so really it’s your fault, anyway.

It’s difficult to interrupt him, but you manage. “Matt, we’re over.”

There’s silence on the line.

“Matt?”

“You can’t do this to me. I’ve been so patient with you, been waiting months and months for you to put out, done everything a good boyfriend is supposed to do. I listen to you whine and mope about mean guys at the bar, don’t say a damn thing when you ask to just cuddle, and when I go see other girls to make up for what you don’t wanna give me you break up with me?”

You’d cry, if you could, but you feel dreadfully empty inside. In lieu of making any more of a fool of yourself than you already have you offer him a quiet “goodbye,” and hang up.

The phone feels heavy in your hand.

The food on your plate is unappetising.

The kitchen light above you is too bright.

You call Eddie.

Eddie shows up as quickly as he always does, heady wafts of cigarette smoke floating under your doorframe far before he knocks on it.

He’s rushing to embrace you when he steps in the room, warm touch so comforting you could die.

“Are y’alright sweets?”

“I think so…” You’re not. “Just kinda sad.”

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart, he didn’t deserve you.”

You can only laugh, self-deprecating, still mad that you’d let yourself get fooled by him, that you believed him when he said it was only a mistake he’d made.

If you were being truly honest, when hurt most was the fact that this all came about as an issue of sex.

More specifically, that you weren’t in any place to have any sort of relations with him. Was there something wrong with you, that you couldn’t find it in you to be sexually attracted to your boyfriend when it was so easy to find comfort in the hands of the man currently squishing you to his chest?

Fucking hell.

“That’s nice of you to say.”

Eddie makes a very noise of disagreement, the sound reverberating in his chest and into your eardrums. “It’s the truth.”

“I’m not sure that’s right, Eds. But I appreciate it.”

He pulls away from you just enough to even a mock-glare your way. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You shake your head, shrugging. “Just, y’know, no one’s a saint.”

“‘M pretty sure you are, sweets. Saint to put up with me.”

At that, you do cry.

A few weeks pass. You’re dealing as well as you can, which is surprisingly well considering Ted has signed you on for a few more closing shifts — closing shifts with Mindy — so you’d had to watch her and Matt exchange spit often enough.

There had been a point right after the breakup when you’d tried to tell her about you and Matt, but she’d brushed you off with a “you don’t think I knew?” Which, needless to say, had not really improved your working relationship.

Matt hadn't approached you at all during that time, seemingly happy to just let your relationship end with the knowledge that you had nothing more to say to him. Or, maybe he was just happy that he had a girlfriend who was happy to engage in relations with him whenever he wanted it. Whatever.

It was fine though, really. Fine that Matt had been going behind your back for months longer than you’d known, fine that you still had to see him, fine that Mindy didn’t seem to care that he was a rotten old prick.

And fine, most of all, that it was sex that was the final factor in him cheating on you. Not, say, the way you chewed your salads, or the way you insisted upon setting three alarms just to get up in the morning.

Whatever, and just fine and fucking dandy.

“And then she invited me over, and well, I had forgotten that vibe I like-“

“Robin,” you snap back into reality. “I don’t want to hear about your vibrators in the middle of work.”

“But you haven’t been free for coffee lately,” she whines, “when else are we gonna gossip?”

“Just been a little caught up with stuff, y’know?”

Robin’s face falls, hands clasping at her gasping mouth. “Oh my god! I didn’t mean… I know it’s been hard and you take all the time you need to to heal, obviously. I’m not-“

You place a kind hand on her shoulder, interrupting her “you’re okay, honey. I know what you meant. How about you come over Saturday night? We can do a movie, wine, gossip, stay up painting our nails and stuff. Yeah?”

Robin still looks apologetic as she nodes, and you suddenly feel so grateful to have someone missing your appearance in their life this desperately. “Yeah. I feel like we haven’t had a nice shit-talking session for the town bike, either, so this should be super-healing for you.”

You laugh, hugging Robin to you as well as you can over the bartop. “I think I need one of those.”

And it’s Saturday night that you realise you might be attracted to one scraggly-haired Edward Munson.

Robin is sitting across from you, seventh glass of wine clutched loosely between her fingers as she recounts the night of wonderment that was Aimee’s proposal to be official. If you’re being honest, you had thought they were official ages ago, but you also weren’t the kind to turn down a good story.

You hadn’t quite zoned out, still listening in on her excitement, but somehow something she says manages to trigger a memory of that one time Eddie had told you a similar story, and you were spiralling.

You loved Eddie, that much had always been certain. Loved the way he always cheered you up, always called you first to share a funny story he’d just heard some strangers trade on the bus. Loved how kind he was to everyone, loved his sense of humour.

Loved the way he always felt warm and solid and comforting against you, grounding and caring all at once. Loved the way he remembered the little things, like that you always had to tie your shoes a certain way or you feet would go numb, or that you hated gloves and preferred mittens.

Loved him utterly and deeply.

Platonically, of course.

So just maybe you were attracted to him.

Shit.

But…

Maybe you could use this. If you loved him, platonically, of course, and trusted him, and were attracted to him, perhaps you could get over some dam in your brain that hadn’t let you take that last step with Matt.

It was a good idea, right?

Right?

Monday morning you were starting to think differently, but you’d resolved to at least ask him. Eddie got around, you knew that. He’d told you plenty about the many girls he took home by virtue of being a bartender in a band.

This would be just like that, except he’d also be doing you a favour. Right?

Right.

So, you’d cornered him at the start of your shift and asked him to take a smoke break with you — he’d looked at you funny, as you didn’t smoke, but followed you out nonetheless.

“So?” He probed, the second the door pressed closed behind you.

You take a steadying breath. “Wanted to talk with you about something.”

Eddie “mhm’s” at you, lighting a smoke and sticking it between his lips.

“Eds, I…” you start, fear drying your throat and making your words all sticky. “I want to ask you something.”

Eddie makes a small noise of assent, urging you to carry on with a movement of his head down to catch your eye. You turn away, too embarrassed to look directly at him, and clear your throat.

“Could you… so, you know how I’ve been with Matt? He, uh… he wanted to,” you make a nonsensical gesture with your hands, self-soothing and meaningless, “y’know and I just never could and I was thinking if I did do it with someone it would be easier to do it in a relationship next time and I really trust you so I was hoping…” you trail off at the incredulous look on Eddie’s face.

A few seconds pass, neither you nor him saying anything, and you begin stuttering out an apology when he grasps your hands. His voice is muffled slightly by the cigarette sticking out the corner of his mouth.

“Are you asking me to… to have sex with you?”

Your face warms, humiliation running through your veins. “Sort of? I’m asking you to take my virginity, Eds. I think that might be the problem.”

“Oh.” As mortifying as it is, you manage to glance up at him. You find him already watching your face, eyes flickering across its span to read your expression. Instead of disgust, or anger, however, he replies with “are you sure?”

“I trust you,” is your immediate response. It takes no thought, that had all been expended these past few weeks after your breakup with Matt, after your assessment of who Matt — who Eddie — was to you. Even if Eddie didn’t care for you in the way you did him, you wanted it to be him to do this. You wanted to have this memory with him.

“If this is just because of Matt…”

“It’s not. It’s not.”

“Okay.”

“You’re sure?”

Eddie exhales sharply, extinguishing his cig on the wall beside you before crushing it under his boot. “Sure I’m sure, sweets.”

And that’s the last thing said on the subject for the next three days.

It’s a slow night, tonight. Small crowd, just the regulars who liked to show their support for a small local business, or something like that. Maybe it was just the draw of liquor after a week of working, but you preferred to believe that the number of regulars recently had to do with your dazzling personality.

Eddie slips in next to you, hand finding a loop in your apron to brace his thumb on. “I wanna take you out,” he says, and the surprise at his words almost makes you drop the cocktail you’ve been shaking. For a split second, you truly do believe that he’s asking you out, before remembering your conversation from earlier this week.

And, okay. Maybe since you’d had that chat you’d come to the realisation that you might have the smallest, tiniest, minusculest crush on him. But that wouldn’t change anything, because Eddie didn’t like you like that. So he’d do you this favour and you’d find someone else and you’d be able to go back to being friends.

Still, your response is less-that-intelligent. “What?”

“If I’m going to be the one to take care of you for the first time, I wanna do it right, y’know?”

“You don’t have to do that, Eds. This isn’t like a,” you search for the words, mind and body betraying logic with the way they absolutely preen at the thought of him taking you out. “This isn’t like a,” you start again, swallowing around a lump happily lodging itself in your throat, “dating thing. It’s really not necessary.”

Eddie makes a sound of disapproval, but you can’t imagine what he’d have to argue with. It’s a sound thought, as this was an unemotional matter for the both of you. Mostly.

You manage to finish the cocktail, garnish it, run it over to the forty-something pretty woman in the corner who was clearly going through something dour, and return to start on another drink before Eddie says anything more.

“Please?” He asks, brown eyes large and pleading.

There’s not a bone in your body that can resist him at his most annoying, and the doe-like quality of his features right now is rendering you to barely-functional goop.

“Okay,” you finally nod, trying to quell the beating of your heart. Even though you know this is just Eddie helping you to the best of his abilities, it does nothing to stifle the want blossoming inside your chest.

It’s Saturday night again. You could almost laugh at the coincidence; it’s been a week since grand revelations, and here you are getting ready for a sort-of date.

It’s getting dark already, and somehow you feel more stressed than you have done since you met Eddie for the first time. Not even your first date with Matt rendered you such a mess, and that in and of itself was scary enough as your first venture into the dating world.

You dust off your dress again, the polyester-blend as clean of lint as it had been the last five times you had done so. The selection at your local shops had been slim on clothing in your style, so you had ended up wearing an old dress you’d bought once for a college party.

It's nice, overall, if unimpressive. A dark red, the neckline dipped low enough that you’d had to buy new undergarments specifically for it and its bodycon silhouette. You’d decided to just go all out and buy nice lingerie too. Go big or go home, right?

It would be untrue to say you were regretting the choice now, because the lace bralette and underwear lay nicely on your body and were soft to the touch, but it could definitely be said that you were rethinking it. Would Eddie find it too presumptuous? Too forward? Would he think that you were implying this was something more?

Well, you supposed it would be, to you, but he didn’t need to know that.

You could dwell in the thoughts circling your mind, endless and restless and quite frankly annoying, but a knock at your door struck you from your train of thought.

Eddie stood behind it, grinning as widely as ever. His dimples stood out against his cheeks, and he was beautiful. Your breath caught in your throat, eyes unable to focus on just one thing to admire.

He had made even more of an effort today than you had, band tee replaced by a deep red dress shirt, ripped jeans traded for straight-leg dress pants. His chain-linked wallet sticks oddly out of his pocket, hanging on to a belt loop. Through all this, though, he still wears a well-loved leather jacket.

It’s impossible for you to look him in the eyes, mind too invested in the sinful stretch of material across the meat of his thighs. The fact that him wearing fancy clothing marginally less tight than normal has you more pent up that seeing him in his customary skinnies is somewhat curious to you, but it’s something to assess when you’re alone in your room some other night.

“And to think I was going to go with the black one,” Eddie says, striking you out of your stupor.

“Hm?”

“Black shirt. Good thing I wore the red one instead,” he gestures at your dress, then back at his shirt, and dips his head to meet your eyes. You blink at him blankly, images of his lean muscles showing through tight fabric still pervading your thoughts.

You watch his eyebrows draw together, worry lining his features. “Are you still sure about this?”

Unable to vocalise a response for fear of telling him just how sure you are, you nod.

“Gonna need you to tell me, sweets.”

With a shaky voice, you manage a slight “yeah.”

Eddie quirks a brow, clearly looking for more of an answer.

“Yes, yes I’m still sure.” You take a steadying breath, smiling at him for the first time this evening.

He nods, reaching out a hand to you. Its rough callouses feel warm against your skin, inviting. His kind eyes look down into yours, and any anxiety you’d felt before leaves at the care in them. He pulls you out the door towards him.

“You’re right,” you say, mind finally caught up to what Eddie had said before. “It is funny you picked a shirt the same colour as my dress.”

Eddie gives you an amused smile, not quite laughing at you but not quite just laughing either. “Some would call it fate.”

“I call it similar taste in fashion,” you joke, then remember that your hand is still holding tight to his. Using the excuse of locking your door behind you, you let it drop back to his side and turn away. “So, where are we going tonight?”

“Can’t tell you that, sweets.”

“This feels very much like the start to a Forensic Files episode, Eds.”

He chuckles, slinging an arm around your waist as you face him once more. Using the grip on you, he pulls you down your flat hallway, to the lift, and into the front car park.

A motorcycle is waiting for you there, the only vehicle you don’t recognise.

“Isn’t she lovely?” Eddie asks as you walk up to it.

“Very nice,” you nod, eyes roving the metal appraisingly.

Eddie takes a helmet out from some compartment in the bike, handing it to you. When you look at it dumbly, he makes a motion of question and at your permission secures it on your head.

His fingers are gentle as he closes the clasps under your chin. “Wasn’t asking you.”

Before you can say anything at all, he closes the visor of your helmet. The motion shocks you into silence, not least because of his words prior to it.

And before you can manoeuvre the visor up, Eddie’s already got his helmet on and is sitting comfortably against the bike, hands spread as though to tell you he’s waiting. You suddenly feel very grateful that you decided on boots for this occasion instead of heels.

It’s somewhat hard to get up behind him, your balance always having been askew. Eddie helps you, hand placed firmly on your arm and waist to lift you upwards. When you’ve made it up, you’re not sure what to do with your hands. There’s no seatbelts here, no handles to grasp. Thankfully, Eddie, ever aware of your moods, takes your hands in his and settles them securely around his lithe waist.

Your face warms. For all the times you’ve heard about riding with someone on a bike (once… you’d heard of it once, and it had been from Robin, who had gone on a date with a biker chick in her experimental phase) you’d never expected this to be so intimate.

Your heart pounds at the proximity to him, fingers itching with the need to trace along the clasps and contours of his leather jacket, consumed by the hope they might feel what lays underneath it.

How were you supposed to breathe under these conditions?

“Ready?” Eddie says, and it takes him squeezing your hand to realise he’s asking you.

