#the sinking city quotes

[mashkara45]

[wesstars]

love, at second glance

tara carpenter x fem!reader (no pronouns)

summary: that’s what you do when you love somebody else… wc: 1k tags: all characters 18+; no ghostface au. angst, horribly excessive use of italics (seriously, everything in italics is either a quote, a thought, or actual emphasis. it’s terrible) a/n: what’s up y’all (title from 715 - CR∑∑KS by bon iver)

masterlist

Tara wondered when it all began.

You and me, me and you.

A mantra that used to be comforting, it now left her mouth dry, mind frantic. 

Sometimes, when it got real bad like it did today, she’d drive out to your—our—deserted garage, and look up into a pitch black night, blinking away tears. It was easy to scream at the sky: how could you forget about me about us about milkshakes shared about distances closed about how I love you and love you and love you—but to you, she’d say nothing.

She couldn’t say anything, while you basked in the glow of a new hand to hold. It was all over in a helpless shrug. That was it, and really, it wasn’t your fault. Nobody’s fault. You couldn’t help it, Tara reasoned, you weren’t cruel. Even at the very end, you were endlessly kind. Commitment was a choice, but love, love happened to you away from Tara and she couldn’t do anything but watch.

Tara switched the engine off, leaning back in her seat. The stars shone barely brighter than the city lights. It was strange, the way that when she was on the brink of losing everything, the world looked that much more beautiful. Every breath in that particularly cold winter felt like it was being swallowed up by the vastness of air itself, precious in its scarcity. 

“But I love you.”

You said nothing for a moment, a troubled little frown twisting on your lips. “Tara, I—”

“I love you.” She heard, rather than felt, herself repeating it. As if stopping you from speaking would make that cold reality any less crushing. “That’s all.”

It was odd, Tara decided, to go online and see your life in the pictures she used to be part of. She put her phone down. From tide pulls to seasons changing, there wasn’t exactly a world where she envisioned herself going on without you. There was something in that sinking feeling, like you were holding her down with a hand on her chest, when she saw you laughing with your friends, with anyone, a smile so brilliant it couldn’t possibly have Tara as the cause. 

You’d always wanted a little cabin in the woods (“not in a creepy way,” you’d insist) surrounded by mist, and it would always be raining. “You’re the only sunshine I need, Tara Carpenter.” She could still hear the way you’d tease her, lying on your side next to her, tracing the bridge of her nose with your fingertip. So easy it was, to tumble back into those shining memories where absolutely nothing would go wrong, you wouldn't let it, because she was yours.

The top floor of the lot was empty, and the moon spilled onto the windshield, into the empty passenger seat. She was lucky, you both were lucky, to have even come as close to the sun as the two of you did. Tara knew, deep inside herself, that if she just let it all go, she would be okay. The blood would rush back into her fingertips—you wouldn’t be there to massage the feeling back into them, the way you often did on winter nights like this—and then she would be okay.

Tara thought that she remembered too much for someone so hurt. Your hand on her thigh while you drove, wiping her lipstick off your cheek, the way you seemed so so so unhappy when you sat her down for one last time. You didn’t even look the same then, like you were somebody else, you weren’t hers anymore. It was getting colder in the car, but Tara didn’t feel anything but the searing coil of shame. 

Sunkissed March found you and Tara lying side by side on a picnic blanket, sodas losing their fizz as time forgot to move the two of you. A breeze ruffled the leaves, and if she really listened, Tara could hear the frogs in the nearby pond. You loved it here—you said it reminded you of hot summers spent in the countryside, the days as long as wildflowers. Not half an hour ago, you were braiding together the stems of daisies into a lush crown. 

“For you, Queen Carpenter,” you said in a posh accent. “A gift from your humble knight—each braid represents a ‘forever,’ and each flower is an ‘always.’” You set the crown atop Tara’s head, kissing the tip of her nose as she rolled her eyes.

“And what has compelled my knight to bring me such a gift?”

“Only all of the love I carry for you, your majesty.” You scooped her up in your arms, smiling as she giggled, rolling the two of you over to settle into the knolls of grass.

There was a certain bravery in the way your fingers wrapped loosely around hers, the way the heels of both your shoes made indents in the dirt—proclaiming, we were here. Even in her doze, Tara could feel you there, each moment stretching on like strings of eternity, unfailingly. 

The moment did end, as moments do. The crown, dried and shrunk, still hung from the rear view mirror in the car. The daisies themselves were long gone, but the dried stems had somehow stayed bound together. Tara’s head dropped into her hands, eyes sore and red. She’d thought so much and so often about where the two of you went wrong, she felt like she had turned over every stone in your path, ones that didn’t carry with them the weight of a goodbye. Tara would give anything to even know what it would take for you to stand in the sun with her one more time.

The abrupt knock on the window should’ve startled Tara more than it did, given that it was four in the morning in an empty parking lot, and she was supposed to be all alone. But all she could do was watch with wide eyes as the knock came from you, at your tight lipped smile. She rolled down the window, unable to feel anything but shock as she took in your mismatched shoes with untied laces, your shirt way too thin for the cold night. You weren’t looking at her, guilt evident in the hunch of your shoulders. Your voice comes out exactly as she remembered it. 

“Hey… can we talk?”

--

a/n cont'd: don't super feel like i like this but writing it came naturally so

please do not repost, reproduce, copy, translate, or take from my work in any way. thank you!

masterlist

[hannie-dul-set]

YOURS TO KEEP.

p — SHEN QUANRUI x female! reader. g — college! au, exchange student! ricky, fluff, very very lightly angsty. w — swearing, alcohol consumption. kdrama references and misquoted quotes. 3.2k words.

note — dreamt of ricky. vomited out.....ricky as ur cute bf who behaves like a cat and whose favorite forms of cross-cultural exchange is receiving headpats and watching kdramas. only 2 scenes are actually inspired by my dream 😭 if someone guesses which line/s were extracted directly from my dream, i'll reward u with a gyuvin drabble how about that 👍

you picked up a cat from the university’s foreign exchange program.

however, he did not come in a box. he came in a louis vuitton tracksuit and balenciaga sunglasses, which very much caught you off guard when you came to meet him at the admin building, and you greet him after mustering the courage to finally walk up to the cat’s imposing presence. “h—hello! are you perhaps shen quanrui?”

he takes off his sunglasses, meets you with a pair of pretty swoopy, pretty eyes, and says, “oh. yes. are you my owner?” 

you pause. you’re taken aback because that...that doesn’t sound like the right word. “ah, um. i’m the person assigned to help you around the campus and the city for the semester, yes! it’s nice to meet you!” but you brush it off because of language barriers and all. his mouth falls into an ‘o’ shape when you tell him the correct term.

“oh, sorry.”

“it’s alright!” you say. “hope we get along!”

quanrui tells you that you can just call him ricky, and gives you a small smile. one of many that you’ll be graced with for the duration of the semester.

“i’ll be in your care.”

your new cat is a little intimidating at first, clad in all black at all times. the night you helped him first settle into his dorm, even his pajamas were reminiscent of an abyss— like a white ragdoll trying to disguise itself as a panther because you later find out that he’s actually a really sweet, really polite, and really clingy cat.

“um. knock, knock.”

you look up from your laptop, ricky in a long leather coat hesitantly peeking out from your half-open bedroom door (you gave him a copy of your apartment key. your cat needs a way to get in by himself somehow). he texted you earlier, asking if you can help him out with an essay, and you assume he’s right here right now for that very reason.

“do you have your paper?” you ask, closing your laptop. he nods and lifts up his ipad, showing it off. you have a very cute cat. you scoot aside and pat the empty space on your bed, and ricky comes padding in, mattress sinking when he settles beside you, making sure to maintain a respectable enough distance and hands you his device with the google doc open.

“oh. i marked the parts where i’m not sure about my vocabulary,” he mentions the moment a yellow highlighted part came up on the screen. 

you give it a once over. “i think this is right. yeah, you did good.” when you turn your head, you’re met with a pair of proudly sparkling eyes. you stifle out a laugh. “what? do you want a head pat for that?”

“maybe i deserve one?”

you let your fingers sink into the fluff on the top of his head. again, he’s really sweet, really polite, and really clingy. but maybe a little too clingy sometimes, especially when he finally got a lot more comfortable around you.

comfortable enough to hiss at your friends.

“oh, you signed up as a student-helper for the exchange program too?” hanbin asks after seeing you walk in the classroom with ricky in row, trailing behind you like a shadow. 

“yeah, i can’t miss the extra points prof choi baited us with.” you nudge ricky with your elbow, noticing how tense he is all of a sudden and how he’s looking at your senior with a bit of a glare. perhaps he’s threatened by another feline presence.

“nice to meet you!” hanbin greets with a bright, an arm outstretched before you, meant for ricky, but he keeps tucking himself behind you with his hands fixed on your shoulders.

hanbin has his hand left unshaked for five seconds too long now. you nudge him again. he won’t budge.

“ah, ricky is still a little shy!” you exclaim, trying to salvage the situation by grabbing hanbin’s hand instead with both of yours, swinging it around, left and right. you’re lucky your senior is so easygoing. he laughs along with you and says of course, of course, he totally gets it, merrily swinging your arms together back and forth. “he’s still not that confident with his korean. right, ricky?”

“keep holding her and i’ll claw your eyes out.”

you freeze. you leer back at ricky shen, giving him your what the fuck are you saying look? he maintains his stance, tugging you back by the shoulders. you twitch out a smile and try your best to defend your clingy and jealous cat. “ahaha. he’s picked up some weird things from all the dramas he’s been watching,” you say. “sorry about that seonbae! we’ll get to our seats now!”

“haha, it’s alright! nice to meet you ricky!”

“what was that?”you snap back at him the moment hanbin leaves the premises. all ricky does is shrugs and steadies his hold on your shoulders, aiming your body somewhere and he starts making you walk to the back of the classroom— far, far away from where hanbin is sitting.

your cat is a little weird sometimes, sure. gyuvin finds him entertaining enough though. they play tennis every weekend, and ricky started picking up even more weird things from him and all the rest of your friends that you’re starting to think they’re not very good influences.

case in point—

“if you drink this, we’re dating.”

the grape juice he poured into your paper cup nearly spills over from shock. you look at him, eyes wide and brows furrowed, cheeks burning and heart racing because what the hell? “seriously, where have you been learning these things?” 

ricky looks satisfied for eliciting that kind of reaction. he pours himself a paper cup of grape juice as well because it’s a weeknight, and you have a quiz tomorrow, and getting wasted is off of the table, so you two settled for juice and chips on your living room floor to relish in your academic misery.

“jiwoong hyung and gunwookie recommended me some movies for me to watch.” he sets down the juice bottle after screwing the cap shut, and you fear the other movies those two gremlins recommended him come from a list of top 50 movie pick-up up lines to woo an unsuspecting victim. next thing you know, he’s gonna invite you to have ramen at his place or go see freaking butterflies with him. “i just watched a moment to remember earlier. my pronunciation is getting better, right?” 

ricky is looking at you with his eyes all big and his lips all pressed together expectantly. he’s waiting for your praise. you feel your chest swell. the grape juice feels heavy in your hand. gosh, he’s such a needy cat. a needy cat that deserves all the praise in the world.

“yeah. i’m proud of you. c’mere.”

you leave your cup on the table to focus on more important things— that is, giving ricky his well deserved pats on the head. you don’t recall how your relationship with him managed to get this far, still remembering how intimidated you felt when you first met him. now he’s on your living room floor, head laying back on your couch with a drama playing on the tiny laptop screen settled on the coffee table, both of you barely paying attention because he’s looking at something on his phone, and you’re gently rubbing his head as you reply to some messages on yours.

“ah, gyuvin is seriously annoying,” you complain. “he’s trying to get me to join his club. coding club he says, when i’m pretty sure he’s just starting it as an excuse to play games on campus.”

“are you going to join?” he asks, bumping his head against your palm when you stop giving him scratches.

“mm, i don’t think so.” you set down your phone to pour all your focus into satisfying your needy cat’s attention requirements. ricky lets out a satisfied rumble when set his head down onto your lap, raking your fingers through the tufts of his hair as he lets his eyes flutter to a close. “i’m already too busy this semester to bother with those things. maybe next time if he’s that desperate to fill in the member numbers..”

“yeah,” he mutters. “you’ll be too busy spending most of your time with me.”

your fingers stop moving.

ricky looks up at you, confused as to why you stopped petting him, and you’d eat him right up if you could. but you can’t keep your cat for too long. it’s only a matter of time before you get your last opportunity to coddle him like this, to shower him in unabashed affection disguised as friendship because the exchange program is temporary, and he’s returning back to china at the end of the semester.

so why is he raising your hopes up if he’s just going to leave anyway?

“i meant my acads, silly,” you say, picking up your untouched juice cup from the table, feeling the weight of the drink slosh around the paper cup as you let it hover in front of your lips. 

he’s raising your hopes up and you’re letting him. you know this is gonna end in a disaster.

still.

“but if you put it that way—”

the sharp taste of sweet grapes hits the back of your throat, swallowing down the lukewarm juice that’s been sitting since ricky poured a cup for you. if you’re gonna crash down at the end of this, might as well crash down from two thousand feet above the ground. 

“are we dating now?”

you set the cup back down on the table, gaze flickered down at ricky, whose face is flushed in surprise one moment— easing into understanding the next, and he props himself up from your lap, reaching out for the back of your neck to pull you into a sugary tart kiss.

yeah, you think, feeling the softness of his lips brush against yours, his eyelashes tickling your cheeks when he pulls you in even closer. if your time with him has a deadline, might as well make the most out of it.

“i was disappointed when you didn’t drink it the first time,” he says, drunk on sweet juice and the feeling of your mouth against his. “jiwoong hyung said that line was effective.”

“can you not think about another man when i’m kissing you?”

he lets out a laugh, “‘m sorry,” then presses a fluttering kiss on your temple, tip of your nose, until his lips meet yours once more at last. “let me try again. ahem. i like you. i don’t need a rainbow.”

“you got the line wrong, baek yijin. try again next time.”

if he’s going to leave anyway, might as well make his departure as heart wrenching as all the dramas he’s so fond of watching.

“looks like our friend here got more than just extra credit for volunteering to help out the exchange students.”

you look up from the stack of papers on your table, only to have more dropped off by taerae with a thunk. hanbin, gyuvin, matthew and ricky are also loitering around the classroom— not that they’re helping you and taerae check the test papers your profs asked you to grade as a favor. at least the constant yelling and arguing and meowing noises(?) are making things a lot more lively.

“congrats, you lucky bitch,” he says.

“you sound like you want to covet my cat,” you raise a brow at him, adding the new set to your pile as taerae grabs a new stack as well.

“your cat for this mutt,” he points his thumb at matthew, who’s currently tucked in the to answer an evaluation sheet on taerae. ricky’s doing the same evaluation about you, somewhere. you’re not sure where your cat went, but he’s probably just around. “are you perhaps open for negotiation?”

“matthew isn’t a mutt. he’s a cute golden retriever.”

“well, your cat doesn’t seem to appreciate you calling someone else cute.”

taerae swerves off to reveal a pouting ricky. he’s got his arms crossed, the evaluation sheet folded in between the fingers of his right hand, and you have to hold back a laugh. “did you finish my evaluation?” you ask.

“i did, but i wanna redo it now. negative points for you,” he protests, but lets you snatch the paper from him anyway. you scoot your chair to the left to give him some space next to you. he grabs an empty armchair and nudges his nose close to your face when you start reading his note at the bottom.

“mid-semester evaluation. my student-helper is very acommodatimg. she has been helping me adjust to korea very well. you spelled accommodating wrong, angel.” 

