#friend from school who likes star trek

[reisakumaproducer]

can we do this on tumblr

[chewingcyanide]

𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 | 𝐣. 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐬

₊⊹ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 — secretly pining over someone is never fun—even less so when they’re your childhood best friend, and dating someone else.

₊⊹ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 —all the angst, jealousy, thoughts of inferiority, cursing, big sadness from reader over here, not proofread i got better things to do

₊⊹ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — jack hughes x fem!reader

₊⊹ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 — my valentine’s day jhughes special (albeit a day late ☹️), as promised! sorry it took me so long. couldn’t figure out how to end it. this is unapologetically self-indulgent. also not a wip, but i HAD to do it to em. i’m sorry if your name is brooke or bianca. i love you. promise. maybe we’ll make a part two, if yall like it enough!

₊⊹ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 — @dancerbailey3, @bellstwd, @kashee-h, @crazycat-ladys-blog, @brucewaynegfreal, @love4dlr, @jackhughesily, @leavethemonsteralive, @loveforaugust, @43hughes, @nathandoe, @choppedlamphandscowboy, @bunting58, @angelayse, @ru-kru, @sleepretreat, @nonsensical-nonsence, @maih23 (if your name is white, i couldn’t tag you!)

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Everyone knows the saying you never know what you have until you lose it. Truth was, you knew exactly what you had—you’d just never imagined you’d lose it.

You never imagined you’d lose him.

A shared childhood and mothers’ who found friendship with each other had brought you and Jack Hughes together, kept you glued even as skin stretched and futures diverged—where he’d gone on to be a star hockey player, you’d quietly came into adulthood, trekking through the difficulties of college.

In your younger years, Jack had always been there. Life of the party, a mirrorball everyone gravitated to for its decadent shine—you, contrastingly, felt like a sore thumb at parties, attending them only to see the smile on Jack’s face. Differing personalities and life routes aside, Jack was your person. The first person you called whenever you were sad, or happy, or bored. The one who knew all of your test scores first, who took hours long flights just to visit you during breaks in the season.

Distance nor time had left a lasting mark on your friendship, kept together by constant phone calls and texts. Whilst you remained imbedded in the hustle of Toronto, Jack was trapped in New Jersey—a gap that you closed every summer, when mutual desire to see one another (as well as his brothers) brought you and him to Michigan for a few months.

From childhood, to high school, to now—it had always been you two. Jokes passed in the years, swirling around with assumptions of the two of you ending up together, finally realizing it after years of proclaimed friendship. For Jack, it’d never been romantic. Loving and caring, a relationship he’d never trade for the world, but the intimacy ended there. Memories of him outwardly flirting with girls in front of you at bars or parties flashed in your mind any time you figured maybe; he’d never given any indicator that you were or would ever be more to him than his best friend.

For you? It was an embarrassingly different story.

College had stolen much of your time—left none for a love life. But truthfully, that didn’t much phase you.

Hookups, flings, boyfriends—all of them paled in comparison to Jack. A childhood crush perpetuated by maturation without loss of contact, Jack had just… always been there. Always a best friend, never a lover; the hanging axe of rejection was too dire a outcome for you to ever consider telling him. Killing a friendship you’d grown with would kill you. And maybe he felt the same way, maybe the kisses he reserved for the crown of your head and the guiding hand he kept on the small of your back meant something, but you couldn’t continue existing if they didn’t.

So, a dutiful friend, you kept quiet, spared the connection and suffered in unrequited love.

And it hadn’t really changed until Jack had gotten a girlfriend. In all your years of knowing him, he’d had a few—though they rarely lasted more than a handful of months, and a selfish and bitter part of you liked that. Sometimes they overstepped, viewed themselves above you in the ranking of Jack’s life; he made painfully clear they never would be.

And it felt good, to be that cherished. But then you remembered he didn’t actually love you and it felt a whole lot less impactful.

Not Brooke.

Brooke, a box-dye blonde with a less-than-stellar reaction to your friendship with her boyfriend, was unarguably beautiful—unapproachably so, someone you’d picture whenever thinking of the girl Jack would end up with. You knew it would never be you, but you hated that it was her, hated that it was finally cemented, the coffin wheeled out.

A friendship you’d cherished for years had been weathered down by the abrasive actions of his girlfriend. It left a bitter taste in your mouth; Jack never seemed privy to Brooke’s nonverbal dislike of you, and you never made comment of it. If Jack was happy, what did it matter? If you said anything, all you’d appear to be was a child throwing a tantrum, the attention torn from them. You refused to jeopardize Jack’s happiness, even if it meant shredding your own.

Brooke tolerated you; that was the best word you could think of. There was surely no excess of love, but you didn’t think she flat out despised you, either. Passive aggressive to the point of just being aggressive, snide looks whenever she didn’t think you could see, intentionally separating you from Jack whenever the two of you were talking—it all made you hate being around her, and by extension, him.

So when he’d invited you to dinner with him—and some of his teammates, a monthly ritual at his house—the knee jerk reaction had been to decline, lie, run while you were still free from the piercing glare of Brooke; because you knew she’d be there, clung to his side, as if you had any intention of taking him away.

… Well, you’d did have the intention. Never the will, so then again maybe she was right to hate you. Feelings you’d never act on, words you’d never say—none of it mattered. She had him. Not you. Never you.

You should’ve said no.

Pouting eyes and pleading lips caved you. As soon as you’d agreed, you’d regretted it—knew in your bones it would only serve to wedge the knife in your heart deeper, solidify the loss of a what you thought would be a lifelong partnership. Your platonic soulmate, twin flame pinched out by hateful fingers.

Getting ready for the dinner felt like preparing for a cage fight, where all night you’d have do endure blow after blow—them kissing, them touching, him loving her in a way you wished he’d love you.

Night blanketed the sky by the time you’d arrived to Jack’s home, shadows slipping by the window, shapes of people telling you that you were likely late—the stone in your stomach had slowed you monumentally. The torture was self-inflicted, you knew. There would be no pity when your heart finally gave out.

She did this to herself, they’d say. Hearts can only endure so much before they break.

Voices coalesced into one as you pushed open the door, welcomed by the familiar atmosphere of friendship and loud laughter. You’d completely forgotten to text Jack that you’d gotten here—and for some reason, as you crossed the threshold into the gaping space of his living room, you felt like an outsider. Sudden eyes landed on you like bullets, and all you saw was Jack—his side taken dutifully by Brooke, always beautiful, striking in a way you didn’t think you’d ever been.

Looking at her, it made sense why she was the one Jack chose. Why you hadn’t been. A best friend. Childhood acquaintance. Faded t-shirt he’d strung along for too many years, even as the design weathered away and the fabric weakened. He’d gotten a shiny new one, the novelty still in tact, yet he hadn’t let you go.

Some part of you, deep in the caves of your wounded heart, wished Brooke would ban him from your presence. Maybe then your hurt would lessen. You knew you’d never be able to let go on your own.

Jack’s eyes caught you, stood awkwardly in the mouth of the hallway. He attempted to stand, only for Brooke to tug him down by his t-shirt—the shirt you’d bought him for his birthday last year, impressed with two hearts holding hands. She said something to him, something low and hissed between clenched teeth. Before you could see his reaction, Nico was invading your space, arms winding around you.

“There she is!” he announced, the ground leaving your feet as he lifted you playfully. “We were waiting on you to eat. Sure do like to take your time.”

Residual bitterness faded at Nico’s words—Jack may have been your best friend, but years of being attached to him introduced you to his teammates; they were always kind, if a little overbearing. A big brother that toed the line of overprotective and well-wishing.

Grateful for the attention distractor, you allowed your shoulders to relax and lungs to decompress. The first cut at seeing Jack, still happily in love with Brooke, was already dealt; you just needed to get through the dinner, and not look like a hostage while doing so.

“Yeah, yeah,” you laughed, shoving Nico’s shoulder as he brought you towards where the others were gathered in the living room. “Make fun of me for driving like a grandma all you want, at least I’m safe.”

Not looking at Jack took more self control than you’d care to admit. Blurring in your peripheral, a mess of colors stacked atop one another, you knew if you glanced—saw the claim Brooke was staking for all to see—it would only make you want to leave. So you didn’t.

Luke was next to greet you, offering a pity-imbued smile. Despite never mentioning your affections for his older brother, you knew he knew; saw it in the way he would look at you, the frowns offered. In times when Brooke inadvertently talked you down, it was Luke who told her off, put balm on the wound.

A side hug and a soft smile—you barely were able to muster one yourself. “How have classes been?”

You graced Luke with an exasperated groan. “Terrible, thanks for reminding me. Economics is kicking my ass.”

Luke sat. You remained standing. A loose thread peeking from your sweatshirt seemed far more intriguing than eyes you were trying desperately not to meet.

“Tough luck,” remarked Luke, conversations reviving after the novelty of your arrival wore off. You recognized a couple of faces around you—Dawson, Jesper, Alexander, and John. Faces you’d become acquainted with in your years of being Jack’s friend.

The title felt a bitter reminder of your ceiling, never surpassing Jack’s best friend. Loved and cherished, a desired presence, just not how you wanted. Who were you to complain? It was better to be his friend than nothing at all; to have a little piece of him, proof that at one point, you’d mattered enough to get it.

You just weren’t sure if you did anymore.

Where once Jack’s name was a regular occurrence, flashing on your phone screen—texts, calls, FaceTimes, they all faded once Brooke came into his life. Movie nights on his couch, reruns of old films that you could quote down to the last line, stopped. You knew Jack cared enough to extend invites, but at this point, you figured it was more out of pity and shame than actual want of your company.

Beggars really couldn’t be choosers.

Eventually, everyone made their way into the dining room. Chairs lined a large wooden table, one chosen and haphazardly assembled by you and Jack when he’d first bought this house. Scratches imbedded in the finish sent flashes of dropped hammers and clumsy feet into your mind, memories that felt too far to touch.

Mind far afield, you sat down—somewhere between Luke and Nico, far enough from Jack to be inconspicuous but close enough to feel the sharp burn of his eyes. It was petty, you knew, to have still not greeted him. Not that Brooke would’ve likely even let you. A sadistic part of you wanted him to feel even a modicum of the agony that rattled you whenever you were forced to watch him and Brooke, wanted to wonder and question why you were so cold.

Then again, maybe he didn’t care.

Body detached from your mind, the last thing you expected was to be spoken to—least of all by Brooke. But there her grating voice was, verging on overuse, but you knew that was just how she talked. Chafing and annoying and awful—

“Still no boyfriend?” A venomous smile curled her lips; friendly to the untrained eye. You knew better.

Your fingers twitched. The food in front of you spoiled, appetite evaporated. Of course she asked that—both a jab and a reassurance; if you had a boyfriend, her relationship with Jack would be safe. Not that it wasn’t, regardless.

You wished you could scream at her, leap across the table and force her to hear your words: you’d never have Jack. Want him, yes. Spend years pining over a boy who looked to you like the sister he never had, absolutely. But actually have him, feel his love in every touch and kiss? No. That wasn’t on the cards for you; you’d folded long ago.

“Nope,” you drawled. The pressure of Jack’s stare caved you—you caught his eyes, eyebrows creased, the wrinkle of his forehead that made itself prominent whenever he was annoyed.

What did he possibly have to be annoyed about?

Catching Luke’s gaze only irked you further, alit the urge to push out of your chair and flee Jack’s home. Pity swelled in his eyes, the beginnings of a frown quirking down his lips. You didn’t want pity; didn’t want to feel like the entire world was in on some inside joke you’d never understand. Everyone saw it, your love for Jack. Saw the lovestruck comedy that was your life—girl loves boy, boy isn’t even aware of it, hilarity ensues.

Everyone but Jack. And honestly, that was for the best.

You didn’t think you’d be able to handle the frown when he found out. Jack Hughes, always kind, never malignant, searching for a way to politely turn down his best friend without taking an axe to the connection. Really, there would be no bloodless way to let it die—so you lived in moments between, where nothing felt impactful or important or real.

When Jack was without Brooke, you could almost imagine he was your Jack—the one who turned down every girl so that he’d be free to go to prom with you, the one who got banned from a restaurant for life for pouring a drink over your cheating ex-boyfriend’s head. The Jack who always protected you, always cared, even when all of his friends couldn’t understand it.

That Jack who currently hand his arm around the back of Brooke’s chair, shoulders touching—a casual thing, something you’d done with countless strangers, yet it felt impactful enough to make bile swim in your throat.

“Probably for the best,” Luke interjected after the conversation—if it even was that—between you and Brooke came to an awkward stalemate. “Guys are dicks.”

A tension somehow always existed whenever you were in a room with Brooke. One you never wanted, never fed into. Like a shadow, the morning mist, it hung thick as smog. Choking you, nearly forcing you from the room.

“You’re a guy,” you laughed weakly, offering Luke a pointed look.

“No one at college, then?” Nico piped up. You felt bad for not looking at him, but he was too close to Jack and Brooke—you didn’t want to see them.

Cozy, warm in a way you thought only you’d ever be with Jack. Familiar, united. Their relationship didn’t seem as superficial as his past ones had, woven together under the pretense of good sex and no real connection. Watching Jack love his new, perfect girlfriend made you physically ill; and maybe that was dramatic, maybe it made you a backwards person with failing morals—you couldn’t care anymore.

Years of hiding your love, months of watching his own be poured into a girl that wanted you out of his life—it wore you down to your bones, dangerously close to burning to ash.

“Most of them are… strange, to say the least,” you responded with a wince. And that was true; your major seemed to just attract men whose one quality was making women uncomfortable. “Plus, having a boyfriend would just distract me. Finals are coming up and I’m already worried about how I’m going to do on them.”

Luke scoffed. “Hookups exist.”

A wince followed Luke’s words. Eyes fell to where Jessica was rubbing her hand—Jack apologized, albeit half-heartedly. Confusion overcame you; had he squeezed her hand too tightly?

In the past, you’d had boyfriends. Not that they lasted very long. Somehow, there was always something wrong with them—something only Jack could see; he’d endlessly nitpick, nag, explain why your newest boyfriend wasn’t good enough for you.

They were too old, too uptight, not nice enough. Always something. And without fail, Jack was right—scarcely did they make it past the first date before some measly excuse fell from their lips. But maybe it wasn’t them; maybe it was you. So, with an aching heart refusing to connect with any other but Jack’s, you gave up. Delved headfirst into college work and stayed below the waves, even as they began to drown you.

All you offered in response to Luke was a shrug.

Conversation picked up then, thankfully fell away from you. Limelight sufficiently dimmed, you allowed yourself to watch Jack; a habit you’d never quite shaken, even in the embarrassing moments when he caught your peering gaze.

You weren’t sure exactly when you’d fallen in love with Jack—just that you had, and now you couldn’t touch the bottom of him. Water filled your lungs, suffocated you, but if drowning meant being near him, you’d happily do it. Dying in his platonic embrace seemed better than dying all alone.

Ruffled brown hair, the sort of charm that every boy-next-door seemed to possess, and clear blue eyes that shone every emotion like a transparent window to his soul—all of it made Jack Jack, the boy you loved, would admire even in moments he didn’t think he deserved reverence.

You’d seen it all: the self-deprecation after his failure of a rookie year, dwindling confidence, tears imbued with hurt and disappointment, frustration of someone who knew they were better. It was you who’d been by his side, proved an anchor to a person you couldn’t live without.

Yet he’d still chosen Brooke.

For most people, that would be the last step off the cliff, boneless body breaking against the canyon. Not you—so full of hope and dreams, undeterred by every sign the universe gave you. You weren’t his only, but at least you were one.

Jack’s lips parted into a smile, one you could tell was real—his kissed Brooke’s temple, pinched her on the side. An intimate moment in a crowded room. You felt almost as if you were trespassing, a stranger watching two people in love. Part of you didn’t even associate that boy as Jack, because you couldn’t understand how he could love someone so averse to you, so… mean. But then again, it wasn’t about you.

It was about him. Accommodations had been made for years—leaving parties early because you were uncomfortable, blowing off his guy friends to comfort you after a bad date, scrapping his wants and his plans because of something to do with you.

He was probably sick of it. Sick of you, dictating what he could and couldn’t do. Who he could and couldn’t date. Because who cared if Brooke hated you; Jack loved her, despite it all. And that was what made dread swirl into a storm in your heart, ribs nearly cracking under the rate it was thundering at.

Abruptly, you stood. Felt the chair nearly topple. Eyes came to you—Jack’s friends. Yours, yes, but Jack’s foremost. You were just intruding, butting into a life that no longer fit you. Time had passed, the wishful minds of children grown into adulthood. He didn’t owe you anything anymore, especially when all you were was a storm cloud over his parade.

Just as soon as you had, Jack stood, concern clear in his gaze. “What’s wrong?”

Your tongue felt like lead. “Nothing—nothing, sorry. I’m—I need to use the restroom.”

You didn’t wait much longer before leaving the room.

Air felt scarce, lungs punctured and deflating quicker than you could patch the holes. Clumsily, you pushed open the door to the bathroom, steadied your shaking hands on the edge of the sink. Looking at yourself, reflection marred by the onset of tears, all you could do was compare—compare to Brooke, to every girl Jack had ever wanted, ever liked, ever loved.