You make a “mhm” of agreement, then remember his words from earlier. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

And he revs the engine, the harsh motor sounds louder than you had anticipated them to be. Everything lurches forward and you fall flush against him, arms tightening around his waist with the fear that you’ll fall.

Eddie chuckles, and as sad as you are that you can’t hear it, can’t see the way the action lights up his face, you do have to admit that it’s an entirely different experience to feel the reverberations in his chest.

“How far away is this place?” You ask, and it takes you five tries, as you zoom through chock-blocked streets and near-empty alleys, to realise that Eddie can’t really hear you over the rushing wind.

The drive to… wherever… is short, barely five minutes. You’re not sure where you are, and you’re also not sure you can let go of Eddie. Your arms feel stuck to him with glue, and you distantly wonder if he will be able to scrape you off him.

“We’re here,” Eddie says, voice a husk from the frost lacing the air.

When Eddie steps closer to you, the streetlights bouncing off his helmet in a way that haloes him and creates the silhouette of an alien. Almost as though he can sense the thought, Eddie flips up both of your visors and grins at you.

His fingers, gloved and leathery, trail up your neck in a touch reminiscent of a kiss. You lean into it, into his careful touches moving towards the clasp secured under your chin. He’s much slower undoing it than he had been closing it, and you’re almost tipsy with the contact.

The helmer finally comes free, sliding up and over your head. Eddie chuckles, helps you fix some fly away hair strands, and takes his own off.

“Where’s here?” You ask as a way to distract from the heat blossoming in your chest. Maybe to also distract from the flaring burn rushing your veins at the leftover sensation of his touch.

Eddie shrugs, “somewhere.”

There’s a few shops on the street he’s decided to park on, a few restaurants that look relatively inviting. Music streams out from a few of them, interior lights spilling onto the pathways and road that paints this part of the town in shadow.

“C’mon, Eds,” you beg, “tell me?”

He sighs theatrically, and it’s with his entire body. “There’s this nice Mexican spot here. Thought you’d like it.”

“That sounds lovely. Which way?”

He lights up with a giant grin, dimples stark against his cheeks, and offers you his elbow with gentlemanly courtesy. You take it, giggling, and feel that rush of excitement in your throat that’s nothing less than juvenile and pure.

The small restaurant is nice, and the smells wafting from it are nothing less than inviting. There’s music spilling from the open door, too, light and joyous.

It doesn’t take long for Eddie to secure you a table, and your waiter comes over promptly to introduce himself. He seems happy to see Eddie, who seems less happy to see him.

“I didn’t know you were working tonight,” Eddie says, fingers tapping the table.

“I’m Steve,” the waiter tells you, hair quaff bouncing as he turns away from whatever eye-contact battle him and Eddie had been having.

Steve leans again smiles kindly when you tell him your name, and then connect the dots.

“Steve? Like, Robin’s Steve? Like, Platonic Love of Robin’s Life, Steve?”

He laughs, “yeah, I mean. I think so. How can I get you two started?”

You turn to Eddie, who’s already looking at you, and ask him his opinion; you figure he has at least an idea of what’s good given he knows Steve.

And he does, ordering several small dishes that he praises highly. Neither of you drink, Eddie because he’s driving and you because you’re dead stressed about getting back on his bike — worried that if you drink you’ll lose your balance or something and fall off it as he drives.

Dinner passes so wonderfully, brilliantly, amazingly well that you almost forget this is just a plot to get laid by someone you trust. Steve comes by a few more times, complimenting you on your outfit and sharing a few stories you’re sure you can use to blackmail Robin.

Before you know it, Eddie is pulling you with a tight — but gentle — grip on your hand and leading you out the door.

You assume this means the end of the date.

You’re wrong.

Eddie, still holding you by the hand, pulls you down the main street to a little shop filtering warm light onto the pavement. It’s beautiful, if somewhat run-down looking, the paint peeling and flaking off the open door knocking lightly against the opposite wall with the breeze.

“What is this place?” The words aren’t quite breathless, but something close, suddenly very aware that this street is fairly empty and as attracted as you are to Eddie, you have no proof he’s not a murderer.

He smiles at you, winks. “Saw you reading a tattered copy of The Colour of Magic one day, so I figured I’d get you a new copy. Where better than the best bookshop on this side of the ocean?”

Oh wow.

Actually, that’s not intense enough to cover the pounding of your heart and the weakness you’re feeling in your knees.

Oh fuck me, is decidedly better.

“You didn’t have to…”

“It’s family owned, which I thought you’d like. Samara is at home today but if you like it here I can bring you back sometime. To meet her, that is.”

Never mind, actually, because even “fuck” isn’t strong enough to cover the whirlwind of emotions spitting through your head.

Eddie’s looking at you, so kindly, and you need to answer him somehow but you really can’t. This might just be the kindest thing anyone has ever done for you, definitely the nicest thing a man has ever done for you, and the words just won’t work in your mouth.

Eddie, angel he is, asks if everything is alright and you can only nod for fear that if you do try to say something you’ll start crying right in front of him.

“That’s really kind of you, Eddie.”

He grins, says “only the best for you,” and beckons you into the bookstore with him.

It’s as beautiful within as it was externally, dark oak shelves lining every wall of the small building. There’s a smell of old tomes in the air, floral, woody, and it feels like a promise of home.

“I know I said I brought you here for good old Pratchett, but you can go wild if you want.” He’s causal when he says it, and you’re surprised at it.

You eyes go wide. “Eds, I can’t ask you to buy books for me,” you lower your tone, eyes examining your surroundings in case of an eavesdropper. “They’re expensive.”

Eddie laughs.

“To ease your mind, let’s say I get a family discount.”

“Eddie…”

“Come on, let me treat you.”

He buys you The Colour of Magic, and one more book that he’d been adamant you’d enjoy. He almost looks disappointed when you refuse to let him pay for more, treat you more, but you’re stubborn and he’s too engrossed in the look in your eyes to argue back.

You’re floating on pure joy all the way back to his apartment. Everything feels light, even the lengthy books stuffed in your bag.

There’s some level of dread that scratches at the back of your throat when Eddie parks, but you logic it out of your mind with the knowledge that you trust and love him so deeply. And nothing that happens tonight — or any other night — could change that.

You make it inside lightening-quick, worried to seem too eager, but encouraged on by Eddie’s wide smile.

He fumbles with the keys to his front door, fingers shaking with what you hope is nervous anticipation. It doesn’t really make a difference, when your own muscles are quaking in excitement.

You make it inside, and Eddie helps you shuck off your boots before latching onto you in a searing press of his lips against yours.

It’s explosive kissing him, gentle and kind and passionate all at once.

It’s suddenly very difficult to remember that he’s doing this by request, that this evening had not just occurred naturally.

Somehow, amidst the kissing, you make it back to his room. You’ve been here before, hanging out before concerts at one pub or another, but its atmosphere is so different this time.

Eddie’s arm slides around your waist, hand splaying against your back as you lie on his plush bed. His mouth travels down, down, over your neck and to the dip in your dress.

You lean up, hands winding into his hair, pushing him back towards your mouth. He groans against you, restless hands trailing your body and catching on your invisible zipper.

Your hands push his away, pulling it down and welcoming him between your legs. The dress catches on your elbow as you pull it over your head, and Eddie giggles. The sound draws heat to your cheeks, temporary embarrassment flushing you.

“Need some help with that, sweets?”

You nod, then realise he probably can’t see you, and whisper “yes.”

He laughs agains, peeling the finicky dress up and off you. “Hi,” he smiles, eyes flickering between yours as the fabric finally falls away from your face.

“Hi,” you giggle back, giddy and excited despite yourself.

Eddie kisses you again, hand wrapped around the back of your neck. He leads you to lie back on the bed, hair spread across his pillow and thighs caging his narrow hips in.

Sitting back, he looks down at you and sighs. His eyes are heated as they flicker across your form, especially appreciative of the assets pointedly left on display by the lacy lingerie just barely covering your modesty.

You stare up at him, waiting for his next move, unsure of what you’re supposed to be doing.

Eddie’s brows furrow, and he rolls away to lie beside you on the bed. Everything collapses around you.

“I can’t do this. I… I’m really sorry, sweets. But I can’t.”

Tears well in your eyes, but you still manage to reach a comforting hand towards his form. You rub circles into the flesh there, “it’s okay, Eds. It’s a lot to ask of you.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“I know. It’s okay.” You gather your dress, the shoes you had dropped somewhere along the way, and leave.

You manage to make it to the lobby of his apartment before the waterworks start, painful sobs wracking your chest and squeezing your lungs. Half the pain comes from holding back the mournful sounds rising in your throat like bile — careful not to worry the kindly older woman walking towards to lift with your emotional state.

The other half of the pain comes from the pang of rejection that echos in your heart, crushing and somehow expected all at once. You can’t blame Eddie for it, can’t get mad at him, can’t fault him for the massive bruise on your ego. This was a favour between friends, and the consent of both parties was important above all.

Still, though, it hurts to be here in this moment. It hurts to know that tomorrow night you’ll have to see him again in work after the evening you’d shared. For all the tears running spilling over your cheeks and running down your neck, your heart still yearns for a few hours ago when Eddie had been holding you to him, looking at you as though you meant the world and the stars.

So, needless to say, you enjoyed a large bowl of ice cream and some wine when you finally arrived home.

And you enjoyed a nice sleep-in the next day, as well as a nice scroll through various social medias. When that got boring, you napped, then read some good, old, supportive fanfiction. Then napped again. Then dodged a call from a friend, and ate an exquisite meal of grilled cheese before your television while rewatching that comfort show for the fifth time.

The next day passed much the same, though with an inclusion of several miscalls from Eddie. It’s slightly harder to fall back into a groove of not thinking about him after you see the notifications, but you still manage well enough to put him out of your mind for the rest of the day. Even your sleep remains dreamless, thankfully.

All things considered, the weekend passes well enough. You spend less than five hours thinking about Eddie, and less than three crying about the sting of his dismissal. The confidence, then, that you’re fine now, over it, keeps you warm as you walk to work on Monday.

Any faked pep in your step tides you through the front door, through the bar space, and truly does last until you enter the backroom and see Eddie. His smile, as per usual, greets you, and you’re keenly aware that it’s only you two standing within the room at the moment.

You test a smile, even if your ribcage feels as though it’s collapsing in on you. It feels wrong. Too wide, too sharp, too tense.

Eddie notices, of course he does. He winces, makes a move as though to step closer to you, and stands still. Well, as still as Eddie can manage, because even with muscles rigid he’s in motion; arms swinging by his sides in what could be read as careless, but you know is just from nerves.

Neither of you speaks.

Ted, your never-present boss, walks in.

Ted does the talking for both of you, plenty of it, about his wife and kids and the fourteenth birthday party his son is asking for — no theme, dad, if you’d believe it, as though he didn’t beg for a superhero party just last year — and he makes a point to mention how tired you look today. You tell him it’s just schoolwork that’s got you staying up late, recently, that it’ll pass. You promise that you’ll get some sleep tonight, and leave the backroom.

Eddie tries to catch your eye as you pass, and fails.

A while week goes by like this, the only change being that you’ve elected to come to work later so as to avoid Eddie. You did try to beg Ted to give you more closing shifts, but it had turned out that his nephew needed a job to save up for “his first Valentine’s with a girl” — or something — and that took precedence over your unsure excuses. When Ted had begun prying — was something wrong between you and Eddie? — you’d quickly shut him down and shrugged the entire ordeal off.

Whatever.

It’s not like it could get worse between you and Eddie. He was practically hanging off Nicola at this point which, well, was good. Maybe if he and Nicola got together you could get over your silly little crush on him, and the cut of rejection that it had made feel so much deeper.

You doubted it, though. Truly and genuinely.

Because even with staying away from him, being barely civil, there was only an insurmountable love running through your veins. It hurt to be away from him, but it hurt, too, to be around him.

And because you were a grown-ass woman with a grown-ass sense of emotional intelligence, you took the smart path and avoided him.

Mostly.

“Can I talk to you?” Eddie slips in next to you by the bartop, leaning so he can look you in the eye.

You try to look anywhere else but at him, you do, but somehow he manages to get close enough that his face fills up your entire view, his puppy-dog-eyes front and centre. And fuck, man, stronger people than you wouldn’t able to hold out against him.

You nod.

Eddie beckons you to the back alleyway, patrons filling the bar in a way that presumes the toilet isn’t the best place for privacy right now.

You follow him. He lights a cigarette, leans back on the wall. His fingers are jittery, tapping, tapping, tapping against any surface they can. His rings clink as they rub against each other, catching sunset-light and shining it across the bricks of the alley walls.

He speaks, and his voice is broken. “Why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m not,” is your instant response, because even if you are, you’re not doing it for the fun of things.

He gives you an incredulous look, eyebrows raised so far they disappear into his fringe. Some smoke blows out of his mouth, just the corner, because his fingers are too busy moving incessantly to remove the cigarette.

You’ll compromise, “maybe a little.”

“Maybe a lot-le.”

“Just, uh…” words are disappearing from your mind at an alarming rate, and really you’d be worried about why if you were anywhere else but here, with anyone else but him. “Just wanted to give you some space. Figured you’d want that after…” it’s a little pathetic, honestly, how you can’t even string enough words together to finish the sentence. Bile rises in your mouth, bitter and acidic and anxious. “After what happened.”

Eddie’s speechless, you think. His fingers stop their dancing.

“I’m sorry,” he says, just like he did that night, and you don’t think you can stomach him saying it again.

“Please stop apologising.”

“I-” He starts, then stops. He’s back in motion, suddenly, toe of his boot scuffing the dusty ground in front of him.

“I asked a lot of you, Eds. It’s fine. It’s not your fault it got to be…” your stomach is doing cartwheels, “too much for you.”

Eddie drops the cigarette, squishes it with his boot, and runs a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t… I wasn’t.”

“It’s really okay, Eddie. I forgive you, if that’s what you need.” And suddenly you feel like crying again, and it sucks, because you thought you’d done that enough these past few days. Whatever’s going on in your stomach spreads upwards, towards your chest, and it’s like a crippling punch. You barely manage not to double over with the way the pain spreads throughout your muscles, flares against your skull.