“i did it on purpose to test you. good job. you pass.”

you roll your eyes, free hand absentmindedly reaching out for the top of his head, and you hear ricky let out a noise of satisfaction. “she always answers my questions and is…very pretty and smells nice,” you set the paper down. your cat is looking at you expectantly. “ricky, i don’t think you can submit this.”

“why not?” he asks. “professor choi said to be as honest as possible.”

your cheeks grow warm.

gosh. this makes things even harder knowing your cat has to leave eventually.

“what did i tell you?”

the convenience store lights need to be replaced soon, you note. it keeps flickering intermittently against the dim night— reminiscent of how you’re feeling right now when you called jiwoong out for a few drinks two weeks before finals, but you’re not depressed because finals are near. you’re wallowing in tear stained sniffles because the exchange program will be over soon, meaning you only have two weeks until ricky has to pack his bags and leaves.

“not to get too attached because he has to say goodbye eventually,” you lament, a puddle of soju burning your lips. jiwoong looks at your pathetic state with remorseful sigh.

“and what did you do?” he says.

“got too attached and now i have to say goodbye to him eventually.” you groan and swallow down a shot. you’re about to pour yourself another, but jiwoong pulls back the bottle— maybe your third one of the night, you’re not sure— away from your reach, and pushes you a plastic bottle of water instead. 

“you just had to go ahead and start dating him like an idiot,” he cracks open the water for you when you don’t do anything with it. he pours it in a shot glass, and you take the bait, drinking down the water, eyebrows furrowing when it doesn’t burn your throat like you expected. “maybe if you tell him to say, he might listen to you.”

you let out a gasp. “i can’t do that! that’d be so selfish of me!”

jiwoong can’t do anything to help you but share your miseries tonight. he simply sits in silence, waiting for the owner of the number he texted a while ago to make an appearance, and listen to your drunk ramblings at eleven in the evening.

“i miss my cat. i haven’t seen him the entire day because he says he had things to do with hanbin and hao.” you’ve melted into the table. high pitched whines aside, he’s surprised you’re still coherent at this point. “bring me back my cat. i miss him so much. i miss my cat. i miss my ricky. i wish he’d never leave me.”

jiwoongs eyes flit up. “looks like your cat misses you too.” he pulls himself up from his chair and picks up his jacket from the backrest. “took you long enough.”

when you tip your head back in confusion, wondering who the hell jiwoong is talking to, you’re pleasantly surprised to see the upside-down face of the cat you’ve been missing.

“ah,” you sound out. “you’re here.”

“thanks, hyung,” ricky settles a hand on the top of your head. you blink. now you understand why he liked headpats so much. “i’ll take care of her from here.”

this is eye opening. you feel your eyelids growing heavier as ricky continues to massage your head, his and jiwoong’s faraway voices talking about something, something you can’t really hear, until jiwoong waves off, and it’s just you and ricky in front of the quiet flickering lights of the convenience store entrance.

you hear yourself whine when ricky’s hand disappears from the top of your head. “you should’ve called me if you missed me,” he says, circling from behind the chair to being in front of you now. he crouches down, settling his crossed arms on your lap, and he looks up at you with his pretty swoopy eyes. “why didn’t you call me?”

“i need to get used to you not being around even if i miss you,” you say, letting your fingers sink into the soft strands of his hair.

ricky lets out a questioning hum. “why wouldn’t i be around?”

“because your deadline is near,” you grumble. “i have to return you to where i first picked you up, but i don’t want to. but you have to. this sucks so much.”

you’re still saddled with insobriety, and the fact that your sweet cat isn’t purring like usual when you’re patting his head is making your bottom lip quiver and your eyes sting because you fear you might’ve said something wrong. “aren’t you gonna ask me what i did today?” he simply asks. you suck in a wavering breath and swallow a lump in your throat.

“what...did you do today?”

“hanbin hyung helped me settle the requirements for my transfer” ricky lands a gentle hold on your wrist and brings your hand down to the side of his face, cupping his cheek. it’s warm. “i’m going to continue attending here. hao hyung is too.”

you blink at him. “w—what?”

“i don’t have to leave. you don’t have to keep missing me.” he brings your hand down palm to the front of his lips, pressing a kiss into your palm. “i’m not going anywhere. i’m yours to keep.”

it takes you a moment to register ricky’s words, so you stay there for a while— sitting frozen in cold silence until the warmth of his messages finally settles in to thaw you out. oh, you think. “oh,” you repeat out loud, voice wavering. ricky hums out a smile at your reaction. he rises, pulling you up to your feet, and you stumble into him.

“i think i know the perfect line for this moment,” he says, steadying a hold on the small of your back. “what was it? if I don't see you, i get upset. If you're depressed, i get curious. something like that?”

“it’s the other way around, dummy.” you sniffle. “why do you keep quoting nam joohyuk?” 

“because he’s cool,” he says. “let’s go watch start-up at your place once you’ve sobered up.”

the cat you picked from the university’s foreign exchange program is clingy, sweet, and is for some reason obsessed with quoting the dramas he’s been watching. he keeps an arm around you when he walks you back to your apartment after grieving over his departure, only to kiss you with the news that you don’t have to return him any time soon.

YOURS TO KEEP. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

[semischarmed]

Demonizer

Hope you’re not religious…

———

Parker Mills here sure was. The cross, dutifully hanging on his neck in every other post. The obligatory bible passage quoted on the profile. A “#believer” given every other caption. The works. By all accounts, religion had been good for him. He seemed like a genuinely nice guy. Friendly to all, despite the evangelizing. Virgin too- saving for marriage, of course. His parents on the other hand were vile fucks. The Mills often terrorized our small town’s tiny lgbt community but by some stroke of divine luck, the son of those demons turned out completely normal. Better than normal. Parker was probably the nicest jock in town. Parker also turned me the fuck on. With Parker, I just knew. Just knew that those kind blue eyes and gentle smile adorned that angelic face and ripped body. Knew that with his family’s wealth and that face, he had the makings of the town menace. Knew that despite all this, he was entirely clueless on his appeal and unwilling to share his god-given gifts. Many have tried to corrupt poor Parker, but the man was a saint. He even looked uncomfortable doing anything beyond a quick peck on the lips. I just knew I could make him my own cocky motherfucker.  

There were a handful of options in the dark web. Entirely different avenues ranging from a neurosurgeon offering direct transplant to a ritual for astral projection. It took 1 month just to sift through all the possibilities and options. Each one felt messy or required some form of constant maintenance. They wouldn’t do. I wanted Parker  permanently. All of him-body, mind and soul. At last I had landed on the Demonizer Potion. The effects seemed to vary drastically, though they all seemed to warn of its corruptive properties. In the end, I chose it because it filled the most important niche for these products for me- I could actually afford it. 

Finding a witch to procure this particular potion was… surprisingly easier than expected. In fact, it was downright effortless. Miranda, a witch just a town over, scoffed when I mentioned it to her. “A girl’s gotta pay her bills. Besides, It’s a lot easier and a lot cheaper to hide out here than it is in the big city.”

And that was that. For the “low-low price of $500”, I had the demonizer potion in hand. The drink was pitch-black. Darker than black even. And it seemed to pull all warmth from the room in an otherworldly, sinking feeling. I had no doubt this thing was the real deal. I read the instructions: “Drink with your intent.“ I imagined mine.

- - -

I knew the perfect time to strike. It felt oddly fitting to take him during a service. In the church’s bathroom, I took a quick swig of my future. Just a third of the black substance. I gagged as I felt it stream down my throat. And I winced, expecting a burning sensation. No-not a burning sensation. It was more like a pit of nothingness spreading throughout my body to my fingertips. The burning came after. All at once, the world around me spun as I felt my body leave physical manifestation. I watched as my spectral hands flashed white then black in a pulsating pattern, before finally settling on a grey.

Parker Mills sat, listening attentively. They seemed to be playing some religious music. My only religion sat right in front of me. In devilish glee I began to stream into him. Inch by Inch, I flooded into his thick dick. He made a small grunt at first insertion.

Parker shifted in his seat as the worship choir continued singing. His face grew red as he tried to hide a growing boner. The worship singing droned and I felt a sharp pain in my head. As if empowered, Parker’s own soul began to push me out. 

In the end, I only managed to slip a bit of the grey essence into him. It did not seem to have much effect, aside from giving him an inexplicable need to grab the flask from the bathroom floor. I tried to make a mental note of that.

I sighed, defeated, as I fled into the night. In the darkness, I recuperated as I planned my next visit.

- - -

This time, there would be no fanfare. No choir to welcome our joining and my rebirth. I wasn’t sure how long I could stay in this world without his warm flesh tethering me mortal, so I knew I had to get in him fast. 

I followed the man to his apartment, sitting patiently in a dark corner of his bedroom as he went about his day.

When he was close to sleeping, he turned off the light and sat on his bed in a meditative tone. I watched in anticipation as he closed his eyes and began to pray. “Lord, ple-“

“Mmhhmph!” I struck the man a snake, prying his full lips open and forcing his body to gorge itself with me. 

This time, no music. Just the sounds of a teary-eyed Parker choking on invisible mass. Drool ran down his cheeks as I inched more and more of my form inside. His neck bulged and eyes grew wide and bloodshot as he tried badly to reject the intrusion. Lubricated by Parker’s own saliva, by the taste of Parker, I greedily dug into his insides. 

Parker’s body began to move involuntarily. Deep in violation, it tried in vain to get me out. He smashed his head over and over again across the apartment wall trying to shake me out. I only forced myself inside harder. His head shook as it contorted in odd angles. Biceps started scratching at his own throat, trying to get me out to no avail. Eventually, they were forced splayed open as Parker’s body began to travel up the apartment wall. At first, his legs began to kick, then shake, then they begun to dangle ominously off the ground. In a perverted facsimile of his religion, I strung Parker up his own apartment wall, arms outstretched in a blasphemous pose as if to welcome me. “All are welcome..no, I am welcome,” I thought to myself. I continued my assault.

As Parker screamed, I weaved through each crevice until I could find the core of his soul. It looked pure and white, aside from the small speck of gray in my earlier intrusion. Gingerly, I pried the soul’s own mouth open as I laughed. I wanted Parker to his depths. Parker to his very core. And so I burrowed and coiled. Shackled myself to it. Shackled him to me. Like a trap jaw, his soul’s mouth closed. Forever sealing me in nice and tight as I continued squirm and fill into Parker. His spirit was mine. It bent in odd and unnatural angles, contorting until it tore. Outside, I felt Parker’s thrashing head slow into a twitching. 

I wanted-no needed every part of Parker to myself. So I begun to fill into the tears of his ravaged soul. I then felt the the fibers of those tears heal- with me embedded. Euphoric. Stillness.

Parker’s pale blue eyes shot wide open, dilated. “P-Please,” he whimpered, before they go glassy and a smile began to form on his lips. Parker’s flesh collapsed into a pile on the floor, body, mind, and soul spent. 

- - -

My first breath as Parker felt out of this world. Parker’s body was his temple after all. When I felt his lungs fill for me, and air flow into us for the first time, I felt the power in his drawn breath- Like having an athlete’s lungs chained to my whims. I felt our drawn air circulate inside me, tickling bits of me in drunken pleasure. Granted, I was not that unhealthy in my previous flesh, but this new home was unreal. Merely existing in his flesh felt like an unburdening. Energy brimmed from fingertip to fingertip and my mind raced with a clarity I did not know possible. 

“I can’t believe you just feel like all the time” I teased as I twirled my new perfect hairs. I couldn’t help but giggle in my new perfect voice. Hearing it vibrate into a low moan was music to my ears, as the man’s hand travelled and cupped his own perky ass. “Fuck,” I panted breathlessly as I massaged my new right asscheek. The Jock’s face twitches in vain retaliation. “Fuck you feel so good…” I twisted his nipple. “Thank you for saving yourself for me.” Hearing and feeling this Parker, a Parker the world has never seen- A Parker he himself had never seen, drove me mad with lust. This was a private Parker, my Parker, one bound to me for my personal enjoyment. A moment exclusive to us. This seemed to light a fire in the original Parker and I felt my soul shiver as his encapsulated mine. “g…g-get the fuck out of me!” He spat.

With newfound agency, the original Parker ran to his desk and managed just one action before I could wrestle back control.

I gulped. My shaking hand dropped the empty flask as I felt his intent hung around me like a death sentence. “Cast this demon out of me”.

Control over my perfect meat-suit went dark. Like a barrier emanating from within, I felt myself squeezed out of my home. Then falling. Falling for an unbelievable amount of time. I blacked out.

- - -

I awoke with the smell of sulfur in the air, the sky was dark and glowed a faint orange. I stood as I surveyed my surroundings, horrified. I saw a sea of bodies writhing and groaning. 

“Is this..?” I couldn’t bring myself to finish that sentence. I closed my eyes as I thought of the potion and the life I gave all to come to this. I didn’t even have a chance to play with my new body. A sensation stopped my racing mind abruptly.

It was a hand. 

One of the bodies on the floor moaned as it spoke in velvet. “Are you joining or what?” I shook it off me as the realization slowly dawned on me. It wasn’t groaning… it was moaning. They were not damned. At least, they were certainly not upset about it. 

Then I felt something else stir inside me. Hope? No- At least, not my hope. I grinned as I realized what had occurred. I took note of my spirit- a spirit that was a part of Parker’s. Partially superimposed. Partially one. We were bonded together, even as souls. When his sleeping soul came to, I felt that hope of his immediately vanish. He grabbed our merged face in horror, before looking around. 

“B-but, I never did anything… I was perfect…” Parker trailed. I felt a blackness pour out of me. That’s it? Is that all there was to being a demon? These people were not suffering in the slightest. If anything, this was something to look forward to. This time, I felt no resistance from Parker as our shared soul began to fondle itself. Our face, however, was stone cold. Parker was in control.

Feeling all that he had to look forward to, something shattered in him. I felt as much- Rage. Betrayal. Then, Liberation. He looked up into the sky with a sneer and hands outstretched. “This what you wanted, asshole? I do everything right and you still put me here? How much time did I waste in those stupid lectures? How many people did we turn down?” I immediately felt the pieces of this new Parker worm into my psyche. “Fine”. He said with a broken satisfaction.

Like a root, he spread throughout me. Bonding each of us tighter and tighter. This time, I felt a natural cockiness exude from Parker, and by extension me. It felt wrong, coming from Parker. At the same time, a part of me felt like this truly was Parker. This time, the disillusioned man continued fondling himself on his own volition. He brought me into the fold, guiding my movements. “Bro…” . I felt mind mind dull in euphoria. “Bro….”. It rolled off our tongue lazily. Something about it just felt natural. “Parker, if you don’t stop… we’ll”. His mouth opened in a wide smile as he gave both pecs a squeeze. “I know. Enjoy the ride bro”. All at once the pieces of Parker rooted into brimmed with energy. “Fuck it, right? You should be thanking me for this… My body is my temple… and I’m letting you live in it. Thanking me is the least you could do.” Searing pain hit us both. Despite all this, he retained a crazed expression as he kept defiling his own soul. Bit after bit, I felt him kneed soul into mine. Though terrified, I couldn’t help but soften. This was truly a side of Parker I had never seen. Here he was, tainting himself- tainting us both- locking us to eternal damnation. Into one being. And he laughed while doing it. I could feel it in his depths. A raw aggression. A depraved, sexual hunger in him. One that swallowed me infinitesimally. One that strung me up inside him, fed me pieces of himself. Fed me too much of himself. Fed me to him. My head was spinning as the lines between us blurred even further. This new Parker coursed through me as he guided me to finish the job. Let’s sin in this temple together. The last, innocent piece of the original Parker spurted out of our soul in a torrent of spectral cum. We could see the weightlessness of it. We watched as it floated up to the dark sky. This remnant of the original Parker-the original me, would be mine. I drew the land into me, felt empowered by the flames as I jetted up. In unbelievable pace we ascended back to the living world. 

