#she’s gotta be wrong about sOMETHING HERE. like she has to have something twisted up lol.

[jnkgrnde]

— can you stand the rain?, clarisse la rue, pjo

FREE PALESTINE: LINKS TO HELP

summary — in which, you and clarisse get into an argument that causes you to kiss in the rain.

pairings — clarisse la rue x black!fem!reader (daughter of poseidon)

content includes — arguing, kissing in the rain, best friends to lovers, jealous!clarisse

authors note — TELL ME BABY CAN YEWWWW STAND THE RAINNNNNN 🗣️🎤 this is def butt but this has been in my drafts for way too long so!

it was a beautiful, sunny day in long island. the smell of strawberries from the fields established themselves as today’s scent for the camp, the lake was cool enough for a dip.

it was a perfect day.

and it was a perfect day for you and clarisse to hang out with each other. you wanted to convince her to take a day off from training and take a swim in the lake to cool off for the day, before eventually doing something stupid later.

you knew clarisse was up because she was always up before you, so you decided to knock on the ares cabin door first to find her. her younger brother told you she wasn’t there and that you could find her at the sparring field. you thanked him with a smile before leaving to find her. lo and behold, there was clarisse la rue in her armor with her electric spear, training with a dummy.

you didn’t know how long she’d been out here, but the training dummy looked about out of comission. “d’you wake up on the wrong side of bed or did you add him to your hate list?” she halted her movements, dust flying beneath her shoes.

“did you need something, sweet thing?” and there she went with the nicknames. she knew you loved them, and she also knew you’d get tripped up by them. “so i was thinking we’d take a dip in the lake today.” and you knew what she was gonna say,

“y/n, you know i have to train today—“ “but that’s what you do everyday, clar! please? just for today?” you begged. you gave her your infamous puppy eyes, ones you knew she couldn’t turn away from. she groaned dramatically. “… you got me. i’ll meet you by the canoes in ten.” you grinned with excitement. “thank you thank you!” you kissed her cheek before running off.

she stood frozen for a second before a smile started spreading across her face. her cheek felt tingly in the spot you kissed her in.

you wore a white overshirt with a blue swimsuit underneath, paired with jean shorts. you carried a bag, sunglasses in your hair. you walked over to the lake, a smile on your face knowing you could be in one of the places you loved most.

you saw clarisse standing near the canoes watching the water. she had a towel laid out and was just taking her shoes off when you covered her eyes. “boo.” clarisse feigned annoyance, but still let a smile grace her lips.

you set down your bag on the sand, taking your shirt and shorts off. “not gonna join me, clar?” “nah. gotta keep watch, y’know, for butterflies and stuff.” you rolled your eyes with a smile before walking into the water, eventually going deep enough to wear you can float. you swam out enough for the sun to beam down on you, and just let yourself feel the water.

clarisse watched you. she loved watching you anytime, but she especially loved when you were in your environment. she took note of the smile on your face and how you occasionally paddled your hands to make sure you kept yourself afloat, although with your powers and everything, it wasn’t hard.

clarisse admired her surroundings before her eyes caught a boy staring at you — carter from hephaestus cabin. he was deeply tanned with a good build and curly hair, and had scars all over his hands and face from working on weapons for the camp.

carter watched with a small smile. he held a gold necklace in his hands, twisting them around. it had a sea turtle pendant, and it shined in the sunlight.

clarisse furrowed her eyebrows. she didn’t like what she was feeling — you were just friends, right? it’s just her being protective over you. she didn’t want you to get hurt or anything. she was sure that’s what it was.

it was a while before you decided to get out of the water. you didn’t realize how long you’d been there before noticing that it was starting to get a little cooler. you swam, then walked back to shore, but not before being stopped by carter.

to you, carter was a sweet, caring boy, just not for you specifically, because you had your sights set on someone else. he was starting to show he liked you, and got bolder as time went on. “hey, y/n. i made you something.” he told you nervously but still with a smile. he held out the necklace to you, the sea turtle shining in the light.

you let out a genuine smile before thanking him, not noticing the burning daggers being glared into the back of his head. he offered to put it on for you, so you turned and he slowly locked the chain together.

“thank you, carter.” you smiled before walking over to clarisse. you found her not so happy, actually stuffing things into your bags. “hey, clar, what’s wrong?” you reached out to touch her arm, and she pulled away like you were a hot pan burning her.

you furrowed your eyebrows in hurt and confusion. her face was scrunched up and she looked at you like you disgusted her. she shoved your bag to your chest before storming off back to the main campgrounds.

“clarisse!” you slung your bag on your shoulder and ran to try and catch to her, but she was already gone. your heart squeezed in your chest and you frowned before continuing to walk to your cabin.

a million thoughts swirled around in your head — why was she acting like this? you were just friends, right? you knew she was protective of you, yes, but not to this extent. you opened the doors to the poseidon cabin, where it was empty. you assumed percy was probably out with annabeth on a date, probably.

clarisse didn’t know why she felt this way; she hated it. she hated the way she acted when you touched her, or how she felt giddy and mushy inside whenever you look at her with your pretty eyes. she hated feeling the way she did around you, because she usually feels guilt, anger, or needing to please her father. that’s how she thinks she’s supposed to feel, how she’s wired to feel.

you make her actually feel like a good person, and she knew she impacted you with the way she acted that day.

it was later at night at the dining pavilion. torches were lit, dryads were flying around with silver platters with food, and campers from different cabins were chatting and laughing with eachother. the energy was high, seeing as there was a planned campfire tonight, with the apollo cabin leading the sing along.

you and percy sat at the poseidon table. his plate was full, and he had blue soda on the side. you gave him a small smile. “have you not eaten since breakfast?” you asked. “nah. annabeth wanted to go on a hike and i forgot to eat after.” you flicked his forehead. “why didn’t you tell me? i have a secret stash in the cabin!” you whisper-yelled. “i’m sorry!” he whined. you both laughed as the conversation flowed.

clarisse stole many glances from the poseidon table, specifically from you. despite what happened earlier in the day, you still smiled. her chest squeezed at the sound of your laughter. she poked her tongue against her lips before looking down at her plate.

it was after dinner where you and clarisse actually saw each other. she was sitting with the ares cabin, and you were sitting with percy and a couple other mutual friends. every time you looked up from the fire, there was clarisse who was staring at you no matter what. you quickly looked away every time you made eye contact.

the empty seat next to you was soon filled, but not by who you actually wanted it to be. carter sat next to, playing with his hoodie strings and smiling at you. “d’you need something, carter?” you asked. you didn’t mean to sound annoyed, but you weren’t as enthusiastic as you were earlier.

“well, i wanted to know if you were free later this week? i-i had something planned and-“ “no, she’s not free.” and standing in front of you was the woman of the hour.

you snapped your eyes up at the familiar voice. she held a glare directed at carter. before anybody could say anything, chiron announced that the campfire had to end early, seeing there was a storm starting to move in. “so, um, are you coming?” carter persisted. “i’ll get back to you on that, carter.” you gave a small smile before getting up. you shot clarisse a look before walking back with percy to the poseidon cabin.

the night was dark, and thunder started rolling in. the camp turned in for the night, all except for one. there was a tapping on your window, waking you up from your sleep. you groaned, already starting to yell at whoever it was before you recognized clarisse.

you furrowed your eyebrows, “what are you doing here?” she held her hand out without a word. you hesitated, looking back at percy to see him fast asleep. you looked back at clarisse, and she looked desperate. you slipped on your shoes before taking her hand and letting her guide you out the window.

she walked with you, out to the woods and seemingly to your secret spot, the spot that was reserved for you and clarisse only. “clarisse, why are we out here?” you asked her once you finally stopped.

your emotions were already starting to heighten, the rain slowly following. she stared at you for a second. “i’m sorry.” she apologized. “why? you left me with no explanation like i was some animal on the street and ignored me. why?”

she breathed out a heavy breath. “him.” she whispered. “what?” “because of carter!” she snapped. you were confused, “what does this have to do with him?” clarisse looked at you like she begged you to understand, like you were supposed to know why.

“because he likes you,” she put out simply, “and i don’t want him to.” you blinked while taking in her words. she was closer to you than before now, her breath on your face. she soaked you in, watching the rainwater run down your face. she came to the realization.

“i like you,” she barely spoke. “i like you, and i don’t want him to like you.” you stood in shock. clarisse liked you. she liked you back, and you had no clue. you cupped her jaw and pulled her down to your lips. it was passionate, like she would die without feeling you again. you pulled away, “so, you stormed off because you liked me?” clarisse rolled her eyes with a smile. “well, when you put it like that.”

you pulled her back with a laugh and the rain getting lighter throughout the kiss, eventually allowing the stars to shine.

[nyaagolor]

Franziska being Nick's weird little girl in Bridge to the Turnabout lives rent-free in my mind at all times

-

The two of them are sitting on the snowy bench watching Phoenix for at least five minutes before Franziska finally says something.

“He is depressed,” she announces matter-of-factly. Gumshoe can’t help but let out a sigh of relief.

“Finally, people are making SENSE around here, sir!”

Franziska continues without acknowledging him. “He misses his vierd little girl.”

Gumshoe’s face falls. “The spirit medium, you mean? That’s not a good way to describe her.”

Franziska twirls a hand in the air like that will untangle the words in her mind. “No, Phoenix, he… hm. He is always… he has those vierd little girls following him around always. Maya, but also the little one. I have seen it many times.”

Gumshoe thinks about it, and realizes Franziska isn’t exactly wrong. Phoenix does always seem to have some kinda buddy with him all the time— one of the Feys, usually, but even his Maggey stood beside him during her trials.

“You think it helps him focus? Like a little rubber ducky you talk to when you gotta get the words out right?” he says. 

Franziska glares at him coldly. “You are the only fool who would do something so foolish.”

Gumshoe slumps a little, and Franziska twists her whip around in her hands.

“However. You may not be incorrect. Phoenix Wright is a foolish fool, and his foolish tendencies are somewhat mitigated by the presence of his… strange female companions.”

“His… do you mean friends?”

“Silence,” Franziska commands.

The two of them sit there in silence again before Franziska, eyes locked like searchlights on the back of Phoenix’s head, stands up suddenly with her mouth set into a hard line. She cracks the whip in the snow and strides towards him, her heels crunching in the powder.

“PHOENIX WRIGHT,” she commands, and he jumps with less of a start than normal. He really IS depressed, it seems. “I will be assisting with your investigation.”

Phoenix looks less than thrilled, sputtering protests as Franziska stares coldly up at him, and it is at that moment that Gumshoe decides he could use a little cocoa right about now.

By the time he returns, Phoenix seems strangely back to normal, muttering over seemingly random knickknacks he insists are “evidence” and shuffling through his chickenscratch notes like there’s anyone capable of reading it. He taps one of the pages and looks up expectantly. Though Franziska does nothing but offer him the same steely gaze, Phoenix seems satisfied enough, smiling to himself and scribbling furiously in the margins. Franziska catches Gumshoe’s eyes, notices his smile, and quickly turns her head, fingers curling around the handle of her whip. Taking a sip of his cocoa to hide his grin, Gumshoe pretends to be busy with investigating.

[ghouljams]

Ok so I know you don’t write Keegan into your AUs but I had a thought about the cowboy au like Keegan dating a barrel racer maybe she’s one of gooses friends but I see him with no one else other then a crazy horse girl .

It's funny that I keep thinking Goose is a barrel racer, but honestly she's probably in either bareback or saddle bronc riding. She is absolutely friends with every rider in the circuit though. This is also maybe sacrilege to the cowboy au point but I don't think Keegan has horses. I think he's a sheep farmer, so he's got dogs. Does that stop him from admiring a pretty barrel racer or having a thing for crazy chicks? Nope.

You kiss your filly's nose for about the hundredth time, her ears flicking back and forth with excitement. Everyone has their rituals, and yours win you buckles. You hold your horse's big head between your hands and assure her that if she wins this for you she can have as many carrots as she wants. That seems to spark her attention. Her big wet eyes staring into you with all the trust in the world. You give her another kiss for luck and turn to lead her to your gate.

There's a man in the center of the action, looking around like he's lost. Must've wandered in from the fair, that happens sometimes. As soon as the man lays eyes on you though he's making a bee line in your direction. You squeeze your horse's reigns and lean a little closer to her. Men don't usually approach you, or really any of the other riders in your division. You have a bit of a reputation.

The crowd parts for him. The glare in his eyes clearer the closer he gets. You wonder if maybe you accidentally blew this guy off at some point? Maybe he catcalled you and didn't like how you talked back. You gotta stop taking pointers from bronc riders.

The twisting white skull print on his mask distracts you from the dogtags. It's only when a man jumps out of the way of him that you notice he's holding a dog. That takes some of the scare out of his glare, and you laugh a little when it wags its tail. He stops in front of you and holds out his free hand.

"Keegan Russ," he introduces, his voice rumbles pleasantly in your chest. You stare at his offered hand, still wondering if he's here to enact some sort of revenge. "I don't bite, much." His eyes crinkle at the edges, it softens his face tremendously. Enough for you to take his hand and offer your name as well.

"Your dog looks uncomfortable," You point out, eyeing the large German shepherd that Keegan is carrying. The dog is resting almost limp in his grip, looking around at the horses with keen interest. It sniffs towards your filly.

"Him?" Keegan points at the shepherd under his arm, the dog wags its tail and licks his fingers. In response Keegan shifts his grip, hauling the dog up to his chest to hold like a baby. You don't miss the way his biceps flex, and tighten his sleeves. "He's fine."

The dog does look fine. Perfectly content to be carried around however his owner sees fit. You think it's a little silly looking, but that's all the more reason not to tell him to stop. You giggle, and quickly stop yourself. Oh god he's got you giggling.

"You're not supposed to bring dogs in here," You tell him, you're sure he would've seen the signs outside the doors.

"That's why I'm holdin' onto 'im." Keegan raises his brows, daring you to kick him out. Somehow it makes you smile. The full sentence really drives home the gruffness in his voice. The rough rumble that makes you think he could get anything he wanted from you if he just kept talking like that.

"Did great Riley," Keegan sets the dog down outside, and scratches between his ears, "gonna get you a mom in no time."

"Do you ride?" You ask him, trying to suss out what he'd come over for.

"Don't need to," he sniffs, "I got sheep."

"Really?" You grin, somehow you can't imagine this man with something so... cute. He nods, raising a questioning brow.

"Something wrong with that?" You shake your head.

"No, I just-" you turn to hide your laugh, stroking your filly's nose, "Why're you in here then?" You turn back to him, catch the tail end of another eye crinkle. It makes your chest feel warm and fuzzy.

"This is where the pretty girls are," He tells you plainly. You feel your face heat, a giggle rippling through your chest at the compliment. Keegan switches Riley to being held under one arm again and pats his pockets, drawing out a business card with two fingers. He holds it out to you, and you try not to think about how big his hand is as you take it.

"You're giving me your card?" You question, seems like a strange way to conduct business, but sure.

"My number," he corrects, "if you ever need wool, or dinner." He thinks for a moment, "or dick, 'm pretty good with it."

You open your mouth to respond and close it just as quickly.

"Good with my mouth too," Keegan tugs his mask up, and you get the briefest flash of silver on his tongue as he flicks it out. His mask is pulled back into place quick enough you think it might've been your imagination. "If you're interested."

The loudspeaker calls your name, and you glance up at it then back to him. You stuff his card in your pocket and give him a quick apology before leading your horse towards the ring. You wish you could promise to see him afterwards, but the thought makes you nervous. You've never had someone come on that strong before, you're not sure how to respond.

This guy better not fuck up your run.

Keegan watches you lead your horse towards the gates, swinging up onto the palamino with effortless grace. You were prettier up close, although he shouldve known that would be the case. He doesnt bother with trying to wait for you, you'll call. He's got a sense for these things.

It's an easy walk out of the holding area. People always jump out of the way for him, have since he was in basic. Now that he's outta the army it's funny to watch cities do it.

[passivenovember]

(sharing again because I'm so proud of this one)

When Billy Falls in Love

--

Max's hair is twisted into a rough pink towel when she answers the door. She’s got a berry sorbet sunburn peeking through the angry red flush on her cheeks, freckles looking like they could peel off at any moment. It’s the same way Billy gets in the summertime, but he turns gold in seconds.

Max stays angry red. 

She wasn’t at the pool today. Steve knows because he was at the pool fifteen minutes ago, and Billy wasn’t there. And if Billy’s gone so is Max, and if Max is here-- 

“He’s not here. What’s with the flowers?” Max wonders, with her teeth pulling at the wrapper of a Scoops brand popsicle as she eyes the poorly picked and assembled bouquet of daisies and weeds Steve managed to convince the gardener to let him snag. 

Steve can tell she doesn’t really want to know what the deal is. Maybe she already knows. 

Max is fourteen and a perpetually bored pain in the ass, already moving to shut Steve out of the house when he jams his foot so the door won’t close. 

Max tugs on it. Groans. “Steve,” Max says, sounding tired.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know because we don’t keep tabs on each other, you psycho.”

“Bullshit,” Steve says. Neil’s car isn’t in the driveway, he almost points out.

Doesn’t.

Max almost cracks a smile, seeming to hear him anyway. If Neil’s gone that leaves Billy to play guard dog. “If you care so much about my stupid brother all of a sudden--”

“--All of a--”

“Get in your stupid shitty car and go drive around until you find him,” Max says, like. Get lost.

They’re so similar it burns. Chars licking over Steve’s skin in the shape of how they sneer and heckle the same, and they’re both so smart that Steve has to do math and study chemistry, and perform mental gymnastics just to keep up.

There’s a lot to latch on to, Steve’s hands slip over it like a gymnast missing the high bar. 

The way she’s looking at him, the way Max said all of a sudden like Steve’s done something wrong--

“He used to drive you around,” Steve says, like. Aha. “Don’t you give a shit?”

About him? 

About his bones and blood. 

Max shrugs. “Why should I?”

And. Steve’s an idiot but he remembers how it was before, back when this whole thing started. His lips, red and tender from sucking on any piece of Billy he could find. His fingers, tugging on worn belt loops and begging for a night on Loch Nora and that dull, exhausted phrase gotta watch my sister sinking a hole in Steve’s hope.

“It’s summer,” Max says after a minute, irritated, “We have an arrangement in the summer. June to Labor Day I do what I want, Billy fucks off for a bit, and we always show up here right when--”

“His car's gone,” Steve says. Because she owes it to him and his months and months of blue balls at her lack of self-preservation. She owes it to Billy.

“His car’s gone because he’s not here, Steve, we just went over this--” 

Max moves to slam the door and Steve holds it open, trying to ignore the hollow feeling that spreads through his stomach. “Why are you acting weird?” Steve demands.

“I’m not acting weird, you’re the one who’s trying to break into my house because Billy stepped out for five minutes,” Max tugs on the door, groaning dramatically, “C’mon Steve--”

Steve clutches the bouquet of flowers close to his chest. “We’re supposed to go see a movie.”

Max stops pulling on the door, all the attitude cut from her with something dull. 

Steve swallows. His nails dig into the palm of his free hand. Steve feels blood swell, but it’s probably just sweat. “Billy. He’s not on a date--”

“Look, Steve,” Max says suddenly, sounding. Much older and wiser than she did five seconds ago. “I like you. You’re cute and dumb but you’re annoyingly sweet and thoughtful. You’re tall, too. You’ve probably failed freshman biology a couple of times.--”

“--I--”

“Shut up,” Max tells him, and Steve swears there’s a bit of green swirling in all that red, embarrassment mixing like watercolor. “Can I be honest with you, Steve?”

Steve nods. He takes his foot from the door jam and rubs his hand on his jeans. Shudders as the feeling in his stomach ebbs and swirls and gets so much worse.

“You’re not his fucking boyfriend,” Max says, and slams the door in his face.

--

“Well. To be fair, she’s not wrong.”

Steve grips the steering wheel. The leather crackles and squeals with the skin of his palms, giving way to the rumble of the engine when he turns the car onto Park Avenue. 

“Jesus,” Eddie snaps, his free hand scrambling to brace against the passenger door while the bouquet teeters dangerously on his lap, “You don’t have to take the turns so fast, Harrington--”

“I can’t believe she said that.”

“--Fucking Evel Kenevil--”

“I mean. I’m practically his boyfriend, right?”

“Sure, and you’ll still be ‘practically his boyfriend,’ even if you drive at the speed limit.”

“Thought you said Max wasn’t talking out of her ass, Munson?”

“Look, I’m allowed to take things minute by minute. I’m just saying,” Eddie tightens the seatbelt against his chest, “You haven’t exactly popped the question.”

“You think Billy’s the kind of guy who--”

“Yeah,” Eddie says casually. “He’s exactly the kind of guy who wants to be asked out. I’ve seen the way he picks flowers and puts them in his own hair when he thinks no one’s looking.”

Steve snorts. “When has he ever done that?”

“We hang out, you know,” Eddie tells him, in lieu of an answer. “When you’re not around, we hang out loads--”

“Maybe you’re Billy’s mystery man,” Steve says only half serious. Mostly joking. 

Eddie flushes deep red, “Anyway. This bag of weeds is a good start,” He mumbles, twisting the fat head of a dandelion gently between two fingers.

Steve doesn’t have it in him to unpack any of what that might mean.

They’ve been driving for what feels like hours. The sky has turned hazy, floating in that honey-dipped place between dayglow and starlight. The world will be gold, soon, and then dark. Midnight black. 

Hawkins is a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it affair. A shithole. Billy only has a handful of places to hide.

Steve presses a little harder on the gas, knowing in the very pit of himself that this is crazy. This is insane, driving around like a bat out of hell with Eddie Munson, but Billy likes Eddie Munson. Steve tolerates him. And Robin’s at camp, so.

Eddie clutches the door again with another sharp, sudden turn. “Harrington--”

“I’m not dropping you off until I find him.”

“Alright,” Munson grumbles. He lights a cigarette and stares out the window for half a neighborhood block and then says, “How do you know he’s not at home, already?”

Steve grips the steering wheel, convinced Eddie wasn’t listening the first time. “Maxine said--”

“That was an hour ago.”

“Neil doesn’t get off until seven, if Billy’s gone he wont be back until six-thirty at the earliest.”

Eddie checks the dash. “It’s six-thirty now.”

“Do you wanna die today, freak?”

“God, you’re so unpleasant,” Eddie says, handing his cigarette over, anyway, “You’re the worst, actually. Worse than I ever imagined and I’ve imagined it a lot when Billy and Dustin yap their fucking gums about how great you are.”

Steve takes a harsh pull from the cigarette. Coughs and hands it back. 

Eddie takes it from him. Ash gathers on the cherry but he’s got no self-awareness. 

“If you get ash in my flowers, Munson--”

“Jesus Christ, would you give it a rest? He’s gonna love them. He’ll probably cry, once he’s done beating the shit out of you.”

Silence falls, lurid and uncomfortable, and Steve realizes Munson is watching him. Staring at him, 

“This is insane boyfriend behavior, Harrington,” Eddie says.

“So, you admit I’m his boyfriend?” Steve tries weakly, in lieu of what he means. Why Should I Take Advice from You?

“I’m saying this is boyfriend behavior but you won’t be a boyfriend for long, once he finds out what we’re doing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Steve grits his teeth. “What are we doing that’s so wrong, Munson?”

“Hunting him. Like a couple of crazy fucking bloodhounds.”

“We had a date,” Steve tells Eddie again. For the eightieth time. “Billy’s never missed a date so he’s either dead or dying or riding some other guy’s--”

Eddie bangs his head against the window.

Steve rolls the window down for him if only to protect the integrity of the Beemer. “Look, I know it doesn’t make sense to you, but I know Billy. And he wouldn’t just disappear without--”

“You’re not his dad,” Eddie tells him, and Steve.

Steve doesn’t have time to get into all the reasons that’s spot -fucking-on. He’s not Billy’s dad, because Steve loves Billy. To his bones and beyond, a little knob of heartache swirling around each nucleus of every atom in the very core of him.

Steve loves Billy so much it gets him into trouble.

Eddie sucks down his smoke again, like, “You’re really doing all this for a missed date?”

“What’s it to you?”

“I’m just saying,” Eddie shrugs, “I heard stories about you and the Wheeler chick. Seems like she missed a lot of dates at the end and you never did anything like this for her.”

“Billy’s not Nancy. Billy’s not like anyone, he’s--”

“Holy shit,” Eddie says, coughing. “You. You’re not just blowing smoke up my ass, you’re serious about him.”