Was it their features, doughy lips that worshipped him in a way you didn’t? Was it their bodies, womanly and free in a way you didn’t like to be? Or was it deeper, were their souls crafted from the same light, in a way you’d always thought your own had been with Jack’s?

Idiot, fool, dreamer—you were all of it. Like a lap dog, bird in its teeth, you always returned, remained dutifully at Jack’s side for the moment he might open the screen door and finally let you in.

Brooke had every right to hate you. Perceptive in a way Jack wasn’t, she saw what everyone else did—the lovesick eyes, foolish faith chaining you to him, an unrealized desire that would never be acted on. Had you been in Brooke’s place, you would’ve hated yourself as well.

Water poured from the faucet, gathered in your cupped palms. Attempting to desecrate any evidence of tears, you gently splashed the water in your face—went to dry it when you heard the sound of the front door creaking open.

“Oh, thank God you’re here, Bee.”

Cold crept up your spine. Eavesdropping was wrong—you knew that, yet still found yourself leaning against the bathroom door to catch Brooke’s words.

“What’s going on?” came the response, likely the voice of Bianca, Brooke’s best friend. You’d met her once at a game (met was a loose word; she’d given you a snide look and taken to ignoring you the entire time).

Brooke’s voice lowered to the point where you were forced to strain to hear her speak. “You know Jack’s little pet?”

A lapse. Your heart seized, taken by some concoction of shame and surprise.

“No.”

“Yes!” responded Brooke. “She’s fucking everywhere. I asked Jack not to invite her tonight, and lo and behold—”

“Wait, I thought you talked to Jack?”

“I did.” Vexation laced every letter. “I told him it made me uncomfortable how close they were, how she was always around, blah blah. He got defensive, but he said he’d talk to her.”

“Clearly not,” Bianca muttered. “Look, I wouldn’t worry about it. They’re childhood friends, yeah? He probably feels like he has to stay her friend, or something. I mean, Jack’s a good guy, he wouldn’t intentionally hurt anyone; if he dropped her, he’d look like a douche. I’m sure she’ll get the hint eventually.”

Footsteps began, voices fading along with them. “I fucking hope. It’s honestly pathetic.”

Blood roared in your ears, drowned out the sound of your beating heart—if it was even beating anymore. Something bitter and hot invaded your airways, lashed like whips against your flesh. It was no secret Brooke disliked you, disliked the closeness of you and Jack, but to hear it, the vicious way it fell from her lips—it made your gut twist and constrict, pushing bile towards your throat.

Pathetic. They thought you were pathetic, hopelessly waiting, like a dead plant praying for flowers that would never come. Lovelorn, seeking affection that only came by way of friendship and never more; they were right, and it became evident with a strike of lightning to your body.

Is that truly how Jack felt? Was he waiting for you to give up, so to spare you the hurt of being let down? Had you become baggage? Chained to him, the memory of childhood the only thing keeping you relevant, when times were less impactful and his life didn’t center around being a professional athlete. The stain of youth, remaining only for its joyful memory; that’s all you were now—a memory.

Just like your love, it seemed everyone saw Jack’s hints but you. Rose-colored lenses blurred everything but what you wished to see; of course you missed them, ignored them so your narrative remained intact.

God, you were an idiot. A fucking idiot.

Head pounding, the squeeze of an oncoming migraine rattling your brain, you opened the bathroom door. Felt like a trapped bird all the way back to the table—you just had to get through dinner, only an hour or two, so as to not raise any suspicion, and then you could fade from Jack’s life.

Not that he’d notice. He hadn’t even spoken to you tonight, though no fault of his own; Brooke kept her claws deep, and it was clear he didn’t want to risk an argument. Not that you could blame him—she was his girlfriend. Her. Not you. He didn’t owe you anything.

Conversations filled your ears, ostracized you—every time you had opened your mouth before, it had felt wrong, the scratch on a vinyl everyone skipped over. You saw him first—noticeably tense, chair a bit further away from Brooke that it had been earlier. Tensed forehead, hands balled on the table; you longed to ask what was wrong, as you were used to doing. But you imagined talking to him, and it somehow felt wrong, a peasant addressing a king.

Then, your eyes fell to your seat.

No longer empty, occupied now by Bianca, who was talking casually with Brooke, as if her actions hadn’t changed your entire perception of the situation. There were no more seats. No more room. The metaphor wasn’t lost on you, hit with the same sting of antiseptic on a wound—there wasn’t any more room for you at the table, just as there was no room for you in Jack’s life.

Maybe this was always meant to happen. Childhood didn’t remain forever, and it seemed, neither was your friendship. You’d always wondered why Jack had chosen you, someone so dissimilar to himself and his friends. Eventually, you made peace with it. His friendship was a balm to everything negative. Now… here you were again, more ostracized than ever.

What were you supposed to do? The long haul wasn’t meant to have an end.

Everyone was looking at you now. Stage fright, you lost your speech, thousands of eyes from a crowd looking at you, spotlight centered on your face, and you couldn’t, couldn’t, couldn’t—

Blue eyes found you, stood stonily at the entrance of the dining room. Jack’s eyebrows knitted, confused as to why you were still stood. When he saw Bianca, his lip curled. Frustration sparked, bemusement painted over. Once more that protective streak flared, something you were so used to—it had once felt the greatest trophy, proof that the Jack Hughes cared enough to stand up for you. It felt a sore consolation now, a reminder that, as always, you’d be the meek girl from his childhood he was forced to drag along, defend, shield from his new life that he fit into perfectly, that you spilled out from.

“Get up.”

Then, the attention went to him.

Brooke glanced at her boyfriend, annoyance flashing on her face. Their conversation paused. “What?”

Jack nodded towards Bianca. “She took her seat,” he explained in a clipped voice. “Get up.”

Brooke rolled her eyes. “Jack, it’s not a big—”

“It is,” he interrupted. Tension sparked in the air like a misfired firework. “She needs to sit and Bianca took her place, so—”

“It’s fine!” The words spilled out before you could second guess them. They came out raw and pained and everything you didn’t want to appear as; pity pooled from everyone, that sort of second-hand pity you saw on strangers faces when you’d lose your footing and fall.

It was too much. Pins dug into your skin, all of a sudden too tight. You needed to leave. Now, before your bones crumbled and heart gave out and finally everything burst.

“I—um, I should probably get going, anyway,” you said, nodding as if trying to be convincing. “With finals comin’ up I should get in as much studying as I can.”

Determination was something you’d always admired about Jack; it only irked you now. He stood, shrugged off Brooke’s outstretched hand and came to stand before you, and God—it was a disservice to not admire him, even as annoyance creased his eyes and drew inwards his lips. Beauty, in such a raw form, it startled you. Growing up, he’d always been the center of everyones attention. The hockey prodigy, the first overall draft pick, the franchise player for the Devils.

You? You’d been nothing special. Yet he’d still chosen you. And here he was, apparently doing it again—but why? Why when he had a beautiful girlfriend and a perfect life and fun friends did he always come back, when clearly you were no more than a burden?

You tried not to seem spiteful. You did. But it was so hard to hide your wounds and ignore their pain. He may not have seen them, but they were unfortunately still there. And it seemed they always would be.

“You can’t,” he said, searched your gaze—he’d always been able to see straight through you, with such simplicity it frightened you. You tried to shuttered your expression, hide your pain. It wasn’t a conversation you wanted to have. “Dinner’s just started—”

“Really, J, it’s fine.” Heat bored into your face where you knew Brooke was staring, daring you to express any deeper connection with Jack past the sheltered friendliness you were currently forcing.

You weren’t going to budge. Jack saw that, and so he sighed and glanced out the window. “I’ll drive you home.”

Oh, God. Nothing was ever easy. Pushing and pushing and pushing until you weren’t sure you even wanted to get up anymore, to even try. Every time you did, right back down you went, encapsulated by everything Jack.

Freedom felt a forgotten thing. You couldn’t remember a time when you didn’t love Jack, when he wasn’t at the forefront of your mind, main star of the play.

And honestly, you were tired. Tired of wishing for something that would never happen. Tired of being viewed as the shackle around Jack’s wrist. Just tired.

“No need,” you muttered noncommittally, saw the way Jack’s face twisted with concern and confusion and everything you didn’t want to see. “It’s your dinner, J. With my grandma driving, I’ll get home safe.”

The attempt at a joke didn’t land. Smile didn’t even begin to twitch his lips. “It’s dark outside,” he stated, an obvious fact that held no weight for anyone but you and him. “I always drive you when it’s dark.”

That was true enough; your inability to see properly at night meant Jack became your chauffeur, not that he ever complained—even still, it was another thing he did for you, time sacrificed to accommodate you. Prepared to leave his own dinner, his own girlfriend, just to make sure you didn’t have to do something you were uncomfortable with. Conceptually, it was sweet, a sort of gesture that would’ve normally made your heart soar. Now? It made you feel like a burden, an incapable little girl still hiding in the shadow of her protector, afraid of the sting of daylight.

No more.

“I’m going to be fine,” you reassured. Jack didn’t appear convinced—he never was satisfied when it came to you, to your safety, unless he was directly involved. “Stay and have fun.”

“What if—”

“Let her go, babe.”

Brooke’s voice proved the nail in the coffin; a part of you heard the undertone of excitement shot through her words, the possibility of your leave alleviating any annoyance your presence had brought. Without you, Jack’s attention would be fully on her. Without you, he wouldn’t have to concern himself on whether you were having fun and if you were okay.

You. You. You.

You’d considered yourself Jack’s anchor, the grounding of his mind—unfortunately, you’d forgotten an anchor also keeps a thing in place, forcing inactivity.

Let her go.

It rang like a death knell, struck sharp as a poisoned dart, invisible but so unmistakably fatal.

Gathering what remained of your dignity, you grabbed your purse off of your—Bianca’s—chair, caught the commiseration shining in Luke’s eyes like a tarnished trophy. It only stung, reminded you that you needed pity.

Before you could flee the room like a scolded dog, Jack caught your wrist. Heat bloomed, a fever rushing to your head—his simple touch made you sick with want and need and something deeper that would never be realized or fostered. Something you had to let die.

“Text me when you’re home,” he said softly. Fingers gently squeezed your wrist. Where once you’d feel comforted, you just felt trapped. “Please.”

Not trusting your words, all you did was nod.

Honestly, you’d expected some dark cloud to cover you when finally you decided to move on. A procession of funeral goers flocking like crows, unable to understand why you’d abandoned a years-long friendship over something insignificant. Over words spewed from hateful lips.

But it wasn’t what you’d overheard. Deeper, a more sharp knowledge that even if Jack loved you, held you closer than anyone in his circle of friends, he’d never want you in the way you desired. And for a while, that was okay. Because he existed separate of everything—and then came Brooke, and it all crumbled.

You could handle him not loving you. You couldn’t, however, handle him loving someone else so openly.

Street lights blurred behind tears, a mess of streaky lights like a watercolor canvas. Flashes of nights when Jack would drive you home, insisting on taking the wheel so that you didn’t have to toe out of your comfort zone, they haunted you like a inescapable film reel on repeat in your mind. Memories fogged by lost youth, angry words from Jack’s lips as he’d stand up for you—never a party person, denounced for draining the fun. Jack never let those insults slip lip before he was barking at whoever said it.

A responsibility. A burden. The lines had become blurred in recent years.

The latter seemed more fitting.

Through a barrier of tears, you were able to send Jack a text as your car rolled to a stop in the parking lot.

me

at my dorm

j :)

ok good. u ok? u seemed off @ dinner

Fingers hovered over your screen. Make movements to draft a text. Nothing seemed sufficient.

You let the text stale. Sit stagnant on your phone. Jack would likely worry, eventually call—you just wanted to fall into a void and never return. Not after the mess you’d made of dinner.

The mess you’d made of your life.

Making a ghost of yourself was far more difficult than you’d thought it would be.

Incessantly, Jack had texted you, called you—you didn’t answer any of them. Silence felt a balm to your shame. Selfish, you knew, to just ghost Jack without offering any explanation, but nothing would be sufficient, not without souring the connection you were hoping would die without pain.

Cowardice, craven, pathetic—you knew you were all of it. To you, you were giving Jack a chance to pull back, to fizzle the friendship of his own accord. Maybe then it would’ve stung less, if the desire of its end was reciprocated, mutual. As it were, it was not.

Even with your withdrawal, Jack still tried. Shot texts, called and punctuated them with voicemails, sent you TikToks and Snaps and everything he would normally do if everything was fine; but it wasn’t. And you knew he knew, could sense the urgency in his attempts at communication.

You felt dirty, filthy with shame and guilt.

Despite your best efforts, you didn’t appear as unaffected as you hoped. While your insides were shredding themselves, you tried valiantly to paint over your visage with the normal happy-go-lucky smile you always wore. Most people, if they noticed, didn’t comment on it.

Unfortunately, Kaylen did notice.

Since your freshman year of college, Kaylen had been your roommate—low maintenance, intelligent to the point of making you stupid without even trying. As such, she was far more perceptive than you gave her credit for.

There’d been times you confided in her about your feeling for Jack, sought out advice that never seemed good enough. Because no one but yourself could fix the valley that had split between Jack and you. You could seek outward help all you wanted, but nothing would change unless you did something—and, really, you weren’t sure that was even a good idea anymore.

Two days of moping resulted in Kaylen’s intervention.

“Get up.”

Sunlight bled through your shut eyes, forced a wince. Hands rolled you onto your back, the somewhat stiff mattress of your bed providing a measly cushion. Sleep intruded on, your hands extended, attempted to push away the figure you knew what trying to rile you.

“Go away,” you grunted, throat thickened by sleep and other terrible emotions.

“No,” Kaylen hissed. When finally you opened your eyes, her squinted expression invaded your vision. “Look, I’ve let you be miserable for two days, but it’s getting ridiculous. What the hell happened with you and loverboy?”

A jolt nearly paused your heart mid-beat. Thinking about Jack stung in a way you didn’t like to admit, mainly due to the fact that it was painfully embarrassing that he had such a control over you.

“Don’t call him that,” you muttered, bit your tongue to stop anything else from spilling out.

Kaylen’s eyebrows quirked. “So it is about him?”

Nails scraped your lungs. “No—yes—fuck,” you moaned, sitting up and balancing your forehead on bent knees. “It’s… all fucked up, K. I don’t know what to do.”

A sigh left her lips. You felt the bed dip as she climbed beside you. “I can help if you tell me.”

And so you did, started at the beginning of dinner to the end, as you left like a dog defeating in a cage match, heart crying blood. Comforting circles were rubbed into your thigh, but all they did was remind you how Jack used to trace shapes onto your leg, or arm, or back—how he touched you, just to know you were there, with him. He said it placated him.

It was shameful, how bile teased your throat even imagining it.

Rationally, you knew everything was your doing. Loving Jack, torturing yourself by being in his presence whilst he focused his attention on his girlfriend. Expecting any semblance of affection or intimacy even as another held his heart, branded her name over your own. It was always going to happen—knowing that didn’t make it hurt any less.

When finally you finished, the conclusion of your mournful, self-pitying tale followed by the sting of unwanted tears, Kaylen’s thoughtful silence waned. Her lips pursed, fingers twitching. You expected her to berate you; what had you expected, stupid girl? He has a girlfriend!

Instead, Kaylen hugged you. “Shit, babe, I’m sorry,” she murmured, pulled back with that pitiful smile you’d seen one too many times—one you’d be fine with if you never saw again. “He cares about you—”

“Not how I care about him, though,” you finished, and Kaylen gave a weak nod.

“I mean, if you told him what Brooke and her little bitch of a friend said, I’m sure he’d leave her. He’s done more for less.” That much was true. Regardless of whose lips it came from, Jack didn’t tolerate disrespect towards you—cut long time friends off for assuming they had any authority to speak poorly of you.

And you knew—knew with the same certainty that you knew your own name—that Jack would break up with Brooke if he knew how she’d spoken of you.

That should’ve made you giddy. Bursted bright light in your chest at the prospect of having Jack to yourself once more. Instead, it made you feel heavy, sand packed into your bones. Who were you to invade his happiness? If he’d chosen Brooke, so be it.

Sure, she’d disparaged you, but Jack’s life wasn’t yours to dictate anymore. If he wanted Brooke, he’d have her, until he decided to leave—not because you decided for him.

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” Eyelids heavy, the residue of late-night tears remaining on the skin, you felt the fight leave you. Kaylen frowned. “I just want it all to be over.”

She didn’t look convinced. “Seriously? You’re giving up on an eight year friendship because of something some dickface said about you? I thought Jack meant more to you than that.”

Kaylen’s words stung. Made you defensive, because she was right—you were giving up and you did care about Jack, but the pain had become too much. “It’s not—it’s harder to explain than that. He’s outgrown me, K. Everyone can see it but him. I’m an obligation, a burden, and yeah, maybe he loves me as a friend and maybe he wants me around, but his friends never have—his fucking girlfriend doesn’t. And at this point, I just want it to end, I want him to be happy without the conditions of making me happy.”

Silence followed. Contemplation showed clear on Kaylen’s face. You could tell, even without her words, that she didn’t agree—but, she didn’t comment on that. Rather, she placed a hand on your leg and squeezed.

Just like Jack always did.