- - -

Final bits of soul continued to ascend but with a swift, dark grip, we grabbed it and jammed it into our body’s chest. I watched my meat shudder at the feeling. It breathed into life, but remained unconscious. Our soul now brimming black, I caressed my perfected form in satisfaction. We were Parker. And we needed every bit of ourselves to be whole. On that note, I jammed our dick right into the Parker Meat body’s chest and watched as it shuddered. Caressing the face now wholly mine, I jammed our dick in again and again, reveling in the body’s shaking. I watched it claw into the floor, legs kicking and flaying in some automatic attempt to keep its own soul out. I only continued with faster and faster pace, grunting in his manly tone until finally-release. The invisible barrier around flesh punctured and I willed my spirit to pump bit after bit of myself into the small orifice. The Parker body only made gurgling noises as I streamed inside. Once all of me was finally home, I felt my flesh begin to enclose me and laughed as I felt the barrier reforge- only with me inside it this time. I made quick work of the last piece of the original Parker’s soul. Staining it black and integrating it into myself.

Tears now flowed freely down Parker’s flush cheeks. His hands caressed his thick biceps in gratification. We were finally complete.  

I moaned as I felt myself overcome a familiar sensation that my old body often experienced. However, this sensation was entirely foreign to this Parker-flavored bod. Electricity coursed inside me, and moans turned into screams as shook back and forth in a downright religious experience. My back arched in violent delight and I felt the lights go out from my new pale, blue eyes. Parker’s first cum- our first cum together- absolute pleasure. My jaw slacked and drool began to escape as I was still reeling from the sensation.

Mess. I sat there panting for a second, chest and stomach soaked and coated in our liberation. I scooped a bit of the white and stared at it in my hand, watching this body’s own seed violently shudder and contort unnaturally before phasing into a dark mist. In demented glee, I felt the mist like an extension of myself and began feeding it into the rest of the untouched cum still outlining my abs. I licked my lips in savage pleasure as I watched as the rest of it slowly turn dark and soon felt it also under my control. Exquisite. I sent the small package of myself into the air, flying towards one of my teammates. Just a small piece to convince him to submit himself to Parker’s temple.

I couldn’t wait to show the town our new self. We are Parker. And all are welcome to worship at this temple. “Let us pray”.

- - -

Now, have you accepted Parker as your personal lord and savior?

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Comet Donati [Chapter 1: History]

Series Summary: Sex, drugs, boy bands. You are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help Comet Donati through a recent crisis. Things are casual with Aegon, very not-casual with Aemond. Loosely inspired by One Direction.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (18+) and drugs, alcohol, smoking, astronomy, mental health struggles, Missouri.

Selected Chapter Quote: “You’re gonna love Aemond. He’s so fucked up. He’s like Disney World for therapists.”

Word count: 4.1k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

* * * I’m going to tag like a bazillion people since this is the first chapter of a new fic, but I WILL NOT TAG YOU AGAIN unless you ask me to. I hope you are all doing well, wherever you are in the world. 🥰😘 * * *

@borikenlove​ @myspotofcraziness​ @teenagecriminalmastermind​ @quartzs-posts​ @tclegane​ @poohxlove​ @narwhal-swimmingintheocean​ @chainsawsangel​ @itsabby15​ @padfooteyes​ @arcielee​ @travelingmypassion​ @what-is-originality​ @burningcoffeetimetravel​ @randomdragonfires​ @aemcndtargaryen​ @jvpit3rs​ @sarcastic-halfling-princess​ @flowerpotmage​ @ladylannisterxo​ @thelittleswanao3​ @libroparaiso​ @tinykryptonitewerewolf​ @girlwith-thepearlearring​ @minttea07​ @trifoliumviridi​ @deltamoon666​ @mariahossain​ @darkenchantress​ @doingfondue​ @atherverybest​ @namelesslosers​ @skythighs​ @moonlightfoxx​ @partypoison00​ @bellameshipper​ @coffedraven​ @greenowlfactif​ @catalina-howard​ @babyblue711​ @marvelescvpe​ @heimtathurs​ @ammo23​

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters! 💜

“You are a professional,” you tell your reflection threateningly, like it owes you money. Your hair is painstakingly tidy, your makeup neat, subdued, businesslike. You are wearing a black blazer, a white blouse, and Cookie Monster pajama pants. You are in your one-bedroom apartment in Kansas City, Missouri: grey, thunderous, humid as hell, June raindrops on the windows. “You have a master’s degree and hundreds of clinical hours and you are not afraid of clients. Not at all! Not even a little bit!”

You check your phone. 2:55 p.m.

“Oh God,” you whine to the checkered tiles of the bathroom floor, to the floral wallpaper. You clutch the cold porcelain of the sink: rose-pink, 1950s, diners and Thunderbirds, housewives and Valium. “Oh my God. Oh my God. I can’t do this. Oh my God.”

But there is no escape! You hurry, sweating profusely, to your laptop. You start the Zoom meeting and wait for your client to arrive, chewing your thumbnail until it bleeds, a scarlet semicircle of dull warm pain, a crescent moon like spilled merlot. You glance at your notepad again. David Mills, 25, married, anxiety upon relocating to a new city and beginning employment there.

Wait.

You confirm with a quick Google search in a new tab. David Mills was the protagonist in Se7en.

You sit back in your swivel chair, eyes narrowed with suspicion. The blue-white luminance of the screen glows on your face like moonlight. Your client is either a coincidence or a liar.

So what? People lie. People lie about therapy especially. So he wants some anonymity. Big deal.

“Strange,” you murmur to yourself.

You have no further opportunity to mull it over. A gratingly cheerful ding announces your client’s arrival in the Zoom meeting waiting room. No avatar, name still listed as David Mills.

“Okay. Okay. It’s fine. Here we go.”

You shake the tremors out of your hands and admit him. He pops onto the screen like a bloom of ironweed, like fireworks on the Fourth of July. It’s nighttime wherever he is. The background is dark and indistinct, shadowy; lamplight cascades across his face, topaz and fool’s gold. You are startled to realize that you already know him. And his name is definitely not David Mills.

“…Aegon?!”

He grins, sly and cocky but never cruel. “Hey.”

“Aegon Targaryen??!!”

“That’s me!” he concurs brightly. “What’s up, Stargirl?”

And instantly, you are transported back to almost exactly one year ago: a rooftop bar downtown, neon signs coiled in shades of violet and rhodonite and sapphire, night wind, constellations, ice clinking in misty glasses, locks of his hair skating between your fingers, the sting of his teeth on your throat, the Weeknd. “Hey,” you say softly. And then again, with more enthusiasm: “Hey! I saw you on Good Morning America last week!”

“Yeah? Was I good?”

“Jace was good. You were slightly offkey.”

“Aw shit. I usually am.”

“That’s okay. You’re the hot loser, right? That’s your character?”

“That’s me, baby. That’s why it works so well.”

It’s impossible: time has passed, thousands of miles have opened up between you, and yet it’s like he’s right here in the room, he never arrived, he never left, he’s always been here for life to grow up around like the framework of a house, a trellis, a skeleton. “How did you find me?”

“I couldn’t remember your name, but I figured you must have finished school by now. So I Googled therapists in Kansas City. Do you know how many there are?”

“500,” you guess.

“712,” Aegon says. “At least, that’s how many I scrolled through before I found your photo.”

“Wow.” You’re smiling; you can’t take your eyes off him. A lot of girls have that problem. That’s why he’s worth $100 million. “Couldn’t remember my name, huh? I guess I didn’t make much of an impression.”

He chuckles, a little bashfully, sweeping his blond hair off his face. “No. No, you definitely made an impression.”

So did he. In the downstairs bathroom of the bar, tucked beneath a staircase, stark white florescent lights and red walls, lip biting and ripped seams on your dress. He’d finished in approximately thirty seconds—which, oddly, felt more like a compliment than anything else—and then promptly snapped off the condom, dropped to his knees, and went down on you until you came not once but twice, a rarity for you. But that wasn’t the best part. Afterwards you’d gone back up to the roof together, sat in a quiet corner booth until the bar closed, talked about anything and everything with your bodies folded unconsciously into each other, origami, blended watercolors, whispers and murmurs, your palm on his thigh, his fingertips ghosting the underside of your wrist.

“So,” Aegon says through the laptop screen. “Are you, like, kind of unemployed currently?”

“No,” you reply, palpably defensive. Embarrassing! “I’m clearly working right now. You literally made a virtual appointment with me. I’m just…getting my practice off the ground.”

“Yeah but you seem lowkey unemployed.”

“You are so fucking rude.” But you’re laughing.

“I’m just saying, you had a lot of appointment times available. A lot.”

“I’m recruiting clients!” you exclaim. “I’m not like you. I can’t simulate sex with microphone stands to sell tickets.”

“That was one time!”

You smirk at him, eyebrows raised.

“That was…four times. That I recall.”

“I’m a professional. A serious, grown-up, certified professional.”

“You’re a glorified hobo, admit it.”

“You’re a dollar store Harry Styles.”

“Fuck,” he sighs, clutching his chest. “Okay you win.”

“Why did you do this? Why did you track me down in order to make some fraudulent therapy appointment?”

Now Aegon is something you’ve never seen from him before. He’s nervous. “I, uh…I need your help.”

“Really?”

“Well, not me specifically,” he amends. “We need your help. Comet does.”

Comet. What he means—what screaming fans all over the world mean when they drop this name in Reddit threads or Twitter hashtags or Tumblr gifsets—is the boy band Comet Donati. Three albums, five members: Aegon, Jace, Luke, Cregan, Daeron. The lineup has changed recently. Everyone knows why. “Help with what?”

“I mean…I’m sure you heard about what happened.”

“Yeah,” you say, somber now. Six months ago a piece of rigging collapsed during soundcheck at the Nippon Budokan in Tokyo. It hit Aemond, costing him six inches of flesh on the left side of his face, his sight in one eye, and his position as the undisputed, archetypal fearless leader of Comet. The celebrity gossip sites had reported that he was taking time off to recover, and then that his younger brother Daeron would be filling in for him at a few shows, and then suddenly Daeron was the fifth member of the band, and everyone was so charmed by his distinctly buoyant, sunshine-and-rainbows quality that Aemond faded from the discourse almost entirely, a ghost, a phantom, an antiquated word like telegraph or courtship or laudanum.

“So things are different now,” Aegon continues. “Things are…not always easy. And I think it might be a good idea to have you around.”

“Look, I’m not…like…” How can you put this? It’s something you have difficulty admitting out loud. “I’m not a real therapist, you know? You’re right, Aegon. I’m basically unemployed. I’m fresh out of my master’s program, I don’t have anywhere near the kind of experience that someone would need to adequately help Comet. So, maybe I could recommend some people to you, but other than that I don’t think I can—”

“It has to be you,” Aegon says.

You shake your head, gazing through the screen at him, through the space and the time. “Why?”

“When Comet performed in Kansas City…when we met at the bar that night…” He is hushed, meditative. “I don’t really remember what we talked about. But I remember exactly how you made me feel.” He smiles, the sort of smile you didn’t know he had in him: soft, pure, nostalgic, without edges. “I think Aemond could use some of that.”

The walls fall down around you, this apartment, this city, this life. “Where are you right now?”

“Capri.”

“Where?”

“Capri,” he says again, amused. “But we’ll be in Rome tomorrow. You can meet us there.”

“In Rome,” you repeat, like it’s Mars or one of Jupiter’s moons.

“Catch the next flight out. The band can reimburse you. We’ll get you a contract of some sort. Nothing too long-term, so you won’t be locked in or anything. A few months. Then we can reassess.”

“Okay, but…I don’t feel comfortable serving as an official therapist to you or anyone else in Comet, Aegon. The circumstances are less than orthodox. And not just because of the…um…bar bathroom situation.”

“Fine, whatever.” He’s high on the victory; the details don’t matter so much.

“Okay,” you say. And then again, giggling wildly at the ludicrousness of it all: “Okay! I guess I’ll see you in Rome tomorrow!”

“Cool. Let me give you my WhatsApp.” You exchange information, and then he grins at you, crafty and radiant through the screen. “You’re gonna love Aemond. He’s so fucked up. He’s like Disney World for therapists.”

“We’ll see,” you reply distractedly, already opening Expedia in a new tab.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Midwest, the East Coast, the Atlantic Ocean, the Mediterranean Sea, Southern Europe, green to blue and then green again as the plane descends into the Leonardo da Vinci Airport of Rome. You roll your single carry-on bag through the corridors, peering out the windows at cloudless cerulean skies and towering stone pines. Aegon meets you at the bottom of an escalator. He’s wearing cargo shorts, a neon green tank top, and matching Crocs. He’s slightly chubbier than you remember, just as beautiful, just as chaotically charismatic, the sun made flesh. He’s standing with a man you don’t recognize.

“Benvenuta, bella!” Aegon proclaims, nearly tackling you with a hug before taking your bag. He smells like beer, sunscreen, Axe body spray, summer air that unfurls warm and golden in the lungs.

“Oh, thank God,” the other man—possibly Italian, definitely gorgeous—exhales with great relief. “Aegon said he needed to meet someone at the airport and I was 90% sure that you would be a drug dealer. But you do not look like a drug dealer. You’re not a…are you a…?”

“No, I’m definitely not a drug dealer.”

“Okay. Great. Hello.” He extends a hand, tan and muscley. “I’m Criston, I’m the tour manager. It is my job to keep everyone alive and uninjured.”

“Four out of five isn’t bad,” Aegon says. And then, when Criston is clearly distressed by it: “Uh, anyway, there’s an Escalade waiting outside.”

The SUV is massive and black with tinted windows. As you follow Aegon into the backseat, several paparazzi appear on the sidewalk and begin snapping photos, calling out to you and expelling rapid-fire white flashes like lightning. Aegon ignores them. You’ve been travelling all day, and the sun is setting now in Rome. The sky is the color of embers, autumn leaves, Saturn. Criston climbs into the passenger seat and gives instructions to the driver. The Escalade wheels out of Arrivals, paparazzi sprinting down the sidewalk after it to take a few final pictures.

“So,” Aegon says, smiling. He pops open the mini fridge and hands you an ice-cold can of San Pellegrino. “Do you have a boyfriend back in Kansas? Or, maybe, boyfriends?”

“Missouri,” you correct him automatically. “And no. None worth mentioning.” A guy you’ve had lunch with twice, a guy you made out with at an Olive Garden, a guy you hooked up with back at UChicago who you’re still texting, guys who flit in and out of your mind like birds through the sky, impermanent, inconsequential.

“You still on the pill?”

“Yes.” You’re not offended. Aegon is teasing, and so are you. It occurs to you that talking to Aegon is a bit like talking to yourself; there are no awkward lulls, and he rarely says anything that shocks you. “But that’s not why I came to Rome.”

“That’s fine. That’s not why I invited you.”

As the Escalade zooms by iconic landmarks—the Spanish Steps, the Pantheon, the Piazza del Popolo—you ask Aegon about them. He has no idea; he makes things up instead.

“That’s the duck waterpark,” he says as you pass a fountain that’s over 1,000 years old. Then he points to a naked statue of an extremely buff Mercury. “That’s me before I started eating carbs again.” His only snippet of accurate trivia comes as you drive by the twilight-lit Colosseum. “Holy shit, that’s where Taylor Swift made out with Tom Hiddleston!”

“Surely more important things have happened there at some point in the past two millennia.”

“I doubt it,” Aegon replies, frowning out the Escalade window, taciturn. “I wish I got to make out with Taylor Swift in the Colosseum.”

Comet Donati is staying at the Anantara Palazzo Naiadi Rome Hotel, which closely resembles a palace. When the Escalade stops at the front doors, you drag your luggage out onto the cobblestones.