And.

Munson says it like it’s a shock. 

Like Steve Harrington’s not capable of loving anything but himself. His hair and his house on the hill and this stupid fucking car and maybe that’s what the losers at Hawkins High think, but they’re wrong. 

Way wrong. Stuck four years in the past.

Steve has to bite down against every harsh word on the tip of his tongue, tear the sentences apart and swallow them down because of course he’s worried.

Steve’s worried all the time about a lot of things when it comes to this crush he’s been nursing for a year and a half. Steve worries if Billy sleeps enough, for one. If Neil was in a good mood today. How many new bruises Steve will have to cover with hickies the next time they see each other, paint all that hurt over with something good.

It makes him crazy.

Steve worries all the time if Billy loves him. If actually saying it makes a difference.

Steve wonders most of all how much money and begging it’ll take to get Billy out of that house on Cherry Lane. Steve’s spent many restless nights doing the math in his head, staring at the popcorn ceiling as he imagines taking Billy away from here. And if Steve’s taking Billy home, to the coast, then he’s taking Max, too.

So whatever number, whatever dollar amount Steve’s gotta hoard to make it happen--he’d better take it and multiply it by seven, because. Steve’s going to lasso the moon and give it to Billy in a bouquet of yellow daisies. 

If it kills him. 

He’s going to find Billy tonight and tell him the truth if it kills him--

“We’ve gone down this street, already,” Eddie says.

“You’re not helping.”

“I'm just pointing out the obvious.”

“And I’m just pointing out--”

“Look, if you care about Billy so much, why don’t you respect his privacy?” Eddie demands. Somewhere, along the way, he ashed his cigarette on the dashboard.

Steve wants to check the flowers. 

Can’t find it within himself to be angry about that. “I just want to make sure he’s okay. If something happened to him and I wasn’t there to make it better and figure out how to stop it from happening again--”

“God, you’re such a brownie,” Eddie snaps, turning from the window. “What if he ditched you because he’s not into you anymore, Harrington?  What if Billy got tired of waiting for you to pull your head out of your ass and stop obsessing over him where no one else can see it? What if he’s sick of being the plaything you fuck in the dark?”

Steve swallows. Feeling so, so small.

“Everyone says you’re a changed man,” Eddie gets closer, somehow. Looms. “What if Billy thinks you’re bullshit?”

Steve pulls the car to the side of the road. In front of them, hazy with the dregs of the afternoon, a coal brown sign announces that Hawkins will soon be a spot on a map left somewhere far, far away. 

Everything in that shitty little town hangs over him. Feels so huge. Max and Neil and his parents and graduation and the last month of summer, sitting bigger than the sky. 

The engine thrums underneath them and Steve swallows, turning against his seatbelt. “If Billy doesn’t love me,” Steve says, easy and slow, “He can say it to my face.”

Eddie blinks. 

Steve can sense the cogs turning, underneath all that hair. Brown like his, curly like Billy’s. “It won’t change how you feel about him?” Eddie asks. 

And Steve realizes, like a punch to the gut, that Eddie Munson cares about this.

About Billy.

He’s worried, too, in his own twisted, guard-dog best friend kinda way. It reminds Steve of Robin. Dustin, too, always baring their teeth at Billy because they’re not fully convinced that this thing between them will survive the summer.

That Steve would survive losing this. 

He wishes, a deep ache thrumming in his chest, that everyone would either get it or fuck off.

“I love him,” Steve says easily, “Love isn’t something that stops just because the other person’s come to their fucking senses about how much of a loser you are. It isn’t something you say because you want to hear it back. I’ve loved him for a year and a half and I’ll love him even when he realizes I’m not half good enough.”

Eddie smirks. It’s slow and terrible.

“Alright, Harrington,” He leans back in his seat and nods, satisfied. “I think I know where our boy is hiding.”

--

Duane county used to house to the only mall within a hundred miles until Starcourt. 

It’s a small and bustling and annoyingly progressive city, compared to Hawkins, and Steve isn’t the least bit surprised that Billy would run to a place like this to hide for a while.

What surprises him is that Billy knows how to skateboard. 

He’s riding the half pipe, so focused on the concrete that laps like waves under the wheels of his long, colorful board that Billy doesn’t notice when the Beemer’s engine cuts and Steve opens the driver’s side door. 

Eddie doesn’t move. 

“You coming?” Steve asks, frowning when Eddie sparks something too pale and skinny to be a cigarette.

“Nah, you go ahead.”

“You don’t wanna give me your blessing?” Steve wonders, suddenly terrified that Billy won’t go steady with him if he doesn’t see the irritatingly awful face of his best friend giving the thumbs up. 

Eddie hands Steve the bouquet. It’s crushed and it smells like dope.

“Billy’s gonna take one look at these sorry fucking flowers and break up with me,” Steve grumbles, his nose scrunching, and.

Eddie smiles at him. 

It’s soft and real, and kind of beautiful, and Steve gets why Chrissy Cunningham is apparently head over heels for the guy. 

“He loves you, too,” Eddie says, like, “Go on. Quit stalling. Don’t think your big love confession will feel the same if I have told your hand through it.”

Steve slams the door, and Billy floats to the top of the half-pipe with the echo of it. He looks like an angel in the clouds, shirtless with his skin golden in the setting sun, jeans slung low on his hips. The curly, bronze tendrils of hair Steve will always remember the feel of are swooped back in a scrunchie.

Max’s scrunchie.

Billy squints across the parking lot and recognizes Steve, his expression clouding over immediately. “What the fuck are you doing here?” He demands.

Steve waddles across the parking lot, “Eddie’s here,” He calls, like an idiot.

“So?” You fucking him now?”

“No, I--”

“What are you doing here, Harrington?”

Steve almost trips over himself, knees with with nerves. Billy does that to him, always. Forever.

The half-pipe is huge up close, looming like the mast of some ancient, terrible ship and Billy is the pirate waiting to throw him overboard. “We had a date,” Steve says.

Out of breath.

Weak.

“I had to get out of that house,” Billy shades his eyes with one hand, holding the long board aloft with his bare foot. He doesn’t say anything for a long, terrible moment and then he says, “Whatcha got there, pretty boy?” 

“Flowers,” Steve tells him.

“Flowers,” Billy mocks softly. There’s no bite.

He considers the moment. The Scene. Steve Harrington, with flowers clutched to his chest and the dingy little park beyond that and Eddie Munson, probably, hanging from a cloud of marijuana smoke as the afternoon crashes into nightfall.

As Steve crashes and burns.

Steve holds his breath. Billy glides down the half pipe, seeming to ride on the wind until he comes to a delicate, perfect stop in front of him. 

He smells like peaches. 

He’s been eating peaches. Billy’s hands are sticky when he grabs the bouquet, and Steve’s skin lights on fire from his touch. 

It’s so usual. It’s brand new every time.

“You bought me flowers?” Billy asks, pinning Steve with a clear, vibrant stare. 

His eyes are so blue. So beautiful--

“I didn’t buy them, I. I picked them,” Steve says dumbly, “The gardener was going to clear them away, but. I wanted to pick some for our date. I always pick you up on the way but I never bring anything, and I thought. Maybe Neil wouldn’t notice who they were for if it seemed like someone just picked them from a garden. Or the side of the road,” Billy snorts, and Steve nearly breaks an ankle trying to recover, “But I’ve thought about it, and they’re almost out of season, so the gardener--”

“--Right--”

“And. I see them every morning, from my bedroom window, and they remind me of you. Pretty and. Golden, so. I caught the gardener just in time, and i had to pay him $5 to let me pick ‘em before he cleared them away. They’re pretty. Right? I wanted--”

Billy sniffs the daisies first. His eyes close, lashes casting long, noir shadows over the cinnamon freckles on his cheeks and Steve aches to live forever in this moment. To scrape the image into his mind so it can live there, in a house made in Billy’s image. 

“Some of these are weeds,” Billy tells him.

“I--”

“Are you in love with me, Harrington?” Billy rubs the petals of one flower with his thumb, watching as the stems knock together. He’s holding the bouquet like it’s made of glass. Like it might shatter and crumble away if he’s not careful, and Steve.

Feels that way about Billy.

“I,” Steve tries again,

“Thanks for the flowers,” Billy says, and he turns to go.

“Wait,” Steve says. Begs. He almost reaches to stop Billy but he doesn’t want to hurt him. 

Billy stops. Waits. 

Something sharp and fragile sits there, just under the layer of indifference Steve was always too stupide to notice before, but.

“I love you,” Steve says. He sounds strangled. Drowning. 

It hurts.

It hurts and it really, really doesn’t when Billy flushes red. “I love you, too.”

And. 

Steve’s going to catch on fire at any moment. “You love me,” He repeats, testing the words. He doesn’t trust them to hold his hope. Doesn’t think Billy means it how Steve aches and dreams he does. “You love me, like. How you love Max? Or Eddie? Like a friend who you want to suck off sometimes--”

“Eddie and I are just friends,” Billy says, quickly. His gaze is steady on Steve’s face. “I don’t need anyone else for that, I have. You.”

He does. 

He really does.

Billy’s watching Steve like he’s expecting him to say something else, and maybe he is. Has been, for as long as they’ve been sliding inside of each other. Steve was just too dumb to get it before now. 

So he straightens his spine. Clears his throat. Says, “Well. I love you like I want to take you on dates. And introduce you to my parents. I want you to go steady with me and wear my letter--”

“We can’t do that sort of stuff, Harrington.”

“I know.”

“Well, then, why’d you say it?”

“Because it’s what I want,” Steve snaps. Like, “You’re so annoying.”

“It was your idea,” Billy smirks. It’s beautiful. It’s Steve’s second favorite thing, second only to his laugh. And the soft curve of his lips. Billy fiddles with one of the weeds and says, “You don’t even have a letter to give me.”

“Neither do you, asshole,”

“So now what?” Billy demands, his arms flaring wide, “You’re gonna say you want to go steady with me and we’re not gonna do it? Tease.”

Steve rolls his eyes to the heavens, grumbling as they plop wetly on the sun-warmed earth. Billy’s still barefoot and Steve wonders how his toes aren’t burning. “How are your toes not burning?” He demands.

“They are,” Billy tells him, annoyed.

And then. 

Steve gets an idea.

He sits on the ground and pulls both shoes off.

“What are you doing?” Billy snaps, but Steve can hear a smile in his voice, curling tendrils through the teasing annoyance that has made him so different from anyone Steve has ever loved before. “Steve--”

“Here,” Steve says, standing to hold the shoes out in front of him. He hops from one foot to the other as his heels start to burn.

Billy stares at the Nike’s as if they’re coiled snakes. Like if he takes them, they’ll burrow under his toenails and poison him from the inside out. “I don’t get it--”

“I don’t have a letter, but. People might see you in them and get it, right? When has anyone ever seen Billy Hargrove in a pair of Nike’s?”

Billy blinks, confused.

“You’re mine,” Steve says. “So they’re yours. Take them,”

Billy considers him for a long moment and then sets the bouquet on the ground. “Wait here,” He says, and skates off around the bend in the half pipe.

Steve’s feet are on fire.

He’s hopping dramatically, and in the distance he can hear Eddie laughing, and Steve’s going to kill him, but then.

Billy’s back and he’s holding his boots in his hands. “Here,” He says, “Eye for an eye, right?”

And Steve doesn’t need to be told twice. He slips into the worn leather, pleasantly surprised at how comfortable they are. His feet thank him, the raging fire finally simmering.

Steve watches Billy. 

The careful way his fingers lace the Nike’s onto his feet. How his hips shift his weight when he stands. Billy walks in a slow, timid circle, “Shit, Harrington,” He says thickly, “I’ve never been someone’s boyfriend before.”

Steve shrugs, “I’ve never had a boyfriend, before.”

“Think we’ll be any good at it?” Billy asks. He squats deeply, popping back up with a wide, beautiful smile planted pretty as a forest on his face.

It beams itself, magically, onto Steve’s. Startles a bright, hysterical laugh from somewhere deep inside of him. 

“You’re perfect,” Steve says. Nothing has ever felt more true.

[five-and-dimes]

Sloom

AO3

In many ways, Dream feels inferior to the rest of his family. Which means he struggles when Hob asks to meet them.

Well this took a million years longer to finish than I expected and as usual I struggled with the ending but we gotta call it done at some point, lads, so here we are.

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

Dream tries not to think about it too much, because it makes something in his heart ache when he does.

How he was made wrong.

He doesn't understand it- he was born the same way as his siblings, and yet somehow he is the only one… lacking. Everyone else understands humanity, everyone else understands themselves, everyone else doesn't struggle to connect, to speak, to share, to exist in a way that doesn't hurt.

Even Desire, whom he despises so much for all the games they play to torment him…

But then, Desire is only so cruel to him. Maybe that, too, is his fault.

He had thought it was enough to do his job well - to protect the dreamers and his realm and all the power it contains. He can withstand being a bad sibling, a bad friend, a bad husband, father, lover, person (he can withstand it, he can) as long as he is good at his job. He doesn't play games, he doesn't let himself get distracted, he fulfills his purpose, he is good at his job, and that is enough. It has to be.

(And then he fails at that, too.)

(He had made himself good for one thing. Now he is good for nothing.)

He walks with Death, and his elder sister lovingly twists the knife. She reminds him of all the ways he got it wrong, got all of it wrong, and he wonders if she would have bothered to come if he had called at Fawny Rig.

(He wonders if she would have come if one of their other siblings had been captured.)

(He wonders if they all aid each other when he's not looking.)

(He doesn't look.)

She tells him to visit Hob Gadling and it feels like an execution. He feels like he’s bleeding, like he’s being sentenced to a slow death, like all of his wounds are on display for anyone to dig their fingers into.

He feels like he deserves it.

And so he drags his feet, first to the hollowed out husk of the White Horse, and then following a bright line to someplace new, someplace glowing with life and possibility and when he crosses the threshold he feels like a weed. He is too dark for this place, too cold, and when he sees Hob he expects to be kicked out like a stray dog.

Hob smiles at him. Smiles, and Dream feels a little less cold.

“You’re late.”

No condemnation. No cruelty. No accusation or malice or brutality.

Dream is breathless with it.

“It seems I owe you an apology. I’ve always heard it impolite to keep one’s friends waiting.”

Somehow, Hob’s smile brightens. When Dream sits across from him, he feels, for the first time since 1916- no, since long, long before then- that he is welcome and wanted.

When he came here Dream had braced himself for punishment. Instead, they sit and talk long into the evening. Soft and hesitant, Dream gives Hob his name, and Hob glows like he’s been given the answers to the universe. Bright and enthusiastic, Hob speaks of all he has done in the past century, and Dream listens and lets himself sink comfortably into the warmth of companionship.

Eventually, Dream knows he must return to his responsibilities. It aches to think of leaving this soothing place, but he feels as though a balm has been spread on his wounds. Still hurting and aching, but less so than before.

Before he stands to depart, Hob places a hesitant hand on his wrist.

“Feel free to drop by before 2089, yeah? Anytime.”

There is a long pause while Dream considers that. Despite how kind he had been, it feels inconceivable that Hob would want to see Dream more than he has to. But he cannot deny the way his chest clenches with hope at the idea of feeling this warmth again so soon.

Perhaps it is selfish.

But Dream agrees.

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

The first time it comes up is on their third meeting in as many weeks.

They are sitting together on a comfortably worn couch in Hob’s flat above the New Inn, next to each other but still with a respectable distance between them. Dream is trying very, very hard not to misstep in his friendship with Hob. And a part of that, he understands, means sharing the information Hob has asked for for so long.

It is a deeply uncomfortable experience for Dream. A part of him (the part that is still, in some way, shivering deep in the Burgess basement) cries that his secrecy is all that has protected him. That Hob, in his human greed and longing, will turn into Roderick the moment he realizes what Dream is, what he could get from him, what he could take from him.

(That same part of him, curled up the cold glass orb of his heart, cries that it’s better to just give it to him.)

And yet, in all that Dream tells him, Hob never turns cruel. He explains his function, his creation and rule over dreams and nightmares, and Hob’s eyes alight with wonder. He describes his realm, his subjects and landscapes and the Sea of Dreams, and Hob leans forward like an excited child.

And, when he stiltedly explains the nature of the Endless, Hob laughs fondly.

“You know, that actually explains so much.”

Dream tilted his head in confusion, “How do you mean?”

Hob waved his hand vaguely, leaning back in his seat, “Well, all your cute little quirks,” Dream resolutely ignores the warmth in his face from being called cute, “how formally you speak, and all the human things that seem to go over your head. Of course human social niceties aren’t natural to you, not only are you not human, you’re as old as the universe.”

Frowning, Dream looks down at his hands in his lap. He thinks, as he often does, of Death. Of her easy mingling with humans, her casual conversation, the way people smile at her. He thinks of his own shy smile and how all it does is make people walk away faster.

He doesn’t think being Endless explains anything about him, actually.

(It occurs to him, suddenly, that maybe it is not that he wishes to be unmade. He simply wishes he had been made right.)

(Or, perhaps, never made at all.)

“Hey.”

A warm hand covers his, and he looks up to find Hob leaning into his space, shooting him a small smile despite the concern in his eyes, “I’m not criticizing. It’s endearing,” he laces their fingers together, soft and gentle, “I like your quirks.”

That word again. Dream swallows, feels the words build at the base of his throat, they are flaws, they are faults, do not be fooled, do not show me mercy I do not deserve.

But before he gets a chance to explain, to warn him, Hob leans in closer, “I like you.”

The kiss is hesitant, he can taste the anxiety on Hob’s lips, the way he clutches his hand a little harder as though bracing to be pushed away. Dream does not have the strength to push him away. It takes every ounce of effort he has just to keep his tears from falling as he melts against Hob, pressing closer and drinking in Hob’s sigh of relief.

Dream stays long into the night, until Hob drifts to sleep in the circle of his arms. He never corrects Hob’s assumption on his nature, the words still stuck in his throat. Choking him.

But not enough to open his mouth.

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

"So," Hob drawled, putting his arm around Dream's shoulders in a way that was clearly trying to be casual and not succeeding even a little, "When do I get to meet your family?"

Several months have passed (several months of opportunities to tell the truth, to be honest, to crack his ribs open and show Hob everything wrong with him-) and their relationship has grown like a blooming flower. Dream feels warm with Hob, and Hob smiles easily whenever he visits.

Dream does not want it to end.

He hums in consideration, even as his entire body tenses against his will. He has told Hob about his family, though not extensively. He has told him their names, and the order of their birth, but not the intricacies of his relationships with them.

(He has not, even once, mentioned his parents. Hob hasn’t asked.)

(One of the first nightmares he ever crafted was that of a child crying for a parent who refuses to turn around.)

Beside him, Hob shifts a little uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck as he rambles, “I know it’s one of those silly human things, the whole ‘meet the fam’ part of a relationship, but well, y’know me, always curious about your life.”

Hob does that fairly frequently, explaining “human mysteries” or sometimes laughing fondly as he guides his “silly Endless” through whatever social mishap he’s found himself in. Always explaining away Dream’s stumbles with his inhumanity.

And now, he wants to meet his family, and Dream’s chest tightens at the thought of Hob expecting to meet more cold and aloof entities who don’t know where to put their hands and instead being met with Endless who are so much better.

“I… understand,” His speech is as faltering as the rest of him. “If you would like. To meet one of them. I can arrange a meeting.”

Pulling him closer against his side, Hob’s eyes brighten with excitement, even as he checks, “Are you sure?”

Dream nods, barely feeling the kiss on his cheek as he thinks of each of his siblings in relation to Hob.

Delirium and Hob would likely find each other a delight (an irony which does not escape him), both so vivid and full of life, always looking at things in new ways. They are both so bright, so colorful in their own ways. So jarring next to Dream's darkness.

(He pictures Delirium questioning why someone as nice as Hob is with her mean older brother.)

(He pictures Hob realizing he doesn't have an answer.)

He does not think he could bring himself to call Destruction, if he would even answer, but he thinks he and Hob would make fine friends- both turning away from the violence of their pasts, searching instead for ways to grow and nurture.

(Dream had to be punished into changing. Had to be tortured in order to grow.)

(He thinks he grew like a weed. Or perhaps an infection. Just because he is more does not mean he is good.)

If he's honest with himself, he thinks Hob and Desire would get along as well. Hob would probably be good for his sibling in a similar way that he was for Dream, able to understand the soft parts that Desire hides, and them able to share in the joys that life has to offer in a way Dream struggles to, so accustomed to denying his own wants.

(Desire hurt him. Desire hurt him.)

(He has been told that he is worse.)

Thinking about it, he thinks Despair would like Hob. He had the unique ability to truly appreciate despair and understand its value, and Despair had an appreciation for life that Hob could relate to.

(What does it say about him, he wonders, that Despair wants to live more than Dream does?)

Destiny would almost certainly decline any offer to meet, and Dream doesn’t know that he and Hob would be friends, per say, but…

(He imagines Destiny standing before the immortal, forgoing any small talk and telling Hob bluntly that he is destined for things far greater than his broken little brother.)

But, in the end, he knows there was always one person Dream wanted Hob to meet, even if it makes him lose him. So he steels himself and forces the words out.

"Hob, would you like to meet my elder sister, the one who gave you your immortality?"

“Death?” Hob goes a little wide eyed, “Is that- I mean, I can meet her without, y’know…” he makes a crude slashing motion across his throat.

“Of course,” Dream answers steadily, “She can be present among mortals without bestowing her gift upon them. She will not take you. Unless. You ask.”

“No, no, not planning that anytime soon,” Hob is quick to reassure, “Or ever, really,” he tacks on with a smirk and a wink.

Nodding, Dream allows himself to reach out and take Hob’s hand. He will miss this warmth. “I will speak with her, then. And arrange a meeting.”

Hob’s grin is wide and bright, and Dream can feel it as Hob presses a kiss to the sharp edge of his cheek bone, “Excellent! This will be fun, Love! I’ll pick up some of that wine that you liked enough to actually drink- or, would you rather we meet in the Dreaming?”

Dream only barely manages to suppress a cringe, but even so he bows his head, as if he could somehow hide within his own curled spine.

“I would. Prefer to let you meet on your own.”

Hob's smile falters, "What? Why?"

Because I do not want you to see us side by side. Because I do not want to make my lacking more obvious than it already will be. Because I won't survive seeing the moment your eyes turn cold. Because I'm scared.

"I merely wish you to get to know each other without my influence."

He can see so clearly in his mind’s eye, Hob glancing back and forth between the two siblings, one so charming and kind and good, and the other… lesser. Lacking. Dream does not wish to be present for that realization.

Recovering his grin, Hob laughed lightly, "Ballsy of you. Most folks I know wouldn't have the guts to leave their siblings and their partners alone together," he leans forward to play with Dream's hair teasingly, "What if we exchange secrets, eh?"

I'm a liar, I lied to you, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-

“That is within your right.”

Hob laughs, startled, and pulls Dream flush against his side, “What a fair ruler you are,” he says jokingly, “Well, I can’t wait. It’ll be endlessly fun,” he winks, trying to get a rise out of Dream.

Dream smiles back. But it’s a little weaker than usual.

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

Dream stares at the ankh for a long time before he picks it up. A childish part of him wants to leave the gallery and feed Hob lies and excuses. Death is very busy, she could not make the time, I called and she didn’t answer, she didn’t answer, it has happened before-

But. What would that accomplish besides delaying the inevitable?

He cradles the ankh in his hands, “Death. I stand in my gallery and I hold your sigil.”

“Dream!” He can hear the smile in Death’s voice, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I wish to discuss. A personal matter. Would you care to join me?”

Death steps beside him almost before he can finish speaking, "Of course! What can I do for you?"

She's so casual and easygoing, but a part of Dream can't help but search for any lingering anger or resentment from their last talk. He wonders if she's forgiven him.

(He wonders if he's worth forgiving.)

Straightening, he explains flatly, "Hob Gadling wishes to meet you," he pauses before adding, "In a nonprofessional manner."

Snorting, Death replied, "Well, I could have guessed that," she grinned, "But you're finally letting me meet your little project?"

"He has become. Far more than a project."

"I know, I'm teasing, silly," she shoved his shoulder playfully, "I'd love to meet him! Just tell me when and where and I'll make some time."

Nodding, he considers his options. He is torn between stretching out his time with Hob and simply getting it over with. In the end, he chooses what he feels is a polite and reasonable timeframe.