“It’s your life, babe,” she conceded. “And if you want to do this, I’m not going to stop you—but you have to be content with it.” She gestured to you, the nest of blankets and red-rimmed eyes. “Because this? This isn’t happiness over a good choice. You’re miserable without him, and it’s been barely two days. Think about what you’re doing before it’s irreversible.”

With that, Kaylen got up and went to her own bed, and neither of you made comment of it for the rest of the day.

Her words came again and again like a fractured turntable. Of course you were miserable—Jack had been a constant in your life for eight years, consistently preserving your peace, including you when you’d never felt more like an outsider. Happiness was synonymous with Jack, his smile, his presence, him.

Did you regret your decision? Yes, and no. You regretted the way you’d gone about it. The petty silence, ignoring a person who’d made your younger years bearable. Your friendship deserved a better death than that, a reason rather than just… fading from existence, as if it never mattered in the first place.

That wasn’t the message you wanted conveyed, and so with fingers unsteadied by aftershocks, you texted Jack.

You weren’t sure how you’d explain, if you could tiptoe around the actual reason. Maybe you couldn’t, and maybe that was okay.

me

i’m so sorry for everything. i’ll explain in person. can we meet up?

Your response came half a second later. As if he were waiting. That selfish part of you prayed he had been.

j :)

ofc. my place tn?

me

yeah. that’s good. brooke won’t be upset?

Asking after her made you want to puke, but you knew it was necessary—she didn’t like Jack even breathing near you, having an entire sit down conversation with him was certainly out of the question.

Thrice, the little text bubble appeared and disappeared on your phone screen. You could sense the apprehension without any background knowledge.

j :)

not a problem. we broke up.

It was shameful, the backwards type of pleasure that brought you.

Maybe you were a terrible person. A terrible friend. You tried to reason that it wasn’t wrong to love someone, to wish they were yours.

me

shit j. i’m sorry

j :)

i’m not. i’ll see u tn. 7:30 work? have dinner w the guys.

me

yeah, that’s fine. see you soon, j.

j :)

be safe. i’ll text you when i’m home.

The hard part wasn’t even over, and your heart was already breaking in two.

Sweat beaded at your palms, the cold claws of apprehension raking down your spine. Countless times you’d been stood here, facing the lifeless beige of Jack’s apartment door. This time, however, you stood here knowing it was the last time. A silent farewell to familiarity, the ties finally cut. Jack would fight, you would cry, and maybe he’d be able to change your mind—it seemed such an unlikely outcome that it calcified every inhale in your throat.

Shaking hands rapped the wooden door, where behind would come the execution of a friendship you’d held like a crutch for years upon years. Your childhood had died, and maybe it would’ve been better had it been left there as well, so as to spare you this heart-rending pain.

Even still, you wouldn’t have traded those years for the world—everything they taught you, through pain and happiness. It made you who you were, brought you to his doorstep with melancholy eyes and a failing heart.

Footsteps echoed on the other side of the door, urgent in a way that picked up your heart rate. The next moments you imagined with brutal clarity—Jack’s hopeful gaze, blue in a way no one else’s ever had been, the soft slope of his nose you teased him for, scrunched whenever he was particularly concerned. How he’d usher you in, hear your words, plead for a moment to explain, and then admit his love for you.

That was how you dreamt it. Unsurprisingly, it was not how it went.

Instead of the door opening to reveal the man you’d love for a lifetime, the squealing hinges were followed by a face that nearly knocked you backwards. Previous indifference smeared into flat-out disdain as Brooke’s eyes caught your figure, engulfed in one of Jack’s faded hoodies and likely disheveled in a way she’d never experienced herself.

Arrows punctured your lungs, sole your breath and defaulted your barely beating heart. Brooke was here. At Jack’s apartment. After they’d supposedly broken up. Had he lied? Was he tricking you, making you the fool? He never would, you knew that, but your wounded mind spun falsities to perpetuate your pain, as if punishment for trusting him in the first place.

“What do you want?” Brooke grunted, leant against the doorframe. Lips twitched into a smirk, the smile of the victorious.

You’d never considered yourself a violent person, but the urge to punch her in the teeth itched your fists. “Is Jack here?”

Her face fell. Something dark flashed in her face—she hesitated a moment, tossed a look over her shoulder. “Yes.”

The curt response was better than nothing, you supposed. “Right, well, can you tell—”

Brooke ran a hand through her hair. Adjusted the clasp of her necklace. “We were kind of in the middle of something. Come back later?”

The axe struck down.

Gravel filled your throat. Suffocated you. If Brooke knew the affect of her words, for once it didn’t show on her face. Years of life had taught you many things, drug you through agonies you wouldn’t relive for anything, yet somehow, this was the worst pain.

To be betrayed, trust snapped by a single action, it stung. Wormed venom in your veins and contaminated your bloodstream, poisoning your heart. Realistically, Jack hadn’t actually done anything wrong. He was allowed to hook up with other girls, to love them—he had, for years.

That wasn’t the issue.

No, it was the fact that he’d set a time, invited you over, and somehow forgot? Or had he set it all up, just to rub it in your face, get his lick-back for your prolonged silence towards him? Either way, it hurt, hurt like a bitch.

Made stone, all you did for a moment was blink at Brooke before a voice called from the background, “Who is it?”

Jack.

Fright found you then, broke away your shell of stone. You couldn’t let him see you, the dog wishing once more to come in from the cold. If he’d planned it, and saw you, he knew he’d won. If he hadn’t planned it, then he realized that—irrecoverably—he fucked up. Both choices felt like a criminal trial you didn’t want any part of.

“I—um—have a good night,” you rushed out, feet stumbling over themselves as you practically ran away from Jack’s door.

So much for closure.

So much for being broken up.

Maybe this was your sign. The one you needed to finally pull away.

Because Jack Hughes didn’t love you. Not past platonic soulmates—a relationship stained with past memories, ones that made both of you incapable of letting go, even as you outgrew it.

You were done being second best. Done trying to squeeze into a place you didn’t fit anymore.

If Brooke was Jack’s choice, so be it. You didn’t want any part of it anymore.

[bvbygrl-writes]

Wrong House

Pairing: Stu Macher x Nerdy!Reader x Billy Loomis

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: A step into wrong house leads to a night of the right fun.

A/N: I was not supposed to upload this tonight but I'm too excited about it. I'm not proof reading this long ass shit either so if something is spelled wrong use your imagination to fix it, mwuah! <3

Warnings: reader has afab anatomy breaking and entering, knife play, homoerotic themes (they kiss but nothing more than that), mentions of murder, eiffel towering, loss of virginity, coercion and ultimatums, rope bandage, panty kink, and panty sniffing.

THIS FIC IS 18+!!! MINORS / ACCOUNTS WITHOUT AGE DNI YOU WILL BE BLOCKED WITH NO WARNING BUT THIS ONE.

(Y/n) was naturally an anxious girl but, with her parents out of town and the string of murders happening, she was on edge. She had every single light on in the house, the downstairs tv on, anything to make it seem as though the house was full of life. The reporters on the radio had told people to stay together and while most of the students in school had that option, she didn’t. Nobody wanted to be friends with the quiet girl who still wore Care Bear sweaters and could recite Star Trek lines from memory.

Nibbling the end of her pencil, she let out an exasperated sigh. She had been staring at the same math problem in her textbook for a good 45 minutes. “Focus, (Y/n/n), focus. If you do end up living through all of this, you’ll want to get into a good college.If you fail, mom and dad will make you wish you were dead.” she said out loud to herself, a sad laugh falling from her lips. At that same moment, her stomach began to grumble. When was the last time she ate? Reaching for the phone, she dialed the number to her favorite chinese food place. She loved it because the food was cheap and they were one of the only places that delivered something other than pizza after 10PM.��

“Alright, thank you!” she said, placing the phone back on the receiver. It’d be about a 20 minute wait, giving her time to focus more on her work. Sighing she sat back down in front of her textbook, staring at the page until the numbers started to blur together. “Well, that’s enough of that! I should get the money for the delivery driver seeing as it’ll be here in…” glancing at the clock on her wall she sighed, “Twenty minutes.” ignoring that face, she stood up, bunny slippers stomping over the carpeted floor to the piggy bank on her dresser. She pulled out a 10 dollar bill along with a 5 for the tip. But before (Y/n) could even get to her door, she heard a noise at the front door. 

“Th-that’s weird. There’s still nineteen minutes an-” she shrieked at the sound of the door bursting open. Every anxiety filled thought she had had since being home by herself was coming true. The blood drained from her face, her body growing light at the sound of the voices coming from the living room. Tears began to form in the corner of her eyes as she turned off the lights and closed her bedroom door. The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs put in perspective just how real this all was. She silently cursed her dad for never fixing the damn lock on her window. She might’ve broken a few bones from jumping, but that’d be better than being completely dead! Looking around her room she made the decision to jump in her closet, closing the accordion door.

She became aware of how loudly she was breathing, clamping her hands over her mouth. Her body trembled with terror. ‘Is this how I die? Alone, never experiencing friendship or love?’ Was this really the time to be feeling sorry for her lack of social and love life? ‘Well to be fair, this may be one of the last times I’m able to feel anything whatsoever.’ The sound of her bedroom door opening instantly made her mind go blank. The girl felt as though she was having a heart attack and honestly? She would have preferred that to whatever death she was about to experience.

“Are you sure this is the right house? This doesn’t look like Chelsea’s room.” A male’s voice remarked, the lights flicking on. She could see through the small slots on the folding door that there were two men. One had dark hair and a knife in his hand. The other one was taller with blonde hair and a backpack with god knows what inside of it.

“Yeah, dude! This is 345 Avalee Lane.” the other one exclaimed, an almost sinister grin on his face. The dark hair one made a sound that was a mix of a growl and a sigh.

“You fucking idiot! Chelsea lives in 348, we’re in the wrong house!” he pinched the bridge of his nose, kicking over the little trash can near her desk across the room. (Y/n) relaxed a bit. Maybe since they weren’t looking for her they’d just leave?

“Well at least no one’s home, we can just get out of here.” The blonde one rasped out, eating a piece of candy off of her dresser before tossing the wrapper on the ground. ‘Rude’ she thought.

“The lights and the tv were on. Someone’s definitely in this house. I’m going to go check the other rooms and you look around this one a bit better. We can’t take any chances.” The brunette exited the room and in the distance he heard the sound of different doors being opened. 

The blonde one began to hum, snooping around her room. He walked over to her dresser, opening up her panty drawer. A smile grew on his face as he held up a pair of white ones with a pink lace trim, shoving them in the back pocket of his baggy jeans. “Cute.” he said to himself (or so he thought). Walking over to her bed, he tossed the covers back before bending down to check under the bed as well. Next, he walked over to the cupboard of her collectable figurines, opening up the door. “Hm.” he shrugged before beginning to exit the room. She removed her hands from her mouth, placing them on the floor beside her as she let her body relax. However, before he could leave, she could see a lightbulb go off in his brain as he turned around walking towards the closet. The girl’s eyes went wide as she shook her head. As he opened the closet door, she couldn’t even manage to make a sound. A look of surprise made its way onto his face before he began to grin. “You’ve got cute little undies. Hey Billy!”

All (Y/n) could do was sit there in shock. She recognized this boy, he was in her art classes although he rarely showed up. Now that she could really see his face, he was quite attractive. Before she could delve into why she was letting herself think that, the other one (who she assumed was Billy) appeared right next to him. Although he had a scowl on his face, he was just as attractive. ‘Well, you always said you wanted a cute guy to notice you. There’s two! But you should’ve been more specific, huh (Y/n/n)?’ 

“She’s kind of cute in a dorky little way, ain’t she?” Stu commented as Billy used his knife to lift her chin. She didn’t dare stop making eye contact with Billy for fear of what he might do with that knife the second she did. He tilted her face around, examining it from all sorts of angles before he chuckled.

“She is. (Y/n), right? You’re the girl that’s always winning those sciences awards at school. We have AP English together.” he said in a calm tone. This was the strangest thing she had ever experienced. Why were they dragging this on so much when they could just kill her and get it over with?

“M-mmm-mhm!” she stuttered out, nodding her head ever so slightly so she didn’t cut herself on the blade. 

“Although I agree with my friend here, you still find yourself to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. See, I’ve got a plan and if I let you live, there’s a big chance you’re going to blab and ruin it for me.” he said, his words coming out through gritted teeth towards the end. “So unfortunately, your time’s up.”

“No, no please! I-I-I won’t blab and tell! I don’t have any friends or anyone to tell I won’t tell please! I promise!” she sobbed, begging for her life as he pressed the knife against her neck harder. Adrenaline was coursing through her veins, which would also explain the sensation happening between her legs. Fat tears continued to stream down her face. “I promise please there’s gotta be a way!” she continued to plead for her life, waiting for something, just anything to happen. Whatever it’d take for this situation to be over. However, she was surprised when the knife suddenly was no longer pressed to her neck. Looking up, she saw the blonde one’s hand had moved it away and he was whispering something into Billy’s ear. Their eyes kept flickering to parts of the room and then back to her before Billy gave a singular nod. 

“It seems my friend Stu here has taken quite a liking to you so here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to have a bit of fun with you and if we enjoy it, you live and we’ll be back to get you after we finish some…business. And if not, I’ll slit your throat right after we finish. Does that sound fair?” Billy said, tugging her from her sitting position to be in between the both of them. She nodded frantically, happy to have even a small chance of living. She knew they were probably going to kill her when they were done, but at least that moment was suspended for a bit longer.

“Wh-what do I need t-to do?” she asked, her heart racing as she looked up at the two of them. They were completely dwarfing her with their size, it was like being trapped between two incredibly hot trees. Stu grinned at her once again before stepping back a bit.

“Well you can start by stripping!” he instructed, phrasing it like a suggestion even though she knew it wasn’t. She nodded, taking off her cream colored sweater, sliding her Power Rangers pajama pants down right after. She began to hesitate slightly as now she was just in her slippers and underwear.

“Allow me.” Billy said, using his knife to snip off her bra. He started at the shoulder straps, taking a moment to stare at her breast before tearing the backband as well. She didn’t try to cover up, knowing her chances of survival would dwindle to none. He went to pull down her panties but Stu stopped him, shaking his head.

“Leave those on her.” he said, before getting down on his knees in front of her. Billy held her arms behind her back with one of his, peeking over the girl’s shoulders to see what his moronic friend had planned. What she didn’t expect was for him to bury his face into her underwear-clad pussy and sniff. Stu let out a low moan as he did, eyes rolling back in pleasure. He continued to sniff at her front, his nose nudging her clit through the fabric. “God that’s amazing. Looks like she’s enjoying it too.” he said, rubbing his finger on the wet spot forming on her panties. He gently pressed his fingers against the fabric causing (Y/n) to squirm a bit, a gentle moan falling from her mouth.

“Oh, that’s such a pretty noise.” Billy purrs lowly in her ear. Standing from the floor, Stu lifts his fingers up to Billy’s mouth and without thinking, he opens it. The girl watches in awe, her clit beginning to throb at the way the two men were interacting with one another. Stu slowly pulls his fingers from the man’s mouth, biting his lip as the other man licks his. “Did you want a taste?” he asks in a deep tone. At the same time, they both lean over and begin to share a passionate and heated open mouth kiss. Little moans and grunts fall from them, a gasp falling from her own lips as Stu grips at her waist, beginning to grind against her front, his bulge slotted between her slit. Billy mimics his actions, grinding his cock against her ass. She was glad the two were holding her up, because at the current moment she wasn’t sure if her legs would work. This was a whole new world for her. She had never been kissed or even touched by one man let alone two. The noises falling from her mouth were completely out of her control, the sensation of their rhythmic rubbing along with the scene of them kissing above her was all too much for her to handle. 

As though they could hear her thoughts, they pulled away from their kiss, turning their attention back to her. She hadn’t even realized that the knife was completely gone now. If she wanted to, she could’ve ran and gotten away. If she wanted to. Billy gripped her arms once more, beginning to walk her over to the bed. She felt her face grow warm at the collection of stuffed animals, causing her to look at the ground. “They keep me warm at night.” she defended weakly. Stu laughed, cooing at her before picking one up and turning it to face the wall, repeating the action several times with the other one.

Billy groaned, annoyed. “Seriously?”

“What? I know how the girls get about that sort of thing.” As Stu continued with his antics, the brunette reached for his friend’s bag. (Y/n) eyed him curiously, thinking he had changed his mind on their deal but was relieved when all he pulled out was a bit of rope. Wait, rope? He tossed it up and down smirking at her before positioning himself behind her as he began to tie her hands together. ‘This is better than whatever they usually probably use this for.’ She tugged at the rope, the friction causing a mild irritation from the action. He pushed her a bit, causing her to fall forward onto the bed. Her ass was in the air while the upper part of her body fell down due to having no support. She listened to the sound of belts and pants clambering before feeling the bed dip down behind her. At that same time, a pair of legs kneeled in front of her as well. She felt as a hand carded it’s way through her hair before tightening, lifting her face to be eye level with a cock. Peering up, she saw that it was Billy.

“Are you gonna open up or am I going to have to do it for you?” he asked, causing a bit of panic to flash through the girl’s (e/c) eyes.

“S-sorry. I’ve never done any of this before.” she muttered, causing a whistle from behind her. She could imagine the grin on Stu's face.