“No no no,” Criston says, grabbing the rolling suitcase from you. He gives it to a white-gloved butler along with a room number and then escorts you and Aegon to the top floor. It’s not until the three of you are in the elevator that you realize you are still wearing your highly unsophisticated travel-day attire: yoga pants, flip flops, a tie-dye hoodie with Louis Tomlinson’s face on it that you purchased from Etsy last winter. Aegon catches you scrutinizing your reflection in the mirrors that line the inside of the elevator.

“Traitor,” he says with a grin, massaging your shoulders. His eyes lock with yours in the mirror. His touch is—just as it was a year ago at that bar in Kansas City when you were home from school on break and he was a transient visitor, fleeting like a rainstorm—familiar somehow, pleasant and comforting but not profound, welcome without being necessary.

“Don’t hate him ‘cause you ain’t him. When was the last time you wrote a #1 hit single?”

“Never,” Aegon readily admits. “Although I got into the Top 5 in Norway once.” No, everyone knows that Aemond was Comet’s Louis Tomlinson: their best songwriter, their relatively unproblematic and grounded team captain, their protector, their compass. And now he has no official place in the band at all.

When the elevator doors open, Criston leads you and Aegon down the hallway to a bustling suite. Inside there are white leather couches and gold-colored lounge chairs, a bar, a staircase that leads up to the loft bedroom, people wandering in and out of air that is hazy with whispers and cigarette smoke. There are men in suits, women in short tight dresses, leather and velvet and sequins. You are woefully underdressed. Fortunately, so is Aegon. He is greeted with a dizzying array of cheers, waves, and toasts. Someone shoves an emerald green bottle of Peroni into his grasp. Kesha’s Your Love Is My Drug is vibrating through the speakers mounted on the wall: “What you’ve got, boy, is hard to find, I think about it all the time…”

“Hey, hey, listen up!” Aegon shouts, stepping on top of an ottoman, and the chatter lowers in volume like a radio being turned down.

You scan the smokey room until you’ve located all five current Comet Donati members: Aegon the disaster playboy, Luke the sensitive and kindhearted one, Daeron the energetic ray of sunshine, Jace the heir apparent in the power vacuum created by Aemond’s departure, Cregan the brooding, mysterious, sexy Northern Englishman. You know them, and yet you don’t. You know the characters they play, their reputations, their public personas…but that doesn’t mean you know them. Aegon is the only man you spoke to at the rooftop bar that night in Kansas City a year ago. So far, the mythical version of him seems quite consistent with reality.

Cregan is slumped at one end of the couch by the window and knocking back shots of what appears to be straight vodka. In the night sky beyond the glass, you can see stars and the illuminated Rome skyline: modern skyscrapers, ancient rubble. At the other end of the couch is Aemond. He’s smoking, drinking something iced and bloody pink, hunched over with his elbows on his knees, all in black like he’s trying to disappear. His left eye, the blind one, is an ethereal cloudy blue that reminds you of renderings you’ve seen of Neptune, Uranus, exoplanets, the Earth from space. He glances up at you and holds your gaze for just a few seconds too long. Then he looks away, bewildered, taking a drag off his cigarette.

Aegon introduces you to the room as you stand beside the ottoman, awkward and ashamed in your Louis Tomlinson hoodie. “She’s a friend,” Aegon says. “And she’s also a therapist.”

“Good, you need one!” Jace shouts through cupped hands, and there are tipsy titters and guffaws.

“Not for me,” Aegon snaps. “For you deranged bitches.”

As Aegon descends from the ottoman—klutzily, stumbling, clutching onto Criston like a baby lemur to its mother—Luke approaches to present himself. He has a mess of dark curly hair that falls over his face and large, honest eyes. There’s a black spiral notebook and a white gel pen in his left hand. He offers you his right. “Hi! I’m Luke Velaryon.”

“Yeah, I know. I spend a lot of time on Comet’s Spotify page.”

He groans. “I look so bad in that header photo.”

“I don’t think so.”

“It’s the nose. I have a pug nose. The label has been trying to convince me to get it fixed for years.” He turns to a girl who is practically hiding behind him: arrestingly beautiful in a fragile sort of way, gentle like a doe. “Maybe you can help Rhaena talk to people.”

“I have social anxiety,” she explains apologetically. Her voice is very quiet yet lyrical. There are weights tied to her confession, years of shame and despair. Luke throws an arm across her shoulders and hugs her to him, touching his forehead briefly to hers.

“That’s okay.” You give Rhaena a reassuring smile. “It’s super common, and there are a lot of strategies you can try that might make it more manageable.”

“It wasn’t a big deal at first, you know?” Rhaena says. It comes out in a rush like water through a cracked dam. Luke looks astonished but pleased. You have been known to have this effect upon people, a compulsive sort of disclosure that drains, empties, unburdens. Aegon is watching from several feet away, beaming between swigs of Peroni. “Luke and I met before he got famous and we could just hang out around the neighborhood. Ice cream, public parks, Pret a Manger, riding the Tube together. But now…now he’s always meeting new people and there are all these events I’m supposed to go to with him, and I can’t sleep properly for days leading up to each one, and half the time I end up hiding in the bathroom or being too nauseous to eat anything, and…”

Jace is at the bar and slurping a vesper: shoulder-length curls, flashy blazer with nothing underneath it, a contemplative appraisal of you. There’s a stunning girl sitting beside him that he’s not listening to.

As you are explaining the potential benefits of exposure therapy to Rhaena and Luke, Daeron bursts through the crowd to greet you. He’s their Niall Horan: warm, uncomplicated, disarmingly friendly, beachy blond hair, a golden retriever on two legs. He hugs you—spiritedly, like Aegon did—and then compliments your flip flops.

“So you’re our new therapist?” Daeron says eagerly, like this is something he knows they’ve needed.

“Well, I’m a therapist, but I’m not really your therapist. Because I can’t hang out with you guys all the time and also be your therapist. It’s unethical. But Aegon thought I might have some good ideas, I guess. In a strictly unofficial capacity.”

“Okay! Cool! And you and Aegon are…friends?”

“Um…yeah. Sort of.”

“Remember that show in Kansas City last summer?” Aegon tells Daeron. He’s supernaturally gifted at making everything sound blissfully casual, like there couldn’t possibly be more to the story. “I met her at the bar we went to afterwards.”

“Totally,” Daeron says. “Great city. Awesome barbeque.”

Criston asks him: “So, uh, how’s your mom doing?”

Daeron is puzzled. “Fine…?”

“Criston, please stop asking about my mom,” Aegon says. “It’s getting weird. It’s been weird. It was weird four years ago and it’s weird now. She has a husband.”

“Yeah, but is that…you know…is that still going well?”

“Yes, Criston.”

“Fantastic,” Criston mutters, pouring himself a Scotch. He uses the glass to gesture to you. “So what the hell am I supposed to bill her as? Aegon’s friend?”

“She’s a…” Aegon considers this, waving his Peroni around in the air. “Human resources mental health consultant.”

“She’s a what?”

“She helps resolve both intra and interpersonal conflict.”

“That sounds imaginary.”

“Well then you figure something out!” Aegon says, exasperated. “Isn’t this what you get paid for? To make problems go away? To keep us happy? To stop us from killing each other? You figure it out.” He saunters off to grace the drunken masses with his presence. Criston sighs and goes to stand by the wall with a herd of stone-faced businessmen in suits, record label guys, guys who only know how to see the world in terms of contract clauses and account balances.

Rhaena goes to stand by Jace’s companion, who—as you conjure up vague recollections of celebrity gossip sites—is named something like Bella or Bailey. Daeron is commandeered by a gaggle of adoring Italian women. Luke is showing Aemond something in his notebook: black pages, sparkly white ink. Aemond is nodding and giving critique, not that saccharine, generic, brainless kind of praise but authentic encouragement: try to think of a more specific word here, move that line up to the first verse, I love the use of this metaphor. Aemond’s voice dredges up memories you didn’t know you had of him on talk shows, in YouTube compilations, in songs you’ve been streaming on Spotify for years. Smoke drifts from his lips. Ice jangles in his organ-pink cocktail. And again, he looks up at you, inhaling poison as Luke makes his opal-ink edits.

“What’s that drink called?” you ask the bartender, and he squints across the room to where Aemond is seated on the snow-colored leather couch to discern it.

“A Bramble,” he says. “It’s named after blackberry bushes.”

“Can I get one?”

“Sure.”

You procure your drink and when Luke leaves the couch, you whizz past him like a meteor as you walk towards it.

“Hey,” Cregan flings impassively, not knowing why you’re here, not caring either.

“Hey,” you return.

And then you sit down next to Aemond, deliberately on his blind side. He glances over at you, his brow crinkling with confusion. Because—surely, undoubtedly—no one ever speaks about his injury, but it’s veined through everything they do, it’s a perpetual undercurrent that steers his life and yet cannot be voiced without breaching those vigilantly constructed levees of propriety. It’s the elephant in every room. It’s a ghost rattling doorknobs and tapping on windows. And sometimes the only way to free yourself of something is to throw the cage door wide open and set it loose.

“I accidentally wore your competitor’s merch,” you say. “I didn’t want you to have a good view.”

Aemond laughs, and the strangest thing happens: everyone in the room turns to look. On their faces are expressions of shock, bafflement, relief, wonder. Aemond shifts so he’s facing you, one elbow propped on the back of the couch. He sips the Bramble in his right hand, puffs on the cigarette in his left. And there it is, what people like to call a spark, but it’s something deeper than that: organic chemistry, neurotransmitter plumes, wells of marrow that sing to each other from beneath the darkness.

You nod to his cigarette, Benson & Hedges according to the shimmery gold pack that lays open on the glass coffee table. “You think that makes you cool?”

“I know it does,” he says. His gaze flicks down to your Louis Tomlinson hoodie…or what’s under it, perhaps. “Wouldn’t work on you though. Too far gone.”

You hold out your hand. After a few seconds, Aemond passes you his cigarette. You—very stoically, very nonchalantly—take a single drag and then erupt into a coughing fit, eyes watering, lungs gasping, surrendering the cigarette emphatically. Humiliating! Irredeemable!

“Told you,” Aemond notes. But he’s rubbing your back with a hand that is large and strong and yet careful. You smile at him. Aemond smiles too.

Criston pulls one of the suit guys aside and says: “Get her on the payroll.”

[imagine-darksiders]

Not your time - A Darksiders oneshot.

Hey everyone!

A commission from the lovely and generous @humboltsquid, who requested a female Reader who barely survives an assassination attempt that's carried out in front of the Horsemen.

CW: Blood, guns, assassination attempt, mild descriptions of bullet wounds, aftermath, protective Horsemen, whump, angst, fluff, Death centric.

----------

A sudden flash of dazzling light bursts in front of your face, and try as you might to keep your eyes open, you just know that come Monday, there’ll be an unseemly photograph of you squinting out of the front page of a local newspaper.

“Perfect!” the photographer grins without casting so much as a glance down at the screen of her camera.

Blinking rapidly to disperse the shadow floating in front of your eyes, you take another look out at the crowd gathered on the square below the steps of Haven City Hall.

Most, if not all of their attention is rigidly devoted to you as multiple pens sit poised over tattered notebooks, though there are some people who throw envious glares at the photographer as she retreats back into their ranks.

You have to admit, you find yourself wondering where she managed to scrouge up a working camera.

It’s hardly been a few months since Humanity pulled itself out of the rubble of an unrecognisable Earth.

Word of the Apocalypse, its aftermath and the reasons behind it spread like wildfire – words that originated from your mouth, at the behest of the Four Horsemen, all of whom agreed that you’d make a fine ambassador for your species.

Death made it apparent that he and his siblings thought very highly of you after your involvement in clearing War’s name and surviving trials no human ever had before.

You’re starting to wish they thought a little less of you now, though. This is the seventh ‘press conference’ you’ve been subjected to in the past month. That’s without all the one-to-one interviews you’d been forced into with world leaders, heads of national security, historians, religious leaders, scientist… The list goes on.

Today is just more of the same; a whole lot of reporters clamouring to quote you for their articles in cobbled-together newspapers that have finally begun to crop up around the globe.

At a glance, it would almost appear that you're standing on the steps alone. But upon further inspection, it isn't difficult to spot four, hulking figures eyeing the proceedings from the shadows.

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse: Death, Fury, Strife and War. Your guardians. And quite possibly the best friends you've ever had, no matter their quirks and social ineptness.

They've grown tired of the constant questions from your fellow humans, even Strife, and no doubt the only reason they're here at all today is to watch your back, despite how often you try to tell them that they don't have to worry about you.

You might as well be throwing words at a brick wall and expecting it to break.

In the corner of your eye, there’s another flash, and a split second where your heart starts to sink at the prospect of yet another photograph circling the papers. However, in less than a blink, something smacks into your abdomen with a dull, wet ‘thwack,’ forcing you to stumble onto your backfoot.

Startled, you drop your mouth open and look out at the crowd, dimly wondering why one of them had thrown something at you…

A rock, perhaps?

Strange…

You nearly jump out of your skin when there’s an explosion of motion all around you.

From one moment to the next, War hauls his immense bulk in front of you, dousing you in his shadow as he rips Chaoseater from its scabbard and swings the terrible sword out in front of him, shoulders bristling with a rage you can’t yet place.

At almost the exact same time, Strife appears as if from nowhere to your right, roaring like a wild beast and, to your horror, whipping Mercy and Redemption out of their holsters and pointing them out at the anxious crowd.

A woman screams, loud and shrill enough to hurt your ears, sending blood coursing through them until you’re left grimacing at the sound, only dimly aware of the tiny burn blossoming to life in your abdomen, just beneath your left breast.

No sooner have the brothers locked their legs rigidly into place than someone fills the space behind you– Fury, if the warm body pressing a little too firmly into your back is any indication.

“Strife! The rooftops!” she shouts urgently, and you can’t help but grimace again as her voice thrums through your head like a claxon.

Bewildered. you twist yourself sideways, meeting the stare of the last Horseman, Death. He was the furthest away when the rock hit you, though now he seems to warp through the air towards you with the grace and swiftness of a shadow moving across the square, and all the ferocity of a bull charging down its quarry.

Your mouth hangs open, lips twitching as the burn in your chest grows as if an insect has lodged its stinger inside your skin, and you’re about to ask what in the world they think they’re doing when you pull in a breath.

All at once, your chest hitches painfully, and you hurry to throw a hand over your mouth to catch the hacking cough that takes you by surprise. You pull a face at the sensation of thick saliva spattering against your palm.

It had been a sunny day not moments ago, but as Death approaches from your left, the temperature around you plummets by a staggering degree, as if you’ve been cast into the eye of a polar storm. Growing increasingly alarmed by the second, you pull in a smaller breath, one that rattles and wheezes in its way in, but doesn’t quite manage to fill your lungs as you move your hand away to call Death’s name.

The last thing you expect to see when you briefly glance down is the splatter of rich, glistening blood freckling the previously unblemished skin of your palm.

It’s only then that the thought occurs to you; it may not have been a rock at all…

“Death?” you whimper shakily, lowering your trembling hand and touching your fingertips gingerly to the spot on your torso that’s beginning to feel even worse, as though instead of an insect, a lit cigarette has been jammed against your skin with no signs of cooling.

You’d flinch away from the sensation were you not being tightly boxed in on every side by four, bridling forces of nature.

The eldest of them, Death, is upon you in an instant, dragging the shadows of buildings along in his wake as if, for just a moment, the darkness itself is beholden to none but him.

There’s a fire raging in the Horseman’s wide and simmering eyes that contradicts the icy hands that reach out to catch you by your shoulders when you take a faltering step towards him, only to crumple as the numbness in your legs makes itself apparent.

A familiar chill pours down your spine. One you’re all-too familiar with.