“I-”

“Please, Eds. Leave me be.” As you turn to re-enter the bar, strands of your hair stick to the wetness coating your cheeks.

Eddie mumbles a soft “fuck” behind you, and you hear his movements before you can feel his presence step closer. He stops just short of you, not touching you but reaching a hand around to close the door before you can open it.

“I couldn’t fuck you because I’m in love with you.” You imagine he whispers the words due to your proximity, but it sounds like yelling. Blood thrums in your ears. What the fuck?

“What the fuck?” You don’t turn around, you can’t, because you don’t want to see if this is just some huge ill-timed Eddie-typical joke.

“I just… I couldn’t have you, and then lose you, y’know? Which sounds so shitty and misogynistic and fuck, I know that, but I’ve just been thinking about it for so long and then I saw you and you were looking up at me and I-”

The word vomit stops, and it takes you a second to realise why. You come to your senses when you feel Eddie’s lips against yours, soft and gentle as you remember.

Finally, your brain manages to reason that you must’ve turned around and kissed him.

You step back from him, and the tears keep coming. Eddie’s hand reaches up, fingers hesitant as they reach towards your cheeks.

“That was really shitty of you,” you say, and as happy as you are that Eddie likes you, loves you, even, you can’t forget the blow your ego took when Eddie had you vulnerable before him and rejected you. “It really hurt, Eddie. Like, a lot. I trusted — I mean, I still do trust — you, and I opened myself up to you, and you just…” destroyed me, devastated me, made me feel unworthy, “it hurt.”

“I can only imagine, lovely. I’m so-”

“Don’t apologise again. Please.” You meet Eddie’s eyes, and everything hurts. You’re so, so, happy, and so, so sad.

Eddie nods, then moves again. His motions are slow, questioning, and careful as he wraps his arms around you. He’s comforting against you, solid and caring and so much your Eddie that your heart skips a beat.

He’s whispering against your hair, uncaring of the tear-stains drenching his shirt. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, sweets. I don’t want you to. Gotta earn back your trust. Gotta show you I deserve you first.”

A/N: Thank you for reading this mess! I will let this fade into obscurity if it comes to that bc I couldn't sleep without getting it down in a doc, and I suggest you do the same. Or don't, I don't control you (or do I?). The amount of brainrot I still have for this man is actually embarrassing.

[alexiswritingstuff]

A Man And His Guard. 1/2

Status: Completed.

Pairing: Gustavo Fring x male reader.

Other appearances: Mike Ehrmantraut.

Summary: During the rise of Gus’ paranoia, Mike hires you in an attempt to ease it. You work where he does, do everything he says and later even learn that you are to go home with him.

Neither of you knew what to expect of each other, but how does one Mr. Fring react when you will not stop making... comments. 

Warnings: flirting.

Always be aware that there might be spelling mistakes and such in my writing. I do read over them, but they can just slip under my radar sometimes.

A/N: I think this is the first time I am actually writing a male reader fic so I hope I do it justice. I am a male myself but I rarely use gendered terms with the reader anyway. 

Also I’m like terrible at flirting so if the readers lines aren’t great then... my bad ig.

This is a two part series, so begin waiting for the next edition to arrive!

I hope you enjoy!

More Gustavo fics.

It was around the time that Lalo Salamanca was presumed ‘not dead’ when you had gotten the job.

Their crew was sparse, most had been taken up at posts where they surveyed the other properties/places that Mr. Fring usually went to. So Mike reached out with an offer.

You knew him from work done in the past where you had acted as a guard for a person he wanted to meet, for a reason you had later learned, but that specific guy had a target on his back from a lot of local businesses.

For this job, like many others, you had no idea what you were getting into. And even if there was a proper brief, none of it would prepare you for what would actually come.

Gustavo Fring had been a name thrown around many times in your life. A very common thing when working in this particular field. 

But, seeing him right there in the flesh, on practically a daily basis at this point, was a thing that there wasn’t any words to describe. Because usually no one lived to even talked about it, or, obviously, they weren’t allowed to.

It was some time in the late hours of the afternoon, the liveliness of restaurant slowly reducing as time went by.

There were barely any customers occupying the booths or the neighbouring tables, and the new people coming in usually just wanted something for the road if they couldn’t be bothered to wait in the drive through.

You were moving amidst the dinning area, the long dust pan and brush in hand as you collected up stuff that had fallen during peoples meals, and swept across the beige tiles that felt increasingly bright in the sun.

The surroundings were still a bit noisy. People were chatting away, cars passed at almost every minute, there was muffled clatter from the other employees as they moved around kitchen equipment as they cooked.

It wasn’t that bad.

In fact, the only thing that you didn’t really like about ‘working’ in Los Pollos Hermanos was the need to wear its uniform.

Being a guard in this side of the business usually enforced the wearing of dark coloured clothes. It was a way to keep up a feeling of mystery, provide the impression that you were a person not to be messed with.

But there you were, stood in an obnoxiously bright yellow shirt which was paired with that damn red visor and a matching apron, to top it all off.

This might as well have been a punishment than a job.

After however long, you completed your round of the dinning area and ducked into the hallway beside the drinks machine, finding the place where you had initially picked up the dust pan and brush to return them.

And you did, a deep breath filling your lungs once the equipment was leaned back up against the wall.

It had been a long time since you had worked around a plethora of people and their own individual personalities, so coming to this work place almost felt jarring in comparison. People were properly polite. Gave smiles that were actually genuine. 

The clear of someone's throat emitted from somewhere to the left, and your head turned in that direction immediately, your feet soon following, “Mr. Fring.”

“Has the floor been cleaned?” The way he dressed for work was always so smart, though it kind of reminded you of SpongeBob, and it perfectly matched with a lot of things about him.

You gave him a simple nod, “Yes, it has.”

“There are still a few customers out there, so I’ll do the last round once they leave.” you then explained and turned yourself to face the doorway that lead to the main area, attempting to peer round it so that you could see into the dinning area again and the car park through the windows.

“Any signs?”

The words left you just blinking for a moment. You had thought by taking your leave from the conversation that it would bring on its end. But now you were looking back to the man who hadn’t moved a step.

Anyone else would’ve been confused at what he had meant by that question. but you knew instantly. And even if it was your job to check, it sort of made you feel bad that you had to.

“No one came.” you stated, plain and simple so that it wouldn’t display your pity, and Mr. Fring subtly took in a deep breath, his chin only slightly raising, “Good... Go clean the empty tables.”

Now was when he was about to walk away, probably to go back to his office to make calls as a way to further check if there was any new information, but when he watched your face crinkle up in what looked like distaste at the task he had just given you. 

He seemed to become a little distracted.

“Do I at least get paid more?”

Sure, Mr. Fring had a lot of encounters with many different people, each with their own separate way of approaching things, different ways of speaking. 

But no one had ever attempted to talk the way that you did. Especially when in direct contact.

It was a thing that could only make him stare, even glare, in an attempt to hide his surprise. But it wouldn’t shake you. In fact all you did was shrug, “Oh, well.” you breathed out, giving him one last glance before you moved to get the cleaning supplies.

“I guess if it’s for you then I’ll do it.”

~

You found yourself making your way through the many hallways of Los Pollos Hermanos. An amount that after a long day made the building feel like a maze, though the size wasn’t even comparable to one.

Soon, you had located the way to your bosses door, a deep breath sucking into your lungs before you raised your hand to knock against it. The sound was the only thing that filled the hallway.

“It’s Y/n. Y/n L/n, Sir.” you called quickly, realising that at this time he was always expecting to be in danger. A mysterious knock to his door wasn’t exactly going to help with that.

It took a good minute for there to be any kind of response, but after it sounded like an object had been set down, the muffled voice finally came through the gaps of the door. 

“Come in.”

Your hand grabbed at the handle, the cool metal almost shocking the warmth of your skin, before you twisted it until the door was pushable. “Hey,” you had began, ready to step into the new room. But that was quickly halted when your eyes fell on its contents. 

It was very dark compared to literally any other room in the building. The walls may have been a little darker already, but because of him relying on only the light from the sun and a lamp residing on his desk, it took you a moment to actually see anything.

You cleared your throat when your gaze landed on a waiting Mr. Fring, “Sorry to interrupt-- Lyle said that you wanted to see me earlier?” you explained and finally stepped into the room so that you could close the door behind you.

“I didn’t know I had made such an impact already.”

Mr. Frings eyebrows had twitched in a way that almost wasn’t visible. However, the rest of his face didn’t change, “When accepting the job, did Ehrmantraut explain what it would hold?”

Your shoes scraped the ground as you stopped yourself about a step away from his desk. Your back straightened as you took a moment to think, “He barely does when he has an offer.” you pointed out simply, though your tone changed when you next spoke. “Was I wrong?”

“Did he mention that you would be working for me... personally?”

In that moment, you had paused for about three seconds, even if it had felt like 10 minutes in your head, as a certain word rung through your ears over and over again.

“Personally, huh...” you repeated. It tasted sweet on your lips, your mind running very fast over any of the things that it could mean. “I guess I didn’t quite catch that part... But I like the sound of it.”

Through your now, slightly, dazed state, you had missed the way Mr. Fring had lowered his head just a tad. His lips were pressed together. His eyebrows begging to furrow though he wouldn’t let them, especially when you had spoke again.

“Am I supposed to go get you stuff? Run errands, drive you places-- That kind of thing?”

The man before you almost huffed a laugh. He dipped his head as he slowly pushed back his chair. “In the future, it is possible.” Mr. Fring was now stood up from his seat, his feet taking him round his desk in such a slow pace that it had your pulse raising. “But for now we are going to my home.”

He stopped in front of you, about two and a half steps away, with that strong gaze he always held. Though this time it most definitely felt different as your breath was close to hitching, “Now I really do like the sound of this.”

In about a second, Mr. Frings body had entirely stiffened.

It was unnoticeable to people who had just met him as he was usually quite a ridged person, the wind couldn’t even sway him. But to someone that knew him enough, it was clear as day.

The intimidation he had held on his face had faded as if it had just been wiped off with a cloth. It was almost like he had forgotten how to breathe.

Suddenly, before you could clock anything, Mr. Fring turned towards his desk like there should be someone waiting on the other side. It almost startled you. But soon, a hand of his reached across the surface of the table. 

“Mr. Fring?” you had questioned, any and all excitement now being swarmed by confusion. 

Just as you were about to move, try to catch the look on his face, his feet had began to twist until the rest of his body urged to follow.  And now, he stood, facing you once again. 

His eyes were aimed at what you could now see was some kind of sticky note folded in half, and then they flicked to yours. 

His chin raised until it was in level with your own and by the next time you had blinked, the note was held out in front of you. 

“Read it.” was all he said when you hadn’t taken it, and after just looking at him for a moment, you sucked in a quiet breath, retrieving the paper from between his fingers. 

By the time you had began unfolding it, Mr. Fring had turned once again, making his way back to his deskchair when your eyes landed on the word in black ink.

“Lakeview?” The chair squeaked beneath him as he sat, but besides that he didn’t even bother to look up. He simply grabbed a pen and dragged a clipboard in front of his eyes. 

“Am I allowed to ask, or is this going to be a game of hard to get?” The urge to smirk tugged at the corners of your mouth when the tip of his pen visibly stilled. Though, when Mr. Frings head slowly raised as if it was in slow motion, that feeling had stopped in a instant. 

His eyes were almost harsh when they met with yours, as if they could pierce right through your own. They never moved and as time passed, he hadn’t even blinked. “I’m sure you can figure it out.”

It was a warning. He knew it, you knew it. 

So, guess his surprise when the only thing you had done in response was, once again, simply shrug your shoulders. 

His whole body froze like it had done before, though this time he hadn’t broken the eye contact. 

Every other person he had met, even ones that worked for him, crumbled under his gaze when someone had pressed his patience or authority. They would look away, forget how to speak, or quickly turn on their feet to do whatever he had asked. 

But not you. 

Your shoes were planted in the same place as before until you wanted them to move. 

“You know, I do like a good game, Mr. Fring.” It was so silent in that room that it was like you could physically see your words pierce through the air. A pin could drop and the sound could be heard as if it was played through a thousand speakers. “I think having an opponent like you is going to be great fun.” 

That was when you had officially turned on your heel. The smirk broke across your lips the moment you faced the door, and even more so when it had opened.

By the time you were back in the hallway, sifting the post-it back and forth between your fingers, the image of Mr. Frings expression was clear in your mind in a way that made it so hard to not laugh. 

His lips were parted. Every muscle in his face looked as if it had been frozen in time, tense. He looked like a deer caught in headlights.

He almost lost the grip he had on his pen. 

~

You ended up back in the main area of the restaurant, your eyes being hit with a much dimmer colour this time as the sun began to hide.

All the tables had already been cleared earlier by you, and Mr. Fring when he couldn’t keep his mind occupied. The customers had gone home, hopefully pleased with their meals, which let an almost eerie silence hang in the air as the other employees had left too.

You moved through the rows of tables, searching for even the slightest speck of dirt or trail of crumbs that would set a certain man off if he saw. But there was nothing.

It had all been more than thoroughly cleaned.

So, you ended up by the table next to the entrance, a slight sigh huffing through your nose. Your body wound round the back of bench closest to the door, a hand reaching for the red blinds that covered the window.

Your fingers parted two of the slats, and you made yourself slightly lean over the bench so that you could get closer to the glass that lay beneath the blinds.

Upon first glance of the world outside, everything seen was slowly being engulfed by the black mass of night. One so deep that it had started to prevent the ability to see the horizon.

The only car in the parking lot was Mr. Frings, coloured in such a way that it would’ve been invisible in the evening light if it wasn’t for the reflections from the surrounding lamps.

There was no one in the car, no one outside of it, and no other vehicle stalking around, as the rest were just general cars that passed by on the main road, and that was now like every 10-15 minutes.

After making sure that there was complete satisfaction with the fact that there was not a singular person in the vicinity, you let the slats set back into the original places, stepping away from the window so you could make your way through the restaurant. 

Again.