“A cute virgin?! How lucky are we tonight? Oh this is going to be fun. I haven’t popped a cherry in quite a long time.” Stu gushed, rubbing his hands together. “I can barely contain myself!” her panties were then pulled to the side, long fingers beginning to rub all along her slick covered folds. She let out a whimper, her knees trembling as he began to rub circles on her clit. As he slid a finger in, her mouth fell open which Billy saw as the perfect opportunity. Gripping her hair a bit tighter, he began to slide his cock into her mouth slowly. He stared down at her face, watching as her mouth began to struggle with the girth of him, tears falling down her face.

“You better stop with all those tears, I really don’t wanna cum this early.” Billy teased, beginning to rock his hips back and forth. He hissed in pleasure at her tight and warm little mouth, tossing his head back as he let out a guttural moan. Behind her, Stu had managed to work the third finger in, stretching and scissoring them around.Gripping her hip with one hand, he used his other to glide his cock along her lips causing them to both moan. “Hurry up, I wanna pick up the pace but I’m trying to make it easier for you.”

“I’m going!” and with that, Stu slid his cock in with one swift motion. His grip on her hips tightened at the same time her walls did as he fell forward for a bit, head resting against the small of her back. “G-god, oh fuck! You’ve got a tight little pussy, huh?” he said through gritted teeth, beginning to pound into her at an almost animalistic pace. Her pussy drooled around his cock as she continued to moan around Billy, choking as he also picked up his pace. Their thrust were alternating. As Stu would pull his cock out some, Billy’s would enter her throat deep, barely giving her a chance to get used to anything. She had already came around his cock twice, the feeling being overwhelmingly pleasurable. 

They were using her like a doll, holding her up and angling her just right. All she could do was sob and take it, the only thing on her mind was their cocks and her life. She didn’t even care if she was going to die after this, this was the best thing she had ever experienced in her life. 

“You look so helpless when you cry. God, Stu I wish you could see her right now.” Billy moaned out, staring down into those wet (e/c) eyes. Picking up his pace, he gripped at her scalp, full on skull fucking her now. His thrust had grown sloppy and so had his counterpart’s. 

“Tr-trust me, my view is just as good. I’m cl-close!” he whined out, reaching a finger down to rub at the girl's sensitive and swollen clit. (Y/n) screamed around Billy’s cock sending him over the edge. Pulling out, he coated her face and hair in a load of sticky white cum. Watching Billy stroke his cock over her face pushed Stu over the edge as well, causing him to bounce her back on his dick, whimpering as he came deep inside of her. 

The room fell silent and as (Y/n) came to her senses, the question of the hour came back to haunt her. Was she going to live?

“Are you satisfied, Stu?”

“More than, man.”

“Well..” Billy trailed off, stepping off of the bed. As Stu pulled out, she felt cold and exposed. Both men stood behind her, staring as the load of cum began to roll down the back of her legs. The brunette reached forward, grabbing her wrist rather roughly before untying her. “I guess you live. We’ll be back. In the meantime, get cleaned up.” the sound of the doorbell ringing caused the two men to look out the window, thinking she had somehow managed to get in contact with help. However, they both relaxed at the sight of the delivery truck on the outside of the house. 

“Make sure you save me some chow mein!” Stu said. The girl rolled over on her back, letting out a breathless laugh watching as the two quickly got dressed. Before they headed for the bedroom door, Stu took her panties off of her, sticking them in the front pocket of his jeans. 

“For good luck!”

[1-800-cr33py]

I know it didn’t win the poll but I humbly ask you to write that RZ! Micheal Myers size kink fanfiction whenever you have the time and if you are feeling up to it🙏

{this is so late and I sincerely apologize TvT}

Sedatives

Tags: Dub-Con, Size Kink, Rough Sex, Choking, Manhandling, Reader is mentions to be a nurse some time ago, blood, knives, overstimulation, Michael is a warning himself. a/: this will most likely be one out of 2 parts anon im so sorry TvT

Sweet thing you were, you’d give the shirt off your own back if someone in need called for it, so giving and so trusting to even the most hardened criminals. It was a wonder how someone like you graced the halls of Smith’s Grove Sanitarium. You, a star-eyed nurse fresh from medical school. The scum and slime that riddled the halls of the hellish “sanctuary” you’d been accepted into. You skip down the halls with your checklist and medicine cart in tow. You were kind. You were happy. You’d given patients who’d hadn’t seen the sun in years the same kindness as one would give to an old friend. But you favored one more than the others.

Michael fucking Myers.

Silent halls.

Odd shadows.

Creaking wheels.

The usual ambiance of Smith’s Grove had finally settled within your nerves after a long long few months. You, with your now worn in uniform, counted the rooms with an intent gaze. On the left, even numbers, and parallel to them were odds. Though it was a weird concept, there was a reason. Those on the left, the doctors deemed ‘safe’ and had the possibility of rehabilitation.

Inmates that resided on the right wing however, well you didn’t quite know if you’re being honest, you weren’t allowed to even breath the wing’s direction yet. But one digresses. Your low heels made a blunt click click click upon the cold floors as you neared your station, medicine cart in tow. Your manicured hand reached for your ID, ringing yourself in as the loud pang alerted you of the unlocked status of the door, which was shoved open by your hip as you passed a polite nod to security. Your trek was cut short however, your overseer tugging you aside with a rather harsh hand.

“ You’re the medicine girl right?”

medicine girl…right. Giving a curt nod he sighed, his breath reeking of cheap coffee and some kind of alcohol. His orders were short, clipped and rather rude. Though the next words he uttered left your mouth gaping like a fish out of water.

“ You’re doing both wards. Kirsten…had an incident. “

Fucking hell.

So now, here you were, approaching your last patient for the night. With security stalking behind you with scowls as they glared at patients through the tiny windows. You gulps, it was never patients that scared you, no. It was the sleazes that worked outside the cells. Their wolffish stares and ugly grins. You shook your head, you were approaching Michael’s cell.

You didn’t know much about him, only whispers of the monster, the brute that killed most of his family. A grade A killer, someone that should be locked away from society if not for Mr. Loomis’s need to study him like some kind of bug. But, you being you, wouldn’t let that stop you from being kind. That’s what irked you most about people here, these patients were still human at the end of the day. They still bled, they still died, they had interests and dislikes and personalities. You sighed, eying the dainty wrist watch. ‘ Just an hour and a half..’ you thought as some scum of a man unlocked the heavy metal door. Eying you as you motioned him to move aside.

“ Careful, he hasn’t seen such a young thing like you in a while…might finally remember he’s got a cock. “ the guard, who’s tag read Pierson, chuckled, elbowing his colleague. You could feel their gaze raking across your body, internally you gagged. Lurching forward was a far easier than you wanted to admit, medicines and needles clattering at the motion as the door slammed behind you, leaving you to jump.

Michael’s room was…interesting looking at it.

Buzzing overhead lights gave some relief as you tended to your cart, organizing the arrangement of pills and sedatives in their respective cup to serve to the inmate, who’s back was turned to you, fiddling with another mask that would surely find its way with the rest that perched upon the greening walls. Finally, you found the correct assortment. Smiling to yourself, you turned to face the mountain of a man.

“ Alright Mr.Myers, here’s your dailies! Dr. Loomis upped your sedatives so if you feel a bit off thats the cause! “ you chirped, leaving the cup a bit of a distance. Like you’d heard from the other nurses, Michael gave no indication of acknowledgment, hands stained with the glue-water mixture. The masks on the wall drew your attention, though you didn’t dare raise a hand to touch the precious things, knowing how it felt to have your art defiled by ignorant hands. “ You have a lovely night Mr. Myers! The mask are gorgeous as well! Truly a work of art. “ you smiled, warmth radiating from your aura.

Oh sweet thing. What have you done?

[strwbrryeyes]

𖦹°｡⋆ oikawa as a best friend

⟡ cw: fluff, friends to lovers, lmk if i missed anything

⟡ a/n: kinda long i think. star trek bc my dad loves star trek and yk oikawa likes space and aliens and stuff.

⟡ best friend series: hanamaki, matsukawa, iwaizumi, || masterlist

best friend oikawa who you met in middle school when you saw him throwing a tantrum outside the boys volleyball gym.

best friend oikawa who screamed when you sat next to him because he was startled. you were just there to give him a juice pouch to try to cheer him up.

best friend oikawa who you got closer to when he felt better afterwords and found out that you were in the gym next door with the girls volleyball team and only came out to get a drink from the vending mchine.

best friend oikawa who always snuck into the girls practice every chance he could so he could watch you play. you did the same with the boys team. iwaizumi would yell at you guys for this.

best friend oikawa who didn't talk to you for a week after you saw him scold kageyama for the first time and lectured him. you guys didn't bring it up again until high school.

best friend oikawa who quickly gained a fanclub during first year of high school and quickly told them that you were not to be messed with (some of them were already ruthless hence why he brought it up)

best friend oikawa who somehow convinced your volleyball coaches to practice together sometimes during practices so one day he'd be with your team and another day you would be with his team.

best friend oikawa who got bullied by you and iwaizumi constantly because he was a dumb goof who was just so...punchable. all love though.

best friend oikawa who was shocked when you told him you didn't want to play volleyball anymore in you second year because you weren't feeling it anymore and wanted to focus on your studies. he tried to convince you otherwise but he supported your decision.

best friend oikawa who also said he would only accept your decision as long as you became manager for his team. they needed one after all and his fangirls were too crazy according to iwaizumi.

best friend oikawa who in your third year told you about his feud with kageyama and shocked you because he never told you any of this. it only came out because of the practice match with aoba jihsai and karasuno was coming up.

best friend oikawa who was acting like a baby when you said that he needed to make up with kageyama. he listened and it kind of worked?

best friend oikawa who forced you to watch every star trek season in existence with him.

best friend oikawa who broke bough you, iwa, and himself matching bear onesies for his birthday because it was his one wish. you both did it for him but forbid him from posting any pictures.

best friend oikawa who ran crying to you the first thing after they lost semifinals for nationals.

best friend oikawa who slept over at your house for a few days after because he didn't want to be around all his volleyball stuff for the moment.

best friend oikawa who cheered up when he found out he was going to be able to go to argentina after graduation to pursue his dreams. you both celebrated along with the other third years.

best friend oikawa who realized his feelings for you when he realized he would have to leave you behind alone since iwaizumi was also leaving japan.

best friend oikawa who was about to tell you how he loved you but before he could you told him to shut up and to listen to you.

best friend oikawa who was in shock for like five minutes when you told him you were in love with him and surprised him saying that you were also going to argentina with him.

best friend oikawa who reassured you that he didn't think you were cray or weird for wanting to follow him to argentina because he loved you back.

best friend oikawa who is now boyfriend oikawa who is now telling everyone how amazing of a girlfriend you are and how you both are going to live your best lives in another country.

[poedays]

Tank: Who would you kill out of the four of us David?

David: Milo, easily.

Milo: What the fuck, man.

David: Well, Ash would be too easy, he’d probably be into it.

Asher, now standing in the doorway: What the fuck, man!

—- —- —-

Welcome to my Wolf Boys Headcanons! This includes David, Milo, Asher and Tank/Darlin’.

- Asher and Tank used to practise kissing together in high school.

- > Milo walked in on them once and very quickly decided it was none of his business.

- David really likes the Terminator movies and used to have a poster as a kid that he’d gotten from Gabe -> who had gotten the poster when the first movie came out. Now he has the poster rolled up in a box of keepsakes.

- > Asher sometimes teases David about his leather jackets because of his early obsession with the movies.

- Asher and Milo have had Star Trek versus Star Wars arguments and Milo is pro Star Wars just to fuck with Ash.

- All four of them had nerf gun fights when they were kids along with some of the other pack members.

- > Asher has swallowed one of the nerf bullets. Don’t ask him how he did it, even he doesn’t know. Although he swears he remembers the taste of blue and orange plastic.

- > David shot Tank in the eye by accident and did not talk to them for like a week because he couldn’t build up the courage to apologise. Milo and Ash found it hilarious.

- Asher starts sporadic games of truth or dare when he’s bored, and somehow his truths are always worse than his dares.

- > During one of these games David dared Asher to climb a tree in his wolf form, as a joke. Asher did not take it as a joke. He fell from said tree and broke his arm.

- Ash and Milo got their ears pierced together. Originally Ash had convinced Milo to pierce his ear for him, but when it eventually got infected Marie banned any future attempts at unlicensed piercing.

- It took a bit longer for Tank and Milo to become friends again after Tank returned to the pack. Although, a quick jab at Amanda and Christin from Milo got the two talking and joking together like they used to.

- Milo beats everyone at Mario Kart and that’s why they never play it.

- > David mains as Bowser (a shock to no one), Asher plays as either Rosalina or Baby Luigi, Milo’s a Shy Guy man, and Tank plays as Yoshi.

[breaddwoo]

-Bloody Kisses-

pairing: wednesday x vamp! reader

word count: 3.22k

warnings: slight nsfw, blood

desc: wednesday helps you with your blood deficiency and becomes addicted to the pain of your bite :)

a/n: lowkey erotic despite there being nothing sexual 😭😭 will probably write a pt 2!!

edit: pt 2 is out :)

tonight was like any night for wednesday; pitch black gear on to help camouflage her in the dead of night, hoping to once again get a glimpse of the hyde.

what she didn't expect was to watch a girl tumble limply down the incline that wednesday took shelter at the bottom of.

she heard a few coughs, painful ones that sounded full of death. coughs like those came from people close to hades' door.

in her intrigue, wednesday couldn't help but lift from her hiding spot and slowly trek towards the girl laying face down in the fallen autumn leaves. she knelt, placing a hand on the girl's shoulder to flip her upright.

who she saw was someone she recognized to be one of enid's closest friends. from enid's stories, her name is (y/n) and she happened to be part of the vampire division of the school.

wednesday noticed your eyelids begin to flutter with consciousness and she took a step back.

when you fully opened them, it took you a second to recognize where you were. taking in your surroundings, wednesday's attentive gaze smothered you.

your arms began to lift you from the ground, but they went limp and you collapsed into the leaves once more.

"you look awful," wednesday said in her monotone voice.

you looked up to her, eye twitching with pain, "gee, thanks."

"i suppose you're (y/n)."

"and i suppose you're wednesday addams," you retorted, a painful coughing fit following soon after.

"how come you're in this state?" she questioned. it almost sounded like concern, but you knew enough from enid that wednesday doesn't feel emotions like that.

you let out a self-pitying laugh, "i can't ingest the animal blood offered at school. i always throw it up, no matter how hard i try. i'm dying and i can't tell anyone."

"are you not already dead?"

her insensitivity was astounding.

"my bad for not using the correct terminology," you spat, another coughing fit taking over your lungs and causing you to clench the soil beneath.

as wednesday watched your life drain from your weak body, an idea dug itself into her thoughts. "is it human blood that you desire?"

you looked at her like she was stupid. the expression on your face was answer enough, so she continued, "i will give you some of mine."

now your pale face was dumbstruck. is this bitch crazy?

"why the fuck would you want to do that?" you asked, thinking her suggestion was absolute nonsense.

"to say that i am curious about the feeling of a vampire bite would be a... crude understatement," she replied, her eyes the color of the sky above, omitting the stars.

you shook your head defiantly, "absolutely not. i don't think i could control myself, i might just suck you dry."

wednesday's mouth twitched, restraining a masochistic smile.

"do you really have a choice, (y/n)? "

you looked down at yourself. your throat felt like hell fire and every single limb held an unbearable ache. you were treading a thin line between immortality and mortality, and that scared you.

running a hand through your hair, you gazed back up at her, "fine. we do this once, and i will owe you. just please, please don't tell anyone. i'm afraid everyone will believe i'll go ballistic without blood and i'll get expelled."

wednesday nodded and slowly sat beside you, her small frame accentuated by the moon light behind her. getting a better look, you could tell how pretty she was. enid never mentioned that.

"what is it that you need me to do?"

you looked at her, examining what she was wearing. a black spaghetti strap dress that zipped from behind with a long sleeved turtle neck beneath.

realizing what you were about to say, your face began to warm, "uhm- you'll need to uh, to removed the turtle neck under your dress."

she nodded, then said, "it would be easier if you would unzip the dress for me."

how she kept a calm, emotionless expression on her face was beyond you. having this much contact with someone you've only heard about through stories made your face flush red.

after unzipping her dress, wednesday didn't even hesitate to pull the turtle neck over her head. this exposed most of her bare, pale back and the inky lace bra that her clothes had hidden. you were intensely mortified.

"w-wait, are you okay with me seeing this? i-" your words of embarrassment were cut short by more hacking, this time with a string of blood down the side of your mouth.

"i am fine," she stated, moving the dress back up and concealing her bra once more. now her shoulders and neck were fully exposed. your mouth practically flooded with saliva at the thought of piercing the smooth skin with your fangs.