They promised you had nothing to be afraid of, not while you have Four of them in your corner.

But you can’t help it.

Right now, as War bellows a thunderous battle-cry out at some unknown recipient, and the breaths start to leave you in great clouds of billowing, white air, you’re scared.

 ---

‘No, no, no, NO! NO!’

Death’s ever-churning mind howls with outrage and disbelief, even if his lips remain tightly sealed beneath his bone-mask as he holds you upright by your shoulders, suspending you an inch above the ground in his haste to scan you for injury.

He’s mutely aware that the crowd of humans have already begun to scatter, though whether they’ve been driven away by the Horsemen’s sudden act of aggression or the culprit who has just made a foolish attempt on your life, Death can’t be bothered to guess.

He knows… As soon as he caught the flash from a broken window that overlooks the city hall, he knew. And he knows, for the rest of his wretched existence, that he’ll be trying to atone for standing too far away to reach you in time. For growing complacent.

They've all grown complacent, though he’ll shoulder the blame for his siblings because they – however unwittingly – follow by his example.

He thought this would be safe.

You weren’t supposed to get hurt, this was just another question-and-answer session you’ve done dozens of times before. Curious humans seeking gaps in their knowledge from you.

Who in their right mind would dare, would even have the nerve to try and hurt the human who has been so obviously afforded protection by the Four? Not even Samael, arguably their strongest adversary, would think twice before attempting to antagonise the Horsemen.

He can feel your warm breaths hitting the exposed skin of his sternum as he clings to you, rolling his eyes down until he spies the patch of crimson blooming outwards underneath your quivering hand.  

The acrid stench of blood – your blood – is quick to slip between the cracks of his mask and into his unwilling nostrils.

Death’s muscles bunch at the intrusion and he clamps his gnashing teeth down on the primal growl that tries to escape through them.

He’s aware that at any moment, his siblings are going to catch the same scent on the wind, and it’ll be all he can do to stop them from levelling the entire city, just to ensure that your would-be killer doesn’t get away. Hell, it’s all he can currently do to keep his own Reaper Form from tearing itself loose and raking up the souls of any human in the vicinity.

As unhappy as his siblings already are though, they’re about to raise merry Hell when he makes his next announcement.

“She’s been shot,” he spits, pulling the metaphorical trigger on three, loaded guns.

As if from nowhere, a maelstrom whips up around Strife, who only just manages to lurch sideways far enough to spare you and his siblings from being crushed as he erupts into the titanic, armoured beast; Anarchy, shaking out his mane and tipping his horned head back to screech up at the sky.

Steeling himself against your sudden whimpers of alarm, Death barks, “Seventh story window to the North. Go!”

And without needing any further spurring on, Anarchy launches himself into a gallop across the street, leaping up to latch his monstrous claws into the wall of the building and hauling himself straight up the side of it, hand over hand.

War and Fury don’t look as though they’ll be far behind their brother, but Death’s voice is enough to still them before they too can unleash their true forms and give chase.                                                                                                                   

“Fury.”

Snarling, his sister whips around towards him, her expression faltering when she sees how carefully he slides his arms beneath your knees and hoists you off your feet, cradling you against his unforgiving chest.

“Rampage is the fastest of our horses,” he continues, “Find Azrael, meet us at Y/n’s home.”

She looks as though she’s about to argue, far more interested in joining Strife to enact some well-deserved vengeance in your honour, but another glance at you reminds her that this isn’t the time for personal vendettas.

Fiery hair bobs as she gives a resolute nod, then turns on her heel and raises a fist in the air. “Rampage! To me!”

Death’s attention flits back to you, secure in the knowledge that at least two of his siblings have been distracted from going on the warpath.

Speaking of…

“Brother… Is she...?” War’s voice has dipped and bowed with rage, lending him the cadence of a beast.

Before he can say another word, Death speaks, his magics flaring about him like coiling snakes, though is tone is deceptively calm. “War, I need you to guard us as we ride.”

Without another word, the Horsemen summon their steeds, and Death is forced to relinquish you to War for a second whilst he hauls himself into Despair’s saddle, immediately reaching to take you again when his brother gently lifts you towards him. You scream as he does, trying to curl in on yourself until you’re deposited in the saddle between Death’s sturdy thighs.

Then, in a moment so rare, not even his siblings can remember the last time they saw it, Death slips his hand underneath yours, trying not to let his stomach squeeze at the feeling of your fingers latching onto his. He meets your eyes, loathing the wide, terrible pain that’s been placed inside them.

Pain has no place in your life, not so long as they’re here to protect you from it.

“Not yet,” he breathes, damn-near begs, spurring Despair into a thunderous gallop with Ruin snorting wildly at his heels.

----------

It’s the agony that wakes you in the end, a raging hellfire that ignites in your chest as you startle to consciousness, never recalling how you’d come to be unconscious in the first place.

As if the unexpected pain weren’t bad enough, your heartbeat thuds strongly in your ears, which are ringing with the shouts of several, booming voices, all far too close and spilling over one another in a furious rush, leaving you feeling as though you’ve been placed inside an amphitheatre.

“- the Hell wasn’t someone watching the buildings!?” Fury’s voice, easily distinguishable from her brothers’ and absolutely drenched in her namesake.

Gritting your teeth, you screw your face up when Strife almost roars back, “Keep lookin’ at me when you say that, and I might start thinkin’ you’re blaming me for this!”

“Perhaps I am! You’re the firearms expert, as you so often like to remind us!”

“Why the Hell should that mean-!?” He cuts himself off midsentence, granting you a second of relief before he promptly redirects his attention to one of his other siblings. “WAR! If you don’t stop pacing, you’re going out the goddamn window!”

Ah, you wince, so that wasn’t your heart beating in your ears.

War’s thundering footfalls come to an abrupt halt somewhere to your right, and he promptly responds to his brother’s threat with a rumbling growl, the kind that emanates straight from his chest and spills across the room like a roll of thunder.

They’re fighting about something…. Which isn’t unusual. But lately, they’ve been getting better at not doing it around you.

God your chest hurts. What the Hell happened?

“Mmgh, ugh…” You feel like you need a crowbar to pry your eyelids apart, but at least the pitiful sound you made is enough to stop their incessant bickering.

A new problem arises though, when they instantly start to exclaim anew.

“She’s awake!” Strife gushes.

“I can see that for myself,” Fury sighs, though not without a hint of relieved laughter.

War’s relief is quieter, but no less palpable.

Through the gaps in your eyelids, you spot a flash of red surging towards you as you try to heave yourself upright, but not a moment later, a strong, uncompromising gauntlet engulfs your shoulder, pushing you down to lay flat on your back.

“Stay there,” War’s baritone thrums, as gentle as you’ve ever heard it, “You’ll hurt yourself.”

Tears of pain are already trailing down your cheeks, but you suppose he means you’ll make it worse. Blinking to clear your vision, you peer up at the three, titanic figures looming over your head.

Strife’s eyes are the first you meet, glowing like raw gold from beneath his silver helm. They pinch at the corners, a telltale sign that he’s smiling under there. “H-hey, gorgeous,” he swallows thickly as if he’s about to choke, “Glad to see you’re awake again… Scared the Hell out of us back there, you know.”

You know it must have been bad if he’s admitting to fear.

“How’re you feeling.”

Before you can open your mouth to tell him that it feels as if your chest is being split in two, Fury scoffs, turning to shoot Strife a scathing look.

“She was shot, you fool. How do you think she’s feeling?”

“Sh-shot?” you croak, once more attempting to sit up, but with War’s gauntlet pinning you in place, you only succeed in squirming weakly on the-… Are you on your bed?

Your breath starts picking up, throat bone-dry as more tears spill down your cheeks. “I was shot?”

To her credit, Fury swiftly clamps her jaw shut, biting her lip and looking at least a little ashamed for blurting that out. War emits a troubled hum whilst Strife hurries to reassure you.

“Hey, hey,” he hushes, reaching out to drop his enormous hand over the top of yours, “It’s over. It’s over now. Azrael fixed you up. You’re okay.” There’s conviction in his words, but you don’t know if he’s trying to convince himself or you.

You roll your neck down slightly to look him over, and it’s only now that you see the blood smeared across his chest plate.

With a sharp gasp, your heart rate skyrockets.

War follows your wide-eyed stare and grumbles, “I told you to wash that off…”

Glancing down at himself, Strife quickly snaps his head up to offer you a shake of his head. “No, no, don’t worry about that. It’s not your blood.”

Despite his efforts, this does little to reassure you.

“It’s yours!?” you bleat.

“Nah, ain’t mine either. S’from the guy who shot you.”

 Your abdomen squeezes in protest as you strain out, “Strife! You killed someone!?”

For a moment, he falls silent. All of them do, flicking pointed glances between one another as a creeping chill begins to seep inside the room, reaching your skin even under the blankets that have been tucked around your neck.

“I gave the order.”

All eyes dart to the open door of your bedroom. You can’t help the aborted breath you draw in when you see Death filling the wooden frame.

His bulging shoulders heave up and down slowly, and that dark, brooding stare is adhered to your face, causing you to squirm uncomfortably as if you mean to escape it.

 “Finally decided to stop beating yourself up, have you?” Fury mutters under her breath, earning a glare from Death so frosty, you could swear you see her shiver.

“But… but I don’t understand?” you wheeze, furrowing your brow wearily and shifting to try and ease the ache in your lungs, “What do you mean you gave the order?”

“Some fool human made an attempt on your life,” War supplies, “Strife did what we all wished we could do.”

Once again, you try to sit up, and once again the weight of War’s gauntlet stops you.

Grunting, you argue, “But, you can’t… kill someone just because-!”

“-Because what?” Death snaps, stalking towards the bed an effectively silencing you in a heartbeat, “Because an overconfident zealot thought you deserved to die simply because you spoke a truth that didn’t align with his doctrines?”

He may be the shortest of the Horsemen, but that doesn’t mean that Death isn’t several feet taller than you, able to loom over your bed like a storm cloud.

“Were we to stand idly by whilst one of our own was threatened?”

You glance up at the others, taken aback by the ferocious, steadfast frowns on War and Fury’s expressions, and the familiar glint of steel in Strife’s eyes. Not one of them are contending Death’s bold declaration.

That you’re one of theirs.

It’s a hell of a claim to come from the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Ancient Nephilim of legend, laying claim to a human?

You wet your lips, but a response doesn’t come.

Death, however, seems only too ready to fill the space of your silence.

In a single, fluid motion, he lowers himself onto one knee beside your bed, and that action in itself is as poignant as his words.

Death never kneels.

The other three don’t look half as surprised as you’re sure you must, not even when their eldest, their leader, reaches out, hesitates, then rests the tips of his cold fingers gently under your jawline, directly over your pulse.

Wide-eyed, you can only stare into the sockets of his mask, breathing shallowly, missing the way his shoulders slump at the sensation of a strong, steady throb beneath his fingertips.

“You’re under our protection,” he states matter-of-factly, backed up by a concurring grunt from War on the other side of the bed, “And when the Horsemen have your back, nobody touches you. Is that understood?”

You press your lips together, both horrified and equally humbled that you could have earned the devotion of such powerful, ethereal beings.

Holding your gaze, Death firmly repeats, “Nobody.”

You still have questions. No end of them. But right now, frightened, hurt, and vulnerable, you’re wrenching heart seeks safety in one of the few places you know can offer it.

It hurts to raise your left arm, but you bite down hard on your tongue and slip your hand around what you can of Death’s solid neck.

The first sob escapes you when he leans towards you, pretending to be guided by your pitiable strength until you can wrap more of your arm around the back of his shoulders and push your damp face into the column of his throat, shivering slightly from the chill on his skin.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper against him, feeling his muscles turn lax underneath your touch.

In response, the Horseman nudges his mask closer to your ear and in a whisper that’s meant for you alone, he utters, “You’re not the one with anything to be sorry for…”

Unseen by you, the ancient Nephilim’s eyes glare holes through each of his siblings, daring one of them to comment on his moment of rare, uncharacteristic indulgence.

Per the norm, Strife is the one who struggles to keep his mouth shut.

“Aw, how come Death gets a hug?” Strife whinges petulantly, “He doesn’t even like ‘em.”

“And you believed him when he told you that?” Fury snickers.

On the bed, your grip just tightens around your guardian’s neck as his protective hand lays gingerly against your back, cold fingertips drinking up the warmth of your human body with a reverence known only to Death.

[rainylana]

“Come on, my little crybaby.”

Eddie Munson x female reader

summary: hot day in hawkins. eddie shaves your legs, you play in shaving cream and the water hose, then have sex in the woods.

warnings: language, so much fluff it might make you throw up, eddie shaves reader’s legs, stereotypical differences in men and women about shaving, quoting from the graduate, sex in the woods, giggly sex, teasing, decrophylia. i gave eddie christopher as a middle name lol.

taglist!

@phantomxoxo @imdoingbetternow @imabadarsebard @fionnthebandersnacc @eddiemania @eddiemunson @ohlovelyhollow @tessiemessie @rovckwells @lillianofliterature @delilahtaylorsverson @aa-li-yah @ches-86 @xx-hospitalforsouls-xx-blog @catherinnn @flowers-and-tsukki @your-starless-eyes-remain @kellysimagines @blowing-mikey @underthebatcape @noturmom15 @supercalifragilisticprincess @tripthlightfantastic @itiscj @edzmunsonswife @hearts4laura @ultimate-sdmn-trash @chaos-incorp @livasaurasrex @mic429 @averysblog @antigoneidk @avobabe87 @lexthemess21 @nothisispatric @heeyitsg @genuine-possum @imangy @fvcking-gxddess @kneelforloki @actuallybarb @justaproudslytherpuff @no0neknowsm3 @cosmic-lavender @bellasfavoritesweatpants @cheri86 @insomniac-nerd-posts-things @ahzysauce @softyutae @kaqua

1987 would be known as the hottest summer in Hawkins, Indiana. There was never not a day where the sun was bearing down without a single cloud in the sky for coverage. And to make matters worse, mostly everyone’s air conditioners weren’t working to the city damaging electrical towers, so everyone in town had to suffer.

Most kids and parents spent their days at the city pool or playing in the hose out in the yard, or get drunk at the bar. The ac didn’t work at the bars, either, but people still went. Eddie’s trailer had to have been the most scorching place all of town. After all, he lived in a tin can for shits sake. There were box fans all over the living room, but that only blew hot air around, so it didn’t do much to help cool anyone down.

Eddie worked a few days at the radiator shop with Wayne, while you worked weekends at the library in town, so you both spent most blistering days squished together in the kiddie pool in his back yard with cheap, packaged lemonade he found in his cabinet. You couldn’t exactly go fully nude in public, but you’d get as close as you possibly could without the law being called.

Today, Eddie was sprawled out on the living room floor in just his blue checkered boxers, skin sweaty and sticky, dark curls glued to his neck and shoulders. The tv was playing the price is right in the corner, and you, had one leg propped up on the sink as you shaved your legs, dots of white shaving cream decorating the floor. Your hair was tangled in a fallen bun, your clothes, or lack of, only being your short biker shorts and a black sports bra.

“Goddamn, son of a bitchin’ piece of fuck.” You muttered under your breath, struggling with your balance as you shaved under your ankle.

Eddie cocked his head to look over at you, blinking away sweat. “Cut yourself again?”

“No.” You huffed. “Just don’t like doing this in here.”

“Why can’t you do it in the bathroom?”

“Because it’s too fucking hot in there.” You sent him a glare, one that made him roll his eyes as he sat up dizzily. The heat made everyone feel sickly. He coughed as he stood, wiping a bead of sweat as he came up behind you.

“Here,” He took the razor from your hand. “Sit. I’ll do it.” He gave your ass a light tap as you twisted and lifted yourself onto the counter tops. He put his hand under your knee and you pressed your foot against his rib, your leg streaked with shaving cream and water. He turned on the sink for a moment to wet the razed, bringing it up to your thigh and slowly dragging it down.