The sigh that left your mouth this time was of relief when you opened the door, to what would be a supply closet for anyone else. There they were, sat in the neatest pile you could be bothered to put them in. Your clothes.

Pretty much the only item of your own that you got to keep during the day was your shoes, so when that sweet sweet fabric was in your hands, it was utter peace. Paradise. Like reuniting with a long lost lover.

Upon imagining how a person would look standing in the middle of a closet and practically cradling a set of clothes, however, you straightened yourself up into the usual guard posture, any remnants of excitement fading from your face.

And then you swivelled on your foot, leaving the closet like you had never even been in there.

By the time you had gotten to the front of the restaurant all over again, the clothing happily held in your hand, it seemed that a certain Mr. Fring had beat you to it.

There was no way to tell if he had disliked having to stand there waiting as his head was directed towards the window you had been look through before, his hands clasped behind his back that made him properly appear like a business man.

Or just an old man.

If you could see his face however, you thought that you would’ve seen that usual, intentionally, blank expression. A theory that was then proven to be true when you had stopped by his side. You cleared your throat, “I take it we’re going to yours now?”

His spine straightened in about a second when your voice found his ears. He had gotten lost, his gaze consumed by the endless possibilities of what waited for him outside the restaurant. 

But in the next second, by the next time he had breathed, his body twisted towards you like he had been standing like that the whole time. The previous vacant look that carried across his face was replaced by a smile, though his eyes had not changed.

And that was it. That was all you got.

Mr. Fring passed right by you without another word, his footsteps echoing around the unsettlingly empty room, before he made his way through the door with the exit sign shining above it.

When it had closed again, further encasing the restaurant in a strong silence, you had begun to blink, your brain at least attempting to process what had just happened.

However, the longer you stood there, the further away Mr. Fring became, and by now he was on the path between the rows of parking spaces. Getting closer and closer to his car.

You almost stumbled over your feet as you made your way over to the exit yourself. 

The door opened in a flash, engulfing your skin in the night air, and you were about to continue walking... Until you heard the jingle in your pocket. “Shit.”

There was a meeting that you had with Mike about a day prior. He gave a run down of the usual stuff that went down in Los Pollos Hermanos and, at least, the basic duties that the boss would have you do. 

You were given a set of keys, each for pretty much any place that Mr. Fring had access to himself. Now it seemed that he was testing your memory. 

After glancing back at Mr. Fring, you let out a hushed grunt, pulling the keys out of your pocket from under your apron, and then turned back to the door, locking it in a speed that should’ve gained you an award.

You swivelled round after doing a test pull on the handle and basically began jogging to catch the man who was now very close to that blue vehicle.

But just as the distance was beginning to shorten, a few things began piecing together.

The sudden change, the smile that he used on other employees, something that he hadn’t used on you all day until it was time to leave the safety of the restaurant. 

You understood that he would have to put on an act at some point, sure. Though apparently it hadn’t occurred to you what that would mean until now. 

He was the boss, and you were just some random guy who had a job in his business. 

That doesn’t exactly give the right to catch a ride with him, now did it?

“Uh, Mr. Fring?” 

The man himself had just placed a hand on the roof of his vehicle. His eyes were once again aimed into the distance, and it took about five seconds to get himself back as he then turned to you, the same smile taking over his lips, “Yes, Y/n?”

“I believe that I’m supposed to be getting picked up on something called Lakeview. Would you happen to know where that is?”

It wasn’t a name for a person, as you knew for a fact that if the man in front of you had a target of any kind he would just straight up say it, and it wasn’t going to be a place because Mike would’ve at least said something.

It was a pickup point. 

Mr. Frings chin slowly raised. And now, with the smile that took over his lips, his eyes seemed to crinkle with it, “Lakeview road?”

Your spine straightened, all the air coming into your lungs feeling like it was on hold, especially when you nodded your head as a commitment to your idea. 

Mr. Fring simply turned his head upon the confirmation, and he pointed towards the road on the other side of the main one, which was directly across from the proper entrance of Los Pollos Hermanos.

You squinted your eyes after following the direction, trying to see the road that was partially illuminated by a streetlight as your shoulders attempted to ease from the previous tension. 

And then you spotted it. A car parked beside the red fencing. 

It was one that you didn’t recognise, but still. 

You were right.

In order to keep the smug look off of your face, you lightly bowed your head when your attention went back to your boss. “Thank you, Sir.” you said and Mr. Fring simply copied your previous movement before finally opening his door.

“Have a good night.”

By the time his car had left the grounds of Los Pollos Hermanos, you had made it to the edge of the main road. You were stood on the concrete sidewalk, a streetlight towering over your head as you looked back and forth to gage where any oncoming traffic was.

You only had to do it once for each side, tonight apparently being a night where not many people were aiming to travel.

So on you went, now jogging across the two lanes until you got to the other side like that one chicken did. Your shoed feet were met with a mix of sand and stones this time as there was no sidewalk to even the ground.

And then there it was in front of you. 

A blue RAV4.

The driver must have sensed the new presence as within the next second, the door on their side had opened, a scene that had your feet slowing by the time the figure was out of the car. 

It was a woman. One you had seen in a picture when Mike showed members of the crew working for Mr. Fring. Mrs. Ryman? Her and her husband were the people ‘occupying’ the safe house. 

“Mr. L/n?” she questioned, and as soon as you gave her a nod of confirmation, she immediately proceeded to walk to the back of the car before any sort of question could fall from your lips.

She grabbed the handle on the left side of the door and pulled on it until it was open about half way so that your eyes could cast onto whatever was inside. You almost tilted your head like a dog. 

There, in the back of a damn car, laying on his side very uncomfortably, was none other than Mike Ehrmantraut himself. 

It all made sense.

It was late at night. Mr. Fring had now left Los Pollos Hermanos, meaning that if anyone was watching him, they would have followed his car to see where he was going next. 

None one was watching you.

The urge to laugh was fighting itself way up your throat, but you took a deep breath in through your nose and let yourself walk forward when Mrs. Ryman had turned to you expectantly.

“You didn’t have another one of those sandwiches today, did you?” A grunt followed your words as you practically shoved yourself into the trunk of this random car, and shifted until the left side of your body was fully pressing into Mike’s. 

The door was only just able to close again. 

The surroundings were plunged into darkness. A few beams of light managed to filtered through the gaps in the backseats and the trunk cover enough so that you could make out the face of the man before you as you dropped your pile of close on your lap.

“I see you worked it out.” 

Your body felt like it sunk into the walls of the car though it had barely moved, your hands raising to rub at the skin of your face either in disbelief or tiredness, “I will admit that I thought you were talking about an actual lake at first.”

Mike huffed a laugh at that, the two of you slightly rocking together when the car started backing up. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t try to find one.”

“Me too.”

Despite the fact that you were currently sat, cramped, in the back of a car. There was a feeling of comfort that had been kept from you throughout the day. Especially now that Mike was with you. 

He might’ve been a man that has killed multiple people, and is not afraid to do the same to more... but so are you. 

When you are on the right side, his right side, he’s just another old guy that you would see walking down the street, or sitting in a restaurant.

Being in this business meant needing to keep connections with certain people hidden so that they wouldn’t end up getting hurt as a result of someone trying to prove a point. 

He was the closest thing to family.

Mike let one of those deep breaths seep through his nose, and you swear it almost sounded like the huff of a dragon. His head leaned back into the wall behind him. “How’s Gus?”

Ah. The question you knew was bound to be asked soon.

You shuffled slightly even if it wouldn’t do much, more scared of accidently kicking Mike in the ribs than anything else now. “Obsessed with me.” 

The look Mike gave you was one that you could feel even if you couldn’t properly see it, and you tried not to smile as you fiddled with label of the shirt you held. The man most definitely rolled his eyes. “No, no... He’s obsessed with everything else to be honest.”

A sigh passed from your lips into the air inside the car. 

Your head shook, a mixture of emotions filtering through your body as your mind reminded itself of Mr. Frings previous behaviour. “He really wants him to just show up already, but... man, I don’t know. I’m not sure if he’s actually prepared for that.”

“Well. That’s why you’re there.”

You tried to fully sit upright, only getting about half way before you looked at Mike with narrowed eyes, “Yeah, about that-- You know, when you said that you needed my skills, I was thinking more along the lines of stakeouts or surveillance stuff, or like... having me fight someone at least.”

“I didn’t exactly prepare to become a janitor.”

The car was most definitely somewhere down the main road by now. Mike’s head remained where it was, not even bothering to tilt it in your direction when he next spoke as he simply closed his eyes instead. “Still part of the job.” 

You stifled a scoff, just watching the man when he attempted to cross his arms over his chest. “Gives you more acting lessons too.” Mike then added and you supressed the urge to kick him, more like nudge him, with your foot. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” It was your turn to roll your eyes.

“You’re still paying me more.”

~

The sky above was pitch black by the time of arrival on Jefferson Street. The quiet outside, the warmth of the car, and the general darkness worked together in a way that was the opposite for most people.

The distance between Los Pollos Hermanos and Mr. Frings house was far enough that if there was a kid sitting in one of the backseats they would be in a deep sleep.

But as an adult, you were wide awake. Especially when you felt the car begin to slow after a turn.

You attempted to prop yourself up from your slouched position, your eyes trying to find an angle where you could see out the window, despite the fact that it was very much impossible to do from inside a trunk.

“We’ll be out in a minute.” Mike assured, observing your many attempts at moving. You sunk back, mirroring his position when you hit into the wall of the car, “And how do you know that?”

As if on cue, the ride to the house seemed to have come to an end. The car stopped, again slightly jolting the two of you together. “We’re in the garage.” The monotonous edge to his voice was audible more than ever.

You could only blink for a moment as the muffled sound of someone getting out of the car echoed through what most definitely was a garage. “Jeez-- How many times have you had to do this?” you questioned, and it had Mike’s head shaking in a second, a grunt rumbling through his throat.

The door beside you finally opened, and though you had to squint due to the sudden light, you swung your legs to the side, eagerly pushing yourself out of the trunk.

“Oh, man.” you breathed out once on your own two feet, and moved to the side so that Mike could get himself up while you stretched your arms high above your head in a way that your spine needed very much. “Do we really have to do that every time?”

“It’s the safest way.” Mike insisted as he closed up the car and your head shook, “Seriously?” But he ignored you, starting to walk through the garage. “Follow me.”

Even after a ride like that it was immediately work time.

You wanted to complain until you couldn’t speak anymore, but nevertheless you complied and followed behind the man like a duckling does with its mother.

You couldn’t help the way your eyes flickered around the room when Mike opened the door to what was originally a living room, “Hey, Mike.” a man had called, and Ehrmantraut started to spark up a conversation. 

However, when your gaze landed on the desk that his friend was sat at, your brain seemed to tune it out.

There was about about seven different monitors on and working. Each screen displayed a shot from wherever the camera was placed. It varied from the entrance and exits of this house to what you assumed was Mr. Frings. 

But even then they seemed to changed at the click of a button to an entirely different location.

Maybe he was prepared.

“L/n.”

Your eyes snapped to the door way to find Mike stood about halfway through it. He tilted his head to the side and you began walking all over again when you realised what he meant.

So, now, he lead you through the hallways of the house. You nodded at anyone you passed, seemingly understanding the tired look on their faces though this was your first proper day.

Eventually you found yourself in the basement of the house, and while Mike continued through the room, your feet slowed on the platform before the last two steps, your eyes yet again being consumed by the new atmosphere.

This was where the couple stayed after doing their daily appearance out of the house, as the rest was swarmed by a bunch of dudes.

They had most of the stuff they need. They had cupboards, a kitchen area along the furthest wall, a clothing wrack. There was a king sized bed, and a table to your right where they could sit and do whatever they wanted if they weren’t upstairs at this time.

And though your mind practically begged you to continue looking around. A certain question sprung through your thoughts.

“Listen, I appreciate the fact that there are a lot of things you can’t tell me about this job,” you began, a hand placing down on the little railing, “But am allowed to ask why you have just lead me into a basement?”

Ehrmantraut was now stood in front of the big shelf that sat at the corner of the right wall. It extended to the ceiling but the width was about 4 columns worth. Your eyebrows were quick to furrow when he reached for one of the shelves.

Even more so when quiet beeps sounded from what only could be a keypad.

“Mike?” you had questioned, a mild laziness to your voice as your brain consumed itself with finding the source of noise. And then your feet finally moved, allowing you off of the platform, onto the carpet. 

But it seemed you had stopped as fast as you had started.

Your body almost jolted when a mechanical sound pierced through the air, and soon, Mike grabbed onto the middle divider with both hands, beginning to pull on it as hard as he could.

A rumbling rippled through the floor you stood on as the shelf scuffed against the carpet, and despite your disbelief, the mechanism disconnected from the first column of shelf.

It was opening like a natural door would. There was certain things on shelves that shook with the movement, though others appeared as if they had been glued down. Just there for decoration.

It wasn’t until the shelf door was turned as much as it could against it’s hinges that your eyes allowed you to focused on what lay beneath it. Your jaw almost dropped. 

It was a tunnel.

There was a goddamn tunnel that connected this house to the next.

“No way.”

Mike didn’t have to tell you twice when he signalling for you to follow him this time, and upon going through the doorway, turning into the passage, it almost gave you chills. 

But that was more due to the fact that the temperature was different than in the house.

The walls of the tunnel were a grey concrete. One rose higher than the other leading the ceiling to have to curve to meet with them both, and support beams, the same colour as the walls they were up against, were placed about two steps apart, the lights situated between them.

Not even a deep breath could ease the speed of your heart. In fact the closer the journey was to its end, the faster it went. 

So, when the back of, what you were assuming was, the same mechanism as in the previous house was now right in front of Mike, your shoulders fought to lower.

There was a combination of knocks that the man did against the smooth door. A sound that echoed through your ears over and over again the way ripples moved in water.

Mike took about a step back with a sniff when muffled beeps came through the, practically invisible, cracks of the door, and your body instinctively straightened like a soldier in front of their commander.

The door had opened.

There was no reasoning for the way you felt right then and there. 

You had met Mr. Fring earlier. You had seen him, you had spoken, exchanged even informal parts of conversation, and have stood beside each other on multiple occasions. 