"(y/n), " she said, this time with a little force in her tone, "do it. i want you to."

these words made your chest tighten. you tried to breathe a little more steady, "okay."

scooting closer to her, you moved one of her black braids from the left side of her neck to let it hang behind her. you took her bare shoulders in your hands, leaning close to the skin of her exposed neck.

though you felt awful for what you were about to do, you also felt completely exhilarated.

and, surprisingly, so did wednesday. the way you gently caressed her as your warm breath tickled the skin about to be pierced; it had her mind tangling in knots that she couldn't be bothered to unravel.

the prick of pain that followed the penetration of your teeth made wednesday's entire body shiver. she was hyper aware of the blood draining from the spot you assaulted but the feeling was intensely pleasing.

she felt warm. then she felt cold. her shoulder went fuzzy, like it no longer blonged to her. then her mind floated in a euphoria she'd never experienced before; the pain was like a bruise she enjoyed pressing on.

you also felt incredible. with each second that passed by, it felt like life was entering your body once more. the liquid vitality that you consumed almost made your still heart beat again.

you loved the feeling. you wanted to drink. you wanted all of it, all of her. but in the back of your mind, a small voice screamed at you to stop. the voice got louder until you forced yourself to pull away.

a small stream of blood dripped to wednesday's collarbone. "you can lick it," she said in a monotone voice laced with need. you shook your head, wiping your mouth.

wednesday couldn't wrap her head around the euphoric feeling that your bite had inflicted on her; all she knew was that she wanted to experience it again.

with your fangs on full view, color returned to your face and a body back to it's original state, you looked like a whole new person. this thought set a fire ablaze in her stomach and she couldn't tell if she enjoyed it or not.

her arms felt like wet noodles. she tried to lift them, attempting to put her garment back on; it was to no avail.

you saw this, "i'm sorry, i drank too much. let me help you."

as you went to help her, she fell backwards onto your lap. eyes widening in concern, you lean close to check her complexion, "wednesday, are you okay? i'm sorry, i really should have restrained myself. "

"no," she shook her head adamantly, "i requested this. and it's not like being in this state is unenjoyable."

you pressed your lips together in a line full of judgement, but said nothing. after her clothes were placed back on her, she tried to lift herself off of you.

"wait, wait- trust me, if you can't put your own clothes on then you can't stand by yourself," you said with care, standing and placing her arm around your shoulders.

the walk back to nevermore was quiet. neither of you spoke a word, wednesday too light headed from the painful pleasure of your teeth. she even forgot what she had been doing outside in the first place.

when you arrived at her dorm, she was still weak and needed support. wednesday held a finger to her lips. her dead eyes motioned to the door. you knew that enid was inside, and hopefully, she was asleep.

with the door unlocked, you assisted wednesday to her bed. when you went to set her down, however, you tripped on the corner of her bedsheets that hung to the floor.

wednesday's eyes widened in surprise as you came crashing down on top of her. chest to chest, the details of her face were in close proximity. you could practically trace patterns in her constellation of freckles.

shuffling and the sound of a comforter moving came from the other side of the room. enid.

wednesday's arms encircled you as she pressed you closer to her chest, forcing your head to hide in the crook of her neck.

your face was practically on fire. this is so not how tonight was supposed to go.

"shhh," she whispered, completely unfazed. you could tell she was being cautious of her sleeping roommate.

as her soft, black hair began to tickle your nose, she released you. you quickly backed away from her, making sure you stayed quiet.

"thank you," you whisper. she gives you a slightly perplexed expression in response.

tiptoeing to the door, you open it. looking behind one last time, you notice that wednesday has situated herself into a more comfortable position. you waved at her, and close the door without a sound.

wednesday lay there, mind recounting the events of the night. she tried to cipher through them, but one thought continued to surface through the rest:

she smells like vanilla.

> > >

wednesday wanted to see you again. it seemed like every time she caught a glimpse of you in the hallway, you soon disappeared as if you hadn't been there.

it was starting to frustrate her. were you avoiding her?

the thought made her grind her teeth; it also made her insanely confused. normally, she would prefer that people avoided her. but with you, it just made her want to scratch at her skin.

finally, during lunch period a week later, she saw you sitting with enid and her group. wednesday contemplated whether or not it would be a good idea to go up to you; she had promised to keep the ordeal a secret. no one knew the two had any connection to one another.

her heart outweighed her brain in the end and she stepped into the maze of lunch tables.

"(y/n)," she called. the words you were speaking to enid dropped from your mouth when you noticed the girl in black next to you.

you smiled, fangs displayed, "oh, uh- hey, wednesday."

wednesday's eyes turned to where your tray should be, noticing that you had nothing to eat.

"i need to talk to you," she stated, "in private."

enid raised a brow, trying to subtly ask her why? but wednesday pretended to be ignorant; though, she knew she wouldn't be able to avoid an interrogation later.

you awkwardly laughed, giving a strained smile, "sure."

when wednesday lead you to a deserted hallway, her expression changed into a slightly angry one.

"are you avoiding me?" she asked bravely. you were surprised.

"well, we're not friends so i didn't think we needed to see one another."

the answer irritated her.

she tried to restrain her snarkiness, "i see you're still avoiding the animal blood."

you nodded, afraid of where this was going. it's not like you didn't enjoy what you both did a week ago; it was quite the opposite actually.

every time you thought of her your breath caught in your throat. the image of her bare shoulder basically served on a silver platter plagued your mind. god, avoiding her was awful.

you just knew that if you saw her again, you wouldn't be able to control yourself anymore. the little restraint you had was terrifying.

"so? what do you want?" your words came off a bit harsher than you intended, but you were afraid of her intentions.

she cracked a small smile, but it quickly dissipated as she said, "i want to do it again."

you knew it.

"wednesday, what we did- we can't do it again. i'm not as strong as you think," you tried to explain, "i was able to restrain myself last time. i won't be able to again."

wednesday took a step closer; her cold breath sending a ghostly chill down your spine.

"what if i don't want you to?"

you didn't know what to say. her words were painfully tempting; if you could, you would tear her uniform in the middle of the hallway and consume a waterfall.

you stayed silent for a moment, then cracked, "okay, fine, meet me at my dorm tonight. my roommate has plans so she won't be there."

elation filled wednesday to the brim; if she could scream and jump up and down in excitement she would've. instead, she nodded her head once and said, "see you then," before slipping into the darkness of the empty hallway before her.

you took a seat on a nearby bench, putting your head in your hands.

she really had you wrapped around her finger.

> > >

as you had instructed wednesday later in the day with a slip of your dorm key in her hand, she snuck into your room at the devil's hour.

there she caught you in pajamas, reading a book on your windowsill. she cocked her head a bit. the scene perplexed her.

wednesday had never seen you in casual clothing before; nor did she know that you enjoyed reading. this information was practically useless but it made her feel a closeness to you that felt impossible before.

your room wasn't bright like enid's; there were a few pinups of different artists and a cd collection on a small bookshelf. warm lighting made the room feel comfortable, unlike the white hospital lights that wednesday utilized in her own.

it took you a second to realize wednesday had arrived, quickly placing a bookmark in a page and turning towards her.

"are you sure you want to do this again?" you asked, wanting to reaffirm her consent.

wednesday already began taking off the black cardigan she wore over her tank top, looking at you with eyes that spelled are you daft?

you nodded, socked feet making small thumps on the ground as you walked toward your bed.

you patted the spot to your right. wednesday understood this signal, sitting close enough that her thighs touched your own.

a shaky breath left your throat. you were going to do this. it was too late to back out now; not with wednesday waiting patiently before you.

she pushed the strap of her tank top off her shoulder, leaving it completely naked. then you realized that the position the two of you were in wouldn't make this process comfortable enough.

"wednesday, do you mind- uh, shit, how do i say this," you were practically sweating as you swiveled towards her, legs criss crossed.

she mirrored your movements. her eyes were leveled with yours, patiently waiting for your directions.

"please- fuck, please sit in my lap. it'll give me the best angle so that i don't hurt you too badly."

you swore you saw a little flush spread on her freckled cheeks.

"alright," she agreed, crawling over to you. wednesday put her hands on your shoulders as she placed herself in the divot between your crossed legs. in this position, she was basically straddling you.

shit, isn't this a tad too intimate?

your thoughts were far beyond obsurd considering this was your request. knowing this, you sighed and let your eyes wander to her exposed shoulder.

"you're looking at it as if it's a buffet, you know," wednesday stated. you looked up at her, giving an annoyed face.

"i'm just nervous, geez."

wednesday's icey hand slithered up your back and rested at the nape of your neck. she guided your head closer, encouraging you to feast.

"do it," she whispered, her breath tickling your ear. by now, any self-discipline you tried to scrounge up had long vanished.

you leaned in. licking the chosen spot on her neck for a second, wednesday shuddered under your touch.

when you let your teeth puncture the virgin skin, you couldn't help but wrap her in your arms as you gripped her back.

wednesday let her head fall back, closing her eyes. the painful ecstasy was hers once again. this time felt different, though.

this time it was more than just the fangs deep in her skin; it was you, holding her tight as the familiar fragrance of vanilla washed over her senses. pain and pleasure were two sides of the same coin and wednesday felt light headed as she experienced both at once.

your fingers found their way under her tank top, wanting to grab at more than fabric. the taste of her blood made the world turn to static. your ears went deaf and all you could focus on was the girl in your lap and the way her jet black hair brushed against your face.

this act was like a drug administering the same affect on both addicts. you felt drunk and as your teeth sunk further in her shoulder, so did wednesday.

with her abdomen against yours, there was no room for you to get closer. when you pulled away, wednesday looked at you with her eyes half-lidded.

your mind was in a fog as you gazed at her. with the taste of blood still afflicting your tongue, your only thought was how beautiful wednesday looked.

and as she met your inebriated gaze, an overwhelming urge to kiss you took hold of her actions.

she leaned in. despite knowing close to nothing about you and wanting little to do with romance, she wanted you. she wanted you and the painful pleasure you bestowed upon her.

you got swept up in the moment and kissed her back instantly. you squeezed her closer, grazing her lip with your fang. irony blood tainted your lips. the taste left you higher than any drug.

opening her mouth, wednesday deepened the sinful kiss and you reciprocated in full. you felt like you couldn't breath. you didn't want to pull away.

just as wednesday's tongue skimmed your teeth, you pulled away.

deep breaths fogged the cold windows of the small dorm room. you still held her as her dead eyes held something a little more than a dark abyss; something even wednesday couldn't understand.

she wanted to continue, to ask you to bite her again and again and again. it didn't matter if you took all of her; it would be a great headline on a tombstone.

so, once you'd filled your lungs, wednesday stole away the distance of your lips once more.

you fell back, holding her. by now it was far past four in the morning, with school in three hours.

neither of you cared. the bloody kisses were an intoxication full of need; tonight would feel like forever.

[maconthepen]

I want to quit my job.

I want to get a new job.

I want to live in the city next to a cafe where they know my name and start making my coffee before I've finished walking through the door.

I want to live in a house in the middle of nowhere where I make my coffee with a Moka pot, swaying to the sound of a Billie Holiday record. My house will have a garden full of vegetables and bees, and in the middle of that garden, there will be a lemon tree just like my best friend's nonno used to have.

I want to go to cooking school.

I want to learn how to brew beer.

I want to go back to university and study literature so I can spend my nights immersed in Marlowe and Shelley and the Brontës and Alasdair Grey.

I never want to school again. Instead, I'll study the law and psychology and design from the storyteller armchair in the corner of my living room.

I want to travel, I want to run, to pick up a few outfits and fuck off and call myself by a new name and cut my hair and wear clothes I'd never believe I could wear.

I want a home in the place I was born and a cat and a husband who will happily talk with me about Star Trek for three hours.

I want move to Italy.

I want to make love to a woman again.

I want to live a thousand lives. Sometimes the impossibility of that makes me so angry I get breathless. And when I dig beneath the anger, I realise it's not anger at all. it's fear. Fear that I am not living any kind of life while I lie in my bed half the day dreaming about all of this with fog in my brain and muscles that don't remember how to give someone a hug.

[ionlydidthisforspirk]

Im sorry but this scene is not mentioned enough among Trekkies. I think this is one of the most heartfelt and well written scenes in all of Star Trek and it pains me that no one mentions this. For reference in case I need to memory jog, this episode is the episode right after seven gets severed from the collective. She is learning basic ship rules and getting her implants removed. Earlier, there is a scene where Janeway is talking to her, trying to access her humanity, and she’s talking about how she feels bad for the little girl Seven once was. Janeway says “There's still a lot we don't know about her. Did she have any siblings? Who were her friends? Where did she go to school? What was her favourite colour?” This scene takes place at the very end of the episode.

I bawled when I first watched this episode, and this scene specifically triggered it. It absolutely breaks my heart. Seven was assimilated when she was a little girl. She never had a chance to live her childhood, to experience girlhood, or to grow up. She lived her whole life being apart of a hive mind, where she constantly had someone thinking for her, where she continuously had other voices in her head. Now all of the sudden, it’s stripped from her. The entire episode she’s scared. She never got to live her own life, she’s not used to being so alone, like a young child separated from their mother. This scene man, it just highlights the fact that she never got to grow up.

I’m not great at putting my thoughts to paper (or in this case a website but you know what I mean) but this scene… it’s a work of art, and I wish it was more acknowledged amongst the Trekkies. 🙁❤️

[oldguydoesstuff]

Hi where you around in the seventies to actually expertise these Computers first hand

Yeah so I was a tween/teen in the 70s and was definitely around. I was fascinated with computers thanks to Star Trek and Lost in Space etc, but computers were very hard to come by then, no one owned one and they were limited access.

I did get time on our PDP-8 in high school, and sometime around 79 or so built my own system from a kit and was like the only kid on the block with a computer actually in his house.

Only other time I remember using a computer (mainframe, not counting video arcade games here) was at the university of Connecticut, thanks to a neighbor who was a professor there.

He took me in to show me their IBM mainframe and told me the computer could answer any yes or no question. So I asked it is it Wednesday, our neighbor typed it on the terminal, and it immediately printed "yes" in glowing green phosphor. I was freaked out, asked if it was Tuesday, and it said "no". I asked all sorts of questions, about how many people were in the room, math, geography etc.

Yes, no, yes.. it kept getting them all right!

After becoming convinced the computer was sentient, our neighbor showed me the program he had wrote. It let you type in text, and if you started the sentence with a space, it answered "yes", if not, "no". Observers did not notice the space. Genius.

Wrote this same program many times over the years to amaze people. Less amazing now with AI on our doorstep, so sorry y'all can't go impress your friends with this one anymore.

[woman-of-many-fandoms]

It's really odd being a Star Trek fan when almost everything you love about it is the minority. Like I've seen posts on other sites and someone refers to AOS and no one know what's being talking about. They think it's Animated Original Series. Like no?? I thought this was common knowledge. And I see posts not knowing Jim had a brother and not knowing both his dad and brother are named George. And these are people who say they've been watching for decades. Maybe it's me knowing trek lore from character driven fanfics? I remember being in grad school (over 10 years ago) and I was working with a girl who's father was a huge Trek fan and I asked if her name was Amanda Grey after Spock's mom. She never made the connection.

THEN there's being a fan of AOS vs TOS which is even more alienating. Like if you speak ill of Shanter's acting, the sexism, or point out how TOS Bones was racist you imminently get" "Shanter made trek what it is today!" "Everyone knows Spock and McCoy are great friends!" "It was progressive for its time!" It like we're watching different things.

And don't even get me started on being a spirk shipper in general fan spaces. So many people love Spock/Chapel. Don't get me wrong, I see the appeal, they are both attractive talented actors but it seem wrong to me. (I will fully admit watching sex/ heavy romance scenes makes me uncomfortable, I didn't make it past the first ep of Bridgerton due to the sex scene, if I want porn I want to see it in my own time)

I know I've posted how I really want the 4th trek movie and honestly it's because I want the AOS fans to come back so there is more content to engage with. I really don't care (well I do) what the story is. I feel most of the fans have moved onto other fandoms. The engagement in 2009-2016 was amazing.

[pix-writes]

Thank you so much for answering my question! You always give very thorough and thoughtful answers 🥹🥹 If you don't mind me asking, can I ask the same question about friendships (possible lovers later, just like with Stanley) but with Ford? Thank you so much again, I really love reading your analysis 🥹🙌🏻✨️!!

Aw thank you! ☺️

(answer under cut)

I think I've gone over a little bit about how Ford would be in the beginning of a friendship/relationship in this post. Mainly talking about how his flaws/past wound would hinder him forming relationships, generally.

Though I did mention that I think Ford would be easy to bond with, in terms of connecting over something intellectual or nerdy. If you're someone who is game to tag along on research or adventures and can lend a hand figuratively/physically, then your friendship will start to grow, as quality time is the best way to get to know him (he may be a hero/adventurer, but he's truly an introvert with introvert hobbies). Shared interests are something that seems very important to Ford, having been starved of a lot of affection and deeper connections in the past, especially since he found making friends in school/college; so as long as you share a few passions, he'll open up to you fairly quickly.

However, it will take him more time to form a romantic connection and for him to act on it, it will be very slow burn because firstly, he simply doesn't move fast in a relationship, or at least not as fast as modern dating seems to be, and second of all because he has a little insecurity over whether you're interested in him or not/should be interested in him. It takes Ford a little bit to be convinced you won't get your head turned by someone more 'suitable' in his mind. This is also in part to the trauma from Bill's manipulation and torture, whilst you may have only connected after bill was erased, it still brings up trust issues in him and he needs to feel he could trust a partner - as well as work through anxiety about putting you in potential danger (will be quite protective over you as a partner as a result of this).