You hummed in satisfaction at being able to relax, leaning against the cabinet doors as you admired his naked chest. “Being a woman sucks.”

He chuckled, going over your knee. “That right?”

“Yes.” You grumbled through sweat. “You men don’t understand how difficult it is. We have to shave everything, and I grow back so damn fast I have to basically do it everyday.”

“Well, you know I’d still love you if you had harry legs.” He caught your eyes with a smirk, leaning over to rinse the razor under the tap. “Don’t matter to me if you want to rock a seventies bush or not. You never complain about mine.”

“You’re just saying that.” You crossed your arms, jutting your lip out in annoyance. You raised your brow as he put your left leg down and picked up your right. He was surprisingly very good at this. “None of my exes would be interested in having sex with a ten foot yard pole if I wasn’t completely shaved.”

“Yeah, well your exes were assholes, babe.” He raised a brow at you for a moment. “You can be as harry as you want to be with me, sweetheart. You know I don’t give a shit about that stuff.”

You grew flushed under his stare, feeling embarrassed. He waited until you nodded before he went back down to your leg. You went back to admiring him, thinking about how good he was to you. The bulge beneath his boxers was prominent, and you eyed it shamelessly. A bead of sweat dripped down your exposed stomach, and you shimmied uncomfortably in the heat.

“If you want me to finish, honey, you’re gonna have to stop staring at me like that.” He didn’t look at you to know that you were ogling him, a small smirk tugging at his top lip.

You grew increasingly aware of just how close to naked the both of you were, even though that was pretty much your normal attire for the past few weeks. Still, his crotch was only a few feet in front of yours, only covered by shorts that barely covered any skin. “Just admiring.” You said with a playful shrug, sneakily reaching your hand back to grab the bottle of shaving cream.

“You mean distracting.” He shook your leg to keep you still, squinting his eyes in concentration as he inspected your skin for more hair.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing as you noisily squirted more into your hand. “Need some more of this?”

“Yeah- maybe just on your thigh right th- ooof!” The loud splat of the shaving cream in your hand landed smack dap in his face, covering his forehead and his nose, white dots on his lips.

You howled with a laugh that shook your shoulders and you dropped the can, the look of pure shock and awe on his face.

“So that’s what I get, huh?” He placed a hand on his hip, bringing up the other to attempt to wipe of the disaster. “Try and help my girl out and I just get mistreated. You’re a real brat, ya know?”

You fake pouted and jutted your lip. “Aww, my poor baby, come here.”

“No, huh uh!” He jerked away in playful defiance, grabbing the small hand towel by the stove. “I see how it is.”

“Oh, come on, you crybaby I was kidding!” You tried to keep from laughing, hopping down from the counter to step up behind him.

“Eddie- AH!” You screamed and jumped when shaving cream was smacked across your lips, smudging your cheeks and dripping down your neck. “What the fuck!”

Eddie beamed happily, sticking out his tongue and placing his hands on his hips. “Suck it up, crybaby.”

You cringed and spat out with a shake of your head. “Ugh- gross! That shit got in my mouth!”

“Aww, my poor baby, come here.” He mocked you, taking a step, but only to smother your face with the white foam on his hands. He cackled as you screamed, smacking your ass as he bolted out the door.

“You fucker!” You yelled through giggles, practically loosing your balance from the force of his hand. You slipped on your footing as you tried to chase after him, face bright red through giggles as you followed after him. “Eddie!” You ran down the steps, wincing when you stepped on the gravel with your bare feet. You payed no mind to the fact you didn’t have much covering.

You ran around into the backyard, the blades of grass hot under your skin. You continued to wipe away shaving cream of your body when yet again, you screamed. You were knocked down again when Eddie sprayed you with the hose. The hose on full blast. “Eddie!” You screamed from the ground, jaw hung open in dismay. “What the hell!”

His hair was wet on the ends from spraying you, and he blew on the end of the hose like he was putting out the smoke from a hot gun. “If you’re gonna mess with the master, sweetness, you’re gonna have to up your game.”

While the water felt nice, you weren’t done playing around. “Well, are you at least gonna help me up?” You craned a brow.

He chuckled and tossed down the hose, holding out his hand for you. Halfway pulling you up, he let go, sending you back on your ass. You yelped and watched as he reared his head back in laughter and took off down the backyard hill towards the woods.

You couldn’t even say anything, just gasping in shock as you struggled to stand. “Edward Christopher Munson!” You chased after him.

You almost debated going back for shoes when you stepped over rocks and limbs as you entered the woods. You and Eddie spent a lot of time down there. Even spent the night sometimes by the creek. It was romantic. And while a lot of the trailer park kids went down there to play, you pretended it was your own special place. It was grassy and mossy on the fallen tree trunks and rocks, and dandelions decorated the forest floor.

“Eddie!” You twirled around with a smile. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” You already knew he was trying to scare you, and you shivered slightly from the cold water now that you were in the shade. “Eddie!”

“Boo!”

You jumped when his hands grabbed your shoulders, twisting you around and pushing you back until you pressed up against a tree. You giggled as you wrapped your arms around his neck, locking your lips together as he knocked your knees apart. You kissed through smiles, sweat and leftover shaving cream. His tongue swiped over your teeth and he pushed his torso between your thighs, making you groan from his erection. You grabbed his hip and pushed yours against him, fisting his curls tightly.

“Somebody’s happy to see me.” You reached down palm him through his boxers. “Seducing me down here to get your dick sucked, Munson?”

He littered kisses on your neck, biting softly when you lightly squeezed his cock. “Oh, baby, you’d know if I was seducing you.” He licked the shell of your ear. “Would you like me to seduce you?”

You erupted into giggles that made him smile against your skin, and you rolled your hips into his as tree bark scraped against your back. You were sure you’d have blood when you were finished.

You moaned sweetly in his ear, your stomach fluttering to life that made your head spin. “When do- ah, when do you think the ac w-will be back on- on?”

“That’s what you’re thinking about right now?” He chuckled, pulling away to push your hair out of your face. “Ac units get you going, do they?”

You never felt insecure with Eddie. Not really. But still, self doubt always crept it’s way in from time to time. You blushed deeply and he saw your eyes flash for a moment. You looked nervous.

“What’s wrong?” He narrowed his eyes, thumb tracing your lips.

“Well,” You swallowed, briefly glancing down. “I’ve not- well, I didn’t finish shaving. You know- well- down there.”

He stared for a minute to see if you were messing with him, then he rolled his eyes. “Shut up.” He brushed your hands away to kiss you passionately, tilting your head back onto the tree. Your noses squished together and your tongues tangled. He reached for your thighs and gave them a light tap, signaling you to jump.

You quickly discarded your shorts and panties and jumped, your bodies slick and wet with lust and perspiration.

“God, I love you.” He husked against you, barely pushing down his boxers so he could pull his cock out. “And your hair.”

You whimpered as he lined his cock with your slit, adjusting his hold with you. “I love- oh,” You saw stars when he pushed into you, your muscles pushing and pulling to adjust to his girth. “Fuck, fuck,” You winced, gripping his shoulder.

He pressed his lips against yours to shut you up, and thrusted into you slowly to give you time to adjust. He kissed you slow and sweet, rocking your gently. You wrapped your arms around his neck to hold him close, tears already brimming your eyes at the fullness in your belly.

“You’re so good to me.”

He smirked at your shaky voice, his lips against your jaw as he put more force into his hips. He reached up to grab hold of your arm. “Because you’re my good little girl.” He buried his face in your neck as he thrusted sharply, and you squealed as your bare back scraped against the back, your bra being the only protection you had.

“Oh, fuck!” You yelped, your legs shaking with his pace. He grunted hotly into your ear, holding your hip in place to keep you from squirming so much. You hoped to god no kids would come down for an afternoon swim, because you were not being discreet whatsoever. You panted loudly through tears that leaked down your neck.

Scratches and small cuts formed on your back with each thrust, your stomach coiled and you whimpered loudly when his rough hand came down to your clit. You didn’t feel insecure about your pubic hair this time. Eddie’s eyes pierced into yours, glossing over from ecstasy and pleasure. He pressed his forehead against yours, thrusting harder and needier, sloppier as his orgasm got closer.

“Eddie, I’m- god, I’m gonna cum-” You sobbed, eyes fluttering open and close. You felt blood drip down your back, your skin stinging.

He nodded quickly, gasping as he kissed you hard. “Cum with me.” He rubbed quick and sloppy circles on your clit and you shook and cried, your body convulsing as your orgasm took over. Your eyes went blind and you hyperventilated in his arms, legs around him squeezing as his cock shot his load into you.

“Fuck.” He cursed, biting your shoulder as you squeezed his cock. Your tears hit his shoulders, and you almost thought you were going to faint from how quick your head was spinning.

When he moved to pull away, you squeezed his arm. “No, don’t.” You swallowed. “I don’t think I can stand.”

He laughed breathily and kissed at a tear, nodding.

“And I think my back might be bleeding.” You patted him, eyes closing from exhaustion.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry.” He gently pulled out of you, causing you to wince at the emptiness. “Turn around, let me see.”

You shook your head. “Can’t stand, Ed. M’ serious.”

He chuckled and tucked himself back into his boxers, picking you up gently to carry you back up to the house. You laid your head on his chest and smiled. “Come on, my little crybaby.”

[cosmicanamnesis]

little self-indulgent fic that I'm posting without proofreading, enjoy

steddie, modern AU, idiots to lovers | read on ao3

"It's not a big deal!"

Eddie's crush on Steve was a secret both short-lived and ill-kept. His first mistake was telling the band. Well, no, his first mistake was forgetting that Gareth and Will were dating and that Gareth had the physical inability to keep his fucking mouth shut. But Eddie telling his closest, most trusted friends about the guy he liked was definitely Up There on the list of mistakes.

Which was how Eddie found himself mildly hungover drinking black coffee in his living room while Dustin paced up and down the length of the trailer, berating him for not confessing his doomed love to his alleged "favorite child" sooner.

"HOW is it not a big deal, Eddie?" Dustin said, just a few notches too loud for Eddie's looming headache.

"Because it's not! He doesn't like me! He's never gonna like me! I'm an adult, dude, I have critical thinking skills. I know how to pick my battles."

"It's not- Eddie," Dustin suddenly went stone faced. "It's not about your chances with him. You're moving in with him. He deserves to know."

Oh yeah. There was that. Robin was starting college and there was no way she wasn't taking her Emotional Support Pretty Boy with her. The only place they could find was a 2-bed just slightly out of their budget, and had asked Eddie if he wanted to join them, finally striking out on their own in the city. The agreement was that Steve and Robin would share the bigger bedroom, and Eddie would get the smaller room to himself. Their move-in date was less than a week out when Eddie made his inebriated love confession at his quote-unquote Going-Away-Party.

"It's not about what he deserves, man!" Eddie said, sinking back into the couch. He rubbed his eyes hard to try and relieve some of the pressure building in his head and sighed. "If I don't say anything to him, nothing changes. If I tell him, everything changes!"

"Oh, please. Steve's an adult too, dude, if we tell him you like him but you're well aware that he doesn't like you, he won't make it weird!"

"Wait wait wait, hold up. Rewind. We? Who is we?"

"You and me!" The boys stared at each other in bewilderment for a moment. "Oh come on, Eddie, we both know that if I don't sit here and watch you do it, you're just gonna lie and say you told him when you actually just hid under a blanket listening to Metallica and wishing you had the balls to-"

"OKAY!" Eddie yelled, loud enough for the very shock of his volume to trigger his headache in full force. "Jesus H., kid, you don't need to call me out like that. Fuck. Fine. I'll do it right now, how about that?"

Eddie pulled his phone out and Dustin dropped down hard on the couch next to him, arms already crossed, smug satisfaction already settled on his face.

"That's what I'm talking about!" Dustin scoffed. "Here's what you should say-"

Eddie held up a hand to cut him off. "I'm not listening to you anymore. You had one long distance girlfriend ONCE, you're not some kind of Cassanova here… oh, son of a bitch."

"Son of a bitch what?" Dustin asked, scooting closer to read over Eddie's shoulder.

"I can't do this right now… The last thing I sent him was asking his opinion on the D&D movie and he hasn't responded yet."

"What the absolute fuck does that have to do with any of this?"

"Well I can't be like hey what's your opinion on this movie you know I love because I'm the one who told you to watch it, also I'm in love with you but it's no big deal. Like, what the fuck is that?"

"Oh… Yeah, you have a point." Dustin shifted back away from Eddie, covering his mouth with one hand in concentration.

"I mean… It can wait-"

"It can, but it shouldn't, dude! Shit… I mean, I could tell him, if you want."

Dustin had expected an outright "no" and was shocked when Eddie paused, apparently seriously considering the option.

"Actually… Yeah, could you?"

"Sure, but I'm not letting you see what I say until after I send it."

"You drive a hard bargain…" Eddie said, drumming his fingers on his knee. "Fine. Go for it."

Eddie stood and grabbed his coffee off the table, wandering slowly towards the kitchen, both to find some ibuprofen and to quell his temptation to watch Dustin quickly type a message to Steve.

"Okay. Sent. Now you can look," Dustin announced, beckoning Eddie back over as he downed the medicine. Eddie felt like he'd never moved so fast in his life. The message read,

Eddie wants you to know, before you move in together, he has a crush on you. he won't make it weird if you dont

As Eddie read, the three dots that meant Steve was typing popped up. Suddenly Eddie regretted ever agreeing to this, and pushed Dustin's hand and phone away so he wouldn't have to see Steve's rejection first-hand.

"He responded… Do you wanna know what he said?" Dustin said. Eddie was leaning hard against the armrest of the couch, staring into nothing, imagination running wild.

"Yeah, hit me," he said.

"Oh, alright. Thank you for telling me," Dustin read. "I don't feel the same way about him. I assume you talked to him about telling me."

"So he gets back to you right away but he won't tell me- oh. Never mind. He just responded to my text." Eddie was doing his best to not feel completely devastated by Steve's frankly predictable response to Dustin's text.

"So… What did he think of the movie?"

—

"Uh… Rob?"

"Yeah?"

"Um… Come here and… Just read this."

Steve and Robin were taking a break from packing up Steve's childhood bedroom in preparation for the move when Dustin's text came through. She quickly chugged the last of her soda and came around to Steve's side to see what he was seeing.

"Oh," she said, not bothering to conceal her surprise. "I mean… We knew this was a possibility."

"Yeah, I guess, but… What do I say? I don't like him like that."

"Then say you don't like him like that, dingus. He's probably breathing down Dustin's neck right now waiting to see what you say."

"Yeah, you're probably right…" Steve said. He typed and backspaced and typed something else until Robin got sick of watching and grabbed the phone out of his hand to answer Dustin's text for him.

"Just trust me!" Robin said, actively walking away from Steve as he sputtered indignances, chasing after her halfheartedly. As soon as she sent the text, she turned and shoved the phone roughly back to Steve's chest.

"Oh… Yeah, okay, that makes more sense than anything I was trying to say…" Steve conceded, reading the text Robin sent on his behalf.

—

Steve, Robin, and Eddie saw each other next when they were loading up the U-Haul. No one said anything, and Steve tried as hard as he could to act like nothing was different. It put Eddie's mind at ease while simultaneously driving Robin nuts.

Since Dustin sent the secondhand confession, the only thing Steve had on his mind was Eddie, and how he definitely didn't reciprocate Eddie's feelings, how he was definitely bisexual but Eddie… Eddie wasn't his type. He was pretty, sure, but he was so… Himself. He was loud and unapologetic and into things Steve had never even heard of. They had nothing in common besides their love for the kids.