“One week from tomorrow, in the afternoon. At the New Inn.”

“I’ll be there,” grinning, Death linked their arms together, “I can’t wait, I bet you two are sickeningly adorable together.”

A bitter part of him thinks Death would just be sad to see someone like Hob shackled to Dream.

“I will not be present. This meeting is for you and Hob.”

Death pulls back to look at Dream’s face, frowning in confusion. For a moment she seems to consider her words, before settling on a question, “What’s going on in that head of yours, little brother?”

Dream meets her gaze and answers flatly, “Nothing of importance.”

There is exasperation in her voice as she huffs, “I hate that you really believe that.”

He loves his sister so very much. And he does not have the strength to be yelled at right now.

So he straightens his spine and keeps his voice even, “I will let Hob know of the time of your appointment,” he allows himself to soften, just slightly, “He is looking forward to meeting you.”

“I look forward to meeting him, as well.” Death knows she has been dismissed, and so she gives Dream one final squeeze on his arm before departing back to her duties, a gentle rustle of feathers echoing through the gallery.

For a long moment, Dream stands in his gallery alone, gazing at the sigils of his siblings.

He will go and tell Hob of his upcoming meeting with Dream’s sister. And if he stays longer than strictly necessary, if he presses a little closer than he usually does, he if stares too long at Hob’s face in an attempt to commit his smile to memory, Hob is nice enough not to comment.

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

It is not raining in the Dreaming.

Dream does not feel that kind of sadness. There is grief, for certain but… it is a grief he believes he has no right to feel. This is not sorrow, it is justice, a loss of something that was never his to have. He cannot cry, he cannot mourn, he can't, he can't, he just-

The Dreaming is covered in a thick layer of fog.

A white mist, so thick it feels like you could move it with your hands, wade through it, drown in it. Dream is in one of the gardens surrounding the palace, grinding his teeth and trying desperately to make it go away. He had hoped that going outside would at least help clear the fog that had permeated the palace halls. Matthew had flown into a wall twice before resigning himself to perching on Lucienne’s shoulder until the hallways were visible again, and Dream does not think he could survive if another raven was injured due to his weakness.

The week had passed too quickly for his liking, time showing him no mercy. He had visited Hob each day, an unusual occurrence that Hob had raised an eyebrow at but otherwise not commented on. And in all that time, Dream had still not told him the truth. He did not explain that the Endless he was to meet would be nothing like Dream because Dream was nothing like the other Endless, did not confess to having cheated more time with Hob by misleading him about his nature. And now, it was too late. Hob would leave, and Dream would always be a liar.

Sighing, he leans against the tree behind him, looking up and frowning as the fog hides even the leaves above him. Sometimes he wishes he had more control over his connection to the Dreaming. More control over himself. He wonders if this is how humans feel when they wish mastery over their own bodies, their organs, their blood.

The fog is getting thicker.

Growling deep in his throat, Dream presses the tips of his fingers against his temples. There is no reason for him to feel so… lost. He has existed and survived before Hob, and he will continue to do so after. Happiness is not necessary. And besides, he has wanted to be a better person, and would a better person not prioritize their loved one’s happiness over their own? It is an irrefutable fact that Hob deserves better than Dream is capable of, so it is the least Dream can do to not stand in his way.

Pulling his knees to his chest, he wraps his arms loosely around them, feeling as bare and exposed as he had in Fawney Rig, suddenly thankful for the cover of fog. Perhaps, he could allow himself this respite. A moment of selfishness, and then he would pull himself together. Just one night to grieve where no one could see him. Just one night to hide-

“There you are!”

Dream’s head snaps up, eyes wide with a shock he could not hope to conceal.

Because Hob is here.

The immortal is smiling, like he has every other time he’s seen Dream, stumbling slightly through the fog before plopping himself down to sit pressed against Dream’s side. This close, he can see the spark of concern in his eyes even as he throws an arm around his shoulders to pull him closer.

“Well this is a bit different. You know I saw Merv actually sweeping the fog? What’s crazier is it was working, swept it into a big pile and then pushed it out the front door. I know anything is possible here, but I will admit I did spend a few minutes just staring at that spectacle.”

Throughout his rambling, Dream is aware that he is staring. A quick assessment of his own body alerts him to the fact that his mouth is parted, and he is literally gaping at Hob. How unbecoming.

When he fails to respond to his story, Hob’s smile dims, and the concern in his eyes amplifies, “Hey… is everything alright?”

No. Nothing makes sense. He feels more lost than before. He thinks the fog is getting thicker, heavier, colder.

“You…” He clears his throat, trying to compose himself even a little, “You were. Supposed to meet Death today. Did. Did that. Not happen?” That is the only logical explanation.

But Hob shakes his head, “No, we did, got back a couple hours ago, just took me a bit to fall asleep,” he chuckles a bit to himself, “She’s a riot, honestly, nothing at all like all the skull and crossbones nonsense.” He gives Dream a warm smile, “I can see why you two get along so well.”

Dream is. Dream is-

He opens his mouth, and all that comes out is fog.

“Woah, okay,” Hob jumps a little, but doesn’t pull away. If anything, his grip around Dream’s shoulders tightens.

Fog is drifting from the corners of Dream’s eyes.

He can’t see. He can’t breathe. He feels so lost-

“Alright, hey, hey,” Hob pulls him closer, wrapping him in a firm embrace, “Love, I think we should go to the Waking, okay? Is that alright?”

Dream forces himself to nod against Hob’s chest. His body is no more bound in the Waking than it is in the Dreaming, but sometimes the distance makes it… easier, if only a little, to keep his shape. As opposed to here, where the edges of Dream and the Dreaming often blur together. Like now.

Hob kisses the crown of his head, and Dream can feel him pulling away, waking up, and Dream follows the pull. In the space between realms, he forces his form together, like holding a door shut, like clenching a fist. When he arrives, he is laying on top of Hob, who is splayed out on his couch. Some hysterical part of him wants to scold Hob for not settling in his bed to sleep.

As Hob fully awakens, his arms reach up to embrace Dream, and Dream can’t help but curl his hands in Hob’s shirt. Slow and gentle, Hob maneuvers them to sit up, and when he pulls back, Dream cannot look him in the eye.

“Hey…” Hob cups his face with both hands, rubbing his thumbs in gentle circles on the hinge of Dream’s jaw, and Dream realizes for the first time that he is clenching his teeth together hard enough to crack human bone. He fears what will come out if he opens his mouth.

“You’re alright, dove,” Hob whispers, still trying to coax Dream into relaxing his jaw, “Everything is alright, I’m right here, sweetheart, I’ve got you my love.”

It takes a few minutes, just Hob whispering softly and soothing his fingers over Dream’s skin, but eventually Dream musters the courage to let his teeth separate, parting his lips just slightly. He sags with relief when all that escapes him is a shaky breath.

“There you are,” Hob presses a kiss to Dream’s forehead before tucking his head beneath his chin and pulling him into a hug, rubbing a hand up and down his back.

Ever patient, he waits until Dream is breathing evenly to question him, “What’s going on, dearheart?” He rocks them back and forth as he speaks, “You’ve been off all week. I should have said something sooner, but I thought you were just nervous about me meeting your sister.”

Swallowing thickly, Dream forces himself to answer, “I was.”

Hob pulled back, brows furrowed in confusion, “Okay, but everything went fine? I told you, we got along great.”

“But…”

“Did you think we wouldn’t?”

Dream feels as lost now as he did in the Dreaming. How does he explain this to Hob? How does he explain it without drawing Hob’s attention to that which he somehow missed? He should be grateful that Hob is still here, how is he supposed to tell him this truth without making him leave?

Is he destined to make him leave no matter what?

Belatedly, he realizes he is still clutching Hob’s shirt.

He lets him go.

“I did believe. That you would enjoy each others’ company,” he explains resignedly, “And I assumed that in your meeting, I would. Lose your favor.”

Had he been looking, he would have seen Hob’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, “You thought I would like her more than you?” His voice is heavy with disbelief.

“In a sense…” He had not considered Hob finding romantic interest in Death, as Hob seems to think, “I merely thought that. In meeting her, you would realize…”

(Death never struggled with her words the way Dream, the Prince of Stories, always seemed to.)

Taking a deep breath, he tries again, “We are both Endless. And yet. She is…”

“Different?”

“Better.”

Hob sucks in a breath as though he’s been slapped, “Dream-”

“You think that all the things wrong with me are due to my nature as an Endless,” Dream interrupts, the dam broken as he spills out everything he has been holding back for months, “and I let you believe that. But the truth is, my siblings are not like me. They do not struggle with humanity as I do, nor do they share my penchant for arrogance and cruelty. Death is older than I, and yet you saw her- she is kind, and she speaks normally, and she understands-” His voice cracks, and he has to pause, closing his eyes and forcing his molecules to stay solid. To stay here.

“The problem is not that I am Endless,” he confesses in a whisper, “The problem is that I am… me.”

Dream keeps his eyes downcast, fixated on the texture of the couch in the space between them. He wonders if Hob will chastise him for his deceit or simply tell him to leave, wonders if he will demand punishment or repayment.

One hand laces their fingers together, as the other gently cups Dream’s cheek. Hob does not try to tilt Dream’s face or make him meet his eyes. He just holds him.

“I happen to like ‘you’ very much, actually.”

Hob’s voice is soft as a breath, quiet despite the devastation and sorrow painting each word. Dream closes his eyes as Hob leans forward to brush their foreheads together.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he states firmly, confidently, “You’re not perfect, I know that, the same way you know that I’m not either. But there’s nothing wrong with you.”

The conviction in his voice gives Dream just enough courage to open his eyes. Hob’s eyes are filled with tears and shining with so much love it takes Dream’s breath away. When their eyes meet, Hob gives him a sad smile and brushes his thumb along his cheekbone.

“I’m sorry. For ever making you think you needed to explain away parts of yourself,” He brings Dream’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to his trembling knuckles, “I don’t love you in spite of anything. I just love you.”

Dream wants to argue. He wants to give every example from his long, long life that he is wrong, that Dream is defective and unworthy and unlovable.

But when Hob kisses him, whispers “I love you” against his lips, he finds himself… hoping. That maybe Hob is right. That maybe this is another bet he would lose to the strength that is Hob Gadling’s love.

Later, after Hob has held him long enough that he does not feel like he may fall apart, he will give his arguments. Later he will state his case and Hob will not hesitate in debating right back, punctuating his points with soft kisses and fond smiles. And it will not fix everything right away, as much as they both wish it would. But it will feel like a start, like adding support beams to a faulty foundation, like strengthening the parts of Dream that always felt a breeze away from buckling.

But for now, Hob holds him tight and whispers against his hair, “You want to hear a secret?”

When Dream hums questioningly against his neck, he presses a kiss to his temple, “Death isn’t perfect either.”

Dream lets out a barking laugh, and then another, and another, and then he is sobbing and holding Hob like he is the only thing keeping him together because he is, and maybe this outburst is just another flaw of his.

Regardless. Hob still holds him.

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

A month later, Hob and Dream invite Death over for drinks. Three very different people sit in hob’s living room, and they drink wine, and laugh, and Hob occasionally scolds Death when he feels Dream stiffen at some of her teasing.

Before she leaves, Death pulls Dream into a hug, patting his back even as he stands stiffly in the circle of her arms, “I was right. Sickeningly adorable, both of you.”

Dream huffs, but feels no real offense or embarrassment at her words. It is still hard to trust that this is real, sometimes. But all night he had searched Hob’s eyes, and even when Death made him laugh or understood some human reference, he still turned to look at Dream with love and joy.

As hard as it is to believe, the truth is that Hob sat with both of them, and when he grew tired he asked Death to leave.

But he asked Dream to stay.

[lucysgraybird]

I don’t know if you write pregnancy fics, so if you don’t feel free to ignore this!

I crave pregnancy angst, like maybe child birth going wrong or something but like angst to fluff with Billy the Kid

hey so . i wrote this and missed the memo on the angst to fluff so it's kinda fluff to angst! so sorry. hope you enjoy!

WARNINGS: childbirth, premature birth, stillborn baby, child loss, brief graphic descriptions

The night the baby comes is dark and peaceful: there hasn't been more than a soft fall of rain in weeks, and the spring has brought balmy evenings that have made chores almost a gift to do.

Even more of a blessing is the time after chores, curled up on the porch under Billy’s arm. He's twisting the ends of your hair around his fingers absently, and you twist to look up at his face.

“What's on your mind, honey?”

“Hm?”

“I can hear your thoughts from here, Billy. Are you worrying about something?”

He tucks his chin over your head and you hum contentedly at being wrapped up in him, safe and warm.

“Just thinkin’ about the baby is all,” he says. “What we're gonna name her and that stuff.”

You laugh. “Well, it'll be a while yet, so you've got some time to figure it out. We don't even know if the baby’s a girl.”

“I do.” He slides his arm off your shoulder to your waist, placing his hand flat against your rounded belly. “Gonna be the best little girl, and she's gonna look just like her mama.”

“Mm…with your eyes, if we're lucky.”

You crane your neck to peck Billy on the lips, coaxing a smile from your husband. Out of nowhere, a cramp twists through your lower back and you cover Billy’s hand with yours, wincing. He shifts you off his chest slightly to look at you.

“You okay?”

The pain passes and you can breathe again – it's not something you've felt before, but you know things get weirder the bigger the baby gets.

“Fine, yeah. I think she was moving around or something.”

Billy gives your stomach a firm look, which coaxes a laugh out of you and chases away your nerves.

“‘s not the baby’s fault, honey,” you say. “She's just getting comfy.”

“You're sure you're alright?” He confirms. “I can ride into town and-”

“I'm good. You don't need to worry, okay?”

He nods and pulls you back against him, his body a shelter from any worries.

As the night creeps on, there are a few more cramps but nothing notable, and you're able to fall asleep almost immediately when the time comes.

That is, until the middle of the night, when you wake up with your entire core on fire.

“Billy,” you whimper, grabbing for his arm.

He groans, still mostly asleep.

“Something’s wrong, Billy, you gotta-” You pause, a bolt of pain too great to speak through wracking your body for a moment. “You gotta go get the doctor.”

That wakes him immediately, and he's rolling out of bed before his eyes are even completely open. He takes in your face, screwed tight and shiny with sweat, and he's trying to get ready and comfort you at the same time.

“It's okay, darlin’, I'm sure it's nothing,” he says, not even bothering to take off his pajamas before tugging his work clothes over them and shoving his feet into his boots. “I bet the baby is just growing extra fast.”

For all his confident words, his voice trembles and breaks at the end of his sentence, which sends tears spilling down your cheeks. Billy scrambles for the door, then back to you to press a kiss to your forehead and a hand to your cheek.

“Gonna be fine, darlin'. I'll be back as quick as I can.”

You don't even have time to reply before he's out the door and gone.

The pain only increases while he's gone, time going hazy and strange. You can't figure out how long ago Billy left, or how long it should be until he's back – you can't really think of much besides the ache throbbing from your pelvis to your chest. Noises that don't sound like your own are tearing themselves from your throat as you writhe in bed, trying to find anything that'll ease the pain.

Soon (or maybe not soon at all, you can't say), Billy is bursting back into your room, the midwife hot on his tail. She takes one look at you and turns to Billy.

“I need boiling water and strips of cloth.”

Billy nods wordlessly and disappears out to the kitchen. You didn't realize how desperate you were for him until he was gone, and a new bout of sobs streak down your face.

“Oh, lovey,” the midwife says as she strips back your covers. “Your boy will be back soon, he's just helping me keep you safe while you're in labour. Can you tell me how far you are along?”

She tugs your nightgown up around your hips, and you're in too much pain to feel any shame.

Fear shoots through you. “I'm not in labour,” you gasp. “I can't be, it's only been six months since I missed my period.”

Your body bows forward with another stab just as Billy walks through the door with a steaming pot of water and strips of a clean sheet, and he nearly drops everything in his haste to get to you. Once he's sure that the midwife has what she needs, he's settling next to you, offering a hand to squeeze and a shoulder to lean on.

“You may want to step out, Mr. Bonney, this-”

“I'm stayin’,” he says, surely putting on a brave face when you grip his hand like a vice. To you, he soothes, “Hold on as hard as you need, darlin’, you're not gonna hurt me.”

“Okay then,” the midwife says. “Get ready to push, lovey, this baby is just about to come out.”

You don't even have to think when the time comes, a baser instinct taking over for you. It hurts like nothing has before and a wail chokes out of your mouth. Billy is still holding you, whispering sweet things you can't hear against your temple. He might be crying but you can't tell; everything is so wet and hot and sticky that it feels like your throat is closing and your neck is folding in on itself. If he is crying, there's a small part of you that wants to be angry with him, because how dare he cry when you're the one going through this, but it's overshadowed by how scared and confused you are and how he must be feeling that way too.

Suddenly, the pressure in your pelvis changes and the pain subsides, just slightly. You struggle to sit up even a little, peering down at the midwife, who is cradling something you can't see in her arms. Billy, who has a better vantage, is trying to nudge your face into his shoulder, but you resist.

“My baby…?” You whisper. Your voice is hoarse and you're exhausted, but all you want to do is cradle your newborn child.

“It was very early,” the midwife says gently. “She wouldn't have been long for this world, even if-”

“No,” you say, and you can't quite identify what the feeling is behind your resistance. “Let me see my baby, let me hold her!”

You try to scramble up, ignoring the way it makes everything hurt, but Billy holds you back.

“I'm going to clean and wrap her, and then you can hold her, lovey,” the midwife says, standing. You still can't see the body in her arms. “I'm so sorry.”

You turn to Billy as the woman leaves and shove his chest. His eyes are shining, his face is sticky with tears, but he makes no move to stop you.

“Go after her, Billy, don't let her take my baby! I need to feed her, you gotta name her, we…”

Billy just wraps you in a silent hug, and whatever dam was holding the realization back before breaks.

“I'm so sorry,” you sob. “I didn't mean to, it wasn't supposed to happen like this.”

“It's not your fault, darlin’,” he whispers, stroking a hand over your sweat-matted hair. “It's not your fault.”

You never get to hold your baby girl, exhaustion and grief sending you to sleep before the midwife returns. Billy will tell you in the morning, hesitantly and under much duress, that she was born blue.

[1427]

i love you (always forever) pt. 2

Daryl Dixon x sister!ofc (Ladybug)

Summary: In the winter of ‘95 Daddy died. Leaving Lady to finish up her senior year in high school, and Daryl to brood over when to sell the house. The summer of ‘96 is the first time Lady feels alive.  Daryl wants to give her one last summer before she has to grow up for real.

Setting: bumblefuck Georgia, doublewide in the woods, Dixon Property. Late June 1996. 

Warnings: INCEST, poorly written SMUT, hardcore mackin’, dry-humping, oral (all around & a lot), size!kink (explicit discussion of how big daryl is compared to Lady), public stuff, fingering. 

Word count: 7.2k (ish)

A/n: some things to note; Lady is 18, it’s mentioned in part 1 but I feel like I should still say that she’s not underage. Also, I feel like this has some pacing problems (more notes at the end) ?? Stuff that’s italicized in purple is dialogue being said in the movie they’re watching. Good luck guys

18+ mdni

// Part 1 //

I just keep on having all these strange thoughts.  

What kind of thoughts?  

Just thoughts.

Funny thoughts about you and me.  

Tell me.  

I couldn't.  

They're just thoughts.

They don't mean anything.

Lady, in the face of picking a movie for such an occasion, had put on Blue Lagoon. It was one of momma’s and it wasn’t like she had such a big selection to choose from, just a bunch of made for TV movies momma had recorded and a few tapes Merle had stolen from the video store.

Lady doesn’t understand subtlety anyway. 

You’re always staring at my buppies. 

Only because they look so funny.

Lady didn’t necessarily like the movie because it was cousins, just the feeling it gave her. She put it on thinking maybe Daryl might feel it too. The lightning coming from inside to throb at the surface.

She’s surprised she’s still even breathing. Knowing he’s just waiting for her to do something. But he’d said… Lady knows the move she has to make is to kiss him. That’s what he’d meant. That's what people do first, before anything else.

Kiss him? Lady’s frozen; how would she even do that? She doesn’t know. Can’t figure out for the life of her what she’d do with her hands, how does she even get closer? What about her legs? Where is everything supposed to go?! 

Lady would do it, she’d be on him already, if she could just figure out how.

“Bubba-“ her voice is soft. Too soft for Daryl to hear it. 

Daryl’s nursing his 6th beer. Or maybe 7th. He’s getting pretty lost in all of everything that was happening with Lady. Up in his own head in an effort to definitely and absolutely not think about what was happening now. Whatever move Lady was trying to pull here with him putting on this tape. Of all the ones she could have picked. 

Daryl’s gone a million miles away. Thinking about what had happened this morning. Again. Staring at the television unblinking as if it were projecting images of her. Lady and her sweet pink lips asking if she could touch him again. Her ass bouncing under her towel. And the way she didn’t even bat an eye when he came on her face. He feels like he’s fucking dying. His insides all twisted up. Gotta be because he knows it’s wrong. Definitely that and not because he really wants to feel her mouth again. Not because he wants to watch this time, and tell her how good she’s doing. Definitely. Not. That.  

Kiss me.

You're all sticky.

So what? Kiss me.

Every time he does stop to feel bad about it he remembers that he didn’t even do anything. Lady did. Lady had asked for a kiss goodnight, and Lady had put her hands and her tongue on his cock while she thought he was sleeping. Daryl figures it’s not his fault he can’t stop thinking about what Lady did. With her soft-as-a-kitten hands and her sweet wet mouth. Fuck. 

Completely stuck in this loop, he watches it repeat on the TV screen. Forgetting the reason he’d dissociated in the first place, the thing he was gonna be coming back to? Lady; probably definitely obviously wanting to do it again.

“Hey, Bub -“  Lady tries to get his attention one more time. “Daryl!” she claps her hands together so hard her palms burn.

Daryl blinks back to reality. “Huh?” he says it like a shrug.

The pause between getting his attention and what she was about to say is an eternity. 

“Can I kiss you?” Lady, feeling so brave and still so so small against how special she knew this memory would be. 

Daryl's heart doesn’t skip a beat, his breath doesn’t get caught in his throat. He looks down at the bottle he’s holding, trying not to smile, and shakes his head at her in amusement. He knows that if anyone else had heard what she was asking to do, if Daddy had heard? She’d be getting the whooping of a lifetime right now. But to Daryl it just sounds like something he knew she was gonna say. At least she didn’t say the word cock again, “Why, though? Why d’ya wanna? M’not even a good kisser, Bug. Can’t teach ya nothin’.”

Lady chews on the side of her lip, her head faced directly toward him while her eyes look anywhere else. Thinking of what to say, how to tell him. The words, her feelings, all jumbled up inside and trying to break out. She wants to be flirty and cute and romantic and have the one answer that would take away all his worries and shame and just be the brother she was used to. The one who aided in every scheme or plot or game she was playing. She pleads with her mouth to be fucking smooth. Be glib or flip or cool or sly or something. It’s not. Instead it vomits all her thoughts like she’d been choking on them.

“I was gonna ask if I could practice kissing on you. Ya know? Because I figured then you mighta felt like maybe you oughta. But then that felt too much like lyin’. Cuz I don’t wanna kiss for practice, Dar. I wanna kiss for real.” She stops to breathe, but there’s no second-guessing. “I just don’t understand what’s the big deal? I know it’s not allowed but I want to.” She finally looks at him, her voice serious, “I just want to and I don't get why you don't want to too.”

They both know she’s not just talking about kissing. “Jus’ not s’possed ta, Lay. ‘m s’possed t’keep ya safe.” 

Lady looks at him like he’s lost his fuckin’ mind. Where was she ‘unsafe’? He wasn’t making any sense to her. She stands up and chugs the rest of the now warm drink. “You’re not makin’ any damn sense, Daryl, I am safe.”

Lady’s frustrated but she’s not heartbroken. Leaving the fort/living room to go to the kitchen and get another drink. Muttering to herself the whole way out of the room, “Why the fuck wouldn’t I ‘be safe’? What does that even mean? Stupid dumbass horseshit doesn’t even make any fuckin’ sense. Shit. Ass. Shit!”

Sometimes when Lady got real good and mad she’d turn into a little version of Merle. Same way Daryl did when he was angry. Same way Merle turned into a little version of their daddy. When Lady did it though, it wasn’t scary. Just was funny. Lady, so little and so angry and too damn sweet to actually say anything mean. Just strings of curse words and questions to no one. 