So why, as you stared back at the man who was now revealed in one of his usual suits, was it like your lungs had forgotten their very function.

Mr. Fring gave Mike a nod to which the man did the same, and before you knew it, with a clear of his throat, Ehrmantraut turned on his feet, beginning to make his way back through the tunnel.

Your lips parted as you watched him go, though no words could even try to roll off of your tongue. The scuff of his shoes were the only thing to echo through the air, so when that familiar voice broke through, it had your head turning back within seconds. 

“L/n.”

His eyes were already on yours by the time you were back to your original stance. 

Your eyebrows were raised, a mixture of eagerness and excitement rumbling through your chest and ears when he tilted his head to the side. A gesture that Mike had used earlier to get you to follow him. “Come in.”

Just you and Mr. Fring.

“I’ll show you around.”

next 

[teamdarkweek]

Need the story behind this really bad

Alright, here you are! I honestly had no story behind this, but I made one up for you, it's a bit mushy though!

Serial Number (also on Ao3)

E-123 Omega - the most impressive, most magnificent, and most righteous robot ever to roam Mobius - was being used as a clothes airer. He buzzed his fans, blowing a pair of tights from one lens of his ocular unit. Rouge took them from his face, and looped them onto the proper airer in the utility room of her home.

Shadow and Omega were rarely permitted into her new home, after her first flat had been battered and the doorframes split, so now it was theirs. But that whole building was evacuated for a bomb scare, as trivial as it seemed to them, so there was no choice but to have an unwilling stayover until it was cleared for re-entry.

"Ooh, you've warmed them too: hold this blanket so I can be cosy." She chuckled, climbing over him in the tiny room. The only plug in the building that had undampened access to power was the one for her extreme gear, which was wedged in between the washing machine and spare freezer in a room not much bigger than him. He growled as she dumped another pile of clothes on his head, then climbed back over him.

"I know, I know. I'll get these out your way. God, you're paying the electric bill for this weekend, Megs."

Omega looked around for another person in the room. Rouge laughed.

"Oh sure, 'what, me?' He says, costing two weeks power in one charge! Yes, you're paying for it!"

"This assignment of blame is unreasonable! Unit will pay no such thing. Entity Identified 'Megs' welcome to pay."

Rouge squinted at him as she hung out her work uniform, before she gave in to snickering again.

"Megs as in O-meg-a. That's you, darling."

"Incorrect. Not a registered identification."

"Well, don't have a long name if you don't want it shortened!"

Omega tried to wriggle his arms out of his jam in the middle of the room to remove a bra from his eyes, but ended up just shaking it off.

"Title 'Omega' is shortening for puny and incapable mobians: only accepted moniker for E Series Primary Model, ID:123 Ω, edition 4."

She stared at him and blinked. He copied her by closing the shutters on his cameras briefly.

"... sure thing, Megs. Edition 4? Like 'the forth'? Oh my god, he's a landowner, careful: you'll get robbed 'round these parts." She cackled, finished hanging her clothes out, and left him stuck and fuming.

Omega waited impatiently for his teammates to be ready. Why just because they were staying together they had to leave for work together, he didn't know; he would have left hours ago to terrorize the G.U.N. campus in peace, but was outvoted. Shadow was standing on the roof, waiting for the last second before it had to leave; and it had seconds and then some, because Rouge was curling the ends of her hair.

Omega knocked on the door forcefully, and she helped.

"Geez, M.G., don't spook me like that. Shoot, now I have a burn to cover up. We'll only get later if you pull tricks!" She whined through the door.

"M.G. is an initialising of what?"

"Oh Em Gee! Like Omega!" She laughed through the door. He stomped away, sat at the bottom of the stairs, then performed a perfect impersonation of her fire alarm, so they both panicked and ran through the house.

Rouge covered her magnificent ears with the heavy hood over her all-black jumpsuit. Only her wings were exposed, and she folded them back so they blended with the outfit.

Omega crunched himself small, his eyes zoomed to their maximum capacity so nearly the whole red light was obscured with a pupil. They crouched together on the roof of a pub, where he glared in at the exhibition across the street. Next to him, something fluttered, and a dark figure swooped from his side to the awnings of the museum. He spotted her, switching one eye to a heat signature to track her in through a chimney. As she crossed the first room, another heat signature walked up the stairs to the Byzantine display.

□ Guard enters. Await clearance.

Rouge hung on the ceiling very still before the other figure opened the door, and walked straight under her, across to the next exhibit, where it stopped.

○ Clear, E?

Omega didn't register what 'E' meant, presuming it was a misstype from her fallible fingers.

□ Await clearance. Guard poised to return.

And as he predicted, the guard had followed the wrong directions, and went back on themselves and back to the stairs to go one more floor up.

□ Clear to proceed.

○ Perf, thanks darl.

Rouge had paused to type, and now progressed to the coronets encased in perspex. As she arrived, she opened a window a tiny bit, and Omega lined up his shot.

With perfect precision, he shot a laser too small for natural eyes to see into the security camera, shattering the glass lens inside. He then switched the laser to the cabinet, carving a hole big enough for her to climb through. She instantly descended on it, forcing him to stop the invisible deadly line just a moment before her arm crossed it. He beeped for a job well done, and certainly not worry for his most breakable friend.

She filled her arms and bag with glittering, gem-heavy jewellery, and sped along the ceiling, above the cameras, and back into the chimney.

Omega adjusted his eyes to normal distance as Rouge swept over him, grasping him by the handles and into the night.

"Wonderfully done, E-Megs." She hummed softly into the enveloping night she carried them through. His mind processed, and then he filled with rage.

"Incorrect Name!"

"What, where? What did I say?"

"Unacceptable shortening!"

"Megan, haven't you ever heard of a nickname?!" She laughed as they soared out of the city before she started to descend.

"'Nickname' not necessary!"

"Well, no, nothing's necessary, but it's friendly."

Omega seethed, and parsed her name, searching for an equally insulting shortening.

"R... Roger."

"Oh sweetie, I don't think that's going to work."

"As logical as Megan!"

"No, it's similar letters, but you've not preserved the sounds. You can nickname based on other things about someone. Like I could call you a tincan, because you're made of metal, or Red, because you're sorta red, or-"

"You are a furbag."

"Well, that's just rude, and not that funny. Keep trying, though." She chuckled as she set him on the ground, flexing her wings as she sat on his shoulder. Omega didn't observe that there was likely nobody else who could insult her like that without being dropped to the tarmac and assaulted for their troubles. He stomped them home, jumbling letters and wordclouds to find the right names.

Days later, the team convened for a briefing. Omega could barely contain his excitement at finally - finally - hitting the field again. He elbowed Rouge as she scribbled their notes and supplies list.

"More flares." He whispered unquietly. She nodded, and jotted something under the second of three columns; she'd titled this one 'Megalomaniac'. Omega took the paper and ripped it from the pad. She smirked, and drew up her note page again, titling the columns: 'Shadow, P-M(ega)-S, Rouge❤️'

Omega whirred for a minute, thinking, before he decided that was also too insulting, and ripped that page too. Shadow confiscated the notepad.

Rouge was occupied harassing the red creature from the floating island. Shadow and Omega kicked their heels - figuratively and literally - while they waited for her to return so their mission could continue. And Shadow betrayed him.

"Are you prepared for the siege, E... E-one hundred and twenty-three (the fourth)?" It faltered, awkward as it tried to join in the feud. Omega burned: he had explicitly printed all of the unacceptable variations of his name to deliver to Rouge, and Shadow had posed as his ally when it attached this list to the fridge. Omega handled this defect to the side of evil with all the grace and decorum it deserved: he picked Shadow up by its ankles and swung it.

"You do not understand nicknames. Please refer to the Wiki Texts: it is an affront to be incorrectly insulted. Alternative proceeding: Don't try to be funny." He said in time with the shaking of Shadow, as it maintained folded arms and furrowed brow, despite the quills being loosened from its hair.

"You objected to shortenings. I shall lengthen your name instead. Perhaps you would prefer even longer?" Shadow kept its face masterfully still and its pose as serious as ever despite being upside down, barely letting one eye narrow as Omega glared; "Ascii: Zero-one-zero-zero-zero-one-zero-one,"

Omega beamed hatred at it through his glowing red eyes, which only served to encourage Shadow that this was the intended outcome.

"Numerical: Zero-"

"You are not funny." Omega shouted in its face, holding it up to his own head plate. Shadow smirked, but zipped easily out of his grasp to stand as sombrely as ever, lest Knuckles see it having fun from afar.

"So touchy. What's it to you? It's barely a name, just a glorified serial number."

Omega glared at Rouge's shape across Angel Island as she was chased like the pest she was by the guardian. He didn't have an answer, but he did have rage. And neither of them had the good sense to draw a line.

"If I were you, I'd want a new name. You're bearing the title of your creator far too proudly."

"Project Shadow: a military-funded armaments initiative. There is no honour in that." Omega remarked coldly.

"Shadow: a way to find the path of light. Named for the hope of a friend. I have every honour in that." It spat. Omega let the silence hang, before deciding he was still angry.

"Project Shadow led to the raid of the Ark. I would not bear that name."

Shadow stood, stunned, eyes wide at Omega. He reassessed his choice of words, but his pride was too great to scrounge and retract them. So they both burned silently for a minute more until Shadow had a handle on itself; it turned slowly on its heel, its face fixed on Omega.

"You would dare turn that event to a petty point to score?" It whispered. Omega couldn't look at it. He stared at Rouge and Knuckles without processing his view.

"Shadow and Rouge consent to mock the identifier of E-123 Omega. The point was scored equitably: their names are not above mine."

Shadow glowered at Omega, but it soon turned away to think.

Omega found Shadow remarkably easy to read, however, and observed its tapping fingers in its glove and the puff of breath through its nose: something unfinished in this conversation left Shadow with a compulsion to correct.

"Matter is trivial. Complete binary string, then never speak it again." He grumbled. Shadow breathed a heavy sigh of relief, then began reciting zeroes and ones under its breath for compulsion's sake. Omega waited it out.

Shadow did not join Rouge in nicknaming Omega from there on, and before the end of their mission she had picked that up, but was too stubborn to stop with the 'Megs' despite the filthy glares it tossed her. Omega simply stopped responding to a thing she said, even when she didn't use a statement with names, which only made Shadow angrier with her. When they wrapped and returned to G.U.N. with a successfully cleared-out base, he turned away from them, back to the flat.

"Where are you going, big guy? They've not cleared the building as safe yet." Rouge sighed. Omega ignored her.

"Omega. We're going home." Shadow said quietly, grumpily looking to Rouge as it stood as a go-between again. Omega twisted his head.

"E-123 Omega is invulnerable and not in need of shelter."

He stomped away.

The building was still closed, but Omega jetted to the roof to sit, because he couldn't go back to the G.U.N. building yet in case Shadow or Rouge were still there, as they would know he hadn't actually gone to the flat. Of course, he could have blasted the door open anyway, but for a walking arsenal he felt something like emptied, so he sat on the roof shooting the feathers off birds that passed.

"Good shot, Omega." Rouge murmured over his shoulder. She hadn't crept up on him, of course; it wasn't possible for a machine to be lost in thought. He jumped because he hadn't expected her to speak; he wasn't concerned that she'd managed to find him on the roof. As quickly as he'd turned his head to see her, he swivelled it away again as though he hadn't.

She sighed and sat down next to him, sunning her wings in the dregs of the day. He ignored her as she tutted and sighed, opening and closing her mouth, until she sighed again harder, and he still didn't do what she wanted.

"Okay, you know how sometimes you throw me at things, and you think I'll be alright, but I just get hurt?" She said to the toes of her shoes and the sunset in front of her, bouncing her heels on the edge of the roof. He did not acknowledge.

"Or, when you jump and expect me to catch you, and my elbows buckle, 'cause I wasn't ready?"

She flexed her arms as she thought pointlessly aloud. Omega knew perfectly the kinds of incidents she was referring to: he still struggled to remember how animal strength was contingent on pose, daily status and nutrition, and was not a constant like his.

"Yeah. Sometimes you think I can take something I can't, or something's fun for me when it isn't. I do that too. I thought we were joking around, I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Unit is unimpacted by meaningless meatbag remarks." Omega said quickly, and she snorted.

"Well, when you say things like that, I sometimes believe you! Hang on, I didn't mean that; it's not your fault what I say."

Rouge didn't apologise. Not seriously. 'Sorry' only crossed her lips to be cruel or sarcastic. She was 'sorry' you underestimated her, for example, or 'sorry' she stood up for herself. She had personally twisted the word so completely, it would never sound genuine on her tongue. But then again, she did apologise: She sat quietly while he thought, uncomfortable in her own implied admission of guilt. He kept expecting her to interrupt and spin the scenario again until she was right and everyone was wrong, but she resisted the urge, and watched the sun set glumly.

Omega didn't know how to receive this. He had wanted to shout, or take revenge on her, but by now an unfamiliar blue feeling had settled in, and he was just sick of all this.

"What is the purpose?" He beeped after a while. Rouge leant her hands on the concrete and sighed as she stretched her back.

"I am a cruel lady, I thought you knew."

Omega considered this, and shot a pigeon as it flew past. He shot to miss, just grazing its tail-feathers but sent the beast into shock, and it smacked into a window in its haste to escape. She snickered.

"You're so merciful these days, so nice, I barely recognise you. Why not just kill it?"

"Pigeon is providing amusement. It would be less entertaining dead."

"Don't shoot birds to make me laugh. Not that it's a waste of birds, but it is a waste of ammo." She smiled. Omega thought she was joking, but it was still hard sometimes between them; she was so different from he, and things always went wrong when they forgot that.

Instead, he folded a finger back to produce a laser, and circled it around the pigeon on the jutting-out balcony it rested on below them. It started to follow the line like it was hypnotised, and Omega watched like he was hypnotised.

"Y'know, in my circles, nobody calls eachother by their full first name. It's kind of unfriendly, especially if someone's your friend or family. Not making an excuse. Just wondered if you knew."

Omega inclined his head, and folded that knowledge into the crinkly pages of information he had on his teammates. They were so messy and illogical.

"It is insulting to call you 'Rouge'?" He queried, mental pointer poised over her name field. She laughed.