Kindness will go a long way in securing his opinion of you as someone trustworthy, not only to him but Ford seeing you be kind to his family, your other friends, even to strangers or just plain altruistic in actions not just in words, means that he can trust that he has evidence to back up what he thinks of you and not fall into a similar trap like he did with bill.

Also will admire you for any show of bravery or doing what is right (especially if it's in a situation where it's against the odds, whether it's something dire or a situation where it would be easy to give into social pressures). He appreciates when people say what they mean and are direct with him, as he'll be the same with them (I'm neurodivergent and I hc Ford is too, so this may be specific to being ND, as it's confusing when neurotypical people talk in circles to me!)

Friendship with Ford would include:

watching nerdy TV/films together, whilst I think Ford has only passingly known of/shown interest in world events even before the portal incident, he still managed to have some semblance of interests/life outside of his research, it may arguably not have been a lot, but considering his interest in dnd (including the intergalactic versions) and how he wanted to drop everything to play it with dipper in that one episode, he is definitely interested in catching up on all the nerdy TV/films he's missed out on, cue watching LOTR, star wars, star trek etc. However his gaps in world events comes up as well at the most random of times, he didn't really ask much on what he's missed out in world news (it's not relevant to his work or so he thinks), which can be both hilarious and sad, as as his friend you have to catch him up or remind him (e.g. 'no sixer, the soviet union doesn't exist any more, remember?' 'oh yeah, there was a war in Afghanistan... What do you mean how did it start?!')

playing board games/video games, like I said above Ford is a long time player of ttrpgs and so you will be persuaded into playing some version of a DND campaign if you're not already into it. Ford's excellent at teaching the mechanics and actually pretty good at roleplay and DMing, he can't do many voices but his storytelling is masterful (he is an author after all, even if he wasn't writing fiction and has lots of past practice from college). Dives straight into 5e, learns it quickly and creates his own homebrew version in no time at all! If you introduce him to the concept of dnd shows, he becomes a critter for sure! Essek and Percy are his favourite characters in Critical Role. Hums the theme song sometimes when he's working in the lab. Dipper gets him into Minecraft and you together construct a large home base and underground lab in the game. A lot of these games can take a long time, definitely have stayed up till 3 or 4 am on a campaign more than once.

research in the lab together or out in the field and debating with Ford about all sorts of topics, including your current research projects and both of your hypotheses. You might not have the same skill set as him but he values a different perspective from his own, you help balance out his hyperfocus. Is protective of you if something might be dangerous, will want him to be the one that gets hit/hurt if anyone has to, though both of you have had to patch up the other.

Getting into debates: Ford loves a mental challenge, he doesn;t realise its good for him (consciously/not until post-weirdmageddon) but having someone who isn't afraid to challenge him or speak their mind with him helps to keep him grounded and for him to really pause and think about his theories/morals. It doesn't have to be too deep though, perhaps you simply disagree on something, this will turn into a full debate, but despite some thinking you're arguing, its more of a passionate conversation, you're both having fun. Plus its even more fun when Ford ends up agreeing with you (its rare but it boosts your ego when it does happen)

related to the adventures a little: expect Ford to praise you/your efforts, (reminds me a bit like the 9th doctor or Sherlock) will just be doing something or figuring out a code or puzzle he'll exclaim "fascinating!" Or brilliant/fantastic/excellent/good, sometimes he's not aware he's saying these hushed phrases! Or he'll follow it up with questions, eyes lit up from being energised in his work, like "fascinating! How did you reach that conclusion?" 🤓

catching him up on technology, he finds it difficult compared to the high tech stuff from other universes but I like to hc he would get over it eventually, he's not the most adept in terms of keeping up with internet culture but is when it comes to tinkering with technology and experimenting/improving it. Still likes to call people instead of text and will have regular phone calls with you if you or him are away from each other.l, eases his worries about you (he's protective and still has nightmares from time to time so he likes to hear your voice so he knows you're ok).

Spending quieter moments together, even if its just stargazing on the stan o war whilst stan fishes, if you're close friends, I can imagine Ford would like hugs, holding hands and on the odd occaision napping cuddled up together (platonically) - the naps happened by accident at first, however its nice and your adventures are exhausting sometimes, so you now get the weighted blanket for you to both lie under for an hour or two (Mabel definitely has a picture of you asleep on her phone because its adorable).

Ford hasn't driven for 30 yrs (well not a regular old car anyway) so you've definitely had to drive him places/collect him before because his attempts at driving are almost as reckless as Stan is behind the wheel 😬 on a boat though? He's the most trustworthy captain 🫡 meticulous on the safety checks, will boss you and stan about a little on what to do, but you know it's for good reason... most of the time

[ohtobeleah]

Nav // Mickey Garcia

Summary: Mickey ‘Fanboy’ Garcia has been keeping a secret, or three, from his new found family. After finding out he’d been transferred to North Island on a more permanent basis—he thinks now is as good a time as any to let the secret out.

Warnings. Believe it or not—this is a fluff piece. Fanboy x female reader. Slight mention of Smut.

Word Count: 5.1k

Author Note: This weekend we welcomed Rhett Abbott and Mickey ‘Fanboy’ Garcia to the every growing list of fictional men I’d let rail me. This is such a fandom fluff piece, but it’s what you’re getting so either take it or don’t. Idk.

Callsings. Everyone had one–every one carried a story, a reason behind the name that colleagues and superior officers referred to you as and knew you as. Once you had your call sign it stuck to you like super glue. There was no changing it, no hiding from it, no running from the probably embarrassing story that the callsign was born from the ashes of or trying to fix the personality trait that people hated enough to give you shit for or loved enough to want to remind you of every day. 

For Mickey Garcia, his callsign had two stories. The first was the most commonly told whenever he was asked about it. He was simply a nerd. He loved all things Star Wars and Star Trek. He adored Battlestar Galactica and honestly? If it had a Star in the title he was convinced he’d already be obsessed with it if given the chance to binge the series or movie trilogy. He was a Fanboy, so much so his aviation helmet shared the same font as the Star Trek logo. He was obsessed, plain and simple. 

But there was also another thing Mickey Garcia was a huge fan of that earned him his callsign way back in the days of his fighter school training. He’d never forget the first time he heard you say it. Although he carried an encyclopaedic memory around, Mickey swore there was only ever one thing, one person, one gorgeous woman on his mind twenty for seven, seven days a week, three hundred and sixty five days of the year. 

The love of his life, his best friend (Don't tell Payback), his devoted wife. Mickey was well aware that he belonged in the sky. He’d wanted to be just like his father ever since he knew how to walk. There was never a question surrounding what Mickey Garcia would grow up to be. He spent more time in the sky than he did down on solid ground, that was just something you learnt to live with.

Mickey Garcia was also incredibly mindful of the fact his heart hadnt been to the earth since the first time he kissed you. When you loved him? You had sent it clear out of this world. He’d love you forever, be your devoted husband, lovingly and completely yours forever. 

“Nav and the kiddos settle in alright?” Payback asked as he and Fanboy ran through their pre-flight checks. “Kinda missed her annoying ass.” Fanboy chuckled softly in response, humming at the soft jab his best friend sent his wife. He knew the minor insult held no weight, hell–Payback had been the one who introduced the two of you in the first place. He knew you longer than Mickey and you had even been married for. 

“Only got a few boxes left to unpack.” Mickey explained as he checked all his weapon systems. “But yeah, it feels good to have them here, just not too sure how I'm gonna break it to the rest of the guys.” It wasn't that Mickey didn't want to tell the Dagger Squad, he always had every intention. But he wanted to make sure he could trust these people with his life before letting them into his family. After the events of the uranium mission and having been offered a permanent posting in North Island, Mickey felt the time was right. “Nav’s pretty keen to meet everyone though.”

That you were, so when Mickey mentioned that the gang were all meeting up on Saturday night for dinner and beers at their favourite watering hole, the Hard Deck, and wanted you and the kiddos to come along you were more than ecstatic to finally meet the people who had kept your husband safe. 

“Hey, Miles!” Mickey called out after the five year old who booked it from where he’d placed him down beside the car in the direction of the group of people who looked as if they’d transported into a parallel universe. “Miles! Hey buddy! Slow your roll alright.” Scooping up the tiny version of himself as Miles Garcia giggled at his own antics, Mickey caught sight of his squad. All staring at him wondering what the hell was going on. 

“Fanboy—who’s crotch goblin is that?” Hangman asked as he sneered and pointed at the child who now resided on his fathers hip. Watching as you came out from around the other side of the car with what seemed to be a smaller, very much younger version of the same child wrapped in a baby wrap around your chest. “And who’s this?” 

“Uh—“ Mickey cleared his throat as you made your way to his side, placing a gentle but loving kiss to his cheek before rubbing the small of his back for moral support. “Guys, this here’s my wife, Nav.” Smiling softly, you waved briefly before Mickey went on to introduce your kids. “This is Miles, he’s five and this is Morgan, she’s only—six months.” He hadn’t forgotten, but for a brief moment Mickey had to count with his fingers.

The silence was to be expected as the group of naval aviators who stood before you in the carpark of the Hard Deck Bar took in the new revelations that Fanboy was and had been married with kids the entire time they’d been in North Island. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you all.” You were the first to break the heavy silence. 

“You’re married?” Phoenix asked in disbelief, she was careful not to utter it in a way that you may have taken offense to. 

“You have kids?” Rooster couldn’t stop staring at the five year old in Mickey's arms. He looked so much like his dad it was kinda scary. 

“You had a family this whole time and didn’t tell anyone?” Hangman scoffed, he couldn’t believe it—how could Star Trek over here land a wife and two beautiful children but he couldn’t even get a damn date. “What if something had happened to you?”

“Ruben knew.” Fanboy explained as the group made their way inside, Phoenix instantly filed back to walk with you. She wanted to be the first person to tell you how great a guy your husband was—not that you didn’t already know. “He was my best man.” 

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Bob asked the question everyone was asking. It wasn’t a black or white response. But nevertheless Mickey tried his best as Penny pointed them all in the direction of the tables she’d placed together. 

“They mean everything to me, I guess I just wanted to make sure that you guys were all good people, good enough for them.” Although it hurt just the slightest amount, Bob understood. “Don’t tell him I said this but the jury is still out on Hangman—I just didn’t see another viable option of introducing Nav to everyone.” Bob couldn’t help but to laugh as he looked down at the child still in Mickey's arms. “I feel awful for not telling you sooner Bob.” 

“Don’t be, your family’s important, I understand wanting to keep them safe, keep them all to yourself.” 

Fanboy left it at that as he turned his attention back to settling his family down for dinner amongst his friends. Especially keeping an eye on you before settling in beside you. A hand gravitating to your knee under the table as Mickey looked into the wrap—Morgan sleeping soundly against your chest. 

“So Nav, what do you do for a living?” Hangman asked from across the table as you looked over to provide the sandy blonde your utmost attention. 

“I own a small photography business.” You were humble in your talents. “Boudoir mostly.” 

“Say Phoenix? You wanna get in on that action?” Rooster taunted as he popped a few peanuts in his mouth, wiggling his eyebrows, leaning back on the chair he’d perched himself on across the table from Natasha. “I’ll volunteer as tribute.”

“In your wet dreams Bradshaw—“ Phoenix hissed as she took a sip of her beer. “That’s a pretty dramatic juxtaposition from a naval aviator?” Natasha turned her head back to you, watching as you soothed the little girl who was starting to stir in her wrap. “How’d you actually meet?” 

“The academy—“ Mickey interrupted as Miles got to work colouring with the crayons Payback had asked Penny for when he went to fix up the first round at the bar. Returning with beers and ample colouring supplies for his favourite five year old. “Y/n was in the Navy.” It was yet another revelation the gang had a hard time processing. “Everyone still calls her Nav though, a hard habit to kick.” 

Mickey Garcia wasn’t all that fly with the ladies, he never really had been. He’d had a few girlfriends in his short life but nothing ever lasted long enough for him to start thinking about a future with them, or a family for that matter. 

“Hey Mickey! I got a friend I want you to meet!” Ruben cried out from across the amphitheater. Mickey pried his eyes away from the book he’d been reading for five seconds to turn his head his best friend's way. He’d heard of the girl from across the street, but your paths had never had a chance to cross until now. “This is Y/n, Michelle’s younger sister.” Within the space of five entire seconds, the trajectory of Mickey's life changed forever. He’d never been a huge believer in love at first sight, but as you made yourself known out from behind Rubens shoulder? Mickey knew he was fucked, in over his head. 

“You must be Fanboy?” Mickey stood as you held your hand out to shake his. 

“Who?” He asked, smiling bright as he found himself getting lost in your eyes. Ruben just laughed to himself, knowing from this moment going forward he’d forever be known as the man who introduced Mickey Garcia to the literal love of his life. 

“Fanboy right? Ruben said you’re a big fan of Star Trek—“ Mickey had never laid his eyes on a woman more beautiful than you. 

“Oh he did, did he?” Deadpanning Ruban, Mickey held his glare for a few seconds before turning back to you. “Well uh—yeah I guess that’s me, Mickey Fanboy Garcia.” 

“It’s nice to finally meet you, I’ve heard a lot about you.” You had, and you’d loved everything you’d heard so far. So much so you’d begged Ruben to just cut the shit and introduce you already. He’d been dangling a carrot on a stick right in front of you for months.

“All good things I hope?” Mickey raised his eyebrow as you beamed his way, you’d definitely been shaking hands for far too long but you were both past the point of awkwardness, both just seeing who would break first. Smirking at one another like children. 

“Only the very best.” 

“I was uh, a navigation officer, callsign wasn’t all that unique but it did the trick.” You shrugged, looking around at all Mickey's friends as they tried to process everything they were learning. “I understand this is probably a lot for everyone.” 

“It’s not.” Rooster smiled as he looked at Fanboy. There’s been a switch flipped inside the proud mustache having aviator who loved a good Hawaiian shirt. “It just means that Fanboys got a lot more on the line than any of us ever thought.”

“Dadda?” The little boy sitting next to Mickey cooed just loud enough to gain his father’s attention. “I’m hungry—“

“Foods coming bud, here, you wanna sit on dad’s lap so you can tell all dads friends what you wanna be when you grow up?” The brown eyed, dark curly haired boy who looked far too much like Mickey scrambled from the seat he’d been sitting onto into his dads lap. Mickey let out an oof sound when Miles slammed his entire body weight down into his lap. He thought his dad was some kind of superhero who never felt pain or got tired. 

Whenever Mickey was deployed and on a detachment like he’d been on recently, you’d tell Miles that dad was off fighting bad guys and that once he knew everyone was safe and sound—he’d come home. Five year olds were easy to manipulate at bed time if you told them all the right things. 

“Go ahead buddy, tell ‘em what you told me.” Mickey coaxed the information he knew would melt his team's hearts out of his toddler by tickling his sides to invoke a chuckle so pure it even made Hangman smile. 

“I wanna be a superhero and fly planes like my Dadda.” 

“I never thought I’d hear someone say superhero and daddy in the same sentence while referring to Fanboy—“ Coyote snickered in the most wholesome way he could. “You got cute kids man I’ll give ya that.” 

“Nav, you look like you’re still glowing.” Bob mentioned cautiously. “You guys said Morgan’s only six months?” 

“Yeah—the last month and a bit was a little rough with the kiddos back in Miami while Mickey was stationed out here with you guys.” You were just thankful that everything had gone as well as it had and that everyone made it home. “But things are starting to mellow out.” 

“Do you not have paternity leave saved up Fanboy?” Jake Seresin was the last person Mickey ever thought that question would come from. But things weren’t that simple. 

“I’d basically just finished my leave when this assignment came about.” 

“It’s only for six weeks mamma.” Mickey cooed as he kissed your neck tenderly. Looking at you through the mirror of your bathroom as you applied a mud mask—Mickey had the same exact one plastered across his forehead and nose. His T-section. “I’ll be back before you even start to miss me.” 

“I know I know.” You smiled as softly as you possibly could. It wasn’t your husband’s fault he was government property and you knew better than anyone else now the Navy worked. “Still doesn’t change the fact it just be me and the kids—“

“I’ll call my parents and make sure they do a few weekends here and there.” It wasn’t a permanent solution, but it would help to patch the leak you knew would spring from time to time. “You know I don’t wanna leave you guys here, my girls and my best guy.” 

“But duty calls right, superman?” You turned in Mickey's embrace, with one move he had you up resting atop the vanity—legs on either side of his hips as he stood better yours. Your arms flung over your husband’s shoulders as he drank in the sight of you. His wife, his beautiful best friend, the mother of his two gorgeous children. 

“Hey you started that shit, it’s not my fault he thinks that.” Mickey beamed, leaning in in search of your lips. Kissing you softly before deepening the moment. Mickey had always been a big fan of self care days, he was adamant that’s how you both ended up with Morgan. “I love you Nav—I’ll be back before you know it.” 

“When do you leave?” It was four words that never got easier to ask, Mickey let the silence linger in the bathroom for a moment—just enjoying the time he had with you. You made things so easy, made it so easy to love you and the kids. Made it so easy for him to love his job despite the distance because even on his worst days Mickey knew he would eventually come home to you and it would be like he never even left. You were far too good for him and he knew that. 