She opens the fridge with an exaggerated sigh meant for Daryl to hear. Staring at the two wine coolers left, unsure if she actually wants another one. She thinks about what he’d said again. Keep her safe!? It was starting to sound like a lie. She clacks the underside of her knuckles against the fridge door and lets out another noise. A groan or a warble or shiver with a voice. Daryl isn’t sure what she's going on about but it makes him laugh from the other room. 

Lady decides against having another wine cooler. instead fixing to steal Daryl’s joint from his pack of smokes and figure out if he was lying about being ‘cross-faded’ or whatever he’d called it. Maybe if she smoked, just a little, she’d be able to figure out the magic words. Lady steps just outside the front door quietly, hoping Daryl would get zoned out again and not come looking.  

💕

Daryl’s still sipping at his beer and waiting for Lady to come back. Trying to find his own set of magic words to answer her question. Knowing without any doubt that he’s fucked, absolutely completely totally fucking fucked, the second he stops being able to come up with any reason at all. 

💕

Daryl finds Lady sitting out on the front step. Her knees hugged up to her chest, she’s leaning forward and ripping grass from the ground. He opens his mouth to say something but closes it just as fast. Deciding instead to walk down and post up next to her. 

Lady moves to make room for him but doesn’t acknowledge him more than that. Daryl feels around on the ground for the roach he knows he’s going to find because he can smell it. Once he does he brings it up to her face, “Ya smoke this?” 

“Aliens. Just missed ‘em,” laughing to herself. 

He puts the joint between his lips, smiling and feeling for his lighter somewhere in his pockets, “Yer real funny, bug.” His mind’s somewhere else. Doesn’t care that she didn’t listen and smoked the pot after drinking. She was safe. She was always safe. 

Daryl takes a drag just a little too long and coughs out the exhale. Passing the joint to Lady while he’s working through it. She takes it, hitting it gently this time, and manages not to cough at all. 

They just sit together for a while, watching the moon come out from its hiding place behind the clouds. Lady feels the shimmering faeries all over her skin, in her stomach. She can see them in the moonlight in her brothers eyes. 

Lady’s been looking at him. Can’t seem to stop. Just staring at the small space between his jaw and his ear and the curl of hair that didn’t belong there.  “You gonna grow it out now that Daddy’s dead?” 

He moves his chin in a nod, just barely, “Think so.”

Her hand flits to the spot, taking the same strands she’d been staring at between her fingertips. It had only been a few months but his hair was longer than she’d ever seen it. Daryl moves his head to look at her. He didn’t mean to move in a way that put her fingers just so gently against his cheek, but it was too late. 

They share a look in the same way they’d shared the silence - both of them knowing exactly what the other was thinking. Both of them thinking exactly the same thing. Daryl knows what she meant when she said she wanted to kiss for real. That she just wanted to feel it. 

Lady and Daryl both move like they’re going to go for it at the same time. Lady stops. Her heart is in her throat and the faeries are buzzing right out of her body. Had she seen that right? Was he really about to?

Daryl doesn't let her hesitation stop him, leaning over and taking her lips with his own the way she’d wanted the first time she’d asked. A real kiss. Slow and passionate and on purpose. He’s in his right mind but he’s not thinkin’. Just doin’. 

Lady eagerly returns every move of his lips with her own. Getting acquainted with the feeling and starting to understand the rhythm of it. 

Daryl was lying before when he’d told her he wasn’t any good at kissing. He holds her still by the back of her neck, moving into her deeper. Lady opens her mouth the instant she feels his tongue slip across her lip.

One second they’re kissing under the moon; and it’s taboo and it’s ‘wrong’ but it’s almost innocent. Still so sweet, and filled with uncertainty —-

and then their tongues meet. 

And they turn into something else. 

Lady moans just at the feeling of his wet something touching her wet something. Daryl’s never heard her make a noise like that before and it ignites a new part of him. He needs to hear it again. To feel it again. Lady’s perfect sweet voice coming apart against him. 

They’re immeshed. Their mouths moving against and with eachother, deeper and faster and with more everything. Like they were eating eachother alive. Legs knocking together, Lady’s clawing at his shirt and when Daryl moves his other hand around her waist she moans again, shaking. 

He pushes his tongue almost all the way to the back of her throat. Even with them closed, Lady can feel her eyes rolling back into her head. Moaning again into his mouth, but this time it comes from somewhere deeper. 

His fingers squeeze into her a little harder before he pulls away again. Just lookin’ at her. Eyes closed and trembling. “C’mon.” He pulls on her hand a little to get her attention, all lost in herself. 

Lady knows he wants to get inside and probably back to the a/c but she's afraid once this moments over she’s gonna have to try and convince him for 5 more hours to let her do it again, “I don’t wanna go inside, I wanna stay out here kissin’ you.” 

“Can kiss insi’, bug.” 

She’s beaming, fished her wish and then won the fuckin’ jackpot. “For real?” 

“C’mon.” Daryl gets up with Lady right behind. Before now it had always been the other way around. 

💕

The second they get to the living room they melt back together. Not even one step past the sheet Daryl grabs her wrist and pulls her into him again. He doesn’t want to wait for either one of them to get stuck up in their heads again. It was too late anyway. 

Doesn’t want to think about Lady. Wants to feel her. Needs to beg that tremble from her vocal chords again. 

He pulls her down to the bed and on top of him. Helping her place her legs on either side of his hips. Focusing in on how soft her thighs are underneath his fingertips, he squeezes. 

Lady pulls back, looking down at his hands so high up her thighs, his thumb dangerously close to her heat. She's beyond comprehending the things he’s making her body feel. A light almost inaudible gasp escapes her as he squeezes again, but that's not what Daryl wants to hear. 

Daryl isn't thinking about the fact that Lady's never done any of this stuff before, he's not even thinking about the fact that it's Lady who's ontop of him. It's Lady that he's touching. Sweet little girl Lady, who'd barely even been kissed before just now. He's staring at the space between her thighs. Her tiny sleep shorts riding up her pussy and he can make out every detail through the thin fabric, lips spread and almost spilling out the sides. Daryl forgets for a second where he is, moving his thumb over just an inch, pressing hard into her clit through her shorts. 

Lady let's out a surprised cry, her hips bucking forward into him, her body falling down with two hands flat against his chest. Daryl's cock twitches at the sound and Lady feels it right at her entrance. Her head shoots up and all of a sudden they’re looking each other in the eyes. With all the lights on. 

In this moment, there's no hesitation. No question of if they should or shouldn't be doing this. The look shared between them is only comfort. Lady, knowing it’s Daryl, knowing he’d never let her do something the wrong way.  

And when Daryl sees that blown out sparkle in Lady’s eye? Knows that look. She wants him. And if Lady wants it? Can't be ugly. Just can't. 

It's only two seconds, but it's everything.

Lady's mouth is back on Daryl's like it had never left, her tongue pushing through to his the instant they come together. His hands move to her hips, grinding her down into him. She can feel him, hard like when she had seen it pushing through his boxers. Now hard and pushing up into her. The feeling, the thought, groaning into his mouth at all of it. 

He does it again. And again and again. Pulling her and pushing her over his clothed length as she assaults his mouth. Her tongue and lips slowly losing rhythm until she moves herself to suck and bite on his neck instead. The noises coming out of her are the most precious he’s ever heard. 

Eventually Lady starts moving her hips on her own, and Daryl can feel the bump of her hard clit as she grinds herself on top of him.

Lady’s got one hand behind his neck and the other gripping at the fabric of his shirt like it's going to save her. She’s humping her brother like sometimes she humps her pillow, hips moving in deliberate circles, so close to an orgasm she can taste it. Soft light mews coming from her lips in breaths. She can't look at him, she wants to forget he's even there. She's embarrassed. But she cums anyway. 

Cascading through her limbs before tiding back to make room for the shame. Her hips won't stop shaking and she's afraid to look at him. 

Daryl’s high on the whole fucking experience. Watching, feeling, hearing Lady come apart ontop of him. 

Daryl's going to hell. Knows it and doesn't care. Something about it being his sister is sending him over the fucking edge. Of course it was gonna. Kissing is one thing. Being used for your cock so your little sister can hump you until she cums is something else.

He pulls her up against his body a few inches. Weaving his fingers through her hair to hold the back of her neck, he kisses her forehead. Smiling deviously against her skin, “Y’wanna make me cum again?” 

Daryl had only ever been comfortable talking to one girl like that, and that was a real long time ago. But with Lady he didn't have anything to hide or be worried about. Knows she's gonna say yes, knows she'd get mad if he'd wanted to and hadn’t asked her. 

Any embarrassment Lady had been feeling is forgotten like she'd never felt it in the first place. She sits up. Looking down at her fingers as they play with the fabric of his tee-shirt all bunched up against his stomach. “With my mouth?” she asks with a coy smile. 

“Only f’ya wanna.” 

“Well, is that what you meant?” she looks him in the eye, waiting for an answer. 

“Yeah, s’what I meant.” he nods, gliding a hand from one thigh, over her stomach, and then onto the other one. His other hand reaching behind her body to squeeze her ass. Daryl’s not worried about being too forward. Not thinkin’, just doin’. 

Lady shivers under his touch, his needful hands feel so much better than the ones she'd imagined. Never thought it would feel so much bigger than skin on skin and different kinds of pressure. To be desired? To be touched simply because he wanted to and couldn't help himself — it radiates into her soul.

“I wanna.” She nods with a whisper, moving off of him to sit and wait.

Daryl gets up and falls back into the couch, beckoning Lady over with a nod of his head. As she crawls towards him Daryl’s working on his belt, his button, his zipper, but he’s just staring at her. God, even his ex-girlfriend never looked that desperate to suck his cock. 

Lady was chomping at the fuckin’ bit waiting to taste him again. Sitting between his legs, staring. Waiting. He finally works himself free, and Lady is melting into a puddle of drool. She sits up on her knees to get closer, but Daryl’s stroking himself slowly and she’s never seen something so…

With Daryl leaned back and looking at her like that, doing that. She’s never seen anything so fucking hot. Doesn’t even have another word to describe it. So. Fucking. Hot. So goddamn fucking hot that it rewires her brain chemistry. 

Daryl smirks, which to Lady just makes it hotter, he can’t believe she’s watching like this. He can’t believe how much he’s getting off on her watching. Never did this in front of a girl, not even his ex-girlfriend, and they’d done everything. 

“S’what? Don’ wanna use tha’ mouth yet?” 

She shakes her head quickly, but her eyes are fixed, “I do, I do.” She opens her mouth like she’s gonna keep talking but closes it. Daryl notices the way her eyes go big and seem to sparkle when he gets to the bottom of his stroke. He holds himself around the base and lets the full heavy length of his cock wave back and forth. 

Lady’s so turned on that the, “Holy shit,” she’s thinking tumbles out of her mouth and into the air. 

Daryl, with his fingers still firmly gripping around the base, directs himself down toward her. His cockhead only centimeters from her open mouth. “A’least spit on it, bug.” 

She’s so mesmerized, she doesn’t look up, “For real?” 

“For real, gimme a good one like I taught ya.” 

She haucks a good one right on the tip, only an inch away from her mouth. He pulls himself up and out of her immediate reach again, using her spit to coat his aching appendage. Daryl wasn’t really jerking off, just showing off for Lady. Honestly? He was torturing himself. 

Now, covered in wet saliva, Lady can see every glimmering detail. Every ridge and vein and he’s holding himself tight again, it’s so fucking big. “Is everyones this big?” 

Daryl gives an unexpected laugh, “S’not tha’ big, bug.” 

She reaches her hand out and wraps her fingers around him, just above his hand. Daryl groans at the feeling of her. She’s trying to figure out if she can close her hand around him, but apparently she can’t, “Look, Dar, my fingers don’t even touch.” 

“Fuck,” the word comes out just like the groan. Lady likes hearing Daryl like this. All a mess because of her. 

She smiles before biting her lip, “It’s thicker than my wrist, bubba.” 

“Is it?” He asks her, with a playful smirk. He only asked to get her to prove it. When she lets go of his erection to hold her wrist next to it for comparison Daryl grabs her grabs her hand. Pulling her arm up by her palm he measures his dick next to the length of her forearm. Jesus fucking goddamn Christ. 

Lady, after being thrown off by him grabbing her like that, just gawks. They’re the same fucking size. His cock and her whole fucking forearm. “What the fuck?!” 

“‘m big n’all but Lady, yer little.” He lets her have her arm back but she’s still just holding it up next to him trying to figure it out. How was that ever gonna fit inside her?

“It didn’t look that big this morning.”

“Don’ gotta be scared. F’ya wanna stop, we can.” 

“No! No,” she puts her hand back around him, “don’t wanna stop.” 

Daryl’s hand is right below hers, he starts to move up on himself hoping she’ll follow. She does, placing her pinky over his index finger as they both start to jerk him off together. Lady’s not using nearly enough pressure, so he moves his hand from below hers to around. Squeezing her fingers tighter, moving her hand faster than they’d been. 

Daryl starts to finally feel it building, getting closer to an orgasm than he’d been all night. His eyes close for only a few seconds before he hears and feels Lady spit on his cock again. 

“Fucking christ, bug.” He says, looking down at her. Sitting up on her knees with her lips spread just waiting for him to put it in her mouth. He guides himself, in her hand, to her outstretched eager tongue. 

Lady just watches it get closer until she can devour him. Not like this morning, she laps at him with no abandon. Licking and sucking at his head like she was making out with it. Daryl’s eyes keep closing at the feeling, and he keeps opening them to watch. 

Fucking beautiful. Absolutely perfect. She doesn’t know a damn thing about sucking a cock and it shows. Still feels like heaven, still’s gonna make Daryl bust a fat one. Can feel it, he’s just about to, and then Lady takes his whole head in her mouth while looking up at him at the same time. 

“Fuck, Lady. M’gonna.” 

She knows what he means, but why was he telling her? Was she supposed to stop? She doesn’t, instead she takes him even further into her mouth, eyes flicking back up to his again. 

Daryl and Lady are completely locked onto each other as he cums down her throat.

Lady could feel it happening before it happened, his cock getting even harder before it pulsates between her lips.The first shot goes to the back of her throat, making her gag, but she stays put. Taking all of it. 

Daryl watches Lady doing her best to swallow it. Coming to terms pretty quickly that he came down his sister's throat. The fact that it was while looking in her fucking eyes is a little harder. He puts himself away before joining her on their bed. Laying her down on his chest while they both stare at the ceiling. 

“Didn’t have ta swallow it.” He tells her. 

“I wanted to.” 

“Did good, bug.” 

“I know.” 

He laughs, his rumbling chest shaking Lady’s head slightly, “Oh? Y’know? How’s that?” She didn’t do that good. 

“Shit, Bug, fuck. Jesus christ ‘m gonna cum.” She makes groans and grunts in between curses. 

“Alrigh’, quit it.” He regrets asking. 

Lady sits up to rewind the tape and Daryl stands to turn the lights off. Meeting back in bed, Lady curls up into him, and they both finally manage to fall asleep.  

💕

For about a week Lady and Daryl do that night on repeat. Drinking a few drinks, smoking a little pot, making out while Lady humps him until she cums, and then Daryl sits on the couch and Lady sucks him off. 

She’s gotten better at it. A lot better and real fast. Daryl had to show her a couple things, but he didn’t count it as teaching her. Just showing her how. Doesn’t know why he thinks they’re different, but one felt dirty and the other one didn’t. Didn’t wanna ‘teach’ Lady anything. Just wanted to experience it with her. 

Lady didn’t need much showing how anyway. She’d picked up the sucking part, using both hands, her tongue and her lips. She’s started using her cheeks and her throat too. 

Today Lady had asked Daryl if she could blow him while they drove around town. He’s got his keys in his hands before she even finishes asking. 

💕

Lady’s laying down on her stomach across the bench seat of the truck, feet kicked up in the air, Daryl’s cock lolling out of her mouth as she lays her head on his thigh to look at him. 

Daryl glances down for a second to see her hand holding his length flush against his leg, mouth around the head of him, suckling his cock like it’s a lollipop.  

At least once a day Daryl’s sure he’s witnessing the hottest thing he’ll ever see in his whole life. He pulls over onto the side of the road. Lady’s been at this for 10 minutes and he could probably last longer but he doesn’t want to. 

She doesn’t move while Daryl parks the truck. She’s learned to recognize the look on his face, and how it meant she was doing just exactly the right thing. She’s still laying on his thigh, one hand on his cock to keep it pointing down and into her mouth while she sucks just the tip of him off, swirling her tongue all around. 

Daryl throws the truck in park. Looking down, he grabs her head with both hands, pulling her just barely off of his thigh so he can move his hips. With both feet planted to the floor and his back against the seat he starts fucking into the back of her throat. Her cheeks stretching out around the girth of him made all the more explicit by the light of day. She starts making that noise again. Daryl pulls Lady off of him by both sides of her head, a string of saliva still stuck to his dick goes with her, glinting in the sunlight. 

At least once a day Daryl’s sure he’s witnessing the hottest thing he’ll ever see in his whole life, “Why d’ya like it like tha’?” 

She’s staring at him with wide eyes, her voice small, “Whad’ya mean?” If Lady could have it her way she’d live with his cock in her mouth.

“When ‘m rough. When ‘m doin’ the work.” 

“Never liked workin’, Daryl.” She goes to move herself back to him, but he holds her head still. 

“Lay, no. Wanna know why.” But Daryl can tell by Ladys expression that she doesn’t even know. “Figure it out.” 

He lets go of her gently, allowing her to go back to doing whatever she wanted to be doing with him. Daryl puts the truck back in drive, figures he’d give Lady some more time doing her new favorite thing. 

💕

“Y’good, bug?” Daryl leans down over her shoulder to ask. They’re walking the farmers market. Not some nice fancy fruit and veggies stand, the farmers market. Everyone and their momma trying to sell old tape collections and knick-knacks like it’s a permanent yard sale. As Lady was walking in front of him he’d noticed her moving around all funny. Doing an uncomfortable dance to readjust something without anyone noticing. 

“Shuddup.” She hisses back at him, an unmistakable blush spreading across her cheeks. 

This just spurs him further, he skips a step to be right up against her, “Wha’s goin’ on in yer pants?” 

She stops and turns around to face him, their bodies so close but not touching. Lady takes a quick look around, there’s a bunch of people nearby, walking right past them, but no one’s looking at them. 

She sighs, reaching down into her shorts before pulling her hand out and putting it in Daryl’s face. So coated in her own slick that it stretches to fill the area between her fingers when she moves them apart. Daryl wonders if he could blow a bubble with it, and then immediately pushes her hand back down and looks around to see if anyone else had watched her do that. 

Seeing that no one’s caught them at the very same time he feels it, his own hand, now covered in her. 

Daryl had been losing his fucking mind over her. Her down there. Her pretty pussy that he hasn’t gotten to see or taste or feel. Yet. He’s not ever gonna push her to do something, he’s not even gonna ask her. She’s the one that’s gotta ask for it. That’s gotta want it. So it can’t be ugly. 

Lady’s looking at him, waiting for some kind of reaction, til Daryl lifts his arm with a smile and a nod. Aggressively and publicly sucking on the side of his hand. The bit between his wrist and his pinky and part of his palm, all coated in sticky perfect sweet Lady. He looks down at her with a grin before walking away, knowing she’d follow. 

She’s on his heels, grabbing his wrist as he weaves through the crowd. Lady pulls hard on his arm to get him to stop moving right when they’re in the thick of it. People bumped up on every side, Daryl turns back to face her and Ladys right up against him, hugging him and pulling his hand between them. Pushing him down the front of her pants, she spreads her legs and urges him further by his forearm. 

It happens so quickly Daryl can’t even react at first. His hand just pressed against her. Soft, and warm, and so wanting. Her cunt was so wet and running down her legs it knocked the wind out of him. So wet his fingers slip right through her delicate folds and rub right up against her clit and her hole at the same time. Lady reacts with buckled knees, holding on to his arm for stability. Her eyes closed and her body shuddering around his hand. 

He pulls back out just as quickly, righting Lady to stand up straight. He doesn't look around to see if anyone's watching, just takes his wet fingers and slowly puts them against and past her parted lips. 

Time seems to stand still, eyes locked on each other, Daryl's fingers edging deeper into her mouth. And then someone bumps into Lady, her body rocking forward and into her brother's larger frame. Wrapping his arm around her, he starts pulling her back through the market. Ending up along the fence that bordered some woods. Thick and on a decline, Daryl knows no one will see them back here. 

Lady doesn't know the plan, but she's too turned on to care. So burning up that even the tall grass itching at her skin feels like little lightning kisses. 

It's not long before Daryl decides they've gone far enough. He pushes Lady up against a tree, just looking down at her while he tries to catch his breath. She’s looking between them, starting to mess with his belt before he stops her with one hand, “Thinkin' ya migh’ lose yer min’ soon if ya don' jus’ ask.” 

She lets go of his belt, keeping her hands in his, “...ask what?”

“Fer me ta touch ya, bug. Yer so fuckin’ wet I don' know how yer still walkin’ around.”

She blushes, and tries to get out of his grip on her against the tree. Daryl lightens up a bit but doesn't let her go, “are ya always like tha’?” he asks. 

She looks toward his chest instead of up at him, biting the side of her lip while nodding gently, “I mean, yeah….” 

“Need ya ta ask, bug.”

“Why?” She finally looks up at him, genuinely confused. 

“Cuz. Gotta be you tha’ wants it.”

“You don't want it?”

“‘nough ta ask.” He tries to clarify but she still doesn't completely understand. Daryl shakes his head, “Forget it. Jus’ cuz, Lay. Cuz I said.”

She nods, scanning the ground next to them like it has the words to put together, “I don't know what to ask for, Dar.” She puts her hand against his chest, “I want it all.”

Daryl smiles, can't help it, Lady doesn't even know what to ask for so she sucks his dick in wanton misery for a week and then when she finally does ask it's to go all the way. Lady fucking would. 

“Lay, ‘m not fuckin’ ya fer the firs’ time out in the fuckin’ woods behind the market. Jus fuckin’ ask me ta touch ya b’fore I take ya home instead.” 

“Touch me.” She says it before he's finished talking. 

Daryl's on her in an instant. Overwhelming her mouth with his own, finally letting his hands feel her everywhere. 

He starts at her breasts, which he's already touched over her clothes but never underneath, never pinching and rolling her nipple between his two fingers before now. Her gasp ebbs into a moan as he continues to squeeze and prod at her.  

Daryl leans back, breaking his assault on her mouth to pull up her shirt and assault her there instead. But once he's got his eyes on her exposed skin he just stops. His hand coming up to grab at her again, cupping the small soft mound of flesh with his whole hand. Watching as his thumb brushes over her nipple, hard and pink and perfect. He traces his fingers down her stomach, rubbing his free hand over his dick. 

Daryl's fingers come to rest at the hem of her shorts, looking up at her before pulling the waistband down past her hips, then onto the ground. 

Lady just watches, letting her body sway with the pull of her clothing being removed. Steadying herself with her hand on his shoulder to keep from falling over. Daryl feels her hand, and for some reason it makes him want to stay down there. Hadn’t been planning on it, was just gonna touch her with his hands. He figures touching with his tongue is still just touching, and she’d already asked for that. 

Besides, Lady puts her mouth on him all the time. Still, Daryl looks at her before he does, leaning in and peering up. Making it obvious what he was silently begging permission for. Lady meets his eyes, responding to his request by stepping one foot out of her shorts and spreading her legs. 

His face buries up and into her, licking every spot around her pussy. Her thighs and all the strings of her mess, his tongue taking large swathes up each side of her lips. Lady’s legs are already shaking so much that both her and Daryl realize she’s not going to be able to stay standing on her own. 

“S-sorry.” She squeaks. 

“S’okay, bug, just don’t know where to put ya.”

On your cock, she thinks. Lady’s brain can only think about his cock. How she knows it’s hard and in his pants and not in her mouth. Sure, Daryl’s mouth on her feels good, but it’s not the same. 

“Just want you inside, Dar.” She’d been good at just dealing with the ache, it seemed to ease when he was in her mouth. Even though it wasn’t what her body needed, she guesses it’s close enough. 

She's not looking when he invades her hole. One finger, and she’s shaking and shivering and every muscle in her body tenses up. 

Daryl goes to pull out and Lady scrambles to hold his hand where it is. He huffs a laugh, “Shit, Lay, was gonna put it back in again.” 