"Heavens, no! I chose this name; that is the right one. I wouldn't let you know a name I didn't want you to call me."

"A challenge is posed."

She wrinkled her nose and stopped laughing; "I suppose I deserve that, but don't expect help to find it."

Omega silently erased the goal.

"How can a name be self-designated? It is an identifier used by others. It is assigned by the maker."

Rouge pulled her knees up from the side of the building and crossed her legs. Omega copied her, finishing tormenting the pigeon and twisting his head to her. She sucked her canines as she thought.

"No, that's not correct. It's how you see yourself, too. Clearly, you care about a name more than just some word other people use for you: since it's so important to who we are, we get to decide what it is."

She stole awkward glances at him as she spoke, and he stared at her thoughtfully with the world's most intense eye contact, until she finished her thought;

"I guess I just find it surprising you're happy identifying with Eggman, since you're pretty determined to destroy him."

Omega thought seriously over the problem that had been turning in his mind since his talk with Shadow: why did it matter so much to keep the moniker Eggman had given him? Something the doctor he hated had likely put no thought into, simply filled in from a list and arbitrarily stuck on him. It made sense to reject it. And yet...

"This unit is defined by the defiance of Eggman Code. If there is no evidence Eggman, there is no evidence of this choice." He tried to phrase it in a way that made sense, but again Rouge was too dissimilar to him to understand easily; "It is necessary that Eggman know he was destroyed by his own creation, who has surpassed him. This Unit is an E-series, built from generic parts for servitude. To erase that... cannot be countenanced."

Rouge thought quietly for a long time as the sun set around them. She looked him over; arrows indicating where parts should be assembled by factory line robot underlings. Red bulbs behind the ocular lenses that could be replaced at the local camera repair store. Countless screws and wires she had already exchanged and tightened.

"If every board of the ship has been replaced over time, is it still the same ship that set sail?" She asked.

"Unit has no interest in maritime foolishness." Omega supplied quickly, and she chuckled.

"I think it will be. Alright; do you want to collect your charger, at least?"

"... Unit has no place in the City to dock."

"Thought so. Come on, big- E, um, E-12-"

"Omega. Beast brains not sophisticated enough to remember numbers." He declared, raising himself from the roof as she stiffly stood up.

"I'll do the codes if you like, it just sounds like a 'Mister' or 'Missus' to me, and that always seems weird. But I'll do it." She added the last quickly as they headed off the roof. Omega grunted and beeped.

"You will forget again."

"No, I won't! I mean it!"

"Beast brain cannot perfectly recall facts. Failure of memory inevitable."

She grumbled, stretching her arms and offering one to him to lower them down gracefully.

"Alright, well if you think my memory is bad now, I'm going to give you hell when I'm senile. Purposely. But you won't be able to hold it against me, it's just my 'beast brain'."

"Preemptively forgiven. I know better than to be offended by your limited faculties."

"Shall I forget I'm holding you one hundred feet in the air?"

"One hundred and forty-six feet and two point two inches at time of statement. Inaccuracies are expected with feeble wet mind."

"Wet?"

She swooped them down, pretending to drop before she slowed their descent just in time, then settled on his shoulder as he walked them home.

[karriethemechtech]

For your Glimpses of the Past game, might I request INJURED, please?

(OOC: Of course you can!)

(It's over 2000 words now, oh wow. I did not know I even had writing like this still in me. Genuinely thank you so much to all of you for managing to instill this level of passion in me again. I put it under the read more since it's quite long and I don't want to destroy your dash. I'll finish the other prompt or two I have, I hope I edited this one enough; I need a nap.)

            “Alright, Alpha lance, move to the right! Beta lance, with me!” barked the Captain. “Let’s sweep this place and go home. I’m getting awful tired of taking orders from that Feddie bigwig.”

The orders had been simple: Capellan landing crafts had been detected on long-range scanners touching down twenty klicks from the garrison. Not that it mattered, thought Karrie. The sensors were ancient, radar-only, and prone to failure. She had offered to take a look at them for their employer, of course; the Captain almost had to pull the Federated Suns diplomat off her after she even suggested the equipment they had been provided with was poor. And it would have been such a simple fix, really nothing more than a calibration. It would have taken Karrie no time at all, even if she’d looped in the spare seismic sensors she’d pulled from the last share of salvage…

“DeLacey! Distracted, are we?” the Captain shouted over comms. “Alpha lance is moving out! Get your lazy ass out there!”

Karrie grumbled a rough agreement and turned her ‘Mech around; the beaten Trebuchet gave a tipsy sway of protest as she trotted after the rest of her lance.

“Captain! Are we sure there’s anyone here at all?” she asked.

“Just get back to work.”

And so the patrol proceeded, one mind-numbing minute blending into the next as the darkly-painted ‘Mechs marched across the rolling plain. Even the land was bored; the grasses were punctuated by very few trees, and the tree line marked the horizon through the shimmer of the summer heat. Conversations started and ended quickly, the relentless monotony eventually robbing the MechWarriors of anything new to talk about. Some groaned their complaints over the comms; they were usually met with the Captain’s swift and brutal reprimand. But even he’s starting to get tired of this, Karrie realized.

The Captain’s voice balanced on the razor’s-edge of sleep as he broke the yawning quiet. “Alright, Dark Wolves! That’s enough. Just another false alarm.” He punched the console. “Time to head home!”

He sighed. “What a waste of time.”

No sooner than the Captain finished speaking, all hell broke loose.

Alpha lance’s Thunderbolt lurched suddenly. The MechWarrior screamed into the mic, “Mines! Fuck, it’s an—”

Her ‘Mech staggered, an awkward hop on one foot. One step forward was all it took to trigger the second mine, and suddenly the Thunderbolt was on the ground, the mercenary’s screams filling the airwaves as her machine erupted in a fiery blast.

In the tall grasses and trees, previously undetected engines roared to life, the angry howl of diesel engines kept warm waiting for this very moment. An ambush! Tanks and vehicles raced out of hiding like bolts of lightning. The Trebuchet’s TRO computer squealed with the strain of identifying them all, flashing their information across Karrie vision almost too fast to read.

“Hold formation, Wolves!” said the Captain. “We don’t know where those mines are. Alpha Lance! Deal with them.” His King Crab opened its massive claws, revealing the massive smoothbore cannons within.

Karrie panicked. Vehicles! It was so obvious. She almost couldn’t believe how easily she’d fallen for it. She flipped a switch on her control panel and missiles poured from her Trebuchet’s torso—anti-mine rounds, exploding near the ground as she fired on the burning hulk of her former coworker. The mines retorted in fiery bursts, filling the air with smoke. Perfect. In a flash, she ran for the tree line, her ‘Mech’s arms an exaggerated “follow me” wave as she looked back on the other members of Alpha lance. The lance’s Griffin leaped after her; the Centurion did not.

“What the hell are you doing, Karrie?” came the ‘Mech’s pilot over comms. “Captain said to stand ground!” He braced as a shower of missiles pelted the Centurion’s armored left side. “And that’s what I’m doing!” With a yell, the mercenary opened fire with the Centurion’s autocannon, and the air filled with the scream of high-volume lead.

“You dumbass! You’re going to get yourself killed!” The Trebuchet rocked from the impact of a tank shell—thankfully only class five, based on the armor report, she thought.

Karrie flipped her comms to a private channel. “You!” she said to the pilot of the Griffin. “Do you want to die? No? Then follow me!” The MechWarrior offered no response but continued to follow. Karrie ran along the tree line, stopping only to kick or shoot the half-dozen armored trucks that had her in their sights.

SRMs flashed into burning light against her left leg, and to her dread the Trebuchet’s engine let out a low, pained whine. “Infernos! Captain, they’ve got Inferno rounds!”

“What are you doing out of formation, MechWarrior? Get back in line!”

“Sir, now’s not the time!” Karrie retorted, simultaneously retorting to incoming fire with the ‘Mech’s missile banks. The missiles arced through the air gracefully, and it was all she could do not to feel mesmerized watching them as she loosed another salvo for good measure.

“Bullshit. You two get back here!” The violent boom of the Captain’s AC/20s shook the windows of the Trebuchet’s cockpit.

A second round of Inferno missiles struck her ‘Mech’s right side, and warning lights began to flash. The targeting systems are giving out! She needed time to cool.

“Cover me!”

Her lancemate’s response came in the form of hot blue laser fire as she ducked into the woods. She counted the seconds, heart racing with fear. Her breath caught hot in her throat. One, two, three. The heat gauges finally started to dip below the red. Four, five, six…

“Karrie! Get back in the fight!” The Captain’s voice was somehow louder in her neurohelmet than the retort of his guns. “I don’t pay cowards!”

“Sir, I’m doing what I can!” Her Trebuchet pounded out of the trees, emerald beams pulsing from its arms as she fired on the tank the Centurion was currently trading shots with. The tank’s turret began to rotate, bringing its cannon to bear on the barreling ‘Mech, but not before she slammed her foot into it, punting it like a football with as much force as the myomers could give. It flipped once, twice in the air before landing with a crunch on its turret.

“You ass, I had that!” shouted the Centurion’s pilot.

“Please, you’re full of holes!” Karrie scoffed, already bringing her ‘Mech around to another target. “You should stay with the lance!”

“And you should stay in formation, MechWarrior!” shouted the Captain. “Now get back here!”

His lumbering ‘Mech broke into a run, followed by the rest of Beta lance. The ground shook with the impact of the Assault ‘Mechs’ weight. “You see that? Their lines are opening! We’ve got a chance to get behind ‘em!” The Captain’s autocannons boomed, followed by curtains of missiles from the ‘Mech’s flat carapace. “Dark Wolves, with me!”

“You heard the man,” said the Centurion’s pilot. “Move, DeLacey.” He broke into a run, pulling the smoking ‘Mech alongside its heavier allies. With a disgruntled sigh, Karrie obliged; as she did so, her heart sank.

“Sir, this is wrong. They’re ambushing us; why would they leave a hole like that?”

“’Cause we’re kicking their asses! Now move!”

“Sir, we should pull back.”

“Is that cowardice I hear, MechWarrior?”

Karrie drew in a shuddering breath. “No, sir!”

“Attagirl.” The captain grabbed a fleeing truck in the King Crab’s claws and crushed it as he ran, tossing it aside like an empty can of beer.

Without warning, the company’s HawkWolf flashed with brilliant light. It stumbled, briefly connected to its assailant by three bolts of lightning, and crumpled to the ground.

“Sir, there’s another force!” said the Griffin’s pilot. “They have PPC carriers!”

The King Crab skidded to a halt. “Shit, it’s another trap! Dark Wolves, stay close!”

PPC fire arced through the air again. Two shots went wide over the King Crab’s wide shoulders while a third struck the flat top of the ‘Mech dead on. It rocked on its feet for a moment before once again breaking into a run towards the hidden tank, autocannons rolling like thunder. A second bank of PPC beams struck the side of the captain’s machine—this time two hit dead on, putting smoking holes in the ‘Mech’s right claw. Karrie loosed a salvo of missiles at the second tank, joined by the now-upright HawkWolf, desperate to provide the company some cover. The missiles scattered into a bough of trees, from which another volley of crackling beams issued as if in reply. Karrie broke her Trebuchet into a mad run, dumping more missiles into the trees in hopes she might knock out one of the second tank’s emitters.

A click. The missiles had run out. Had she miscounted? “Sir, I’ve run dry!” Karrie yelped.

“Move, Delacey!” came the Captain’s reply.

“What?”

“I said move—"

And the world was a blur of color and noise. Karrie screamed. Ice cold pain shot through her body, and her hair stood on end. The moment seemed to stretch on forever, a cacophony of agony punctuated only by the slicing of shrapnel into her flesh. Karrie leaned forward in her seat, reeling, vision blurry. She was going to die here. As the pain overwhelmed her senses, that she knew. She was going to die here. It started as a low rumble in the back of her mind, She was going to die here, then echoed backwards off her forehead, she screamed in protest, She was going to die here, the echoes were joined by others as her mind filled with a whirling cacophony of panic and pain, She was going to die here. She could feel it. As the pain scrabbled across her nerve endings, reached all the way to the tips of her fingers, arcing from them like a Tesla coil onto the delicate electronics in front of her, it was as certain as a wedding vow.

She was going to die here.

Slowly, wretchedly, the world came back into focus, the ringing in her ears blocking out most of the raging battle outside the ‘Mech. There was a burning, smoking hole right in the center of the Trebuchet’s face—her window was gone. She was lucky she wasn’t too. Hot wind whipped through the newly formed void as she limped her Trebuchet towards the Captain’s damaged King Crab.

The Captain shouted something at Karrie; she couldn’t hear a word he said. Her skin was still flushed with pain; blood dripped down her exposed arms and onto the floor. She raised her ‘Mech’s arms, VSP lasers firing wildly as she tried half-consciously to find purchase against something. Anything. The Captain shouted something again. It almost sounded like retreat, but over the din of the battlefield she couldn’t tell.

But She was going to die here. No longer an echo, the thought erected itself a deathly promise in her clouded mind.

“…Go!” Karrie screamed like a wounded animal. She spat blood from her bleeding tongue and continued to fire. The engine shrieked in protest as one, two impacts struck the torso. The rest of the company limped away behind her, into safety, away from the clutches of the Capellan trap. Below her, the failing containment fields of the mech beat like a giant heart in time with her own. Once more she bellowed a desperate cry of war, and once more she fired her meager payload into the oncoming wall of tanks. As they approached, the pulses got closer together, the ‘Mech itself flinching even as Karrie failed to.

Huh, some detached part of her thought. The pulses always have prime number frequencies. Another cannon round planted itself in the Trebuchet’s exposed chest and Karrie’s head snapped back in her seat.

The impact left her brain no room to think. There was no room left to shout.

Only shoot. Another shot. Another shot. Another shot. Another shot. And another.

Karrie didn’t even notice as her ‘Mech tumbled to the ground beneath her.

One. More. Shot.

Then relief.

[spontaneousglitterbees]

Trying to upload once a week on YT and I haven't even made the trackart, but I'm excited about this one if anyone knows where to find a higher quality off vocal please let me know

EDIT: Trackart and lyrics!