“Thursday.” Mickey said just barely above a whisper as he leaned in to kiss you again. This time more passionate, a lot slower, needier. “Thursday around noon, Payback and I are gonna catch a cab together to the airport, I didn’t want you having to wrangle the kids up just to pile into the car an—“ You cut Mickey off by pulling him closer by the elastic of his boxer briefs, snapping the material back against his lower abdomen when his lips were back on yours. The groan he let slip into your mouth almost made you want to try for another baby. But the two of you were very much happy with the two you already had. 

“Just promise you’ll come home to us?” You knew it was an empty promise, the ever looming possibility that something could go terribly wrong always crossed your mind. But you trusted Ruben to bring your husband home safely every time they flew. 

“Nav my dear, I’m lovingly and completely yours forever.” 

“Believing me, it was the longest six weeks of my life.” You sighed, running your hand gently over the sleeping baby girl wrapped up on your chest. “But we got through it and now it just feels good to be close again, I’ve heard such good things about all of you so I feel surrounded by family already.” 

Looking around the table as food started to arrived in bits and pieces. Mickey knew he had it all. He had his friends, he had his family and to him that’s all he ever really cared about. Hearing you laugh with Bob and challenging Hangman, watching you bond with Phoenix and click with Rooster. Mickey loved how Coyote sparked a flame inside you he hadn’t seen in years talking about what it was like to be a navigator. You didn’t talk about it all that much these days, you were just happy to be a mum and a devoted wife. But sometimes, every now and again you would miss the ocean. Missed what it was like to roam patrol boats and look longingly to whatever coast you were near. Mickey knew that, but Coyote challenged it. 

He loved his friends but they were now his family. Mickey Garcia had never felt so much love radiating around him as he sat with you and his children amongst the people who carried him throughout the day. His squad, his teammates. 

His family. 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

A few months after the shocking discovery that Mickey Garcia was a husband and Father and not just some Fanboy Star Trek geek had settled in—the dagger squad had seemingly become like much loved furniture amongst the Garcia household. So much so that some had their own keys, some always had their hands up to babysit, some even knew that the back window was always slightly ajar and could be opened if drunkenly in search of a place to crash. 

Your house was the closest to the Hard Deck out of all the other houses that the daggers resided in, which meant more often than not you’d come down stairs in the early hours of the morning to feed Morgan and see a very hungover, very loudly snoring, very much passed out Jake Hangman Seresin on your couch. His chest sunken as he slept soundly, a small patch of drool seeping into the fabric with the back window cracked. 

“Jake—“ You’d nudged him, watching with a humorous smile as he jolted awake. “Coffee, drink it—then get out of my damn house.” 

“Yes mamma.” Jake would always reply, the term of endearment something the group picked up early into your friendship. Quickly becoming the one they all respectfully ran to with all their promises. The mum of the group.

Although Jake was the serial lounge hogger, it was Bradley Bradshaw who had once had a key and saw any time of the day or night to make himself at home. He never meant it in a malicious manner—he was just excited to be apart and of something bigger than himself for once. Neither you nor Mickey minded all that much—until Rooster had walked in on you and Mickey bare backing it on the same couch Jake would fling himself across after his drunken escapades. 

“So fucking pretty Nav.” Mickey cooed as you bounced on his length. Straddling his waist as his hands helps your hips steady—helping to guide you up and down at the pace you set. “God what did I ever do to deserve you—Ah fugh—!” 

“Ohhhh fuckk! Mickey baby you feel so good—why don’t you put another baby in me huh?” 

“Yeah? is that what you want darling girl? Another one of us?” He wasn’t going to say he hadn’t thought about it, a third little Garcia running around. The two you had were perfect, but a third? You’d be outnumbered. “You always look so pretty pregnant.” 

It was otherworldly the way Mickey looked up at you as he took your nipple into his mouth, you were still breastfeeding so the sensation of your husband sucking on your tits was all too much. Leaking into his mouth. 

“Ohhhh fughh! Mickey!” You were still bouncing, the head of Mickey cock kissing against your cervix as he slipped a hand between the pair of you to work you over. “I’m gonna—“ 

“Holy shit—“ Rooster stood in the entryway covering his eyes. “Holy shit I didn’t see anything!” The sound of your husband's co-worker standing in the entryway sent you skyrocketing off Mickey and fumbling for the nearest throw blanket. “Swear on my mother’s grave I saw nothing Mick!” 

“What the hell are you doing here Rooster! The door was locked!?” Mickey was holding a decorative pillow to cover his hard-on. His skin still flushed red because he was so fucking close it wasn’t funny—he was about to become a father of three. 

“You gave me a key?” Rooster caught himself smirking for a brief moment as the sound of The Jonas Brothers old number one hit ‘Burnin’ Up’ played through the house. It had been your song since yours and Mickey's Naval academy days. He’d gone as Joe Jonas one year for Halloween. The song itself had even played at your wedding. “Jonas Brothers? Really Fanboy, really?” 

“Bradshaw I’m a pacifist alright—“ Mickey sighed as he took a few steps towards the sandy blonde who was just in search of a ham and cheese sandwich. “But I’m about to pass my fist across your face.” It was needlessly to say Rooster, from that point going forward—always checked in before he entered with caution. 

But it didn’t mean the never ending revolving door of ragtag aviators stopped. No—if anything your house had never been fuller. 

“Hey Lovely.” You greeted Phoenix as she kicked her boots off, Bradley wasn’t too far behind her, next was Bob. “Here’s your Valentine’s Day package.” Unbeknownst to the group of aviators, a few months ago when Rooster had teased Phoenix about possibly taking up the opportunity to do a boudoir shoot with you, she actually said fuck it? And why not? She was a powerful woman after all who deserved to feel sexy and feminine. “There’s about fifty printouts, the dried petals from the roses and a thumb drive with like one hundred digital copies from the shoot on it.” 

“Thanks Nav—and honestly I can pay for it, really.” Natasha took the little box you gifted her before taking you into a warm embrace. 

“Don’t be silly, it’s on me.” Was all you said before you found yourself being hauled away by your screaming daughter, she was rather clinging at the moment and couldn’t be away from you for more than ten consecutive minutes before she thought the world was ending. It didn’t help that Mickey had shaved his head. She hardly recognised him at the moment. “Alright alright I’m coming darling.” 

“Did you actually do a boudoir shoot?” Rooster's hand slid up the side of Natasha's hip, pulling her into him as he whispered in her ear. “Because if so—“ Before Bradley has a chance to say he wouldn’t mind being privy to those private photos, Phoenix caught him out, leaving the taller, blonde aviator who’d subsequently stolen her heart over the course of a few years in a puddle on the floor in one of his best mate’s houses. 

“They’re your Valentine’s Day gift.” 

“Bob honey, you want a sandwich?” Mickey loved the way you just so effortlessly took care of his friends the same way you took care of him. “I’ve got peanut butter or I can do ham and cheese?” 

Bobs flushed a nice shade of red as he sat down beside Fanboy at the dining table, trying not to eavesdrop on the fact Rooster and Pheonix were in his peripheral vision practically eye fucking the ever living shit out of each other. 

“Ham and cheese please Nav.” Is all Bob utters before Miles is climbing into his lap. The two had a unique bond now that they practically wore the same kind of glasses. Miles thought he looked weird with glasses because none of the other kids in his glass wore them. But then Bob told him that his glasses could be his superhero disguise, for when he’s not saving the world like his dad. 

“Do you wanna play in the tree house with me uncle Bob?” How the fuck could he say no? Nodding softly before flipping the five year old over his shoulder. 

“Here, don’t forget your sandwich!” You cooed out as Bob made his way through the kitchen with your son strung upside down over his shoulder. “Eat before you go back to work, Mickey told me you passed out the other day because you hadn’t eaten since before seven.” Bob was quick to deadpan your husband as he took the sandwich you held out for him. Leaning in to kiss your cheek softly. 

“Thanks Nav.” He took a bite before pointing at Mickey, holding your son over his shoulder with one hand wrapped tight around the little boy's ankle as he laughed and screamed as the blood rushed to his head. “Snitches get stitches!” 

“Yeah dad! Snitches get stitches!” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

The Garcia household had become the home base for most things. Birthdays, public holidays, general get togethers, fried chicken Fridays, and seedy Sundays. But most importantly your humble abode had become the place people went to feel like they were at home. Not everyone was as fortunate to have their families in North Island. So you and Mickey became sort of the group mum and dad. 

“You aren't are you?” Ruben asked with wide eyes as you gifted him the small pair of socks that said best uncle ever on the tops. “You’re pregnant?” 

“After the display I walked in on a few months ago I'm shocked it hasn't come sooner–” Rooster mumbled as he looked at Mickey who sat nursing baby Morgan. Now a year old. “Congratulations by the way.” 

Your first two pregnancies had been pretty up and down. With baby Miles you suffered from hyperemesis. That was a little rough to get through when Mickey was deployed, but you had his mum and dad around to help you with things. He’d been your hospital birth baby. Epidural, all the drugs and medications readily available to help ease the pain. Morgan however, she’d been the at home birth baby. She was a breezy pregnancy so it made you wonder what it would be like to give birth at home unmedicated. 

“AAAAAHHHHH!!!” You were a sweaty mess as you laid back against Mickey in the blow up birthing pool in the middle of your living room floor. “I can't!! I can’t fucking do this!” 

“You can mamma, you’re so strong yeah? I've got you alright, you’re doing so well Nav.” Mickey had been a saint, he just knew what to do and when to do it. He was just thankful to be a part of such a magical experience. “You’re gonna bring our baby girl into the world–” It wasn't Mickey's fault that you were losing your mind from the pain. You just wanted it to be over, letting your head fall back against his shoulder as you cried in pain. 

“I fucking hate you for doing this to me.” Mickey couldn't help but to laugh softly as you placed a cool cloth against your forehead. “You did this to me, you idiot.” 

“I remember this being a two player game love, it wasn't just me.” There was not a single thing on this earth Mickey Fanboy Garcia wouldn't do for you. “You can’t not not deliver this baby Nav, she's coming regardless.” But when you groaned in agony? He wished more than anything he could take that pain away from you–but he couldn't. “You’re so beautiful–” 

“Oh my god it HURTS!” You shouted as another contraction took over your body, Mickey could feel how tight your belly was as the water lapped around your legs, spreading them to find more comfort as your doula walked you through what was going on from the edge of the pool. “Shut up Mick!” 

“Shutting up–” He mumbled as you groaned, so exhausted from your contractions. You didn't mean to lash out, so when your contraction was subsiding, giving you a little repreve for five seconds, you sobbed in in his shoulder-your back against his bare chest. 

“I didn't mean to call you an idiot, I'm sorry.” Mickey just kissed your temple lovingly. 

“You can call me whatever you want, I'm lovingly and completely yours forever.” 

“Yeah, congratulations guys, surely you’re gonna get the ol snip now hey Fanboy?” Jake smirked as he made a snipping gesture his way. 

“I've already booked the appointment for next month.” You added as you stood from your place in the living room. The entire group had come over for fried chicken friday. “If anyone else in the room wants to get a vasectomy let me know and I'll ring and add you to the booking.”

“Don't you dare come near me, that kinda shits barbaric.” Coyote cupped at his crotch. 

“It's minor surgery that can be reversed asshat.” Phoenix added as she slapped Javy upside the head in response to his statement. It made you all laugh for a moment until the conversation was drawn back to Bob’s latest conundrum. His crush on the new admin assistant in D block on base. It just felt like home when everyone was filling your home with laughter. Thinking back now you couldn't have imagined not knowing any of them. Ever. 

***~***~***~***~***~

Callsings. 

Everyone had one–every one carried a story, a reason behind the name that colleagues and superior officers referred to you as and knew you as. Once you had your call sign it stuck to you like super glue. There was no changing it, no hiding from it, no running from the probably embarrassing story that the callsign was born from the ashes of or trying to fix the personality trait that people hated enough to give you shit for or loved enough to want to remind you of every day. 

For Mickey Garcia, his callsign had two stories. The first was the most commonly told whenever he was asked about it, whenever his friends and colleagues were asked about it. They could lie and say it was because he was the biggest nerd they knew, but they didn't. 

Each time Rooster or Bob, Phoenix of Payback, Hangman or Coyote were asked about their friends' callsign. They told the truth. And the fact of the matter was Mickey ‘Fanboy’ Garcia was and forever would be lovingly and completely yours forever.

[blueishspace]

Looped Sun 5

Loop #177

Scott had decided to take one vacation loop and this happened? A null loop? In an empires world where Xonorth won? Without an arm? ... The world tree was very very mean.

Loop #179

Grian had decided to take a vacation loop, nothing too big of course but something relaxing... of course this plan did not predict for a null loop stuck in the end with the most sadistic version of the Watchers possible. Grian would never set fire to the world tree...but the tree is making it really hard not to want to.

Loop #182

Pearl wanted to just have a good loop, being trapped for twenty years in a tower was not part of that plan. It being a null loop even less. Being a damsel in distress is extremely boring without something to do.

Loop #184

This is war, after almost 200 loops Scar had yet to have a Star Wars loop and now he instead had a Star Trek one... To be fair it was a good one but it's the principle! The world tree did it on purpose.

Loop #187

Scott: Guess Grian Isn't going to be the only god now...

Pearl: I guess so... So whose place did we take?

Scott: I know a bunch about this place, I took Mianite's place as god of order and you took Dianite's as god of chaos.

Pearl: Where's Scar?

Scott: According to the loop's memories he's taking Ianite's place as balance god.

Pearl: Wait, wasn't Ianite imprisoned for like...centuries?

Scott: ...

Pearl: Let's go get him.

Loop #189

It was two in the morning when Scar crashed trough the window of Grian's apartment. Grian was not excited to see him.

Grian: Another hero loop?

Scar: What? No! This is a villain loop! Watch and fear, I am the wizard!

Grian: The wizard? Really?

Scar: What!? It's straight to the point.

Grian: ... I'll stop bullying if I can join the villany. I still got a mother spore outfit from last time we looped into season 7.

Scar: Welcome on board!!

Scott: No chaos magic this time?

Pearl: Nah, decided to go waterbending for this hero loop. Get better at healing. Maybe if I get a villain next time.

Loop #191

This was early, Grian had gotten used to sometimes waking up in Hermitcraft season 6 or 7. He wasn't too surprised when he woke up as a Watcher or in Evo. But this? He didn't even think he could loop back to high school. Fortunately this wasn't a null loop so he could actually do something but still...

Loop #193

Pearl didn't mind being an hyena, it was the why that annoyed her the most. At the same time, she should have expected this to happen considering Scar's name. She tried not to sigh as she recites her part.

Pearl: And where to we feature?

Scar: Just listen to teacher. I know it sound sordid but you'll be rewarded when at last, I'm given my dues. And injustice deliciously squared, be prepared!

Loop #193

It's been a while since Grian had gotten to start in the desert, as much as he hated waking up here at the beginning of the loops now it was a bit nostalgic. He knew this was going to be a relaxing loop.

Loop #195

Bdubs: She's losing her freaking mind-

*Boom*

Bdubs didn't get to finish that he became smoke while his items fell to the ground... The spectators weren't happy.

Grian: ...Who decided to give Pearl a gun?

Scar: I did!

Grian: ...why?

Loop #196

Rendog: Give us back that banner!

Grian: Nev'r! If thee need t then cometh h're and taketh t thee phony king.

Ren: Phony? How dare thee, thee damn hippie! I'll showeth thee the wrath of the r'd wint'r.

Grian: Nay, I wouldst winneth.

Skizz: What's going on dude?

Scott: They are talking in shakespearian english.

Skizz: I got that. Why?

Scott: I have no idea. Ren isn't even looping, he's just going along with it.

Skizz: Looping?

Scott: It's nothing.

Ren: Cometh h're and visage mine own wrath thee heathen!

Grian: Is yond a dare? Prepareth thyself f'r a vanquish.

Mumbo: Grian?

Grian: There is a way we can still be friends.

Mumbo: Ther-

Grian: þū meahte geunon mē!

Mumbo: ... What?

Grian: What? It's just some Old english.

Tango: Jimmy? Jimmy? What's wrong?

Jimmy: It's Scar and Grian! Make them stop!

Tango: What do you mean-

Grian: 𒁠 𒂠𒀭𒋠𒍦𒋀 𒆭𒋠𒂠𒄀𒊠𒊀𒋀𒀀𒋠𒂠 𒆤𒄠𒀀𒋀 𒋀𒄠𒄀𒁠𒊠 𒁭𒊠𒀭𒁀𒇠𒄀𒈀

Scar: 𒁠𒊀𒍤Y𒄀𒀀𒄠𒌋 𒈀𒄀 𒋠𒄀𒁠𒋀𒄠𒄀𒊠𒍤

Joel: Grian, mate, please stop this.

Jimmy: You'll get used to it eventually.

Grian: 𓃀𓄿𓂧 𓃀𓇌𓋴 𓃀𓄿𓂧 𓃀𓇌𓋴 𓅃𓉔𓄿𓏏 𓄿𓂋 𓇌𓅲 𓎼𓇋𓈖𓎼 𓏏 𓂧 𓅃𓉔𓈖 𓏏𓉔𓇌 𓎢𓅓 𓆑𓂋 𓇌𓅲

Joel: I really doubt it.