She’s not listening, her ears ringing, her vision whitehot and blinding. Daryl pulls out of her only to stand up. Lowering his head down to take her lips. And like it was every time Lady and Daryl kissed, they’re ignited. More than before. Everything seems to escalate their desperate need for each other. Their want, their desire itself, seemed to feed its own flame. 

Daryl’s hands are at her naked hips, Lady’s losing herself in his mouth. She hadn’t realized that she’d put her feet together until Daryl’s hand pushes between her thighs and moves her legs apart again. He pushes his finger back into her, breaking their kiss and pulling a moan out with it. He pulls his finger out slowly, not all the way, before pushing back in again, just feeling her warm walls clenching tightly around his finger. He can’t stop himself from adding another. Wants to stuff her full and change her whole fucking life. 

She groans and he presses himself against her body, fucking his two fingers into her as deep as he can reach. Daryl makes sure she’s braced tight between himself and the tree, pushing against her hard to keep her still, before he curls his two thick digits inside of her. His fingertips petting the so-soft spongy part of her, they don’t stop even as her back tries to arch her right off the tree and onto the ground. 

Daryl peels her from the bark, keeping my her up with his knees bent so she can reach her arms to wrap around his neck and hold on. He keeps moving his fingers hard against her g-spot, that groan coming out between gasps and other moans and yelps and every beautiful sound Lady could make. 

Daryl leans Lady back into his arm, still assaulting that spot with his fingers but instead of curling them into her he starts moving his hand back and forth inside her with his shoulder and forearm. Pulling and pushing, the sound of her cunt squelching into the air, the sopping sounds getting audibly wetter. 

Lady leans back so far in Daryl’s arm that he decides to just place her onto the ground. Hadn’t wanted to do that, but it’s too late. Lady, on the ground naked from the tits down and looking up at him like she doesn’t even believe what she’s feeling is real. “Please.” She whines, Lady’d never asked like that before. 

He wishes he could fuck her in the woods, even if it was gonna be her first time, but he just can’t. “M’gonna, jus’ lemme look atchya.” He’s squatted down next to her, rubbing his rough palm all over her blushing naked skin. 

“You can look when we get home for as long as you want, please, Daryl.” There she was saying it again. Begging him. Lady can’t take it, the cool ground feels refreshing against her flushed body, but the heat is coming from inside and Daryl was right. Lady was close to losing her damn mind. 

Daryl watches her writhing in front of him for a beat longer than he needs to. Can’t help it, definitely sure this time that this is the hottest thing he'll ever see in his whole life. Lady's bare body all down in the sticks and dirt with her legs spread. Her messy pussy swollen and red and waiting for him. 

He puts his hand down on her chest, running his fingers along her skin so lightly. So barely there. Lady trembles, closing her eyes at the feeling, her back arching off the ground, “Please.” She begs again, grabbing onto his arm and trying to push it between her legs. 

Daryl shakes her hands off his arm and continues to kneed at her breast. Grabbing hold of it harshly before bringing his mouth down to lick flat long purposeful strokes into her nipple. 

Her eyes wide as she raises her head to look down. Her tit in his hand is lewd. The nipple filled out with fat and puffy, she watches until he completely envelopes her between his lips. The wet muscle of his tongue flicking deep into her nerves, her whole body starts spasming underneath of him. 

And then it's. Oh, it's everything. Lady is on fire from the inside again, like when she hit Daryl's pot the very first time and she'd turned into a rabid dog. And now she's feral in heat in the woods, her desperate cunt being filled by her brothers thick fingers and she burns. Burns so hot and alive it rips through her body in screams that Daryl's never heard before. Don't think Lady's ever made before. 

She's primal. Screaming and moaning and panting and falling apart. Faeries burning alive and singeing every inch of her soul on the way out. 

As she's coming down, Daryl easing his fingers out of her, a high pitched whistle cuts through the air. 

6’ tall and dirty. Hairy and sweaty. Roughneck. 20 feet away and just staring at them. Daryl moves quick to cover Lady up as she scrambles her top down and back to her shorts by the tree. 

“Fuck off.” Daryl calls back flipping him the middle finger, while Lady wrestles her shorts on. The man just watches, doesn't do anything else. Watches as Lady and Darly hurry away and out of the woods. 

💕

Lady scoots over on the bench seat as they roll down the road back to their house. She goes to put her hands on his lap but he moves them away. 

“What's wrong?” 

“Know tha’ guy.” 

“So?”

“Wha’ if he knows you?”

“He doesn't.”

Daryl nods, using his free hand to grab a smoke. Lady helps him light it and they drive home in silence. Lady, curled up next to him. Daryl, a million miles away worrying, for the first time, that maybe he shoulda said no. To the drive, to touching her, to what they were doin’. To all of it. 

Didn’t think before now how maybe it could hurt Lady. How if anyone found out… 

Cursing himself to hell and not back because he doesn’t deserve it. Shouldn’t have taken her out in them woods like that. Not the same as their woods. Those woods don’t know shit about keepin’ secrets.

💕

A/n: I also cringe so hard when “bust a fat one” but it's Daryl and it's 1996 and I just. It just is, okay? It's in the middle of some of his internal shit and IT just IS. (I wanted to delete it so many times but I can't. I've come to terms with it, so should you. pls)

As far as pacing… this type of relationship takes buildup and I couldn’t figure out where to cut down. Like I took out about 1k in the first “scene” and it still feels like it’s dragging to me but I also feel like I’ve read it too many times to know. Also the smut parts… I feel this need to detail and describe and it’s probably overboard but when I’m reading fic I find myself always wanting more of that so idk. Maybe it’s too much? Idk I’m new I’ll figure it out. 

Ty for reading 💕💕💕

[nottapossum]

Itty Bitty Sinners 1.10

🧡 It starts with sorry 💖🐍♠️❤️💜

Summary:TW: ⚠️Plz read: Mentioning divorce, diapers mentioned, diaper changing, doing someone's hair, sad parents, briefly mentioning religious stuff (very breif and catholic specifically), Anxiety, self hate, sad feelings, implied abusive and controling parents, hiding, apologizing, implied age play or something like that, Valentino is in this...he doesn't do anything but still. Lmk if I should add anything.

⚠️And disclaimer, please read: Vox is a white guy from the 1950s and I thought it would be absolutely adorable if he did Velvette's hair in this chapter despite his anxiety. Velvette is black and has black hair. I do not have black hair, so I'm not an expert on black hair. I did my research for this chapter and put a lot of effort to make sure they do her hair correctly with the care and love it needs. But! If I forgot something or wrote something completely wrong- please correct me! YouTube videos can only get me so far. I will fix it if necessary.Alright, the chapter here we go!!

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

'It starts with sorryThat's your foot in the door, one simple sorrySpoken straight from your coreThe path to forgiveness is a twisting trail of heartsBut sorry is where it starts.' ~It starts with Sorry, Hazbin Hotel

♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇

~~~Pentious and Charlie:~~~~

Vaggie left Pentious and Charlie by themselves...

He's not exactly sure what he's doing. He's never taken care of a little before! And he's only been little once, he has no experience in this!

Sure, he had a son, but not for very long...

"Where Mommy, Pen?" Charlie asks suddenly. 

Pentious shakes his head. "I'm sorry, who?"

"Mommy! She weft!" Charlie says. 

"Do you mean Vaggie?" Pentious asks. 

Charlie nods. “Mhm.”

"You know where she is, dear. She left to go talk to Angel, remember?" 

"Still?" Charlie asks.

"She just left." Pentious says. 

"Oh." Charlie pouts, folding her arms on the table sadly. 

"Uhm, how about we play a game while we wait for her?" Pentious suggests. 

Charlie is still pouting, but she nods. "Okay."

"Alright, what game would you like to play, dear?" Pentious asks.

Charlie thinks about it...

"Uhm we can play wif my little pet shops!" Charlie says.

"Alright, and what is that?"

Charlie pulled out a box filled with tiny plastic animals. “My little pet shop friends!”

"I will make my family shopkeepers." She says. 

Her family consisted of a father who's a duck, an owl for the mother, and a goat for the daughter. 

"Now you gotta make a family!" Charlie says, handing Pentious the box.

Pen went along with it, his Doggy family consisted of a mother, father, and a little puppy son. 

"Now your family has to go to the grocery store while the daughter is watching the store all by herself, it's her very first time ever and she is doing a good job today.” Charlie explains. 

"Okay." Pentious says. 

"Hello, what would you like to buy?" Charlie's goat asked. 

"Uhm do you have any dog treats?" Pentious's dad doggy asks. 

"Of course, right this way." Charlie's goat says. 

They move their little figures to the dog treat isle and he buys some. "Thank you, you're really good at your job." Pentious's dad dog says. 

"Thank you, doggo." Charlie says. “I know it.”

Suddenly, Charlie's father duck shows up. "Hello daughter."

"Hello, father. I sold dog treats today." The goat says.

Charlie's voice gets a little deeper when playing the father: "Oh, that's great, Apple. But, I have some bad news."

"What is it?" Charlie's goat asks.

"Your mother and I are divorcing." The duck says. “That means we don't want to be happy anymore.”

"You're divorcing?! Right now?" The goat asks.

"Yup." The duck says plainly. "We decided we don't love each other anymore longer." 

"Awee!" The goat whines. “That's not fair!”

"But it's okay because you get to keep working at the store!" The mama owl says before both her and the duck leave. "Goodbye." 

"Charlie, I am both very concerned and confused at the same time." Pentious says.

"Uhm. So then the goat decided she didn't want the store to be a store anymore. She transformed it into the best restaurant ever!" Charlie moved around the store to create a restaurant. "Ta-dah!" 

Pentious doesn't do anything, just sort of watches her, so Charlie whispers: "The doggy family goes to the restaurant."

"Ah okay." Pentious says. He moves the little dog figures to the restaurant.

"Hello, do you have a reservation?" Charlie asks.

"Do I?" Pentious asks.

Charlie hums. "Are you the Dog family?" 

Pentious's little dog nods.

"Follow me!" Charlie's goat says.

Pentious has noticed that when Charlie is small her stories are very scattered. 

First, it was about a goat running a grocery store, then a goat who started a restaurant. She had the dog family try to help her get her parents back together by making them a romantic dinner. 

But it didn't work so they were all abducted by aliens for some reason? There was no consistency, but it was entertaining at least. 

"The only way to stop the aliens from taking over is if you two get back together and love each other again!" The goat says to her bird parents.

"But we can't." The duck says. 

"We forgot how to love." The owl adds. 

Pentious is very confused as to why the aliens care about this...but he goes along with the plot. 

The doggos worked together as a family to restore the cheese shaped spaceship to start attacking the aliens with violence, and teamwork made the goat's parents remember love. 

"We love each other! All thanks to you doggos!" The owl says. 

"And we love our daughter, so proud of our little apple dumpling." The duck adds. 

Suddenly the duck and the owl were kissing.

"Oh nooo! Happy parents!! Our one weakness!" Pentious says, playing as one of the aliens: "let's get out of here!" 

"Yay!! We saved the day!" Charlie says.

The door opens to the office and in returns Vaggie. 

Charlie's pupils expand: "Veevee!"

Charlie runs onto Vaggie's arms, and Vaggie happily picks her up. "Hey, kiddo. How are you doing?" She asks. 

"Good! We was playing pet shops!" Charlie says.

"How's Angel?" Pentious asks.

"He's okay." Vaggie says. "We talked and he says he'll stay."

"Yay!!" Charlie cheers.

"Huzzah!" Pen shouts at the same time. 

His voice sounded smaller than normal, so Vaggie asks: "Pen, are you by chance small too?" 

"Is uh...is that okay?" Pentious asks.

Vaggie sits on the floor in front of him with Charlie on her lap. "Of course it is."

Pentious smiles, he must have regressed during the game he and Charlie were playing. 

He regressed? But, he feels so happy and calm...less strange and sad- why can't regression always be like this?!

"Thank you for taking care of Charlie, you're a great helper." Vaggie tells him.

Pentious's eyes widen and he smiles brighter. "Oh...you're welcome." He says. 

"Angel wants to apologize to both of you, but I told him to wait until you're big again." Vaggie explains. 

"Is he okay?" Charlie asks. 

"Yeah, I think so." Vaggie says.

"Mm good." Charlie rested her head on Vaggie's shoulder. “I don't wike him to be sad.” She says. 

"Tired?" Vaggie asks her.

"Mm...lil bit." Charlie mumbles. 

Vaggie gathered the blankets that were on the couch and wrapped Charlie up in one of them. "Just relax. You want to watch something and take a little nap?" Vaggie asks.

"Pen! Wanna watch bluey wif me?" Charlie asks. "It's the bestest show!"

Pentious smiles at her. "Okay!" 

Vaggie put on an episode of Bluey: Verandah Santa. 

Pentious tried to relax next to them on the floor, so Vaggie handed him a soft pillow and blanket so he could be comfortable aswell.

Before Pen relaxed too much he left to get his dog teddy to join them. His doggo would probably like to watch bluey too! 

Pen decides that he likes regression a lot. 

~~~Vox and Velvette:~~~~

Vox woke up with a tiny Velvette laying on his chest. 

Velvette's eyes flutter open, she still has her paci in her mouth, but her eyes brighten upon seeing Vox still there. 

"Good morning, big girl. How are you feeling?" Vox asks her. 

Velvette hums.

"Did you sleep well, sweetheart?" Vox asks. 

Velvette nods. "Mhm."

"How about some breakfast?" Vox suggests. 

Velvette nods excitedly, so Vox gets up and picks up Velvette along with him. He takes the little one to her room so she can get dressed. "Do you need help getting dressed today, or can you do it yourself?" Vox asks her. 

Velvette doesn't answer, she tugs on the handle of her pacifier anxiously as she looks away from him.

"Vel, do you need help getting dressed?" He asks. 

Velvette nods slowly. 

"Alright, and uhm. How little are you?" 

Velvette shrugs. 

"Should we put a diaper on you? Just in case?" Vox asks. 

Velvette whines, she knows she probably needs one- but she wants to be a big girl! 

"Vel?"

Velvette shakes her head. 

Vox knows that Velvette is about one or two (more likely one) and when she's that young, she definitely needs diapers. 

"Vel, could you maybe think about it?" Vox asks her.

Velvette shakes her head and whines louder. "No!" She whines through her pacifier. "No diap, no nappy, no need it!"

Vox sighs.

Sometimes Velvette will demand she be diapered, other times she'll throw a tantrum at the mere suggestion. 

"Alright, how about if we compromise? What if you wore a pull-up instead?" Vox suggests. 

To the suggestion Velvette just starts screaming loudly: "Nooo!!"

Vox sighs, trying to keep his composure... he's glad Velvette was feeling better though. 

When Velvette is genuinely upset, she's quiet. When she's totally fine- she's loud and scream-y.

"Alright, Vel. You win. You don't have to wear a diaper if you don't want to." Vox says, relieved when she stopped screaming. 

"I'll just take this purple hello kitty nappy and give it to someone else." Vox says casually.

Velvette's eyes go wide and she reaches for the diaper Vox was holding, whining as she desperately tries to take it from him.

Vox lets her take it, and Velvette hugs it close to her chest. 

Vox smirks, he knew Hello kitty would do the trick. Every baby has their kryptonite. "You want to wear it now, Velbelle?" Vox asks.

Velvette nods. 

Vox takes the diaper from her. "Alright, lay down on the bed for me." He tells her.

Velvette doesn't like being told what to do, but she did want to wear the kuromi printed nappy, so she did as asked. "M' still big girl!" Velvette tells him, grumpily. 

"I know you are." Vox says. "There's nothing wrong with big girls needing diapers." Vox explains, quickly grabbing the baby powder and diapering her. 

"Yea?" Velvette asks. 

"Of course. Lots of people need them." Vox says, taping the diaper on her with no issues. He used to be so bad at this, but he's taken care of baby Velvette enough that he's basically a pro at diaper changing now.

"I wike dis one." Velvette says, flapping her hands excitedly. 

"You really like hello kitty, huh?" Vox asks.

"Kuomi!" Velvette says as if he just said something offensive. "Not kitty!"

...Vox does not understand the difference, they look exactly the same. "Oh right, sorry." He says, disingenuously. "Let's get you dressed now. What would you like to wear today, Princess?"

"Kuromi dwess!" Velvette says. 

"And where may that be?" Vox asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Velvette points at her closet, so Vox looks through it until he finds a few dresses with the little cat (rabbit) on it.

He went through all the dresses with her until she picked out the one she wanted and so he made quick work getting her dressed. 

Her hair was still in a bonnet, and it was going to stay there until Val or Velvette were ready to do her hair- Vox is not good at hair, and according to Velvette and Val with black hair it's especially important to do it correctly. 

He's been practicing and taking note of what Val does to Velvette's hair when she’s small and what Velvette does sometimes when she's big...but he's not sure he's ready to attempt it yet. 

Wait, was it bad to leave her hair in a bonnet? How long is it okay to leave her like that?

Well...she did sleep in it, so it will probably be fine for another hour- or at least enough time to get her some breakfast.

Velvette looked around for her pacifier, and when she found it on the floor she picked it up, but Vox quickly snatched it away as he was deep in thought..

"Voc!!" She whines.

"Hold on, Vel. It's all dirty. We got to clean it first." Vox tells her. 

She whines as he makes his way to the bathroom to rinse it off. 

He returns and hands the paci to Velvette, she happily pops it in her mouth and he picks her up to head downstairs for breakfast.

They walk downstairs where Val was already being served breakfast by Kitty, their Fizbot.

"Oh, so you both decided to wake up today." Val says. 

Vox rolls his eyes and puts Velvette down on the chair. "Couldn't get her to sleep last night." He explains. 

Kitty seemed happy to see them, eagerly making breakfast for the late Vees. 

Val rolls his eyes. "Should have taken my advice." ~ 

"I'm not locking her in her room, she has enough issues." Vox says, placing a bib around her neck. 

Velvette takes her pacifier out and starts nomming on some tasty pancakes Kitty had made. 

"Hey, Val?" Vox is a little nervous asking this, he's not sure if he's ready for this...

If Vox is going to be Velvette's caregiver, he's gotta learn how to take care of her properly. "I want to do Velvette's hair."

Val tilts his head. "Are you prepared to die if you do it wrong?" Val asks him, knowing very well that Velvette would explode if something happened to her beautiful hair. 

"I was hoping you could be there to guide me in case I mess it up." Vox tells him. 

Valentino thinks it over and shrugs. "I suppose I can do that." 

"Thanks, Val." Vox says. 

"Mhm." Val takes a sip of coffee.

Vox looks over to Velvette who's now covered in maple syrup. He's glad he put that bib on her...and that her hair is still covered, he would have no idea how to get syrup out of hair.

He never had kids in his life...that he knows of. Which is strange to most considering he was fifty. 

Velvette gave him the chance to experience...what he always wanted to. 

He owes it to her to be the best caregiver she can possibly have.

And he was gonna do it! 

~~~Angel:~~~

Vaggie had told Angel to wait a few hours to give Charlie some space before talking to her.

Angel assumed that meant Charlie regressed, but he didn't ask questions…

He didn't feel like he had a right to. 

Anxiety filled him, the anticipation was killing him!

He supposed he deserved the guilt that was eating him alive.

He felt like a child awaiting punishment-

Or waiting for a priest at confession…

So, he hung out with Husk, and it helped a little with the guilt…

Because he knew Husk didn't hate him at least. 

There was comfort in that.

“What are you going to say?” Husk asks him. 

Angel shrugs. “I don't know…but I'm sure I'll think of something.” Angel says. 

“Don't overthink it, Charlie is a very forgiving person, you know that." Husk says.

“It's not Charlie I'm worried about.” Angel says. 

“I talked to Pentious…he seems to be doing okay.” Husk says. "I think Vaggie would have been the hard one." 

Angel nods; it doesn't really matter if Pentious is okay, Angel probably wouldn't be quick to forgive the snake if the roles were reversed. 

“Will you be there?’ Angel asks him. 

“Do you want me to be?" Husk asks. 

“I…I think I'd feel better about it if you were there with me.” Angel says. “For…support?” 

“Alright.” Husk agrees. “Then I'll be there.” 

"Thanks." Angel smiles. 

"How are you feeling?" Husk asks. 

"Anxious." Angel answers. "I don't think I've felt this nervous in a long time." 

Husk thinks for a moment. "Well, let's focus on getting you to relax."

Angel smirks at Husk who sighs. "Not like that." 

Angel chuckles. "Sorry...I think maybe a distraction would be the best thing.” 

Husk nods. "We could watch a movie or something." 

Angel nods. "Yeah that would be good. It might help." He says, nervously. 

Husk didn't have a TV in his room, so they moved to Angel's. 

"Pick something out, I'll make us some popcorn, sound good?" Husk asks. 

Angel nods. 

So Angel put on legally blonde. 

It's not his favorite movie of all time, but it never fails to put a smile on his face. 

~~~The Vees:~~~

After breakfast, Vox picks up Velvette and takes her to her bathroom to get her clean and ready.

Valentino helped gather everything he'll need for Velvette's hair while Vox cleans her face and hands of the

Vox's got this! He was going to do Velvette's hair! And he's going to succeed!

"You really think you're ready for this?" Val asks him. 

"I have been doing research, I've seen both you and Velvette do her hair; I think I got this!" Vox declared.

"Alright, let's see it." Val shrugs.

"Stop me if I do something wrong." Vox says. 

Valentino nods. "I will."

"Is it okay if I take off your bonnet and do your hair today babygirl?" Vox asks Velvette. 

Velvette thinks about it and finally nods, she trusts Vox.

So, Vox takes off Velvette's bonnet, setting it on the sink. "Alright." 

"Start simple." Val tells him. "Do small sections at a time, take her braids out, then start detangling with her comb." Val says, handing him the comb.

"Got it" Vox says, taking the comb and setting it in front of him.

He starts with one side of her head and starts undoing the braids carefully-

"Ow!" Velvette shouts. 

"Sorry, Vel. Are you okay?" Vox asks. 

"She's fine. Keep going." Val tells him, sounding a bit irritable.

Vox finishes taking out her braids, a little more carefully, then he grabs a spray bottle full of water and conditioner and he starts spraying her hair to make sure it's damp. 

Velvette closes her eyes, not liking the cold water.

Vox grabs a comb next. 

Velvette is a little nervous since Vox has never done her hair fully before. 

"Start at the ends and work your way up." Val tells Vox. "Slowly." He emphasized. 

"Okay" Vox starts gently combing her hair carefully at the ends and makes his way to her roots. 

So far so good. 

Once he finishes a section, Val hands him some rubber bands that have been bathing in oil. He puts each section in a ponytail and moves onto the next. 

He kept it going till her hair was split into four sections. 

Val gave him small pointers: "Don't put the bands on too tight."

"You're gonna need more water than that." "You'll need some more moisture." 

Vox was doing fine, but Velvette was getting restless! This was taking forever!  And she was bored!!

Velvette starts fussing and trying to get away. "Woah, Vel. You have to stay still, baby." Vox tells her.

Velvette whines, she doesn't want to! She wants to play!

"I'll get her tablet, you start braiding." Valentino tells him before heading downstairs.

"Thanks" Vox says.

Vox would never admit this to Val, but he was worried about breaking Velvette's beautiful hair. 

If he breaks her hair, she's never going to speak to him again, and honestly, he'd hate himself more than he already does.

He takes a few seconds to calm down, counting to ten as he takes deep breaths. He has done braids before on dolls...and He's watched Valentino do her hair a million times...he totally has this in the bag.

Okay, no he doesn't, but he's going to try anyway!

If he's going to be Velvette's caregiver, he's gonna need to learn how to do her hair properly. 

Velvette is kicking her legs anxiously, she doesn't want to be here, she wants to play!!

"Hey, Velvette. What color bands do you want?" Vox asks her, holding up her box of hair ties. 

Velvette looks at them, happy to finally get to do something fun! She picks up some purple and hot pink ones.

"Both of these?" He asks. 

She nods. "Yea. Voc, tabbit!" She whines. 

"I know, babygirl." Vox says, working on the first braid by moisturizing it again. "Val is getting you your tablet right now."

Velvette huffs. 

"Is it hurting at all?" Vox asks.

Velvette shakes her head. "No."

"Okay good, hopefully that means I'm doing something right." He says. 

Val comes back with Velvette's tablet.

"How am I doing?" Vox asks Val anxiously.