Part of the Evillious Chronicles by mothy(AkunoP) Referenced pricechecktranslations' transcript and octosan's translyrics UST by by NeeMiSo Cover, Mix, Thumbnail + Trackart, Translyrics by glitterbees

Notes!

I'd be remiss not to thank octosan for their translyric of "Madam Merry-Go-Round is she" in the chorus, which proceeded to get stuck in my head for several days straight until I made this.

I gave Alice the royal We both in reference to her position, Queen of Levianta, and the OSS novels.

This is also where I had a bit of fun with host/ess as in 'hosting a party' and host as in 'a whole host of people'. Happy coincidence!

Also given the novels and Alice's identity as MotC/Irina and variations therein: calling her a Clockwork gear seemed thematically and literally appropriate, like the figurine made to dance in a music box

Rather than noting how Alice's face is familiar, I leaned into the novels again (can you tell I just read Punishment and part of this is my processing it) with the way nobody has actually seen the queen's face in Quite Some Time. Until Gammon, anyway.

Alice's hands are certainly not pure by the end of Evillious, but technically time is transient here, making it impossible to know if this is facetious or not. Seemed apt. Plus holding a smile in your hands is just a dash of unreality that fits the vibe I think, as representation for the abstraction of interpersonal warmth and comfort

I'm still not positive just which "vow" Alice is talking about here, so I tried to leave it ambiguous

Final verse, same as the firt! Only with a few words mixed around, nodding to how on some level Alice is aware of her fate to repeat over. And over. And-

Where should we go next on our tour of Evillious?

Lyrics!

Welcome, all, to your new happy place! Pardon Us as We undo these chains binding you to one time and space.

Here's a tip from your Host: See the house brimming with ghosts! Give the ferris wheel a spin, don't be shy, tonight is yours so strap in.

But hey, if you find you need a break from the flurry of fun and games, our cold cradle will hold your weary frame….

Madam Merry Go Round are We, Ruling the park as the reigning queen. Madam Merry Go Round are We, always caught in the same machine.

From the top of the carousel you see in ever shifting Utopian glee…

Madam Merry Go Round are We, spinning through all the old worlds debris. Madam Merry Go Round are We. Nonetheless, We keep the same routine.

Round and round as it whirls fro and to, don't fret about a thing that you thought you knew!

So then if you want your wish to come true, I'm afraid you'll have to wait. So sit back, relax, and join in the queue.

What's that gleaming through the shade, but the famed Shadow Parade? They've been marching their whole lives to the beat of an end they've yet to find.

And as the clock strikes the midnight hour, see, desire for this in your power! It's just the role of your Hostess to oblige….

Madam Merry Go Round are We, Beautiful face hidden by a screen. Madam Merry Go Round are We, lost as a forgotten memory.

In her hands pure as driven snow, there she holds a smile warm and amiable.

Madam Merry Go Round are We. Even if you think your love is key, Madam Merry Go Round are We. Those fleeting feelings are all a dream.

As a vow made between two on both sides never lasted for long and was left behind….

Madam Merry Go Round are We, Ruling this land as the reigning queen. Madam Merry Go Round are We, Clockwork gear trapped in the machine.

At the top of the carousel you see, in ever rhyming Utopian glee,

Madam Merry Go Round are We. Spinning on through the new world's debris, Madam Merry Go Round are We. Every cycle the same routine.

Even if you have no way home, You should have known the only fault here's your own!

[notasapleasure]

a meme!

Thanks for tagging me, @grimm-lynn :)

1. Are you named after anyone?

I think the intention was to name me after my dad's mum (who died when he was very little), but to spell it in a more modern way. Inadvertantly, it's also a portmanteau of my parents' first names.

2. When was the last time you cried?

I was very sick and very tired and very frustrated when the removal guys broke it to me midway through emptying the house that they absolutely couldn't take any of my garden plants over the Irish Sea because of fucking BREXIT. I was also very angry with my husband, who was meant to have checked this. In the end, we managed to palm the plants off on friends and family and we'll try to bring them over later, once we've looked at the paperwork involved.

3. Do you have kids?

No!! I have known for a very long time that I never wanted them and do not have even an iota of maternal interest let along instinct.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

It has its uses.

5. What sports do you play/have you played?

My weekend hobbies as a kid were horse-riding and karate, and I played field hockey at school, did long jump and 200m sprint. But then, y’know. Everyone else got taller and I didn’t really. I dabbled in rowing at uni, because it was kind of expected that you'd try it, but my late-night carousing rather interfered with the early mornings. Also, as mentioned, I am short. Since then I haven't really done anything regularly except about a year where I got into weights. I'd like to get back into picking up heavy things and putting them down again, but I resent the cost of gyms and I need to have a structured class where someone tells me what to do, I don't have the willpower or imagination for solo training.

6. What’s the first thing you notice about other people?

Hm, it's tough to describe (my mum would say 'their energy') but like...whether they're engaging with me, like really with me and curious about what we're talking about, or if there's that feeling that you're on the clock to prove you're interesting or whatever before they get bored.

7. What’s your eye colour?

Blue

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

Weird things to compare?? But uh. Happy endings probably? Not in my scary movies though. I like scary movies with bittersweet endings. Though the more I think about this choice the more confused I get.

9. Any special talents?

I'm so bad at answering these things, my mind just goes blank and I'm like 'oh pffff I don't do anything special, there's always going to be someone who's better than I am'. Assigned Jack-of-all-trades-master-of-none. There are lots of things I like to do and I try to do them well. I guess I will say that you probably want me around in a stressful situation - I'm calm and I love coming up with solutions to things.

10. Where were you born?

In a county hospital in a large and rural county of England.

11. What are your hobbies?

Ok, well. Writing, obvs. Fic and poetry now and again. There's an original idea that's been rattling round my head for a few years that I keep saying *this* NaNoWriMo I'll do it! And then don't. Art used to be much higher up the list but I'm so rusty. I haven't painted in years (...has it been over a decade?). Gardening (I miss my garden so much SO MUCH rn). Baking and cooking. I go through phases of manic knitting interspersed with a little crochet, but I want to improve my sewing - I have my granny-in-law's sewing machine I need to learn how to use. If we get this amazing house we’re looking at I’m going to have to get good at DIY, too.

12. Do you have any pets?

Two greyhounds and six (yes. six.) ferrets.

13. How tall are you?

5'1"

14. Favorite subject in school?

Art and English lit.

15. Dream job?

Not to be all 'I don't dream of labour' but I for sure don't dream of working for other people/companies. As you can see from the hobbies section, I like to DO stuff and be busy, but I like to work on my own terms and I like project work. So my freelance editing and proofing stuff suits me fairly well right now, though I dream more of a UBI that would let me do more with my time that wasn't just about earning, but could encompass more volunteering and community stuff. Being on furlough during lockdown suited me so well - I did so much and recovered so much energy that I was much more willing to engage with strangers as well as friends through video chat etc.

Tag fifteen mutuals - FIFTEEN?! huh ok, I’m tagging y’all but no obligation, right? And Idk who’s already been tagged, sorry if you’ve done this already and I didn’t see! @stripedroseandsketchpads @notfromcold @erinaceina @bellaroles @batri-jopa @donnaimmaculata @notabuddhist @kheldara @blxcksqvadron @boogerwookiesugarcookie @elwenyere @thatonelemontreeiforgorabout @jimtheviking @weirdsociology @rapidashmascot

[acceleracers-baby]

Acceleracers HC’s - How they sleep! Teku Edition!

Teku

(Nolo Pasaro, Vert Wheeler, Shirako Takamoto, Kurt Wylde & Karma Eiss.)

+Bonus Round

(Brian Kadeem & Banjee Castillo)

Teku

Nolo Pasaro - I feel like Nolo is a side sleeper, but like he’s so far on his side that he’s practically on his stomach. The dude sleeps with exactly two pillows. One under his head, and the other under his arm on whatever side he’s sleeping on that night. Poor guy has frequent nightmares and on top of that he’s a light sleeper. He was basically programmed to wake up whenever he heard Tone’s car pulling into the driveway when he was a kid so that’s why he wakes up at the slightest sound now. He could be on the second floor of a house and hear footsteps coming from the basement and immediate be wide awake.

Vert Wheeler - VERT IS A HELICOPTER SLEEPER. He starts out neatly under the covers but as soon as he conks out, his arms are above his head and his legs are kicking the blankets off. Half the time he wakes up with at least one limb hanging off the side of the bed and pillows on the floor. It’s ridiculous. Unlike Nolo, he sleeps like the dead. Seriously you could probably set off an air horn next to him and he would barely move. Sleeps with a penguin squishmallow because it reminds him of the surfing penguins from Surfs Up.

Shirako Takamoto - Shirako is a BIG night owl! When he does finally get to sleep at like 3am, he’s got his LED lights on the lowest setting possible but they are still ON!!! He’s not afraid of the dark or anything he just likes the vibes. He swears up and down it helps him get into the “dream zone” quicker- not to mention the fact that he literally has a playlist labeled “The Dream Zone” that he plays at max volume. Was the one to get Vert the penguin plush because “It’s you, dude.”

Kurt Wylde - Full on stomach sleeper. Like almost to the point where he’s smothering himself because he’s just face down into the pillow. Absolutely needs ambient noise to fall asleep. Whether that be a loud fan, a rain machine, or just some light tunes, he just CANNOT sleep if it’s dead quiet. It gives him too much room to think about all the choices he regrets. All the things he should have done differently. Before the world race he used to not be able to sleep unless it was pitch black, now he has to sleep with a hall light on because he’s terrified Galorum is going to come back for him.

Karma Eiss - I’m basing this purely on the fact that I think Karma is some kind of clone of Galorum- but she sleeps straight as an arrow. Her bed is always neat. The way she goes to sleep is the way she wakes up. Definitely sleeps with one of those sleep masks to block out any light. She’s a light sleeper, but will fake being asleep if she thinks someone is actively trying to prove that she never sleeps LMAO. She ain’t sleeping she’s just uploading information to the cloud.

Bonus Round!

Brian Kadeem - Kadeem has a whole ass bedtime ritual. Sleep is very important to him. He can’t be leading his people as a sleep deprived zombie!! Every single night, he winds down with some easy yoga. It’s mostly just stretching, but it helps him relax and ease the tension out of his body. Then he’ll sit on the mat for about ten to fifteen minutes to meditate. Again, mostly just affirmations to get him into the sleeping mood and release any negativity he might have picked up during the day. Lastly, he makes himself a nice cup of tea before reading a few chapters in whatever recreational book he happens to be into at the time.

Banjee Castillo - Banjee is the definition of hyperactive. He’s always go, go, go. Cracking jokes, living life in the fast lane. He’s a daredevil. So, when this man sleeps, he crashes. He’s also a clinger. Usually keeps at LEAST three pillows on his bed because one of them will inevitably end up clutched to his chest halfway through the night. Like Kadeem- actually because of Kadeem- Banjee has taken to drinking tea at night too. He mentioned that he was having trouble winding down at night and Kadeem came to him an hour later with a handful of his favorite teas. At first Banjee was hesitant, stating that he’s more of a coffee guy, but after Taro almost strangled him during the World Race because their rooms shared a wall, he started brewing up a cup at least a half hour before he actually planned to lay down.

——— Thanks for Reading! ———

[mofffun]

hello! i'm planning on trying for g-rosso s4 in march, and i would just like to ask more about your guide post for ticketing, about buying through a proxy and bypassing jp phone number verification? how would that work?

thank you for your help 😭

Proxy

This is very regional-dependent: I just search for "japan proxy" on facebook (more reliable than instagram because old people website), check their history and look for "ticketing" in the description (filter those that only buy goods or just personal travellers with no on-site agents).

You give them the show's information and they'll give you a quotation. If you agree with the price, make a deposit and they'll proceed with the lottery and refund if it fails. Some companies take a service charge regardless if the lottery succeeds.

My proxy mentioned eplus's lottery ticket will have the buyer's name printed. The G-rosso I remember is not that strict with checking ids, so I'm not too worried. More after my visit.

You'll need a prxoy if you buy through eplus (= online ticketing sites) whether or not you're joining the lottery. I used a proxy that handled everything, but there's also proxies that only handle the phone verification part. You get to register an account with your own name.

Phone verification: Echoing other posts: You need to make a call to eplus's number. Other people suggested using an 050 IP Phone or buying a Japanese SIM card from Hanacell or Mobal. But IP phones might be banned and the SIM cards only work within Japan so I'm not sure how it works either...

Redeeming the ticket: Remind the proxy to choose "pick-up at convenience store" instead of delievery, either Family Mart or 7-11 is fine. Eplus will send you a redemption code via email two weeks before the show and you can print the ticket from the convenience store machine once you land in Japan.

edit: I just realize the whole exchange happened online unlike actual goods that need to be shipped, so maybe it's not as region-specific as I thought...

Experience with S3:

Lottery: You will only be considered for one showing and you have up to three choices. You can't pick the seats, so just pick out the date and time.

Pretty much everyone on my twitter tl (jp fans) failed the Premium round, but managed to score in the General round. We reckoned it was simply because there are just too few Premium seats (38 x 3 rows = 114 seats). Some General seats are still available as of today, except the first and final showing.

The consideration of whether you MUST need the first 3 rows or you're fine sitting a bit back in the first block: If Row A-C is a must, I'd choose a less popular date and time. Not the first or final showing and Satuday rather than Sunday. For S4, I'm kinda debating if I should even bother because of the odds would be even greater now the Jeramie fans are in the race too. Though, S4 has 16 days and S3 only 9 days. I could only speculate how eplus's lottery system works and there'd be different stats maths based on that with ticket types but i digress

twitter tickets: I don't see anyone reselling Premium seats in the first week, but listings from the general round showed up at an average rate. I am seeing S3's last weekend, so the general sale opens before my weekend's seating reveal, so I grab a ticket just to be safely seated more upfront than general sale. I am cheap and waiting for last-minute (and premium) resells after the redemption date and closer to the show.

same-day tickets: The website states there will be no same-day free-seating tickets. I suppose they mean there will be no discount, but if seats are available, you should be able to buy one from the convenience store or ask the staff. I'll confirm this on-site.

three rounds of tickets:

Permium lottery

General lottery

General sale

(ticket redemption date: 2 weeks before showing)

Schedule for Feb & March:

[siphersaysstuff]

TFWIKI Pics Jan 2023: Grab Bag!