Grian: ⊑⟟ ⏁⊑⟒⍀⟒ ⋔⏃⍀⏁⊬⋏!

Martyn: You do know I speak ender right?

Grian: ... I forgot.

Loop #199

Listen, Grian didn't mean to start a religion really. That was more Joel's thing then his. It's not his fault he went god mode right as Gem started her Dawn church. At least he turned the god war between him, an unawake Pearl and Joel into a prank war. Which he was winning by the way. But that didn't stop it from being... Annoying at certain times. At least now he could teleport, that's a plus.

Loop #200

Grian: People! We got an expansion to our loop!

Scar: We did?

Grian: Check your loop memories!

Scar: Why- oh! We are after Secret Life!

Pearl: Finally, we get see season 10!

Scar: Look Joel and Skizz are Hermits.

Grian: Good for them, kinda hardcore that their first month of the season is demise 2.

Pearl: I mean, they are used to the Life Games so It's actually a good way to introduce them mate.

Pearl: Mate.

Grian: I know...

Pearl: I'm so sorry for you.

Grian: I'm going to have so many fishing loops now.

Pearl: It's ok...

Grian: Curse you unawake baseline me! Curse you!

Pearl: ... Snails?

Grian: Snails.

Scar: ... What are we talking about?

Grian: Snails.

Pearl: Snails snails.

Scar: ... Ok then, I'm out of here now.

Pearl: Snails!

Pearl: Is it me or is there something up with the season 10 water?

Grian: It's not you... it might like a moon big thing.

Pearl: Not another moon big, please.

Prev Next First

[1-800-cr33py]

Sedatives CHPT.2

A/N: Here bc crossposting my beloved

Blaring alarm and sunlight slipping through your blinds awoke you from what you’d considered a good sleep. Friday, the day you’d longed for for months it seemed, not because there’d be shitty slashers on a seemingly endless marathon due to it being the month of October, though that was a plus; but no, it was finally your day off. A day all to yourself and a night to hand out candy to doe-eyed children in differing costumes. Groggily sliding out of bed was a task, though your feet planting themselves onto your cold floor was more than a wake-up call. Your quarters were homey, and cozy. More than enough space for you and your cat, Cilantro. Speaking of the greedy feline, who mewed her greetings as she weaved between your legs as you made your way to the bathroom.

“You can wait Lantro, not like you’re gonna starve any time soon. “You yawned, stretching your arms as your back cracked. The cat, however, didn’t seem to agree with your sentiments in the slightest as she mewed louder, seemingly in response to you. You closed the door in the thing’s face in return. Your morning was everything but eventful, though watching your neighbor’s children chase each other around their yard with dollar store skeletons and spiders, which left a smile tugging at the corner of your lips, sipping on your morning brew with a content glaze within your eyes. Though boredom was beginning to seep through that feeling. Your laundry had been put on, dishes had been washed and put away, and just overall tidying had all been done within the span of a few hours. What now? You hadn’t planned this far ahead, not like medical school and internships gave you time to establish any friendships, and a relationship was the last thing on your mind. Besides, the scum that you worked aside left such a stain on your mind when it came to potential partners. Nurses, smoking and degrading the patients within the yellowing walls gave you looks of contempt and the doctor’s hands planted themselves onto your skin for a good many moments too long. Yeah…so no relationship prospects in sight for you. Catnapping and folding laundry made up most of your day, finding the hours slip through your fingers like fine sand. The dulling sky held many stars, blinking into the blanket of dusty oranges and desaturated blues. You, still donning a simple jumper and pajama pants you're sure you’d stolen from some childhood friend you’d long forgotten in your adult life, pity. Trekking towards the door, donning a thick knitted blanket and Cilantro in tow, you made your way to your rocking chair, an antique thing that could use a paint job, but you didn’t mind. Propping yourself upon the old chair, the wood creaking beneath you, sighed, watching your breath cling to the air. Though despite your day of relaxation, you still carried a weight on your shoulders. “Fucking hell…” you groaned, head thrown back with a displeased expression.

Night lurked within your walls, a heavy silence bearing over your domain as you tossed and turned, comfort fleeting from you, and time ticked by one second at a time. Poor sight you were, desperate for sleep to claim you, for relief to wash over you in a cool wave. You, sweaty and annoyed, threw your comforter away, allowing the cool air of your tiny room to chill your skin, a shitty fan doing little to aid. Thoughts floating back to your job, the patients, the assholes who worked your nerves to no end…Michael. Your breath hitched as you began to think the patient over. How the veins in his hands flexed as he steadily layered paper and glued to form a face. How his eyes followed doctors and nurses, in a way you could only be akin to a predator stalking its prey. Intense. Calculating. Your fingers buried themselves in your soaked hole, your moans echoing off the walls as you brought yourself to the edge. Your back arched as your vision whitened, whimpers rolling out of your throat, riding out your height. It was easy to imagine it was Michael bringing you past this edge; how easy it was to imagine it was his rough fingers dragging down your body, toying with your clit. Attempting to steady your shaking breaths and legs was no easy feat. You stared at the ceiling, sweat clinging to your body as the thoughts of Michael dissipated, the reality of just how taboo this was finally setting in. He was your patient not your patient, but still! A sigh escaped your lips as you rolled onto your side with a wince, your muscles aching as you attempted to find some escape from your sleep.

October 29

Your uniform felt tight, almost suffocating as you placed the small plastic cups of pills in front of patients. You felt pity for them, abandoned and left to rot within the confines of the state, drugged up to a compliant lucid state. Their blank, watery eyes left you feeling hollow every time you turned your back on them after administrating their daily medication alongside the mush the penitentiary called food. It was fucking sick how they treated these mentally unwell people that needed help above all else.

But today, today was different.

Today you felt watched, more than usual. One could akin this to the feelings prey has before the predator strikes, but who was your predator? You shook your head, instinctively wiping your hands upon your dark scrubs, a nervous smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you approached the behemoth of a man that you’ve affectionately dubbed your ‘favorite patient’.

Michael Myers was quiet, always. His face was always covered with a mask, if not the mop of messy blondish hair. Despite his silence, you found it rather easy to read him, perhaps it was due to the fair amount of time you’d spent tailing after Dr. Loomis, half-heartedly acknowledging his rambles about Michael that you didn’t believe. It was odd, you, a mere 2 years younger than he was, and two completely different people. Sometimes, between shifts or hiding with the smokers out back, you’d think about what life for Michael would’ve been like if life had been kinder, softer. A childhood filled with joy, love, and comfort is what every child deserves in your mind. You don’t think Michael was born a monster, but one born of circumstance. Squeaky cartwheels echo throughout this part of the rec room. Patients and staff alike avoided the very space Michael inhabited, for fear of becoming victims of the Boogeyman of Haddonfield. You, however, were either stupid or brave, and right now you didn’t quite know which one was worse. Michael sat slump, his head hanging low, though you could see his neck jerk in your direction as you approached. “Morning, Michael! “You chirped, gently sliding the plastic cup of assorted medicine to the man. He was quiet, eyes flicking to you for just a moment before slowly reaching for his dailies. You faced the wall as he downed them. You began to wonder what his face looked like; you’d seen his face in files. When he was a boy, his cheeks were rosy, and round, and his eyes still clung to some semblance of childhood innocence. You tried to picture him grown. Perhaps his face was made of nothing of right angles, maybe he looked like his mother? Questions ran through your head as Michael placed the cup down. It made you want to gag knowing he always downed his dailies without water, and it wasn’t for a lack of trying. Water was readily available. Ever the gentle creature you were, Michael watched as you sat across from him, folding your hands in your lap. You tried not to stare, honestly you didn’t, but there was something about him that made you just want to...stare. His hands were large and calloused from the years of nimble working of paper machete masks that donned his cell walls. It was the same hands that killed his sister at the age of 10. The same hands you’d fantasied about the night before.

He remained stoic, eyes finally meeting your face. It felt as if he was searching for something, a hint of malice or pity. He’d find none within your feature, nothing more than a genuine want to know something about him. Michael found you pretty enough, kinder than the nurses and doctors and specialists that buzzed around him like an annoying fly, poking and prodding with annoying tests and needles and a constantly changing dose of medicine that left him feeling ill. You, however, never buzzed. You may have lingered a tad bit longer than was necessary, but it was never in a pestering way. He’d notice how your hands toyed with the hem of your scrubs. They were always dark in color, but never stark black. Muted maroons and soft navies were your usual attire, something Michael found himself fond of.

You were simple. Not easy but you stuck to a schedule.

Michael liked that about you. He almost found himself longing to touch you, to feel you as you rose and walked away. A heavy metal door slammed behind you. It was decided in his mind then and there that you were his. The Boogeyman of Haddonfield wanted you for himself.

October 30

Smith’s Grove had befallen silent for the night, strangely enough. Everyone seemed tense, on edge as every little creak and crack was greeted with a jump. How odd people acted, you thought, making mental notes on what you needed to do before clocking out. It was already a quarter till 4 PM, and the ending of your shift never made you as happy as it is now. You practically skipped through the halls, ready to finally leave Michael with his usual goodbye before your departure. His cell neared, and the heavy scent of wet paper and Elmer’s glue lingered the closer you got.

You knocked, knuckles brushing against the reinforced doors as you entered the cell. Masks hung from the walls like hunting trophies, and one could only wonder how Michael found the creativity to even create such pretty things within his conditions. You’d hum, continuing to eye the brightly colored masks with your arms folded across your chest. You knew not to touch them; it was basic respect after all. Your constant lingering seemed to pay off though, as you nearly squealed when Michael offered a quiet ‘mmh’ in greeting. Sure, it may not seem like something much, but anyone who worked with the behemoth of a man would tell you, that Michael Myers does NOT do anything except eat, sleep, and make those masks; but with you, it was like he was a different entity all together. He was calmer, in your easy. The weight that he clung to within his shoulders seemed to lessen. You both sat quietly, content in each other's company. It was when your watch chimed that Michael stiffened, breathing heavily through his nose whilst you rose, offering a weak smile as you trekked towards the door, promising you’d see him tomorrow, you promised!

[katyawriteswhump]

the freak in the penthouse part 3.1

E-rated (for sexual content), accidental millionaire eddie/sex-worker steve.

On tumblr: Part one Part two or search #thefreakinthepenthouse

On AO3

3.1 Cracks in the plasterwork

Eddie was vegging out front of the TV, watching a rerun of Star Trek, when a knock sounded. Shit, shit, SHIT! He was literally naked and he’d not ordered anything on room service.

Not till later, at any rate. Eddie glanced at the clock. Only four pm.

He grabbed a bathrobe. Despite Steve’s brutal early wakeup call, Eddie had gotten more energy than in an age. Life really did feel less of a gloom-fest today.

Even if his self-loathing still throbbed like a bitch.

A voice sounded from the corridor. “Uh, Mister M… I mean, Eddie? You there?”

It was Steve! Already? Eddie threw both the doors wide. “Greetings and salutations. You’re mega-early.”

“Yeah. Sorry. Can’t stay. The main elevator guy’s off sick. I’m stuck there all day.”

Eddie was seriously cracking up. In his bellboy hat with its little strap under his chin, Steve was ridiculous levels of adorable. And fuckable. Which was all kinds of wrong.

“No sweat, Stevie.” He reined in his giggles. “I’m up for a quickie in your elevator, if that’s all that’s on offer.”

It was a joke. Steve sighed. He looked exhausted, kinda shadowy around the eyes. “I finish at eight. I’ll be here as soon as I can. Listen, I’m really sorry. I think I dropped something here last night. Can I, erm… have a peep, see if I can find it?”

“Sure.” Eddie stepped aside.

Steve rushed first into the bedroom, throwing himself flat to look under the bed. “The chambermaid’s been and gone,” said Eddie. He already felt like a total a-hole for laughing at Steve, who seemed genuinely stressed out. “Don’t think she picked anything up that wasn’t my usual trash. What did you lose?”

“Oh, nothing.” Steve hurried back across the lounge area and into the restroom. “Well, actually, it’s kind of important. It belongs to a friend… Oh, thank God.”

Eddie arrived at the restroom door in time to receive an epic view of Steve’s butt in his deadly-tight uniform pants. He was crawling to retrieve something from under the spacious clawfoot washtub. “Christ, I was going outta my mind! I keep this safe for my friend, Robin—she’s a junior sous chef, and, uh, yeah, she’d totally lose her head if it wasn’t attached. Anyway, she put it in my bag without telling me yesterday, apparently. What a flake!”

Steve shoved the cause of his anguish—which turned out to be one of those blue asthma inhalers that Eddie had seen kids use at grade school—into his back pocket. His breakneck monologue seemed a bit odd, but he was all smiles now, which made Eddie relax again too. Especially as a glint of that irresistible come-hither returned to Steve’s big brown eyes.

He’s pretending, Eddie reminded himself. He’s good. This guy’s reeeeeally good at this. Unfortunately for Eddie, Steve already backed toward the doors.

“Hey, I heard rumors there’s a plunge pool in the other restroom,” said Steve. “That true?”

“Fuck, yeah,” said Eddie. “Big enough to swim in. How about we take a dip later?” Steve responded with an Oscar-winning grin and flutter of his lashes. “Oh, wait a sec.” Eddie dived to retrieve his wallet from beside a vase of fake orchids. “Here’s your one-fifty. Plus, two hundred bucks in advance for tonight.”

“Wow. Thank you.” Steve’s voice trembled strangely as he took the cash, while Eddie found himself beaming like an idiot. Steve had knocked his hat askew crawling under the bath, and now Eddie reached out and straightened it. Steve flushed slightly, suddenly unable to meet Eddie’s eye: 

“Look, you treated me real nice yesterday, Eddie. Sorry if I come across grouchy. Or pushy. I know I can be like that. They’re brutal traits, in my line of work.”

“Not a problem,” said Eddie, not quite believing how badly he didn’t want Steve to leave. 

Steve reached the doors, lightly touched the handle and glanced back. “I mean, I’m sure I can do any weird kinks for somebody as nice as you.”

“Did I tell you I had a weird kink for fucking guys in bellboy outfits?” It wasn’t true at all, but Eddie couldn’t help it.

“Yeah, right. That’s a surefire way to experience my weird kink for punching annoying clients in the face.”

Ooookay. For some reason, Eddie grinned about that for the next hour.

The silence that followed Steve’s departure was still too much for Eddie to handle. For the first time in weeks, he put on a CD—Guns n’ Roses’ ‘You could be mine’ simmering on low volume. He picked up the phone and called Dustin.

“I’m gonna go through your notes this afternoon,” Eddie told him. “Will try and get some ideas going, but no promises. Oh, and don’t you dare call this evening. I got a date.”

Eddie’s whispering demons about the half-lie were drowned out by Dustin’s screams: “Aaaaaaaagh! That’s awesome, Eddie. Hey, how about you and your date double up with Suzie and me. There’s this cool new pizza joint on Rodeo Drive—”

“No way in hell,” said Eddie. He didn’t hang up on Dustin this time. At least, not until he’d gotten a promise from his bud to send a fresh batch of decent weed over.

…

Steve reached Eddie’s suite, slightly out of breath, at seven minutes past eight. He still wore his uniform, minus the hat. He really couldn’t risk another night rushing around dressed like a hooker.

Kline had already swiped fifty dollars off him—a ‘cancellation fee’ that he’d demanded Steve charge Eddie. If the slimy son-of-a-bitch discovered Eddie hadn’t chickened out and that Steve had taken the ‘job’ himself, Steve would be out in the gutter.

On the other hand, thanks to Eddie, Steve had been able to put in an order for his prevention meds. That would take the pressure off his rescue inhaler. He already craved that cool, fresh feeling in his lungs, as those expensive pills did their thing, opening up his airways. He’d put the rest aside to pay off a little more of last winter’s hospital debt. 

Shame about lying to Eddie earlier, but hey, who’d wanna hire an asthmatic call-boy? And last night had gone fine, so why worry now?

Eddie opened the door with a megawatt grin. Damn, Eddie was stupid levels of adorable when he smiled. “Hey.”

“Hey there.”

Fortunately, Eddie no longer wore that hideous Hugh Hefner bathrobe. Instead, he wore a pair of black silk boxers and nothing else. He slouched against the door frame, and indicated with his head that Steve should enter. Steve snapped his mouth shut before he drooled.

“The plunge pool is getting hot and steamy,” said Eddie.

“Great.” Steve stepped into the room, tugging apart his collar, stripping his shirt off. “Sorry about the uniform, I uh—”

“Gotta confess,” said Eddie, “I miss the eye-liner… Woah!”  

Steve had peeled down his pants to reveal a teeny pair of denim hotpants. He kicked his clothes across the room, rolled his shoulders back and shimmied his hips… in sync to a very faint beat.

“You’re red-hot, Baby.” Eddie moved close, slid his hands to clasp Steve’s butt, where the super-tiny shorts cut off half-way up Steve’s butt cheeks. They also cut in like cheese wire, particularly now Steve started to grind the bulge around the front of them into Eddie.

“You broke your no-music rule,” he murmured into Eddie’s ear, arms looping up around Eddie’s neck as they swayed to the unfamiliar rock song.

“My penthouse," whispered Eddie. "My rules.”

...

Part 3.2

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