"You're doing fine. Don't overthink it, its hair, not a bomb you need to defuse." Val says, handing the little doll her tablet.

Velvette giggles happily and starts playing Sofia the first.

Vox continues braiding her hair as he sings along with Val and Velvette: "I was a girl in the village doing alright-"

He successfully braids her hair in four simple braids.

She looked adorable!

Her hair wasn't perfect by a long shot- but it was done, and Vox couldn't be prouder of himself.

"Okay, Vel. What do you think?" Vox asks her.

Velvette's chair is turned so she can look in the mirror. She giggles happily.

"Do you like it?" Vox asks.

Velvette nods and reaches for Vox who happily picks her up.

"Not bad." Valentino says. "Braids aren't too tight, not a lot of loose hairs." He comments, looking over Velvette's head. 

"Thanks." Vox says.

"Now that I know you can actually do this, I trust you know I won't be doing her hair every single time now." Val says.

Vox rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah." He basically does all the caregiving for Vel and Val anyway, what else is new?

"Anyway, I'll be at the studio today, you two have fun!" Val tells them.

"Bye-bye Tio!" Velvette says, waving at him.

"Bye, babydoll." Valentino says to her.

Vox takes a deep breath, he doesn't want to think about the fact that Val is absolutely picking Angel Dust over him...again.

It's totally not important, Velvette is what's important now. "So, what now?" Vox asks.

"Uhm." Velvette thinks about it. "Tea party!"

Vox chuckles. "Sure, why not?" He asks, carrying her to her room once again.

~~~Later: The Hotel~~~

Vaggie approached Angel after they watched Legally blonde... and then clueless...and then mean girls, and then Heather's (best one). 

"So, Charlie is feeling a lot better. She's downstairs if you want to talk to her." Vaggie tells him. 

Angel nods anxiously. "Okay."

Vaggie can tell Angel is nervous, so she tries to help. “I already talked to Charlie and Pentious.” Vaggie says. “So, if you're not comfortable-”

“No, it's okay. I need to face this.” Angel says. “I need to talk to Pen and Charlie myself. They need to hear it from me.”

Vaggie smiles and nods, seeming…proud? Maybe? He's not sure. 

He did appreciate her trying to make this easier, but it has to be hard if he's ever going to win their trust back. 

Husk smiles and follows Angel downstairs, Vaggie following them closely. 

Pentious and Charlie were in the main room talking. 

"Oo! And in grannies, Bluey and bingo pretend to be old ladies, and bingo wants her granny to floss but Bluey says granny's can't floss."

"But, why can't grandmothers participate in general dental hygiene?" Pentious asks.

Charlie shakes her head. "No no, not that kind of flossing it's-" 

Angel walked over and stood in front of them. “Hey…”

Charlie and Pentious stop and look at him. 

Charlie smiles at him with more kindness than he's seen…in a long time. “Hi, Angel." 

“Hello.” Pentious says, looking at Angel with a face he couldn't quite identify- 

He's narrowing it down between upset or awkward…he's not sure which is better.

“Uh- can we talk?” Angel asks. 

Charlie turns to Pentious who nods. “Of course, Angel.” She says, gesturing for him to join her on the couch. "What's up?"

He sits down next to her, a bit of a distance, enough to at least face the two. 

Husk sat down next to him, while Vaggie chose to stand. 

“I'm really sorry.” Angel starts, causing Pentious to look up at him with concern. “I fucked everything up! You trusted me, an1d all I did was show you why…you really shouldn't. I know talk is cheap, but, if you'll give me another chance, I'd like to show you that I can be trustworthy… of course, I'd understand if you just...can't. I won't stay if you don't want me here anymore." He says. 

“Hey, hey, hey. Hold on, Angel." Charlie places her hand on his. "What you did was wrong…but it's not unforgivable.” Charlie says. “Of course we still want you here! It'll take some time to earn back the trust that was bruised, but my faith in you isn’t even close to being damaged.” She says. 

Angel nods, not sure how to take that. 

“I know you're a good person Angel, I believe in you and I know for certain that you're worthy of heaven.” Charlie says. “I for one forgive you full heartedly.” 

“Thank you…Charlie.” Angel says; He doesn't really agree with her, he's not worthy of anything. But he knew arguing would only encourage her to try and help him with ‘self esteem’ or something. “It's nice that you think you feel that way.” Angel says. 

“I also will forgive you, Angel." Pentious says. "But! Only if you help me rebuild the lego set you knocked over!” Pentious says, smiling. 

“Uhm, okay. I guess I could do that.” Angel chuckles, he's not sure what that is, but he's sure he could handle it. 

“I am sorry if I made you feel pressured to take the test. I get over excited about my plans and tend to drag people along even when they're not interested.” Charlie says. 

“You didn't…” Angel says. “I don't think you pushed too hard- I was just…scared of what you might find out is all.”

“Hey, the first step towards redemption is admitting fault. You are well on your way.” Charlie says. 

Angel couldn't help smiling a little at that…

It wasn't even the idea of redemption that forced it…

It was Charlie basically telling him he did a good job...he doesn't really remember the last time someone said that to him...well, that wasn't Valentino.

“The truth is…I…regress also.” Angel says. “I just-...it's such a vulnerable and terrifying part of me."

"Terrifying?" Charlie asks. 

"I'm...people know me." Angel explains. "Do you have any idea what people would do to me if they knew?" He asks.

Husk notices that Angel is clenching his fists angerly, so he offers his support by gently placing a hand on his.

Angel's tension subsides, and he smiles at Husk and takes his hand. "Thanks." He whispers to him.

"I didn't think about that." Charlie says. "I'm so sorry, Angel."

"It's okay...no one's mind should go there. People are sick." Angel says. 

"You're safe here, Angel. We won't let anyone else find out, I promise." Charlie says. "We're here for you, and we love you."

Angel smiles at her, trying not to think too hard about what she's saying...

He does feel a little bit better about them knowing...

“Angel…you regress too?” Pentious asks him.

“Uh Yeah...sometimes.” Angel says, rubbing his arm. 

“This is…amazing!” Pentious says, suddenly hugging Angel. “Perhaps we could help each other!”

“Um…maybe.” Angel says. 

Pentious was very excited! Angel is one of his favorite people! 

Angel and him can understand each other! How delightful! 

"Can you help me with my lego set now?" Pentious asks. 

Angel looks at Charlie who's smiling. 

He exhales. Everything is okay...

"Sure Pen." Angel says. 

"You want to help too, Husker?" Pentious asks. 

Husk smirks at the snake. "Sure, why not?" 

Pentious leads the two to the office while Vaggie and Charlie are left where they are.

Vaggie sits next to Charlie. "You doing okay?" Vaggie asks. 

Charlie smiles. "Yeah, thanks Vaggie." 

"Anytime, sweetie." Vaggie says. 

Charlie hugs her girlfriend. "I'm so lucky to have you. I hope you know that I love you so much!" 

"I love you too." Vaggie says, holding her back. "And believe me, I'm the lucky one." 

~~~Vox and Velvette: That night ~~~

Vox was enjoying a drink on the terrace when Velvette approached him.

"Hey, mind if I join you?" She asks him.

Vox gestures for her to sit on the seat next to him.

“How are you feeling?” Vox asks.

Velvette shrugs. “I'll be fine. How about you?”

“Carmilla agreed to sell us some weapons for Angelic security.” He says.

Velvette nods. "That's good. At least she listens to someone.”

“She'll regret ignoring you, Vel. They all will. Just give it time.” Vox says seriously. 

"I suppose." Velvette says. "I honestly don't know why it bothers me so...I mean, she's just a fucking pussy!" She growls.

Vox shrugs, Carmilla may be a lot of things, but that is one word he wouldn't describe her as. Her objections may have to do with Velvette herself, no one seems to see how extremely talented she truly is...which has worked in their benefit...but still. 

Velvette walks over to the railing."I don't know...maybe it comes from my parents. I wasn't worth it to my father to stick around...and my mum was always trying to change me." She explains. "I thought since I have rank here...I'd be listened to."

Vox follows her, handing her a drink. "Yeah...I was a child of divorce too, it can be it's own hell." Vox says. "I also know what it's like to be ignored; in fact, most of my friends decided they are better off without me in their life." 

"I'm not." She says, placing a hand on his arm.

Vox smiles at her. "You know what I think?"

"What?"

"I think you're brilliant, Vel." Vox says. "We're going to own this place because of you." 

"Thanks Vox." Velvette says. 

It was getting late, and everyone had work to do tomorrow.

"I'm going to bed. You coming?" Velvette asks him.

"Eh, I'm gonna get some work done." Vox shrugs. 

“Don't work too hard.” Velvette tells him.

“Please, the employees do most of the work.” He says. "Tomorrow will be a breeze." 

"Sure." Velvette rolls her eyes. "Whatever you say."

Vox set down his drink and sighs...

The truth is...it's way easier to work the feelings away..

Better to keep himself busy than let himself slip.

♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇

'Your journey's underwayIt'll take time to cover your/my vast multitude of sinsBut sorry is where it begins. '~It starts with sorry, Hazbin Hotel

Possum:

Sorry the chapter took so long to write! I hope it was alright and worth the wait.

Idk how I feel about it, I'm too tired to think. If it's not great, the next chapter should be better. I hope.

There will be 1 more chapter before part 2. I was gonna end part 1 with only 10 chapters, but there was room for one more very important chapter.

BTW everyone should read

Accident by Miraculous_Demigod on A03 if you want good Little!Velvette content.

Now! If you'll all kindly excuse me, I'm gonna play with my new LPS I got for my birthday and watch Bluey!

Love you!!

See ya! 💖✨️✨️

Tag: @babiegurlmuffin @todayimfour @ask-dusty-boy @trophyxtissues2 @im-not-paying-my-taxes

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FROM HOW TO LOSE A GUY IN 10 DAYS *  assorted dialogue from the 2003 film, adjust as necessary

you can't lose something you never had.

what other girlfriends?

i want you to respect me.

hey, what's wrong?

you see, the key to this game is being able to read people.

so tell me how long have you guys been seeing each other?

you know what? you did your job.

you are the first girl he ever brought home.

uh, she's not here.

oh, you are never going to pull this off.

i respect you for respecting me.

do you have an ethical problem with rifling through a woman's purse?

watch me.

you're up, you're down, you're here, you're there, you're like a frickin' one woman circus.

you're not going to burn his apartment down or bite him or anything?

is that too soon to be seeing a therapist?

i'll be clingy, needy...

i was just a girl somebody picked out in a bar.

our love fern! you let it die!

what's wrong with that?

i don't think i can be with someone who doesn't like animals.

i can't eat in front of you! i have to go to the bathroom.

yeah, you know what? big deal.

he's inviting me over to his house for dinner.

it's a woman's purse, all right? it's her secret source of power.

you wanted to lose a guy in ten days? congratulations. you did it.

true or false: all's fair in love and war.

so that's what i was, huh? i was a guinea pig. somebody you can test your theories on?

i've got a feeling about this one.

like... do blondes really have more fun?

that's what i'm talking about.

no honey, it's just sleeping.

ooh, call him in the middle of the night and tell him everything you had to eat that day.

why this place?

it's like a week.

look who made the trip with me!

i love you... but i don't have to like you right now.

you're already falling in love with me.

now you can even use it as a little twist in your story.

there are many dark and dangerous things in there that we, the male species, should know nothing about.

look, just give me back the necklace. then you guys can go on and kill each other.

it looks like the inside of a raincoat.

that's a good idea. maybe we should bet on it.

i'm gonna make you wish you were dead.

you gotta name it something hyper masculine, okay?

is she on to something?

in that case, i better get going. take care of our love fern, honey.

i can't eat in front of him!

nothing. it's beautiful. you're beautiful.

she's got an interview in washington.

you're not a therapist, are you?

you know what, due to intense humiliation, the king has momentarily abdicated his throne, okay?

you owe me three hundred bucks.

don't you break his heart now.

tone-deaf and drunk is not a good combination.

it's our love fern!

c'mon, blow. nobody likes a mr. sniffles.

look look look, wait a minute.

you have to take it away before i gag.

have you looked inside?

now, i'm going to go back inside and finish watching "sleepless in seattle." nobody screw with me.

i'm taking this love fern with me!

we got a whole bunch of work we have to do, but we're still on for poker at your house this weekend?

why do they always forget my bacon?

when are you seeing him again?

[eleanorfenyx]

I have finished Mysterious Lotus Casebook, and here are some of my thoughts! (Obviously not spoiler free)

The cases are absolutely batshit insane and I loved it every single time they were like 'we totally collected this evidence that incriminates a secret suspect, just believe us and also don't question when the fuck we had the time to do this or when we figured out that we needed to look for it'. 10/10 no notes, that's a hilarious way to have a genius detective. Show us nothing, tell us everything, YES king.

That being said, I could have done with a lot less standing around having the supporting cast repeat whatever Li Lianhua and Fang Duobing announce, maybe in an attempt to make sure their genius is clear for the audience? I get it, but at the same time it felt a little too hand-holdy for me, especially in scenes where LLH and FDB had already discussed their findings between themselves before presenting them to the concerned bystanders. I can read between the lines (or else understand what has just been explicitly stated) without having every conclusion filtered through a slightly different sentence structure to make sure I got it.

Di Feisheng amnesia arc my fuckin beloved

Di Feisheng destroying his 'father' and freeing everyone in Di manor in a vicious act of catharsis that tied nicely into the main Nanyin bug-mind-control-thing narrative my beloved

Di Feisheng my beloved

The amount of times I was like...genuinely surprised he and Li Lianhua didn't kiss is both embarrassing (because I do in fact understand censorship and what I sign up for with these dramas and yet and yet) and numerous enough that I could...possibly...theoretically..write a 5+1 fic of every time I want them to kiss about it. No one hold me to that but it's something I think I'd like to do.

Re: the above point: because what the FUCK was that ending?!!! EXCUSE ME?! I gotta FIX THAT SHIT.

There will come a day when the strength of my hope for an unambiguously happy ending in a queer(-coded? is the source originally bl or is this its own thing?) wuxia drama is rewarded....but it is not this day. I must fix this myself.

Jiao Liqiao's laugh is one of the most annoying things I've ever heard. I was reaaaaally hoping someone would just up and stab her during one of her little evil laughing fits. At one point I was shouting "KILL HER, KILL HER" at my screen because I could NOT take anymore of her (unfortunately, I did in fact have to take more of her).

I still think her insistence on being obsessed with DFS is hysterical when he is so VISIBLY only interested in LLH. Explicitly STATES that his only life purpose is to fuck fight LLH again. Babygirl (derogatory) he is so fucking gay let's get you a nice knife to the gut instead, okay?

I thought the whole Shan Gudao plot was interesting, going from looking desperately for his body -> putting him to rest -> hunting for his murderer -> finding out he's alive/the mastermind behind everything going wrong (which I was proud of myself for realizing before the reveal, I'm normally bad at that) -> thwarting him with sass and superior martial arts at every possible turn -> killing him stone fuckin dead with beginner level skills because he's so up his own hole he can't see that's what's happening - was really fun!

He also has a SUPER annoying laugh he can fuck off

OH OH OH MARTIAL ARTS SKILL OF TRANS YOUR GENDER?! I MARRIED HER SO HER AFFAIRS ARE MY BUSINESS NOT YOURS??? ASKING YOUR WIFE FOR HER FORGIVENESS AND UNDERSTANDING AS YOU LAY DYING AND SHE GIVES IT TO YOU?????? OKAYYYYYYY

The twist at the end that LLH is the one with royal blood was so funny to me. Like it's a good twist and I love that Shan Gudao was just quite literally always a fuckin try-hard loser in ways he didn't even know, but also it was SO funny. Granny coming in clutch at the last fuckin minute with secret knowledge she just literally never shared.

LLH is such a smooth motherfucker. Shame about his insistence on dying when quite literally everyone (bar the people who suck) is begging this man to just live. Just LIVE DAMN IT!!!!! I really liked it when FDB begs him to just consider his own life as important for ONCE and remember that people care about him because YES his self-sacrificing and committment to Chilling Out Farmer Style was not the mercy he thought it was!

LIVE AND GROW OLD WITH DI FEISHENG YOU DAMN IDIOT (the likelihood of me resisting the urge to write at least the one fic for them is zero to none)

Unironically love spitting up blood as a plot device and this show is no different. The Drama. The Panache. The desperation of everyone around you because you have BLOOD coming out of your MOUTH and you are FAINTING. Poison acting up? Spit blood. Someone bitch slap you with their magical palm ability? Spit blood. Get stressed? Spit blood. Get stabbed? Spit blood. It's always good!

Okay I think that might be all I've got for now, if I think of anything else I'll add them in a reblog. I thoroughly enjoyed it, would definitely recommend!

[ananxiousgenz]

TPP HADESTOWN AU PART 4

ANOTHA ONE. i am so sorry guys, but the muse has possessed me and i literally cannot stop writing. this is no longer a flash fic. i am now a slave to the au. this time will be a direct continuation of part 3 because honestly i wanted to keep writing that but i also just wanted to post it so consider this a kind of part 2 to part 3 if that makes sense

tpp mutuals come get your juice!!! @smidgen-of-hotboy @ceaseless-watchers-special-girl @urjover @one-joe-spoopy @waters-and-the-wilde

when he said his name, juno heard it.

ringing in the background like the hum of a crystal wine glass.

the song.

when peter nureyev said his name, the song echoed with it.

"your name has the same melody," juno breathed, eye wide and searching for some kind of answers on the face of this strange, beautiful man. how could his name have the song of spring laced through it?

nureyev shot him a sideways look and took a sip of his drink. "so. what do you do for a living, lady who's going to marry me?" he questioned, leaning back in his chair and looking juno over with a gaze he could only describe as skeptical.

"oh! well, I work here at the bar with rita. she's over there. but you've met her already so I don't know why I'm introducing her."

rita gave a friendly wave from her perch behind the bar.

"I also, um. I, uh. I sing. sometimes. not all the time. i'm not bad at it. typically when I do sing, someone will give me a couple bucks. it's nice. oh, and uh, I can play guitar too, but I haven't done it in years, and to be honest, I don't really want to-"

nureyev cut juno off, looking away disinterestedly and downing the rest of his drink. "that's nice. so you're like all the other bar workers in existence. that doesn't exactly sound like something I'd want to marry."

suddenly, the butterflies that had been gradually building in juno's stomach began to unexpectedly drop dead.

"heyyyyyyy, that's not very nice, mista nureyev. mista steel isn't like all the otha ladies you eva met! he's a very supa awesome lady who I love workin' with and-oh oh oh! mista steel! you GOTTA tell him about that song you're workin' on! it's so pretty! and important! I'm sure mista nureyev would LOVE to hear about that!" rita cried, bounding off the bar and hustling over to deliver another drink to the table.

"oh, uh, yeah! I'm working on this song to bring spring back again," juno said, feeling mildly embarrassed that rita brought it up with this man who was still basically a total stranger. "it's not done, honestly, it needs a lot of work. but, when i'm finished with it, it will hopefully fix.....everything."

"wait just a moment." nureyev's brow furrowed and juno's stomach twisted at the sight. even when he was skeptical and defensive and bone-tired, he was still so damn attractive. gods, what juno wouldn't give to just kiss him right now- focus, steel, he's trying to talk to you-

"so you say this song will bring spring back again?"

"yup! at least it should."

"that's...." nureyev placed a finger over his lips in thought. "I haven't seen a proper spring in at least a decade, maybe more. the world has been so wrong in recent years... I shudder to think where it would all end up without the return of warmer weather."

"well, that's the idea with the song. I want to fix it. all of it. when the song is done it should put the world back on track. more sunshine, springs, falls, rain and flowers. you know. all the stuff that's just sort of been missing. maybe you could help me out with it!" juno grinned a bit sheepishly.

"and why would I want to help?" his eyes were cold, almost as cold as the biting wind and frost outside, but juno thought he saw the beginning of a thaw at the edges of his facade.

"because, mista nureyev. he's real good at makin' people feel like life is worth livin' again with that music of his. also, he makes the BEST chocolate cake i've eva had! and frannie agrees with me!" rita chimed in, cleaning the bar top as best she could with her short stature.

juno snorted involuntarily, marveling at rita's ability to constantly be focused on food. "it's true, I won a local competition a few years back for that cake."

nureyev's face had half a smile on it now, and the butterflies in juno's stomach turned into a hurricane.

"so you can make people feel alive again? that's quite a gift, juno. but what else can you offer me?"

"huh?"

"say, for example, if we were to get married. who would pay for the wedding rings? times have been hard, and gold is scarce. how would you do it?"

juno thought for a moment. "the rivers. they've got plenty of gold in them, and if my song works, they'll give it all to us for wedding rings."

nureyev's eyes glinted with something juno suspected was either curiosity or suspicion.

"what about a wedding feast? or a bed? good food and better beds are hard to come by these days. what would you do about that, juno?"

"the trees would take care of the wedding feast, and the birds would take care of the bed."

"with your song." nureyev cocked an eyebrow as though it was a question.

"well, yeah, of course."

"you talk a lot about that song. why don't you sing it for me?"

a wave of panic stuttered through juno's mind. "I can't. I told you it's not finished."

"you said you wanted to take me home and marry me, is that true?

a sly smile crossed nureyev's face, and goddammit it only made juno want him even more. "yes," he breathed.

"then sing the song for me, juno."

juno hesitated, then nodded in spite of himself. he shouldn't be doing this, he knew he shouldn't be doing this, but he couldn't help it.

he was in love.

and lovers need the spring like a flower needs sunshine. so he'd sing the sunshine back for peter nureyev.

he stepped back, breathed in, and let the notes flow from him like water from a faucet. the song flooded the room, hitting the walls and rushing back to his ears in perfect harmonies, and for a moment, he was back in that wheat field with benten, strumming guitar as he danced like a pheonix rising from the ashes, spinning around and around and around like he was the center of the universe.

and then the song ended. and juno was back in a shitty roadside bar, holding a perfect dahlia in his left hand, with peter nureyev staring at him now, eyes wide and sparkling.

"that's...... you...... how did you do that?" nureyev asked quietly, standing from the table on unsteady legs and taking the dahlia to examine it with shaking hands.

"i didn't do that, the song did," juno muttered as nureyev gently touched the immaculate petals of the dahlia, still damp with dew. rita beamed at juno from the bar and gave an overenthusiastic thumbs-up. juno just rolled his eyes again.

peter nureyev looked at him then, all of the previous frostiness gone from his eyes and something like amazement and love and hope spilling through them.

juno decided that he liked it when he looked like that. it made him feel like he really could fix the whole damn world with that song of his.

nureyev seemed to come to some sort of conclusion and slipped the dahlia into the buttonhole of his traveling coat. "so, what time does your shift end, my dear juno?"

juno thought for a minute. "uhhhh, the bar closes around 10. why?"

his eyes gleamed like a pair of stars as a smile twinkled on his lips. "didn't you say you were going to marry me?"

[supernaturalgirl20]

Awkwardness

Pairings: Marcus Pike x f!reader

Warnings: Morning wood, angst, anger, cursing, mentions of infertility, mentions of trying to get pregnant, pining, mentions of sex, Marcus being a little insensitive.

Chapter summary: you’ve arrived at the Pikes for Christmas, which means you have to sleep in the same bed, cuddle, kiss and pretend that you’re a happily married couple. What could possibly go wrong? Especially when a certain mother-in-law gets suspicious.

Series Masterlist

Comments and reblogs really appreciated 🥰

The air was forced from your lungs as the whole of the Pike family took turns in greeting you with a tight hug. His mother had been the last and when she pulled away, her eyes studied your face as if searching for something. Did she know?

With a low hum, she retracted her hands from your arms and turned her gaze towards Marcus who was smiling down at his niece. If your heart hadn’t been broken before, it was now.

He looked so happy at that moment, like all the problems in the world could be solved just by holding her in his arms. His lips peppered kisses along her chubby cheeks and a soft giggle erupted from her little mouth. It was like a punch to the gut. Like someone had stabbed you and twisted the knife for good measure.

“It’s so good to see you both,” Mary says, pulling you from your thoughts and drawing your gaze back to her. “How long will you be here?” She questions Marcus, whose eyes flicker in your direction briefly before smiling over at his mom.

Mary had left your side and was walking around the island back towards the stove, where she had left a pot simmering. “Just until after New Year, then I gotta get back to work.” Marcus had finally released his niece Emily and was hovering over the open pot breathing in the aroma that wafted from it.