But Robin saw it coming a mile away.

"It" finally came to fruition a month after they had all moved in together.

It turned out, Steve and Eddie were practically the same person. Same sense of humor, same taste in TV, they even took their coffee the same way. They really only differed in their music tastes, fashion, and theater snack preferences. 

Robin got the text in the middle of her French class.

shmuck: i think i have a crush on eddie

bobbin: FINALLY. please just kiss him and put me out of my misery

Steve came out of the kitchen, bag of chips in hand, to see Eddie just as he'd left him: cross-legged on the couch, demolishing a bag of Sour Patch Kids to the tune of the Criminal Minds theme music. He tucked his phone into his back pocket and rejoined his maybe-crush to watch trash TV until Robin came home.

He didn't know why he was so nervous. He knew Eddie liked him. There wasn't a chase here, he didn't have to flirt or try to win Eddie over… He just had to say yes and Eddie was his. It was different from any other relationship he'd ever been in. Maybe that was why it was so scary. Because it was new.

They watched the episode and bantered back and forth about it, same as always. But before the next episode could start, Steve hit pause.

"Bathroom break?" Eddie asked, hugging a throw pillow to his chest.

"No, uh…" Steve started, unable to even look Eddie in the face. "No… Can I… Can I kiss you?"

Eddie didn't answer right away, which finally inspired Steve to really look at him. His expression was completely unreadable.

"Uh… Yeah, I mean. Yes, absolutely. Um. But what happened to you don't like me like that?" It was such an Eddie response, Steve could almost laugh.

"I, um… I guess I spoke too soon," Steve laughed, trying to be cool and suave and everything else people thought he was in high school. Eddie brought the pillow up to hide his expression.

"Really?" he asked, muffled behind the pillow so that Steve almost couldn't hear him.

"Yeah, really. Just… Since you told me-"

"Dustin told you," Eddie corrected.

"Whatever… I dunno, I guess it put the idea in my head and now… I haven't been able to stop thinking about it… About you- what?"

Eddie was giggling quietly behind the throw pillow, gently rocking himself back and forth as Steve talked. 

"Nothing," Eddie mumbled into the pillow. "Go on."

"You're such a pain in the ass, y'know that?" Steve laughed again. "Can I kiss you or not?"

Eddie slowly moved the pillow away from his face to set it aside, revealing himself to be smiling like an idiot as he turned slightly to face Steve better.

"You understand I've been uselessly pining after you for like, two months now, right? Please kiss me, oh my god."

—

Dustin's phone lit up with a Snapchat notification; a message from Eddie to the D&D group chat. He expected a meme, or for Eddie to ask Jeff for a ride somewhere because his van broke down again.

Instead, it was a picture of Eddie looking smug, leaning against Steve's chest. Steve, apparently unaware he was having his picture taken, had his fingers tangled up in Eddie's curls. The text overlay simply read "hey guys guess what."

The first reply came from Gareth, a picture of him leaning against Will in the exact same position as Eddie was with Steve. "Gross," it said.

Dustin rolled his eyes. Eddie was about to get so much more insufferable.

[1shirt2shirtredshirtdeadshirt]

Early Jim Kirk: Why So Serious?

To the people who said that Paul Wesley's Captain Kirk was "too serious" or that it "wasn't our Jim Kirk":

Let's have a kiki, shall we? :)

A lot of folks seem to forget who Jim used to be before meeting him in TOS.

In an interview, Paul Wesley discussed how different Jim's early character and life was from TOS Kirk. Wesley's study of Jim and his early characterisation was in fact based on TOS descriptions and relevant lore surrounding it. I was not at all phased by the Jim we saw, as early Jim is described as quite a departure from our flirty, confident TOS Jim. Wesley did his homework.

From the chat that Kirk has with Gary Mitchell in TOS (Where No Man Has Gone Before 01x03) and Bones in Shore Leave (01x15) re: Finnegan, we learned in Jim's younger years, Kirk didn't always have that swagger. In fact, Jim used to be a rather serious nerd.

Kirk in the academy was described as "a stack of books with legs", "positively grim", and "watch out for Lieutenant Kirk. In his class, you either think or sink".

He also adhered to Starfleet rules far more in his early years a la Boimler. For example, he reported an error that older officer and very good friend of his Benjamin Finney made on the USS Republic, leading to Finney's demotion and later the events of Court Martial (01x20). He reported one of his own besties to HQ and got him demoted. Quite a departure from how often Kirk violates Starfleet orders and directives for Spock on TOS. Again, he is not the same Jim. Character growth.

I think folks get so wrapped up in Spock being the thinking guy and Kirk being the action guy that they forget: You kind of have to be a brilliant genius and thinker to even get a starship command, let alone the flagship. Jim is not dumb and never was; he is exceptionally smart. Spock is just a freaking GIGA GENIUS and anyone standing next to that might look less bright in contrast. But make no mistake, Jim is also brilliant as a military man and diplomat.

Jim is often stereotyped as a swaggering meathead when he is actually an intelligent and capable diplomat even from his earliest years with Starfleet. As a cadet, he was decorated by Starfleet with the Palm Leaf for his peace mission work on Axanar (Court Martial 01x20). As a Captain, Jim helped to complete just as many successful federation member recruitments as he did take names and kick ass.

Jim loves chess. He loves his dad's old books and classic literature. He memorizes quotes from those texts and references them constantly in TOS. How many jocks do you know out here memorizing classic literature to reference even now in our time? One of Jim's most precious, prized possessions is an old text copy of "A Tale of Two Cities" he got as a gift for his birthday from Spock.

There are still those glimpses of old Jim planted throughout TOS and the movies.

As you examine him and his past, every description of him as a young man in the original series was that he was a nerd. Kirk, as a character, shows how much we change as people from high school/uni to adulthood.

The early Jim Kirk is not the Kirk we knew and loved, and he often comes as a surprise to folks accustomed to the Jim he later becomes. He grows into his own over time and finds himself, like many of us. But Wesley's portrayal seemed surprisingly apt to me, considering early descriptions of James T. Kirk's character.

TLDR: Jim Kirk was described in his early years as "serious", "positively grim", "a stack of books with legs", top of his class, and would report you to HQ for a crumb. This is not the Captain Kirk you knew who took command of the Enterprise in 2265. Jim Kirk used to be a serious, passionate Starfleet nerd.

All in all, I thought Paul Wesley's character study with all this considered was

Anyway, thanks for coming to my Ted X Talk about baby James Tiberius Kirk.

I'd love to hear from you folks, feel free to chip in, add to this or correct any errors. :) LLAP.🖖

EDIT: See Part 2 of this Jim Kirk SNW AU Analysis where I respond to an ask from @letteredlettered​; we get into the importance of the Triumvirate for Kirk Prime, as well as the relevance of why Jim Kirk being assigned the Farragut would be a poor choice of command commission for him. It further solidifies that this is not “our Kirk”, but an AU where we see what would come of our Kirk if he did not get the flagship commission or meet his boays to form the Trek Trinity. 

[mashkara45]

[avastrasposts]

The Pilot and his Girl - ch. 28**

Sorry for the slight delay in this chapter, it's a bit of a "travel" chapter and although I had a couple of scenes I wanted to add, the rest of the chapter just didn't flow. But here it is, finally!

Series Master List

Chapter 29 - Warnings have their own post - Word count: 6.9k

The weather outside the school is a crisp, early fall day, and as you all make your way towards the interstate heading north you relish being away from the city again. The route chosen takes you away from suburban areas as much as possible so for hours you walk through green fields and patches of forest where the leaves have started changing color. It’s like a picturesque fall hike, except all seven of you are armed, guns ready, and walking with your heads on swivels.

Pope’s taken the lead, Joel behind him, not willing to let Pope be all in command. Frankie and you follow Joel, and Tommy brings up the rear behind Will and Benny. By midday you’ve covered a lot of ground and take a break by a small lake. You gratefully sink down onto the ground with your back against a log. The ache in your shoulder is a dull throb and you’re trying to get by without any more painkillers. 

“Just take the damn pills, cariño,” Frankie says when you shake your head. 

“We don’t have that many left, what if we need them for something more serious?” you object and he raises his eyebrows. 

“You can be all brave and stoic when we’re inside a QZ, out here I need you to be as good as you can be with that shoulder.” He holds the pills out again, along with his canteen and you accept them. 

“ ‘Stoic’, big word there, Frankie’,” you tease him as he watches you swallow the pills. 

“The Gladiator film,” he says, grinning, “Marcus Aurelius was a stoic philosopher.” 

“How do you even remember that?” you ask incredulously and Frankie gives you a crooked smile as he sits down next to you. 

“I’ve watched that film like thirty times.”

“Director’s cut with commentary,” Benny chips in, grinning as he sits down on the other side of you. “He was obsessed!”

“How did I not know about this obsession?” you ask, laughing as Frankie reaches across and slaps Benny’s cap off. 

“It’s a masterpiece, and the Academy agrees with me because it got an Oscar for Best Film and-,” Frankie says. 

“No it didn’t, Erin Brockowich won the Oscar for Best Film that year,” Benny interrupts, “I remember Julia Roberts on stage.” 

“Erin Brockowich didn’t win an Oscar for Best Film!” Frankie protest, “Are you out of your fucking mind?!” 

“No, you’re out of your mind if you think Gladiator beat Erin Brockowich, that film was awesome!” 

“It was alright, but it did not win an fucking Oscar for Best Film!” Frankie throws his hands up, “I can’t fucking believe you, Benny, you’re delusional!” 

“Russel Crowe won an Oscar for Best Actor, I’ll give you that, he was awesome. ‘What we fight in life, dies in eternity!’ “ Benny quotes in his best Russel Crowe impersonation. 

“Jesus, Benny, that’s not even the quote!” Frankie sighs with a roll of his eyes as you chuckle. 

“If we had a smartphone with an internet connection, I’d solve this straight away,” you say, giving Frankie a calming pat on his thigh. “But you’ll just have to hope we find a library with an encyclopedia.”

“I’m telling you, Erin Brockowich won an Oscar for Best Film, Frankie!” Benny says and Frankie mumbles something undoubtedly rude in Spanish and pushes himself up. 

“I’m gonna get some lunch, I’ll get you a bowl too, cariño.” With a scowl at Benny he stalks off and you can’t help but smile at the mundane argument between the two men. Benny leans over and chuckles. 

“I totally know Gladiator won the Oscar for Best FIlm, but I just love winding him up.” 

“Benjamin Miller, you are a nuisance!” you laugh as Benny grins and digs into his own lunch. 

You continue on after lunch, until darkness starts to settle. You find a farmstead on the outskirts of a small town and once it’s cleared you all settle down for the night. You’re excused from the watch rosta again and sleep through the night while the guys take turns standing guard. You wake up early again, Frankie had the second to last watch and he’s sleeping soundly, his arm thrown over your waist. He stirs as you shift under him, mumbling in his sleep, and you press a kiss to his forehead, making his lips curl in a drowsy smile. 

“Go back to sleep, Frankie,” you whisper, and as you pull on your boots, you hear his soft snores start back up. 

Joel has the last watch tonight and you find him pacing the yard in front of the farm house, turning as you step through the door. 

“Morning,” you say, sitting down on the porch steps as he turns back towards the yard. 

“Mornin’ “ 

“Quiet night?” you ask, looking out over the field beyond the farmstead as Joel turns and paces back across the yard again. 

“No one came near us but a few groups of infected moving south in the distance,” he replies, turning and coming back towards you again. He stops and looks down at you, his brow furrowed, looking like he has something on his mind. You wait, looking up at him as his jaw ticks. 

“Frankie’s girl,” he says eventually, “Tommy told me. I’m sorry.” His voice is gruff, his eyes not meeting yours, instead scanning the sides of the building. 

“Thanks,” you say, “Tommy told me about Sarah, I’m really sorry too, Lucía loved her.” 

“Yeah.” He stands still for a beat before he turns and paces back across the yard, stopping at the last building and looking out over the fields. 

You remain on the porch, watching his rigid posture, but he doesn’t turn and come back and eventually you hear people moving inside the house and you get up to help with breakfast, leaving him to his vigil. 

You made good time yesterday, Pope shows you on the map how far you’ve come. 

“We should make it to the Boston QZ before nightfall, but it’ll be slower going today since we’re moving through populated areas,” he says, his finger tracing a line across the map. 

“More people, more infected,” you sigh, accepting your backpack from Frankie as he comes over. 

“Yeah, we need to be on our toes today,” Pope agrees, “But, there’s seven of us, I’d think twice before I mess with an armed group that large.” 

“Let’s hope you’re right, Pope,” Will says, scanning the map next to you, “Let’s head out.” 

Pope was right about it being slower going. Only a few miles from the farmstead the suburbs begin, a massive sprawl all around the greater Boston area. The six men quickly fall into a familiar pattern of tactical advancement, you stay close to Frankie, as two men move forwards, covered by the other four, repeating as you move through the neighborhoods. Eventually you leave the suburbs behind and move into Boston, heading towards North End where the QZ is supposed to be located. 

As you’re moving across a large street, you and Frankie in front, you suddenly hear a desperate call for help. Frankie immediately holds up his hand to halt the others, Joel moving up next to you. The call is coming from a side street just up ahead and carefully the three of you move forward, the other four covering your backs. As you clear the corner, guns raised, you see the source of the noise, a young boy is trapped underneath a dumpster, his leg jammed and he’s crying out as he pulls on it. Next to him is a teenage girl, trying to shift the heavy dumpster off his leg. The boy cries out as he sees you, his face twisted in pain. 

“Please, help!” the girl calls, “my brother’s stuck!” She puts her shoulder against the dumpster and tries to shift it again. You holster your gun and start jogging towards the pair. 

“Cariñio, wait!” Frankie calls as he sees you move, following you with his hand out to pull you back. 

“Stop!” Joel bellows and yanks Frankie to the side so that they both tumble to the ground behind a car, you look back at them as you step forward and your leg catches on a wire. You barely have time to register your mistake and then a loud explosion knocks you sideways, showering you with dust and debris, you cry out as you land on your injured shoulder. Your vision is filled with dust, your gasping to catch your breath and your ears are ringing, somehow you register the loud noise of gunshots and then Frankie is on you, pulling you backwards across the ground behind a van. His face is swimming in front of yours as you try to focus on what he’s saying, he’s patting you down, lifting your shirt to and checking your abdomen. You shake your head, trying to clear the fog, and slowly Frankie’s voice comes back to you.

“Cariño! Are you hurt? Tell me where it hurts?” He’s kneeling in front of you, his hands on your shoulders, trying to make you focus on him. A corner of your mind registers that the gun fire has stopped and you try to feel if you’re hurting anywhere. 

“Only my shoulder,” you croak finally, “I landed on it.” You shake your head again and blink and Frankie swims into view, clearer now. “I think I’m ok, my ears are ringing but nothing is broken.” 

“Get her up, we need to move,” Joel barks from somewhere to your right, loud enough to cut through the ringing, and Frankie moves around, putting his arm around your waist and helping you up. You’re dizzy but it fades quickly as you take a few steps towards the street, your legs are a bit shaky but nothing hurts. You glance over at the boy and the girl and see them lying lifeless against the dumpster, multiple bullet wounds leaking blood onto the ground. 

“Let’s move!” Pope yells and Frankie pulls you along, as Will comes up on your other side to check if you need support. 

“I think I’m good, Will, thanks,” you say, your legs feeling steadier with each step. 

“Ok, good,” he replies, glancing over his shoulder at the site of the explosion, his gun raised. “I think you got really lucky, that bomb was made wrong. Lots of noise, very little blast, amateur work.” He catches your eyes and gives you a serious look, “You got really lucky.” You drop your gaze, you know you fucked up, he doesn’t have to say it.  