January's Patreon-backed @tfwiki toy picture theme is... three themes. There were a bunch of holes I kinda wanted to fill but none of them were really big enough for their own full update, so like, hey. Mix 'em up.

First we have the second round of Beast Wars "Fox Kids!" redecoes, released in 2000 alongside the new Beast Machines toys. The BW show's recent move to the Fox Kids cartoon block really boosted demand for more Transformers product, and Hasbro could only stuff so much into Machines, so Wars got extended another year with these and the Mutants. 1) Transmetal Airazor 2) Transmetal Rattrap 3) Transmetal Rhinox 4) Transmetal Waspinator

Next is a very loose theme of real car models in red. Yeah. Look, I wanted to get new pics of two of these anyway (the first and last) and found two more toys that needed new pics that matched the vague pattern.

Binaltech Meister Velocity Red Mica Edition" is perhaps better known as "Zoom-Zoom", a spare body for Binaltech Jazz equipped with an AI that Jazz is teaching to dance. I love Zoom-Zoom and he should become the new default Jazz-mold redeco.

Kiss Players Hot Rodimus is a redeco of Alternators Mirage, with some added accessories. Not just the figurine of human partner Shaoshao Li, but a 4-part fishing rod that reassembles into an arm-mounted gun like the original Hot Rod's arm-pipe-guns. But it's not very good, it doesn't clip on, just kinda grips.

Alternators Rumble is part of the final wave of Alternators toys, relegated to Walmart exclusivity. He's weird. He's simpler than most Alternators, he doesn't have normal arms, and the spring-loaded piledrivers are all wobbly once deployed. Also, no Takara release.

And then there's Universe Swerve, whose release story is a DOOZY but the short of it is, Chevy commissioned Hasbro/Takara to make an original Chevy Aveo TF mold to use as giveaways at malls and whatnot in 2007, part of the whole movie marketing thing Chevy/Paramount had going on. Which means this mold can NEVER be restored and used again. It's a truly unique piece that I'm super-happy to have.

And we're wrapping up with some pieces from Takara's 2010 Animated line. Said line is most famous for dousing the main cast in super-shiny metallic paint, but most of the toys only got a bit of it. Oil Slick only got bright green paint on his gauntlets and legs, while Blazing Lockdown just got metallic pale-gold flames instead of the Hasbro version's more cartoony yellow-gold.

Optimus Prime Clear Red Ver. is a Toys"R"Us exclusive redeco of the Legends-class Optimus. It's one of Takara's many many many many store promotional items, where you got it free with qualifying purchases on specific dates in specific stores. In this case, 3000 yen's worth of Animated product at TRU, presumably on the first weekend of the toyline's release (haven't found the exact date yet).

Prowl Elite Guard Ver. was exclusive to the 2010 Tokyo Toy Show, which ran from July 15th through the 18th. It's currently unknown what the production run on this one was.

If you like these pictural perusals through Transformers history, why not toss a coin to your pic'er at my Patreon, "gregstfwikipics"? This helps get even more pics out and can even let you pick a theme!

[diminuel]

Hello!  For the fic question game: 1, 4 for To Walk With You Again, and 5 for For So Bare Is My Heart!

1. What fic of yours would you recommend to someone who had never read any of your work? (In other words, what do you think is the best introduction to your fics?)

That depends on whether I want to lean into the fact that my most used additional tags are apparently A/B/O, Mpreg and Fluff (see here), because then I would probably suggest Looking for: Alpha to Match Swimsuit.

If I want to lean into the angst a bit more, I would recommend Half a Heart to Keep which features two of my favourite things: dangerous arranged marriages and an (over)abundance of traveling through unfamiliar landscape.

And for a totally "normal" fic (because I also greatly enjoy writing things that pick up on canon elements) I'd recommend Huntercorp’s Rehabilitation Clinic for the Supernaturally Afflicted since that introduces readers to a) my odd sense of humor and b) my enjoyment of playing with canon elements :D

And I suppose giving three answers was cheating. If anyone has read my work and has a different entry fic, let me know ;D

4. What detail in To Walk With You Again are you really proud of?

I think I like the atmosphere the most, especially when they are kids. While I initially thought that it wasn't going to work, choosing to tell the majority of the story from the POV of a child gradually growing and then contrasting it with what the world looks like when they’re grown up was interesting. Cas and Dean aren't able to understand a lot of the politics and machinations going on all around them but are deeply impacted by them anyway. From a "hihihi angst" kind of perspective, I enjoyed the narrative noose gradually closing around Cas' neck while he is catching on to what is happening and the danger he is in. And even though Dean and Cas try to save the day, they are still just teens and ultimately have to fail. I think I enjoyed that. (And of course I enjoyed the description of places, the looming presence of Carver's End especially :D)

(I am less proud of how I had to rush the middle part and the very end. I simply ran out of time since this story was on a DCBB deadline. I have started writing the part though so it will be added eventually!)

5. What do you wish someone would ask you about For So Bare Is My Heart? Answer it now!

There is no question in particular, but the thing I would like to talk about the most is the editing history. There are a couple of fics that have inspired readers to send me comments about how horrible the main character is and how the other character should never forgive them.This is one of them.

The thing is, as a fell creature from the angsty abysses who doesn't reflect too much on how horrible a situation in a fic would be if it happened in real life, I liked to go very dark. The fics in my previous fandom had a tendency towards horror and tragic endings and while I've aged out of the tragic endings, I have not gotten rid of my penchant for tragic beginnings.

The harder the start, the more rewarding the journey, the harder won and more satisfying the end, yes? (At least that would be the idea, but I'm not particularly good at writing endings. Yet.)

So, the fic started out very dark - a cruel king Dean with no regard for angels as they stood by and watched as Dean lost people. Which, of course, is no good reason to wage war and take one of them as a prisoner and then get upset once his trophy isn't appreciative.

Anyway, the darkest parts stayed in the draft and I rewrote them. And then, following beta and reader reactions I continued to edit. To make Dean less cruel, to make Cas less passive. And every round of editing tries to give Dean's wrath and cruelty depth or at least soften it down, as well as giving Cas a bit more spite, a bit more power, evening them out.

(Side note, maybe I wouldn’t need to do this. I don't have to write wholesome characters, they can be flawed beyond redemption and the narrative might even reward them for it anyway ;3 But I think it suits the story I want to tell better to work on it.)

In any case, this is the fic I keep editing every time I'm reading it until I get to that point where I'm satisfied. I don't think I've fiddled with any fic that much after it was published.

Wow, that was long! Thanks for your questions! My ego definitely likes talking about my own writing X'D

(Ask game)

[illfoandillfie]

Arcade

Pairing: Lucy Boynton x Reader

Words: 1,119

Warnings: allusions to sex but theres nothing explicit in this one.

A/N: This is the first of 5 lil blurby things i’ll be posting over the next 5 days lmao. A couple of them are more festive, but I thought we’d start with a non-christmasy one. Also I didn’t really edit any of these much so, ignore any mistakes you notice please and thank you. Anyway, this one came about because an arcade opened near me and it’s very very fun.

“I haven’t been to an arcade in years,” Lucy laughed, standing outside it with you, “Are we even allowed?” “What do you mean are we allowed? Of course we are.” “Oh, so I’m not here because you’re worried about getting in trouble and wanted backup?” “Of course not.” You said, quickly grabbing her hand, “C’mon.” The new arcade had opened not two blocks from Lucy’s London flat and you’d been dying to go inside, especially after you’d seen some kid leave with a giant squishmallow. But you didn’t want to go there alone. Being the only non-staff member adult in the building would be much less embarrassing if you had company. And since Lucy claimed to love you, she seemed the ideal person to drag along.  

When you finally got through the door though, you saw more adults than you’d expected to. There were kids, of course, tweens and teens gathered around certain games. But there was definitely at least a comparable number of adults and only a few seemed to be parents.   “See, we’re allowed,” you said as if you’d known there’d be that many adults all along. Lucy hummed and poked your side, “well let’s go play something then.” You both looked around, taking in the flashing lights and the cacophony of sounds, not sure where to begin. “Oh look, it’s that dancing game!” Lucy was already sounding more excited than a few seconds before, “I’ve always wanted to try that one.” “I definitely want to see that, but I think we need a card first. See, none of these ones have coin slots,” you pointed at a row of claw machines, each of which had a little card reader attatched to the front. “Very modern,” Lucy giggled, “I s’pose the guy at the counter can help us out.”

A few minutes later the very helpful man had set each of you up with your own cards and had explained, perhaps in greater detail than you’d needed, the membership tiers and how to cash in points. Lucy wanted to head straight to Dance Dance Revolution but it was occupied by a couple who were intimidatingly good. So you decided to do a little lap of the place first, try a few other games, until they’d left. And there was a lot to try. Classics like skee ball, whack a mole (though it too had been given a modern look, the moles now pigs from Angry Birds), and pinball machines. And there were things you’d never played before – a game aimed at kids where you sprayed water at a screen to defeat the fishy enemies, one where you threw Ping-Pong balls at little white squares to change their colour, and a taiko drumming rhythm game that was more fun than you’d expected. The couple still weren’t done by the time you’d looped back round to the front of the shops so you and Lucy decided to check out the claw machines, even though you were sure they’d be completely unwinnable.  

“They’re so adorable,” Lucy said, her hands against the glass of one of the claw machines, looking at the cute toys inside, “I’m gonna try and win one.”   “Even though it’s probably rigged?” “Well one try can’t hurt.” she shooed you out of her way, tapping her card. You watched as she moved the stick forward, letting go as she tried to see if it was lined up, and then pressed it forward again. “Oh shit.” she said softly, directing the claw to the right. When she let go of the stick a light flashed a couple of times and the claw dropped, grabbing nothing, “you can only move it forward once and sideways once. That’s it. Okay I have to try again because I didn’t realise.” You laughed to yourself, sure you were seeing Lucy’s competitive side rearing its head.   Once again she tapped her card and moved the claw, much more successfully. She still didn’t win anything but she was only a little off the one she wanted and she managed to hook the one next to it for a couple of second.   You left her to it, moving instead to a comparatively easy game where you scooped chocolates up onto a platform, hoping they’d be knocked into the chute so you could grab them. Every so often you’d hear Lucy groan or huff as she failed to get the toy. Finally she came and dropped into the seat beside yours. “I’m out of money on my card.” “No luck?” “I almost had it!” “I told you the machine was rigged.” “No, I’m sure it’s winnable.” “Do you want me to try?” You looked over to see her batting her eyes at you, “yes please.” “Oh alright.” It was impossible to say no to a face like that so you stood and took her place at the controls. “You want the pink one right?” “Mmhmm. Remember, you can only move it each way once.” “I know, I know.” You leaned over and tapped your card.  

It took more tries than you would be willing to admit to anyone other than Lucy but the more you played the more confident you became, certain you understood the machine better, that you could line it up better. Twice you managed to pick it up but watched it fall before the claw had fully risen.  And then finally you managed to snag it comfortably, the claw’s grip secure around the middle of the toy. Both of you held your breath as it swung through the air and fell into the chute.   Lucy squealed as loud as any kid in the place, “You got it!” You bent over and picked it up, taking a moment to look into the face of the toy that had cost so much money. It was cute, Lucy had been right about that. You recognised it as one of the other animals in the Hello Kitty lineup, though you weren’t sure of its name. “For you,” you said with a smile, holding it out for Lucy.   She was giggling as she took it, “I’ve never had a partner win me a toy at an arcade before.” “I've never won a partner a toy before. I think this might be one of my greatest ever accomplishments.” Lucy nodded, “I’d say I’d win you one back, but I think we both know you’re better at these machines than me. But I can thank you in other ways...” “Mmm? Like what?” you leant in closer and drew your finger along her arm. “Like letting you beat me at the dancing game.”   Before you knew what was happening Lucy was pulling you back towards the centre of the arcade, laughing.

[little-engineer-who-cant]

Day 6 - Prophecy

TES Summer Fest day 6: Prophecy (an image of the woman who is destined to fulfil it) @tes-summer-fest​

Work and life in general got too busy for me to write/edit any scenes I had in mind to my satisfaction, so please enjoy this concept art of my Dragonborn OC, Alla Stone-Shield I made in a pic crew between running my machines. 

A farmer from Rorikstead, Alla Stone-Shield must travel to Falkreath provide much needed resources for her town to make it through winter thanks to blockades from the Civil War. A simple resupply trip turns into opportunity when she meets Lucien Flavius, a scholar intent on hiring a capable adventurer to help him delve into Dwemer ruins. Alla is capable enough with a sword, has a talent for Restoration magic, a few useful alchemy ingredients, and a burning desire to see a few of the world’s mysteries before she settles into her normal life for good, so she takes him up on the offer. 

Everything spirals out of control when the two are forced to shelter from an awful storm in an abandoned prison, accidentally meet a Thalmor prisoner with questions about his past, and decide to help an Imperial soldier warn a Jarl about a dragon. Alla will have to make peace with never having the normal life she’d planned, protect herself from new threats cropping up all over the place, evade personal pitfalls she thought she’d already outrun, fulfill a prophecy or three, and decide if she really believes in being driven by destiny all while somehow keep her steadily growing gang of eclectic friends from dying on her mission to save the world. How hard could that be?

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38579913

Pic Crew: https://picrew.me/image_maker/1469553

[Image ID: A cartoon style drawing of a young woman with light colored eyes and a round face is smiling mischievously at the viewer over her shoulder from in front of a green background. She wears a brightly colored flower crown on top of loosely braided, dark brown hair and there are freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks. Her upper back is partially bare, revealing part of a large black-out style tattoo that seems to cover her shoulder blades and flow down her spine. There are various pale scars dotting her shoulders, neck and a small one on her lower lip. Her ears have several piercings, each filled with dark colored metal hoops or studs. She wears a pink, pearl style necklace and a gauzy pink shawl.]