“Hmm, it smells so good. God, I miss your cooking mom.” Mary’s gaze drifts towards you and you try hard to cover the hurt look on your face with a smile. “I’m sure Y/N’s cooking is just as good,” she says with a wink in your direction.

“When she’s bothered to cook,” Marcus mutters under his breath but you hear it nonetheless. The room suddenly feels small. Suffocating. And the need to get away from your husband becomes too great that you begin to back out of the kitchen. “I’m just…I’m just gonna go unpack. Won’t be long.”

Turning, you quickly dart from the room and rush upstairs, bags in hand. At least you’d bought yourself a half hour.

***

Mary stops stirring and with her hand on her hip, raises her eyebrow in question at Marcus. “Alright, what’s going on?” She asks, her tone accusatory.

“What do you mean? Nothing is going on, mom.” He stammers, his eyes darting around the room, anything to avoid making eye contact. “You could cut the tension between you with a knife. Did you have a row?” Her voice has softened slightly as she reaches out her hand to squeeze Marcus’s arm.

A nervousness courses through him as he finally meets his mother's gaze. Of course, she would pick up on it. “No,” he says, clearing his throat. “We’re just tired.” He sighs as he runs a hand down along his face. “It was a long trip and we’ve both been working hard lately.”

“If you’re sure?” she says, her voice soft. “How about you two take a quick nap before the party tonight.”

“Party? What party?” Marcus questions.

“Didn’t I tell you? I must have forgotten. I'm having the whole family over tonight for a little get-together. Nothing special, but I want you both to look your best.” Mary turns away from Marcus then and continues prepping the food, completely ignoring him.

He knew this meant she was done with the conversation and so decided to make his way up to his old room. To you. And to the inevitable fight that was waiting for him. With a deep sigh, he trudged his way upstairs, mentally preparing himself for what was to come.

***

The room was empty when he slowly opened the door, his eyes darting around trying to catch a glimpse of you. The sound of the water running in the shower quickly alerted him to your whereabouts.

A smile works its way onto his face as he takes in his childhood bedroom. It hasn’t changed, Marcus thinks to himself. His old artwork still hangs on the walls from the days he thought he would be the next Picasso and his trophies from swimming still littered his bookcase.

Mom never did like throwing anything out. He’s startled from his thoughts by the sound of your voice, “oh…I didn’t think you'd be here,” you say bashfully as you pull the towel around you a little tighter.

Marcus’s gaze drifts down along your body, taking in the curve of your hips as you stand there practically naked. The water drips down over the skin of your shoulder forming a trail along your chest that disappears into the curve of your breasts.

His skin heats and a fire begins to burn within him, his cock stirring to life beneath his jeans. Fuck, you were beautiful.

He shakes his head, ridding himself of the inappropriate thoughts that were beginning to form. “We uh…we have to dress up for tonight,” he manages to say, his voice slightly strained as he turns his gaze away from you. “Moms having a few people over for a party so wear something nice. We have an impression to make.” His tone is curt as he grabs his wash bag and brushes past you into the en-suite, closing the door with a bang.

The sound echoes around the room making you flinch. Was he repulsed by you now?

***

The day passes slowly as you both mingle with his family. Something you note you both do separately. How are we supposed to convince anyone we’re ok if he can’t even look me in the eye, you think to yourself as you sit watching Emily play with her toys.

She was beautiful. Her hair was thick and curly and the same shade as Marcus’s. She even had the same eye colour and you wondered if this is how your child would look. A mini version of your husband. If you’d had one, that is.

Suddenly your throat hurts and your eyes begin to well with tears. Why couldn’t you have had a baby? You both tried for over a year and nothing. The constant testing and trips to the doctors had put a strain on your relationship and then the fighting had started.

Maybe you had put too much pressure on yourself to get pregnant. Constantly tracking your period and ovulation days. Sex had turned from an intimate experience full of pleasure into something you considered a chore.

A hand comes to gently rest on your shoulder pulling you from your thoughts. “Hey,” Marcus says softly, a hint of tenderness in his voice.

“We should probably get ready.” His eyes flicker between you and Emily and then he looks at you with something akin to pity. You don’t want his fucking pity. Standing abruptly, you shrug him off and rush upstairs to get ready for the night.

***

“Since when are we having a party?” John, Marcus’s father asks Mary as she stands in the doorway watching her son and daughter-in-law. “Hush,” she chastises. “They’ll hear you.”

He rolls his eyes at his wife before coming to stand behind her. “What are you up to?” He whispers, his lips brushing against her ear. “Haven’t you noticed they’ve been distant towards each other since they arrived? They’ve barely spoken a word. It’s not like them.”

“Now you ain’t going to go meddling are ya? You need to let them figure it out themselves. Besides, you don’t even know if something is wrong.” He pulls away from her and starts for the drink’s cabinet, pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

Mary turns to face him with a sly smile on her face. “Oh no, whatever your thinkin’ of doing, don’t,” John says with a shake of his head as he mutters under his breath.

“I’ve got a great plan,” she says beaming at him. John downs the drink in his hand before placing the empty glass on the counter. “I ain’t havin’ any part in this.”

***

As you stare at the mirror, your eyes trailing along the black dress that hugs your curves, you try to remember the last time you felt like this. Beautiful.

It’s certainly been a long time since Marcus has made you feel like you were. Maybe that was part of the problem. Maybe he didn’t find you attractive anymore. Speaking of your husband, you haven't seen him since you left him in the sitting room and you wonder briefly where he's gotten to.

The door pushes open and your question is answered when Marcus walks in, head down as he closes it gently behind him. “Sorry I got caught up talking to Jake and I…..” He stammers, faltering in his step as he takes you in. His eyes slowly roam your figure, staring just a second too long at your breasts.

He shakes his head as if trying to rid himself of his thoughts before clearing his throat and striding towards you. His hand reaches out to push a strand of hair behind your ears, his thumb rubbing softly against the skin of your neck before his eyes meet yours.

There’s tension in the room and for the first time in months, it's not an angry one. You haven’t been this close to him in so long that you’ve forgotten that he has small freckles along his nose, barely visible but there nonetheless. Or that he has a slight amber tint to the colour of his eyes, it almost reminds you of whiskey.

His eyes flick down to your lips, his tongue running along the seam of his own before he meets your gaze again. “You look…beautiful,” he whispers so softly that if you weren’t standing right in front of him, you’d have missed it.

You become suddenly aware of his hand on your neck, his other now resting on your hips and your skin begins to heat. You both stand like this for what feels like ages until a knock sounds at the door shattering the moment. Marcus pulls his hands away from you as if he’d been burned and then without another glance in your direction, he grabs his clothes and rushes into the bathroom.

“Hey,” Sarah, Marcus’s sister says as you open the door. “Would you mind helping me finish off setting up the kitchen? It’s just mom asked me to and I’m so behind and if I ....”

“Sure,” you say with a smile, happy to be getting away from the awkward tension that had now settled between you and Marcus. “You look gorgeous by the way,” she says as her eyes take in the black dress.

“Thanks, you too.”

***

The house is brimming with people and the sound of music and laughter has a warm fuzzy feeling settling in the pit of your stomach. You always loved the ‘Pike parties’ that Mary hosted. Something that had taken a little getting used to in the beginning considering you came from a small family.

You were currently in a conversation with one of Marcus’s uncles, Christopher. He’d approached you - cornered you really - and had proceeded to talk about his new cows on the ranch and as much as you loved him, you prayed for someone to save you.

You gasp when an arm wraps around your waist pulling you into a warm solid form and when you glance upwards you’re met with the smiling face of your husband.

“Uncle Chris. Long time no see. Heard you got some new cows?” Oh lord, why did he bring up the damn cows? As Marcus conversed with his uncle you let your eyes drift to the people littered around the room. Everyone was having a great time and seeing everyone so happy has a sadness settling upon you. You wish you could be happy too. That the show Marcus is putting on wasn’t just that, a show.

A hushed whisper catches your attention and you're drawn to the voice of John whispering something to Mary. “See, they're just fine. I won’t say I told ya so.”

She gently swats his arm before meeting your gaze and smiling brightly before wandering off.

“Baby, some of my old college buddies are here. I think we should go say hello,” Marcus says, voice clear and full of determination as he stares down at you. You stare back at him stunned into silence at the use of his pet name for you. How you longed to hear it again.

You shake the thoughts from your head and smile back at him. “We better,” you say as you place your hand on his chest. “Or we’d never hear the end of it. It was lovely chatting with you Christopher.”

Before he can even take a breath, Marcus laces his fingers with yours and manoeuvres you both through the small crowd. Your heart almost beats out of your chest at the intimate touch and you silently wish that things could go back to how they were before. That this sudden display of affection wasn’t an act.

He leads you out onto the deck and closes the patio doors behind him before taking a deep breath. You look at him slightly confused as to why you're both here. “I thought your college friends were here?”

“Oh, no I just said that to get away from him. I mean how much more could you listen to him talk about those god-forsaken cows.” He winks at you as he leans against the railing, head tilted up at the sky. “I know. God, I’m an awful person but the whole time he was talking I just wanted to get away from him.”

Marcus laughs, turning his gaze towards you. “And miss the chance to hear about how beautiful Betsy is with her brown and white spots?”

“Oh don’t be so mean,” you say playfully as you swat his arm. A cool breeze washes over you causing your skin to pimple and you rub your hands along your arms trying to shake the chill. Marcus steps forward and begins to shrug off his blazer. “What are you doing?”

“Being a gentleman and giving you my jacket. You’re shivering a little.” He moves towards you but you shake your head in protest. “I’m fine, honestly. It’s not even that cold.”

“Please don’t be stubborn and just take it,” he pleads as he holds it up in his arms. With a nod, you silently agree and he drapes it around your shoulders. “There. Now was that so hard?”

You know he’s just teasing by the smile on his face and you thank him as you wrap it a little tighter around you. His scent hits you immediately. Cinnamon and apples and you smile to yourself as you remember the first time he let you wear his clothes. You always loved how he smelled. Like home.

“We should probably get back or mom is gonna throw a fit,” he says softly, the tiniest hint of hesitation in his voice. “Yeah, I guess so.”

You move to take his jacket off but he shakes his head, “no keep it. It always looked better on you anyway.”

“Thanks,” you say bashfully before he places his hand on your lower back guiding you back inside. The night continues much the same as you both mingle. Marcus keeps up the show of being the perfect in-love couple with small touches and the odd kiss on the cheek. It’s enough to drive you insane.

His proximity mixed with the buzz from the alcohol has you burning with desire for your husband and you’re not sure how much longer you can take all this.

“I think we should call it a night,” he says as he says his goodbyes and places his hand on your lower back once more, leading you up the stairs towards his old room.

Once inside he quickly removes his hand and begins to undress and you suddenly don’t know where to look. “No need to be shy, you’ve seen it all before.”

You huff as you remove his jacket from your shoulders. “Haven’t in a while though.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth you regret them. You didn’t mean for it to come across as you being bitchy. It was just a fact. “And whose fault is that?” He snipes back, muttering under his breath as he pulls up his clean boxers.

“Please,” you plead. “Can we not turn this into another fight? Tonight was the first time we’ve gotten along in ages. I didn’t mean for it to sound so bitchy but you know I’m right. We haven’t had sex in months, hell you haven’t even tried to touch me intimately. I miss how it used to be. I remember a time when you couldn’t get enough of me.”

“That was before you made it feel like a chore. There was always a damn schedule. We only fucked when you thought you’d get pregnant, we didn’t do it just to do it. For pleasure and nothing else. And then you’d cry so hard when you got your period every month it broke my heart. I couldn’t touch you like that knowing I couldn’t give you what you wanted.”

“I only ever wanted you,” you say as a strangled sob escapes your lips. You quickly grab your pyjamas and make your way into the bathroom to change. You’d hoped that you could both come back from this but you're starting to think you never would.

***

When you finally emerge from the bathroom, Marcus is lying on the floor with the extra blankets and pillows. “You don’t have to sleep on the floor. We can share the bed.”

He turns his head to gaze up at you, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Oh come on, Marcus. We’re married, we’ve shared a bed for the last eight years, and one more week isn't gonna kill you. Besides, you've got a bad back now, sleeping on the floor will kill you.”

Marcus rolls his eyes at you before sitting up, “don’t be so dramatic. My back’s not that bad.”

You stand staring down at him with an incredulous look on your face. He stares up at you with a serious expression on his face. “Honestly I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Fine, whatever,” you snap before making your way around to the other side of the bed and sliding in under the covers. Reaching over to the lamp you turn out the lights. “Night.”

“Night.”

***

You sit up with a jolt as a loud banging noise startles you awake. You stare around the room slightly groggy from the interrupted sleep.

“I’ve brought you both breakfast,” Mary says cheerfully from behind the door. Shit, you think to yourself as you move towards the end of the bed.

“Marcus,” you call in a hushed voice but he doesn’t budge. Fuck sake. Grabbing a pillow you throw it at him and he snorts loudly as he jolts awake.

“What time is it?” He says tiredly as he squints up at you.

“Can I come in? Are you both decent?”

Realisation dawns on him as he meets your gaze. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, fuck. Get up here now.” You move back into a sitting position on the bed, pulling the covers open for Marcus as he scrambles to gather his makeshift bed. He quickly jumps onto the bed and pulls the covers over you both and pulls you into a cuddle. His cock. His very hard cock presses up against your ass and you can’t help but wiggle it a little.

“I…fuck,” he groans into your shoulder. God you’ve missed the feel of him like this. Your cunt is aching for him, to feel him deep inside and you keep moving your ass until he grips your hip tight. “Stop,” he says, his voice a little stern. “You need to stop….I can’t….shit,” he breathes out raggedly before creating a little distance between you both. “Don’t start something you’re not gonna finish.”

Mary knocks again, clearly becoming impatient and with a deep sigh, Marcus turns towards the door. “Yeah, come in mom”. She opens the door and carries in a tray of pancakes and bacon with two cups of coffee, placing it on the nightstand beside Marcus.

“I didn’t interrupt anything did I?” She asks with a wiggle of her eyebrows, a hint of hope in her voice. “Jesus mom. I am not talking about that with you. Ever.”

“It’s perfectly natural for a man and woman to have sex, especially a husband and wife.” You peak over at Marcus to find him blushing furiously and you can’t help but smile. “Besides, if you two ever thought you were quiet, you weren’t. Your father and I have heard it all.”

You curl into Marcus’s side with embarrassment and he quickly ushers her out. “I’ll never be able to look your father in the eye again.”

“You’ll be fine. Dad doesn’t pass many remarks on things like that.”

A voice sounds from the door, “oh and don’t take too long, I’ve loads of things planned.” You both let out a deep sigh before meeting each other's gaze. After a few seconds of staring at one another, you both burst out laughing.

“Right,” Marcus says as he rubs his hands together. “Let’s tuck in.”

Part 3

Everything: @maievdenoir @amneris21 @hnt-escape @elegantduckturtle @harriedandharassed @jediknight122 @ayrusss @hayley-the-comet @sherala007 @alexxavicry @scorpio-marionette @donnaa @practicalghost @tanzthompson @beskarprincessjenny @littlemisspascal @icanbeyourjedi @thatpinkshirt @maryfanson @sunnshineeexoxo @misspearly1 @misspearlssideblog @athalien @its--fandom--darling @sara-alonso @doommommy @browneyes-issac @trickstersp8 @nembees @kaitieskidmore1 @mswarriorbabe80 @allthe-ships @tintinn16 @hungrhay @rosie-posie08 @manuymesut @all-the-way-down-here @iccedays @dindjarinswhore @tusk89 @graciexmarvel @pedrostories @pedr0swh0r3

[mister-eames]

hey love, fun question, I’m a firm believer that arthur can lift eames so do you have any idea about the first time it happened and eames and everyone being just so surprised about it?

Hello love! You're not wrong, this is a fun question - and I wholeheartedly agree with you! So, I have this rambunctious, hilarious coworker who is around 5'0, and her work 'party trick' is that she can lift anyone up by putting them on her shoulders - no matter who it is, how tall they are, how much they weigh, she can lift them up. And she has lifted almost everyone. Even the CEO of our company.

Anyway. With that in mind, this is pretty much how I imagine that first time went a little something like this:

--

"Let me try."

"No, I... almost...ahh... almost got it..."

The party continues on the floor above. And here Arthur is, locked in a cellar with Eames of all people.

For four, long consecutive minutes Arthur has watched Eames struggle to reach the top shelf of marks cellar in an effort to reach a vintage sherry for them to share.

Normally Arthur wouldn't indulge like this on a job and especially not with someone like Eames of all people. But they're stuck in here after all. Why not, Arthur reasons. Everything else has gone ass up, what's another thing to throw into the fire.

They came down here, disguised as party guests, looking for a safe and it's contents within. It's Arthur's fault that they're stuck here - he shut the door for privacy, unaware it would lock them from the inside. They tried to jimmy it open. No luck. They tried to call one of their team. No cell service. No way out until someone comes down.

So when Eames tilted his head towards the Great Wall of Alcohol with a clear suggestion Arthur thought fuck it, if he's gotta be stuck down here he might as well do it boozed up. They're at a party, aren't they?

"Atta boy," says Eames.

So they plucked the first bottle they saw and drank. And drank. And drank. And drank some more. It was on their second bottle of Merlot de la fucking-whatever that Eames spotted the sherry and made an attempt to grab it.

At first it was comical. Watching Eames grunt and groan, defeated by his own vertical deficit. Now it's just getting boring.

"Seriously," Arthur sighs. "Get out of the way."

"No."

"I'm taller than you."

"You are not," Eames scoffs, the exhale slightly strangled as he reaches further, swaying slightly on his tip-toes.

"Seriously."

"I... almost have it... just a little..."

He attempts to extend his arm further, only managing to tip sideways before righting himself.

For fucks' sake.

"Stand still," Arthur orders, stepping forward. "I'm giving you a boost. Don't move."

"You what - ?"

Arthur crouches into a deep squat between Eames legs, pressing the back of Eames' thighs to his shoulders. Before Eames can ask him what he's doing Arthur presses heavily into his heels and raises his arms, locking them around Eames' knees and steadying his stance, ensuring his weight is completely balanced.

Then he pushes upwards into a stand, taking Eames with him.

"Holy, fucking -- " Eames curses, tightening his calves against Arthur's torso as he he steadies himself. "You're fucking barmy."

"And you're heavy," Arthur grunts, adjusting his grip. "Hurry up and grab the damn sherry before I sprain something."

He hears the slide of glass against wood before Eames triumphant "Got it."

Slowly, he lowers back into a crouch, releasing his grip on Eames when both his feet are steady on the floor.

Eames whirls around, cheeks flushed with inebriety. "I'm impressed, Arthur. Didn't know you you had it in you."

Rolling his eyes, Arthur snatches the bottle from his grip, aiming to drink away the remnant feeling of Eames thighs on his shoulders. He twists the cork off with a satisfying pop. "Thank you for the condescension, Eames."

Eames watches Arthur drink a mouthful before passing it over to him. "Do you think anyone upstairs will notice we're gone and come and save us?"

The both look skywards as the bass audibly deepens overhead followed by a chorus of loud cheering from the party goers.

Sighing, Arthur lowers himself to the floor, resigning himself to a long, drunken night ahead.

[passivenovember]

When Billy Falls in Love

--

Max's hair is twisted into a rough pink towel when she answers the door. She’s got a berry sorbet sunburn peeking through the angry red flush on her cheeks, freckles looking like they could peel off at any moment. It’s the same way Billy gets in the summertime, but he turns gold in seconds.

Max stays angry red. 

She wasn’t at the pool today. Steve knows because he was at the pool fifteen minutes ago, and Billy wasn’t there. And if Billy’s gone so is Max, and if Max is here-- 

“He’s not here. What’s with the flowers?” Max wonders, with her teeth pulling at the wrapper of a Scoops brand popsicle as she eyes the poorly picked and assembled bouquet of daisies and weeds Steve managed to convince the gardener to let him snag. 

Steve can tell she doesn’t really want to know what the deal is. Maybe she already knows. 

Max is fourteen and a perpetually bored pain in the ass, already moving to shut Steve out of the house when he jams his foot so the door won’t close. 

Max tugs on it. Groans. “Steve,” Max says, sounding tired.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know because we don’t keep tabs on each other, you psycho.”

“Bullshit,” Steve says. Neil’s car isn’t in the driveway, he almost points out.

Doesn’t.

Max almost cracks a smile, seeming to hear him anyway. If Neil’s gone that leaves Billy to play guard dog. “If you care so much about my stupid brother all of a sudden--”

“--All of a--”

“Get in your stupid shitty car and go drive around until you find him,” Max says, like. Get lost.

They’re so similar it burns. Chars licking over Steve’s skin in the shape of how they sneer and heckle the same, and they’re both so smart that Steve has to do math and study chemistry, and perform mental gymnastics just to keep up.

There’s a lot to latch on to, Steve’s hands slip over it like a gymnast missing the high bar. 

The way she’s looking at him, the way Max said all of a sudden like Steve’s done something wrong--

“He used to drive you around,” Steve says, like. Aha. “Don’t you give a shit?”

About him? 

About his bones and blood. 

Max shrugs. “Why should I?”

And. Steve’s an idiot but he remembers how it was before, back when this whole thing started. His lips, red and tender from sucking on any piece of Billy he could find. His fingers, tugging on worn belt loops and begging for a night on Loch Nora and that dull, exhausted phrase gotta watch my sister sinking a hole in Steve’s hope.

“It’s summer,” Max says after a minute, irritated, “We have an arrangement in the summer. June to Labor Day I do what I want, Billy fucks off for a bit, and we always show up here right when--”

“His car's gone,” Steve says. Because she owes it to him and his months and months of blue balls at her lack of self-preservation. She owes it to Billy.

“His car’s gone because he’s not here, Steve, we just went over this--” 

Max moves to slam the door and Steve holds it open, trying to ignore the hollow feeling that spreads through his stomach. “Why are you acting weird?” Steve demands.

“I’m not acting weird, you’re the one who’s trying to break into my house because Billy stepped out for five minutes,” Max tugs on the door, groaning dramatically, “C’mon Steve--”

Steve clutches the bouquet of flowers close to his chest. “We’re supposed to go see a movie.”

Max stops pulling on the door, all the attitude cut from her with something dull. 

Steve swallows. His nails dig into the palm of his free hand. Steve feels blood swell, but it’s probably just sweat. “Billy. He’s not on a date--”

“Look, Steve,” Max says suddenly, sounding. Much older and wiser than she did five seconds ago. “I like you. You’re cute and dumb but you’re annoyingly sweet and thoughtful. You’re tall, too. You’ve probably failed freshman biology a couple of times.--”

“--I--”

“Shut up,” Max tells him, and Steve swears there’s a bit of green swirling in all that red, embarrassment mixing like watercolor. “Can I be honest with you, Steve?”

Steve nods. He takes his foot from the door jam and rubs his hand on his jeans. Shudders as the feeling in his stomach ebbs and swirls and gets so much worse.

“You’re not his fucking boyfriend,” Max says, and slams the door in his face.

--

“Well. To be fair, she’s not wrong.”

Steve grips the steering wheel. The leather crackles and squeals with the skin of his palms, giving way to the rumble of the engine when he turns the car onto Park Avenue. 

“Jesus,” Eddie snaps, his free hand scrambling to brace against the passenger door while the bouquet teeters dangerously on his lap, “You don’t have to take the turns so fast, Harrington--”

“I can’t believe she said that.”

“--Fucking Evel Kenevil--”

“I mean. I’m practically his boyfriend, right?”

“Sure, and you’ll still be ‘practically his boyfriend,’ even if you drive at the speed limit.”

“Thought you said Max wasn’t talking out of her ass, Munson?”

“Look, I’m allowed to take things minute by minute. I’m just saying,” Eddie tightens the seatbelt against his chest, “You haven’t exactly popped the question.”

“You think Billy’s the kind of guy who--”

“Yeah,” Eddie says casually. “He’s exactly the kind of guy who wants to be asked out. I’ve seen the way he picks flowers and puts them in his own hair when he thinks no one’s looking.”

Steve snorts. “When has he ever done that?”

“We hang out, you know,” Eddie tells him, in lieu of an answer. “When you’re not around, we hang out loads--”

“Maybe you’re Billy’s mystery man,” Steve says only half serious. Mostly joking. 

Eddie flushes deep red, “Anyway. This bag of weeds is a good start,” He mumbles, twisting the fat head of a dandelion gently between two fingers.

Steve doesn’t have it in him to unpack any of what that might mean.

They’ve been driving for what feels like hours. The sky has turned hazy, floating in that honey-dipped place between dayglow and starlight. The world will be gold, soon, and then dark. Midnight black. 

Hawkins is a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it affair. A shithole. Billy only has a handful of places to hide.

Steve presses a little harder on the gas, knowing in the very pit of himself that this is crazy. This is insane, driving around like a bat out of hell with Eddie Munson, but Billy likes Eddie Munson. Steve tolerates him. And Robin’s at camp, so.

Eddie clutches the door again with another sharp, sudden turn. “Harrington--”

“I’m not dropping you off until I find him.”

“Alright,” Munson grumbles. He lights a cigarette and stares out the window for half a neighborhood block and then says, “How do you know he’s not at home, already?”

Steve grips the steering wheel, convinced Eddie wasn’t listening the first time. “Maxine said--”

“That was an hour ago.”

“Neil doesn’t get off until seven, if Billy’s gone he wont be back until six-thirty at the earliest.”

Eddie checks the dash. “It’s six-thirty now.”

“Do you wanna die today, freak?”

“God, you’re so unpleasant,” Eddie says, handing his cigarette over, anyway, “You’re the worst, actually. Worse than I ever imagined and I’ve imagined it a lot when Billy and Dustin yap their fucking gums about how great you are.”

Steve takes a harsh pull from the cigarette. Coughs and hands it back. 

Eddie takes it from him. Ash gathers on the cherry but he’s got no self-awareness. 

“If you get ash in my flowers, Munson--”

“Jesus Christ, would you give it a rest? He’s gonna love them. He’ll probably cry, once he’s done beating the shit out of you.”

Silence falls, lurid and uncomfortable, and Steve realizes Munson is watching him. Staring at him, 

“This is insane boyfriend behavior, Harrington,” Eddie says.

“So, you admit I’m his boyfriend?” Steve tries weakly, in lieu of what he means. Why Should I Take Advice from You?

“I’m saying this is boyfriend behavior but you won’t be a boyfriend for long, once he finds out what we’re doing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Steve grits his teeth. “What are we doing that’s so wrong, Munson?”

“Hunting him. Like a couple of crazy fucking bloodhounds.”

“We had a date,” Steve tells Eddie again. For the eightieth time. “Billy’s never missed a date so he’s either dead or dying or riding some other guy’s--”

Eddie bangs his head against the window.

Steve rolls the window down for him if only to protect the integrity of the Beemer. “Look, I know it doesn’t make sense to you, but I know Billy. And he wouldn’t just disappear without--”

“You’re not his dad,” Eddie tells him, and Steve.

Steve doesn’t have time to get into all the reasons that’s spot -fucking-on. He’s not Billy’s dad, because Steve loves Billy. To his bones and beyond, a little knob of heartache swirling around each nucleus of every atom in the very core of him.

Steve loves Billy so much it gets him into trouble.

Eddie sucks down his smoke again, like, “You’re really doing all this for a missed date?”

“What’s it to you?”

“I’m just saying,” Eddie shrugs, “I heard stories about you and the Wheeler chick. Seems like she missed a lot of dates at the end and you never did anything like this for her.”

“Billy’s not Nancy. Billy’s not like anyone, he’s--”

“Holy shit,” Eddie says, coughing. “You. You’re not just blowing smoke up my ass, you’re serious about him.”

And.

Munson says it like it’s a shock. 

Like Steve Harrington’s not capable of loving anything but himself. His hair and his house on the hill and this stupid fucking car and maybe that’s what the losers at Hawkins High think, but they’re wrong. 

Way wrong. Stuck four years in the past.

Steve has to bite down against every harsh word on the tip of his tongue, tear the sentences apart and swallow them down because of course he’s worried.

Steve’s worried all the time about a lot of things when it comes to this crush he’s been nursing for a year and a half. Steve worries if Billy sleeps enough, for one. If Neil was in a good mood today. How many new bruises Steve will have to cover with hickies the next time they see each other, paint all that hurt over with something good.

It makes him crazy.

Steve worries all the time if Billy loves him. If actually saying it makes a difference.

Steve wonders most of all how much money and begging it’ll take to get Billy out of that house on Cherry Lane. Steve’s spent many restless nights doing the math in his head, staring at the popcorn ceiling as he imagines taking Billy away from here. And if Steve’s taking Billy home, to the coast, then he’s taking Max, too.

So whatever number, whatever dollar amount Steve’s gotta hoard to make it happen--he’d better take it and multiply it by seven, because. Steve’s going to lasso the moon and give it to Billy in a bouquet of yellow daisies. 

If it kills him. 

He’s going to find Billy tonight and tell him the truth if it kills him--

“We’ve gone down this street, already,” Eddie says.

“You’re not helping.”

“I'm just pointing out the obvious.”

“And I’m just pointing out--”

“Look, if you care about Billy so much, why don’t you respect his privacy?” Eddie demands. Somewhere, along the way, he ashed his cigarette on the dashboard.

Steve wants to check the flowers. 

Can’t find it within himself to be angry about that. “I just want to make sure he’s okay. If something happened to him and I wasn’t there to make it better and figure out how to stop it from happening again--”

“God, you’re such a brownie,” Eddie snaps, turning from the window. “What if he ditched you because he’s not into you anymore, Harrington?  What if Billy got tired of waiting for you to pull your head out of your ass and stop obsessing over him where no one else can see it? What if he’s sick of being the plaything you fuck in the dark?”

Steve swallows. Feeling so, so small.

“Everyone says you’re a changed man,” Eddie gets closer, somehow. Looms. “What if Billy thinks you’re bullshit?”

Steve pulls the car to the side of the road. In front of them, hazy with the dregs of the afternoon, a coal brown sign announces that Hawkins will soon be a spot on a map left somewhere far, far away. 

Everything in that shitty little town hangs over him. Feels so huge. Max and Neil and his parents and graduation and the last month of summer, sitting bigger than the sky. 

The engine thrums underneath them and Steve swallows, turning against his seatbelt. “If Billy doesn’t love me,” Steve says, easy and slow, “He can say it to my face.”

Eddie blinks. 

Steve can sense the cogs turning, underneath all that hair. Brown like his, curly like Billy’s. “It won’t change how you feel about him?” Eddie asks. 

And Steve realizes, like a punch to the gut, that Eddie Munson cares about this.

About Billy.

He’s worried, too, in his own twisted, guard-dog best friend kinda way. It reminds Steve of Robin. Dustin, too, always baring their teeth at Billy because they’re not fully convinced that this thing between them will survive the summer.

That Steve would survive losing this. 

He wishes, a deep ache thrumming in his chest, that everyone would either get it or fuck off.

“I love him,” Steve says easily, “Love isn’t something that stops just because the other person’s come to their fucking senses about how much of a loser you are. It isn’t something you say because you want to hear it back. I’ve loved him for a year and a half and I’ll love him even when he realizes I’m not half good enough.”

Eddie smirks. It’s slow and terrible.

“Alright, Harrington,” He leans back in his seat and nods, satisfied. “I think I know where our boy is hiding.”

--

Duane county used to house to the only mall within a hundred miles until Starcourt. 

It’s a small and bustling and annoyingly progressive city, compared to Hawkins, and Steve isn’t the least bit surprised that Billy would run to a place like this to hide for a while.

What surprises him is that Billy knows how to skateboard. 

He’s riding the half pipe, so focused on the concrete that laps like waves under the wheels of his long, colorful board that Billy doesn’t notice when the Beemer’s engine cuts and Steve opens the driver’s side door. 

Eddie doesn’t move. 

“You coming?” Steve asks, frowning when Eddie sparks something too pale and skinny to be a cigarette.

“Nah, you go ahead.”

“You don’t wanna give me your blessing?” Steve wonders, suddenly terrified that Billy won’t go steady with him if he doesn’t see the irritatingly awful face of his best friend giving the thumbs up. 

Eddie hands Steve the bouquet. It’s crushed and it smells like dope.

“Billy’s gonna take one look at these sorry fucking flowers and break up with me,” Steve grumbles, his nose scrunching, and.

Eddie smiles at him. 

It’s soft and real, and kind of beautiful, and Steve gets why Chrissy Cunningham is apparently head over heels for the guy. 

“He loves you, too,” Eddie says, like, “Go on. Quit stalling. Don’t think your big love confession will feel the same if I have told your hand through it.”

Steve slams the door, and Billy floats to the top of the half-pipe with the echo of it. He looks like an angel in the clouds, shirtless with his skin golden in the setting sun, jeans slung low on his hips. The curly, bronze tendrils of hair Steve will always remember the feel of are swooped back in a scrunchie.

Max’s scrunchie.

Billy squints across the parking lot and recognizes Steve, his expression clouding over immediately. “What the fuck are you doing here?” He demands.

Steve waddles across the parking lot, “Eddie’s here,” He calls, like an idiot.

“So?” You fucking him now?”

“No, I--”

“What are you doing here, Harrington?”

Steve almost trips over himself, knees with with nerves. Billy does that to him, always. Forever.

The half-pipe is huge up close, looming like the mast of some ancient, terrible ship and Billy is the pirate waiting to throw him overboard. “We had a date,” Steve says.

Out of breath.

Weak.

“I had to get out of that house,” Billy shades his eyes with one hand, holding the long board aloft with his bare foot. He doesn’t say anything for a long, terrible moment and then he says, “Whatcha got there, pretty boy?” 

“Flowers,” Steve tells him.

“Flowers,” Billy mocks softly. There’s no bite.

He considers the moment. The Scene. Steve Harrington, with flowers clutched to his chest and the dingy little park beyond that and Eddie Munson, probably, hanging from a cloud of marijuana smoke as the afternoon crashes into nightfall.

As Steve crashes and burns.

Steve holds his breath. Billy glides down the half pipe, seeming to ride on the wind until he comes to a delicate, perfect stop in front of him. 

He smells like peaches. 

He’s been eating peaches. Billy’s hands are sticky when he grabs the bouquet, and Steve’s skin lights on fire from his touch. 

It’s so usual. It’s brand new every time.

“You bought me flowers?” Billy asks, pinning Steve with a clear, vibrant stare. 

His eyes are so blue. So beautiful--

“I didn’t buy them, I. I picked them,” Steve says dumbly, “The gardener was going to clear them away, but. I wanted to pick some for our date. I always pick you up on the way but I never bring anything, and I thought. Maybe Neil wouldn’t notice who they were for if it seemed like someone just picked them from a garden. Or the side of the road,” Billy snorts, and Steve nearly breaks an ankle trying to recover, “But I’ve thought about it, and they’re almost out of season, so the gardener--”

“--Right--”

“And. I see them every morning, from my bedroom window, and they remind me of you. Pretty and. Golden, so. I caught the gardener just in time, and i had to pay him $5 to let me pick ‘em before he cleared them away. They’re pretty. Right? I wanted--”

Billy sniffs the daisies first. His eyes close, lashes casting long, noir shadows over the cinnamon freckles on his cheeks and Steve aches to live forever in this moment. To scrape the image into his mind so it can live there, in a house made in Billy’s image. 

“Some of these are weeds,” Billy tells him.

“I--”

“Are you in love with me, Harrington?” Billy rubs the petals of one flower with his thumb, watching as the stems knock together. He’s holding the bouquet like it’s made of glass. Like it might shatter and crumble away if he’s not careful, and Steve.

Feels that way about Billy.

“I,” Steve tries again,

“Thanks for the flowers,” Billy says, and he turns to go.

“Wait,” Steve says. Begs. He almost reaches to stop Billy but he doesn’t want to hurt him. 

Billy stops. Waits. 

Something sharp and fragile sits there, just under the layer of indifference Steve was always too stupide to notice before, but.

“I love you,” Steve says. He sounds strangled. Drowning. 

It hurts.

It hurts and it really, really doesn’t when Billy flushes red. “I love you, too.”

And. 

Steve’s going to catch on fire at any moment. “You love me,” He repeats, testing the words. He doesn’t trust them to hold his hope. Doesn’t think Billy means it how Steve aches and dreams he does. “You love me, like. How you love Max? Or Eddie? Like a friend who you want to suck off sometimes--”

“Eddie and I are just friends,” Billy says, quickly. His gaze is steady on Steve’s face. “I don’t need anyone else for that, I have. You.”

He does. 

He really does.

Billy’s watching Steve like he’s expecting him to say something else, and maybe he is. Has been, for as long as they’ve been sliding inside of each other. Steve was just too dumb to get it before now. 

So he straightens his spine. Clears his throat. Says, “Well. I love you like I want to take you on dates. And introduce you to my parents. I want you to go steady with me and wear my letter--”

“We can’t do that sort of stuff, Harrington.”

“I know.”

“Well, then, why’d you say it?”

“Because it’s what I want,” Steve snaps. Like, “You’re so annoying.”

“It was your idea,” Billy smirks. It’s beautiful. It’s Steve’s second favorite thing, second only to his laugh. And the soft curve of his lips. Billy fiddles with one of the weeds and says, “You don’t even have a letter to give me.”

“Neither do you, asshole,”

“So now what?” Billy demands, his arms flaring wide, “You’re gonna say you want to go steady with me and we’re not gonna do it? Tease.”

Steve rolls his eyes to the heavens, grumbling as they plop wetly on the sun-warmed earth. Billy’s still barefoot and Steve wonders how his toes aren’t burning. “How are your toes not burning?” He demands.

“They are,” Billy tells him, annoyed.

And then. 

Steve gets an idea.

He sits on the ground and pulls both shoes off.

“What are you doing?” Billy snaps, but Steve can hear a smile in his voice, curling tendrils through the teasing annoyance that has made him so different from anyone Steve has ever loved before. “Steve--”

“Here,” Steve says, standing to hold the shoes out in front of him. He hops from one foot to the other as his heels start to burn.

Billy stares at the Nike’s as if they’re coiled snakes. Like if he takes them, they’ll burrow under his toenails and poison him from the inside out. “I don’t get it--”

“I don’t have a letter, but. People might see you in them and get it, right? When has anyone ever seen Billy Hargrove in a pair of Nike’s?”

Billy blinks, confused.

“You’re mine,” Steve says. “So they’re yours. Take them,”

Billy considers him for a long moment and then sets the bouquet on the ground. “Wait here,” He says, and skates off around the bend in the half pipe.

Steve’s feet are on fire.

He’s hopping dramatically, and in the distance he can hear Eddie laughing, and Steve’s going to kill him, but then.

Billy’s back and he’s holding his boots in his hands. “Here,” He says, “Eye for an eye, right?”

And Steve doesn’t need to be told twice. He slips into the worn leather, pleasantly surprised at how comfortable they are. His feet thank him, the raging fire finally simmering.

Steve watches Billy. 

The careful way his fingers lace the Nike’s onto his feet. How his hips shift his weight when he stands. Billy walks in a slow, timid circle, “Shit, Harrington,” He says thickly, “I’ve never been someone’s boyfriend before.”

Steve shrugs, “I’ve never had a boyfriend, before.”

“Think we’ll be any good at it?” Billy asks. He squats deeply, popping back up with a wide, beautiful smile planted pretty as a forest on his face.

It beams itself, magically, onto Steve’s. Startles a bright, hysterical laugh from somewhere deep inside of him. 

“You’re perfect,” Steve says. Nothing has ever felt more true.

[thatfanficbookishgirlie]

Dean Winchester x Reader: Holiday Blues and Broken Promises 

Holiday Blues and Broken Promises 

Couple: Dean x Reader, (OFC x Sam a little bit)

AN: wrote this years ago but now, decided to post it. :/

It’s the week before Christmas and people in Lebanon, Kansas are already festive for the Holiday seasons. This year would be better, Y/N hoped, because unlike last year’s mess in another universe. Sam and Dean haven’t gotten into much trouble like before. 

Well, except they are dealing with information about Michael and his army in the making. 

Something always goes wrong around Christmas Time and the boys end up in situations beyond their own control. 

“Y/N!” You heard the voice of your best friend and sister in law, Samantha as she trudged into the Bunker kitchen with at least five grocery bags. 

“I was calling you for the last five minutes, what’s going on in that head of yours?” Samantha let out an exasperating breath as she asked her question. 

“Nothing,” You stated but the annoyed expression on her face told you that she was not willing to buy that excuse so you added, “I am worried about the holiday celebrations, we don’t exactly have a great track record when it comes to these things.”

“Damn. That’s true but come on, we gotta learn to accept this. I mean we’re married to Winchesters for goodness’ sake.” Samantha absent-mindedly stated as she begun to organize the kitchen shelf for the supplies she bought. 

“So you’re not bothered by the fact that Sam and Dean will miss any of the holidays?” You raised your eyebrow at her flippant tone. 

“Dude, you’re twisting my words. Of course, I’ll be bothered by that. It’s hard you know, being apart from Sam at times but I gotta get through it. I know that in the long run, he’ll always come back home. To me. It’s the same for you and Dean too. We chose to be with them, remember?” 

“You’re right.” You nodded. Of course, she’s right—Samantha has been married to Sam since 2015 and in a spontaneous Vegas trip involving Elvis. If anyone knows what separation felt like…it was her. There’s obviously more than she let on with her and Sam but one thing for sure is that those two love each other and that’s the damn truth.

As for you and Dean, the both of you got married months ago after Dean and Sam returned from Federal Prison—And now, the boys are back but they were busy in getting Jack and Mary back. 

“Y/N, I know it’s hard but try not to worry about it. Just live.” Samantha quipped before wrapping you in a short but tight hug. 

And that is how the Winchesters found the two girls. A gentle smile on each of their faces as they embraced in the middle of the old Bunker Kitchen. 

“Hey now, no hugs for us!” Dean smirked at Sam as they stood near the door. You assessed your husband’s appearance. He looked tired but clean. That was good. No bruises or cuts or anything, he was safe and it was all that matters. 

“Come here old man,” You teased, pulling out from Samantha's hug and slowly walking to him, knowing how impatient he was getting. 

“Sweetheart, I’m not that old.” Dean scoffed before grasping your waist into his arms. Your arms wrapped themselves tightly around his neck as you were pressed up against him.

His arms were around your waist and his nose in your hair, inhaling the scent of you. He missed that a lot. He missed you. You pulled away to look at him more closely and carefully. He was clean. Safe.

“I love you.” You smiled at him and watched a smile grow on his face. Your favorite smile of his and the one that he reserves for you only. 

“I love you Y/N” You sighed gently and heard the crack in his voice as he said that. Dean always got emotional when it was something related to you or Sam or the family altogether. 

“What’s wrong? Why did you sigh like that?” Dean carefully asked, his hand carefully holding you close to him. 

“I,” You started off but paused when you felt your tears well, “Ummm, I’m scared.” You whispered, resting your head on his shoulder. 

“Are you scared about Michael?” His gruff voice softened as he asked; rubbing your back in slow circles in hopes of comforting you, “Oh Sweetheart, he’s gone. I’m not…” Dean trailed off. 

“Dean,” You started off pulling yourself but still close enough to feel the warmth of his being against you, “That’s what I am afraid of you. I’m afraid he’s gonna come back and take you away from me again.” You revealed with your attention fully on him. 

“Sweetheart, he’s not gonna take me.” Dean explained, carefully cupping your face in his hands, “I am not gonna let him this time.” He placed a kiss on your forehead, “We’re gonna stop him.” 

Pulling away, Dean stared at you with love and sadness and fear…all swimming around in his eyes, “And that’s my promise.” 

You smiled back, quite weakly, knowing that some promises do get broken yet you hoped that this one won’t. 

Too bad you were wrong.

[wannab-urs]

The Spreadsheet Digest - Vol. 15

Hi friends!!

Welcome to week 15 of The Spreadsheet Digest! I read a lot of angst this week.... but there's plenty of really good smut and fluff to balance it out, I promise! Also 3/10 fics are from one author, but I promise their stuff is to die for.

You can find the Spreadsheet here and all of my previous rec lists here.

Recs under the funny BTS pic from Triple Frontier

Birds of Prey - a Tommy one shot by @toxicanonymity

I normally wouldn't rec a tommy fic, but!! First of all Toxic wrote it so like... duh. Second of all it's kind of a sidebar to her Raider!Joel series and I'm assuming it kind of comes into play later in that series so like you should read it. Also it's fucking delicious. Raider!Tommy is sooooo fucking hot.

Fall Apart, Again - a Joel series by @wildemaven

AHHHHH THE TWIST!!! Healthy dose of angst right up front in the first chapter with these lovely hints of more to come AND THEN!!! there's a twist. I can't tell you about the twist because that would ruin it, but like I thought I knew what it was, right? And the thing I thought was gonna happen did and I was like oh! I called it. But that was a fakeout. There's a bigger twist. Fucking.... wild man. You gotta read it. (Oh and wildemaven writes so beautifully. The descriptive language is to die for). Get it while it's hot kids.

Breakout - a Joel series by @the-ginger-hedge-witch

Boxer (now trainer) Joel!! Reader has an asshole boxer bf! I hope Joel gets to beat the shit out of Tyler tbh. I really fucking love Ren's writing style and the way she builds up the characterization. Like we learn so much about Joel's life and personality, Tyler and Reader's relationship dynamic, Reader's sort of (as yet unknown to them) kinship with Joel, Sarah and Joel's relationship, and more all in 7K words. This fic is going to be so fucking lovely. I think it's one of those "Oh my god that poor man deserves to be happy for once in his miserable little life" fics and I LOVE those.

This is the Way - a Din one shot by @psychedelic-ink

I thought this fic was gonna be silly! And I mean I guess it was. Certainly no angst. But if you think accidentally moaning This is the Way would be silly.... you think wrong. The way Mando responded??? Good god this fic is hot, y'all. I just like... does Din have a breeding kink? Is it the fact that she said it when he creampied her and like... the marriage vow thing is "we will raise warriors" ??? Sorry I'm speculating a lot here. I just... anyway yeah feral din. very hot.

The Art of Healing - a Marcus Pike series by @northernbluess

This is such a gorgeous fic. It has a lot of discussion of ED recovery, so please read warnings and take care of yourself and don't read if it will hurt you BUT!!! The way the topic is handled in the fic is so fucking beautiful. Marcus is a precious angel baby and Jo is so so so strong and wonderful. It's really lovely to follow along with her therapy and see what she paints. It's also incredible watching her bond with Marcus grow. It's a slow burn, therapist x OFC, with lots of angst but also so many of these like... really tender and sweet moments. It's so clearly a story that is coming from the heart and I adore it and can't wait to read more.

Exile - a Javi P series by @jksprincess10

Ok big warning up front -- she killed steve lmao. That's how reader ends up being Javi's partner. I really love how Javi's dickish demeanor from early season one is being played up here. Big fuckin fan. I just know this is gonna be a beautiful smutty enemies to lovers extravaganza.

Only Angel - a Javi P series by @tieronecrush

I really like professor peña. Like it makes a lot of sense that he'd do that after retiring. I love the concept of this fic so much. And the tension is being built up so fucking well. Javi pining and chastising himself. The subtle mention of reader doing something to support herself that is definitely not TAing. I would be more than happy to be Javi's extraneous circumstance. Anywayyyy I fucking love this and I'm so excited for the next chapter ahhhh.

-------------- oldies but goodies ------------

I grabbed a giant chunk off the older half of the sheet so there's a pretty good section where it's just one author lol. Oh and a lot of these are on AO3 but several of the stories were also posted on tumblr, I just read them on AO3 for whatever reason.

One Thing I'm Missing - a Joel series by @joelscruff

Sex, Drugs, and... Tacos - a Dieter one shot by @absurdthirst

Deseos Profundos - Javi P one shot by @absurdthirst

Le Trio De Fleur - a Din one shot by @absurdthirst

Chemical Feelings - a Din one shot by @absurdthirst

Menace - a Joel one shot by @atinylittlepain

I'll Never Fall in Love Again - a Dieter series by OonaJaeAdira (on AO3)

Stress Relief - a Javi P one shot by ezrasbirdie (on AO3)

Waterproof - a Dieter one shot by LeslieLyman (on AO3)

Starlight - a Din Series by LovelessDagger (on AO3)

Let the right one in - a Joel Series by LaMorenadelAtl (on AO3)

Dark but just a game - a Joel One shot by devilmademewriteit (on AO3)

Celestial Navigation - Dieter Series by @write-and-buried

Extra Whipped Cream - a Dieter Series by @pettyprocrastination

----------------------

Happy Reading!