You all move quickly through the next few blocks and shouts go up behind you, prompting Pope to hastily consult the map before making a sharp turn. “Down here, we’ll lose any pursuers in the alleys,” he says and you all jog along as quickly as possible while still checking every street corner. Eventually you come out on a big highway, following it north and slowing down to a walk again. 

You walk next to Frankie, he keeps glancing over at you but you keep your eyes on the ground or forward on Joel’s back. You put everyone in danger, especially Frankie, by being thoughtless and trusting. Guilt and shame crawls up your limbs and makes your cheeks burn as you remember how both Frankie and Joel yelled at you. You can’t bring yourself to look at Frankie, his concerned eyes, you know he’ll smooth it over, make it out as if it was a mistake anyone could’ve made. But you know that’s not true, the others saw the trap instantly, you just saw two children who needed help and rushed in without thinking. 

“I’m sorry, Frankie,” you finally mumble when you can’t take it anymore. And just like you thought, Frankie immediately takes hold of your hand and strokes soothing little circles onto your skin. 

“Don’t worry about it, cariño, you made a mistake, the important thing is you’re not hurt.” 

You hear Joel growl in front of you and Frankie looks up at him as Joel throws a scowl over his shoulder at you, “You could’ve gotten us all killed, being so fucking trusting, fucking stupid.”

You feel your cheeks heat up again and you bite your lip, dropping your eyes to your boots as you continue walking. But Frankie tightens his hold on your hand as he glowers at Joel’s back.  

“Shut the fuck up, Joel,” he snarls, “she made a mistake and I should’ve been more alert, should’ve seen it first.” 

“Well, that’s just the fucking problem isn’t it?!” Joel snaps, stopping and spinning around to face Frankie and you. “You’re so fucking wrapped around her that you don’t pay attention to anything. Could have fucking clickers tearing the rest of us to pieces but you’d only see her. She’s a fucking liability.” 

You see Frankie opens his mouth to yell at Joel but Will’s firm hand comes down on his shoulder. 

“Ok, that’s enough,” he says, his voice determined and signaling ‘end of fucking discussion’. “We need to keep moving, we’re almost at the QZ. This is not the time or the place.” 

Without a word Joel turns on his heel and marches off, overtaking Pope who’s looking at Frankie with his eyebrows raised. Frankie snaps his mouth shut, his teeth grinding together as he starts walking again. He’s still got a hold of your hand but as you walk you pull away from it, taking out your gun as your eyes scan the broken city around you. Joel words sting, there’s a truth to them, Frankie’s said so himself back in Arlington when you asked to help with the smuggling. ‘I wouldn’t be able to focus on what we’re doing if I know you’re out there too’. He only let you join in the operation when you pleaded with him. And now you’d proven how right he’d been, you made a mistake and his focus had been on you, not the potential danger. You grip your gun tighter, keeping your eyes on the horizon as you swallow down the lump in your throat and keep walking, trying to ignore Joel’s furious form in front and Frankie’s worried looks on your left.  

Downtown Boston is a mess, a wrecked no man’s land of broken buildings and water filled craters. It’s slow going with many detours and uneasy sprints across streets as you follow the broken signs towards the QZ. You stay behind Frankie, your gun out, pointed down towards the ground, stopping when he stops, running when he runs, making yourself small and invisible, avoiding Frankie’s eyes, and Joel’s scowls. 

The QZ gate finally comes into view as the sun sinks behind the broken skyline. You make one final detour on Pope’s suggestion, all of you hiding your rifles and some of your handguns inside a building just out of sight of the gate. 

“Better to stash them here than to let FEDRA take them,” Pope says, marking the building on his map as you hide your gun and holster at the bottom of your backpack. 

You get to the gate, get scanned and taken to a processing center. Since it’s getting late you’re shown to a temporary housing facility, bunk beds set up in the hall of a community center, and given a thin stew for dinner. After the meager meal you get ready for bed, gratefully pulling off your boots and sinking down on Frankie’s bunk bed, you’ve been assigned the one on top. He puts his arm around you and pulls you in to rest your head on his shoulder. 

“Relax now, cariño,” he mumbles, “we got here in one piece.” 

“I’m really sorry about today, Joel’s right,” you whisper, guilt welling up inside you again, “I made a huge mistake that could’ve gotten us killed.” 

Frankie sighs and lets his hand caress your hair as he pulls you in closer, “You made a mistake because you’re you, you’re not a soldier. And I love that,” he adds when he hears you inhale to interrupt. “You’re not a soldier and you shouldn’t have to be, I should keep you safe and I wasn’t paying enough attention today.” 

“Frankie, if you blame yourself for me getting myself blown up today, I’m going to slap you,” you protest and you hear him sigh. 

“But it’s true, I promised to keep you safe, both to you and to myself, and I failed.” 

You pull yourself from his grip so that you can sit up straight and look at him, “You do not get to blame yourself for that and you can’t keep me safe at all times, that’s impossible.” 

“I know, but when I’m right there, right next to you, I should keep you safe, I should’ve seen that fucking trap the second we turned the corner, I need to keep you safe,” his voice shifts, an edge to it you haven’t heard in a few years. 

“Frankie…” you say, taking his hand as you open your mouth to argue, to pull him back from where he’s heading, but he interrupts, cutting you off. 

“I need to keep you safe, you know that,” his eyes are pleading with you, “you know it’s all I have, you’re all I have. If I can’t keep you safe then…then,” he shrugs, shaking his head, “then nothing. I’m nothing. After Lucía…” he trails off, and you cup his face in your hands and lean against his forehead. “You know how close I came to leaving you because I couldn’t keep you safe,” he mumbles, “I have to keep you safe, I have to protect you.” 

“I know Frankie, I know,” you stroke his cheeks with your thumbs but you don’t try to argue with him, you don’t try to convince him, you just try to calm him down. “I promise I’ll be more careful too. And we’re safe now, Frankie, we’re both safe.” 

“I just wanna keep you safe, hermosa,” he mumbles, putting his arm around your shoulder and pulling you into his side and you lean your head on his shoulder again. “I just need to keep you safe.” 

You take his other hand and tangle your fingers with his, rubbing your thumb over the bullseye tattoo and you sit in silence while the rest of the room quietens down, people settling down to sleep. Your own eyes are getting heavy and you stifle a yawn. 

“I hope we can stay here now,” you mumble as he caresses your hair, his fingertips gently scraping against your scalps.  

“Yeah, I hope so, Boston seems good so far,” he looks down at you as you slip further down his shoulder. “Hermosa, don’t fall asleep sitting up, c’mon, get into bed.” He smiles as he nudges you to sit upright again and starts peeling your jacket off. You nod and pull off your hoodie too before climbing up into the top bunk. Frankie stands up and tucks you into your sleeping bag and cups your cheek, his lips finding yours in a soft kiss. 

“Sleep well, cariño, sweet dreams.” He chuckles softly as your eyes close before he’s even finished speaking, pressing his lips to your forehead and settling down in the bottom bunk. 

FEDRA in Boston seems to have the procedure of admitting people down to an efficient art form. It only takes a few hours the next day for you all to be assigned housing, ration cards and told to report to the assignment officer in two days time. The Boston QZ is located in the city’s North End, narrow streets lined by centuries old red brick buildings and surrounded on three sides by water. You’ve all been assigned apartments in the same building, Pope, Will and Benny in one apartment, Joel and Tommy in another and Frankie and you in a small one bedroom place on the top floor overlooking Old North Church. 

Frankie pulls you into his chest the second the door closes behind you. You’ve just managed to drop your bag on the floor when his arms circle around you and the cool tip of his nose presses against your neck. You hear him inhale deeply, probably smelling almost a week’s worth of dirt and sweat on your skin and you shift under him, feeling the need for a shower. 

“I stink Frankie,” you giggle as he holds you tighter when you squirm under him. 

“I don’t fucking care, I let you shower last time I had you alone,” he growls, “you smell great to me, you’re my favourite smell in the world.” 

“Not aviation fuel?” you tease him and he chuckles into your hair.  “Close second, hermosa.” 

He’s walking you backwards into the new apartment, guiding you into a room that turns out to be the kitchen and with a firm grip on your waist, he lifts you up onto one of the counters. 

“Look at this, perfect height and everything,” he grins as he pushes your legs apart, making room for himself between them and pulling you closer. You’ve still got your boots on, and your jacket, and you’re giggling as he starts tugging at the sleeves as he buries his face against the crook of your neck, placing wet kisses on your salty skin. When he uses his teeth, nipping that spot just under your ear, your giggles turn into a gasp and he bites harder, making you moan so that he can feel the sound come from your throat. You fight with your sleeves, finally freeing yourself and throwing your jacket on the floor and tangling your hands in Frankie’s soft curls, pushing off his cap and pulling his lips up to yours. The back of your head thumps against the cupboard behind you when he meets your kiss, his tongue greedily licking into your open mouth and pushing you back. When his hands roam under your t-shirt and caress along your sides, up your back, his fingers feel hot on your skin, making you shiver with pleasure and you tilt your head back with a soft moan. Frankie lets his mouth leave yours and instead sucks a mark into your neck, the soft tip of his tongue coming out to taste the goosebumps his scraping teeth leaves behind. 

He pulls away enough to pull the t-shirt over your head and you reach out to tug off his shirt too, to be honest, it stinks, as does yours, they both end up on the floor. His skin is still tanned and golden from the day you spent on the boat, his freckles sprinkled over his shoulders and chest and before he claims your skin again, you lean forward and smooth your hands over the wide expanse of his shoulders. Frankie’s hands are stroking your back, up into your hair, letting his nails scrape along your scalp as you pull him closer and trail wet kisses between his freckles. His skin tastes like salt and dust, the unwashed cotton of his t-shirt leaving its own scent, but underneath you can still smell him. You can feel his throat hum when your lips move up over his Adam's apple and into his scruffy beard, nosing against the sweet bare patches that never fill in. 

“Do I stink, cariño,” he says and you can hear the smile in his voice and you nod, letting your lips wander down along his throat again, your hands slipping down over his chest. 

“You taste like salt and smell like sweat,” you murmur into his skin, enjoying the warmth that’s radiating from him, the stillness in the apartment and the calm that comes from being safe and having time. And you take your time, Frankie standing still between your legs, his hands in your hair, letting your fingertips map out a path between his freckles that you follow with your mouth. Tasting him slowly, your tongue slipping over his skin, the pebbles on his throat, the hollow just at the base. You test the give of his flesh, biting lightly like you always do, until he hums with pleasure, egging you on to bite down harder. Your mouth finds a soft spot, just beneath his collar bone, and your tongue caresses it. When the pads of your fingers drag across his dark nipples as your teeth graze his skin, biting down, he hums again, a hushed moan at the back of his throat. The sound, his soft little whine, sends a shiver down your spine, making you grip your legs around his narrow hips, heat pooling in your core and you let your fingers slip down his soft belly until you find the coarse trail of dark hair that leads down under his jeans. 

He lets you undo his belt and buttons, the zipper coming down as you cup your hand over the bulge in his tight boxers. 

“Cariño,” he groans, your fingers tracing the outline of his hard cock as his breath stutters, “fuck, that feels good…” he drops into the crook of your neck, his mouth breathing hot air over your skin as you continue to tease him through the warm cotton. His hands have been kneading your hips through the denim of your jeans but now he moves them onto your thighs, stroking his thumbs up along the inside towards your core and up to your belt, tugging at it. He makes quick work of it even when he has to stop and groan as your fingers become more firm around him. You lift your hips and he pushes your jeans down your legs, cursing as they catch on your boots. 

“Take them off, Frankie,” you say, palming his heavy length again, pulling a deep growl from him as he bites down on your shoulder, making you whine and squeeze him in response. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, pulling away and crouching down to untie your laces, quickly pulling each boot off, letting your jeans fall on the floor before he kicks off his own boots and jeans. 

“Counter or bed?” he asks, pulling your legs around his waist again, his hard length pushed up against your wet folds. 

“We’re not gonna last long enough to get to the bed,” you say and he grins, seeking out your mouth as he feels your fingers wrap around his cock and give it a few firm strokes, letting the precum coat the blunt head. 

“Probably not, I’m-” Frankie’s reply gets stuck in his throat as he groans, his hips thrusting into your hand of their own accord. “Fuck, that feels good, hermosa,” he gasps, his cock twitching in your grip.

Guiding him right you look down between your bodies to watch as he pushes in, the stretch making you clench hard around him. He growls, a low rumbling in his throat, his fingers digging into your hips, the slick heat coating his aching hard cock and he feels your pussy pulse around him as you tangle your hands in his hair and pull his mouth to yours. When he starts to move his hips hips he has to squeeze his eyes shut, he wants to fuck you hard, built up tension making his body want to chase release too fast. But you’re just as greedy, he can feel it, your heels digging into his ass, pulling him closer with every thrust of his hips. Your lips slip from his and you bury your face against the crook of his neck, clinging to his shoulders as he slams deep. Every time he bottoms out he grinds against your aching clit, the wiry curls at the base of him slipping across it, making you gasp out hot air over his chest. 

“Frankie…” you moan, “harder…please…I’m so clo..ose,” the last syllable comes out as a whine as he plants his feet firm on the kitchen floor, his hands grabbing handfuls of flesh and slamming into your, pushing you up against the cupboard with a panted groan.

“Fuck, so good…” Frankie pants, “feels so good, I won’t…” 

He has to bite his lip to stop himself from coming, pistoning into you and listening to your whimpering as he hits the right spot. Your nails dig into his back, your teeth scrape across his shoulder as you seize up and cry out, your high hitting you as he grinds deep into your tight heat. The spasm of your cunt around his aching cock, deep inside you, pushes him over the edge. With a growl he pulls you in even tighter, pushing your hips onto his cock, emptying deep inside as he shivers under the onslaught.

You tilt your head back, breathing heavily as your body relaxes around him. He drops his head forward and your arms come up and cradle him against your chest, pressing kisses to the top of his head as stillness falls over you both, the only sound your breathing, as you slowly calm down.

Later, after showers with soap and shampoo, he carries you to the bedroom and places you naked on the bed and kneels by your thighs. If the first time together after a week traveling was rushed and chasing relief, now it’s slow and calm. A soft bed again, a door to close and lock, no one nearby and no need to stand guard. Frankie does what he loves best, he pushes your legs open with his calloused hands and makes himself at home between them, making you whimper his name while his cock aches under him. As your body arches up and you cry out, he pins you down, buries his tongue inside you, and begs you to let him make you come again and again. 

When you finally fall asleep, the sheets are already ruined, your thighs covered in your release and his seed, Frankie’s sweat damp curls a messy halo around his head, the taste of you on his tongue. With your face nestled in the crook of his neck, your head resting on his arm, he pulls the covers over you both and holds you close with his arms circled around you. When you hook your leg over his, he feels like he should simply stay here always, never leave this bed again. Your nose against his throat, warm breath slipping over his chest, your soft waist under his arms and he feels your body rise and fall in a steady rhythm. 

He has to keep you safe. 

“I talked to Joel yesterday,” Will says one evening, a few weeks after you’ve all arrived in Boston. “He’s been looking into trading around the QZ, talked to some of the people selling stuff to see who’s moving what.” 

Frankie and you have joined Will, Benny and Pope in their apartment, continuing your routine of sharing dinners. Tonight it’s your turn to cook and Frankie’s helping you chop up the vegetables while you try to season the rice with what little is available. 

“I invited him and Tommy over tonight, after dinner, to see what they have to say, seems Joel’s keen to get into smuggling, they used to do it in the Austin QZ.” Will says, putting down bowls on the kitchen table and knocking Benny’s feet off it at the same time, “Get your stinky, fucking socks off the table, Benjamin.” 

“Do you know why they left Austin?” you ask, turning to Will, who’s scowling at his younger brother.

“Tommy got friendly with a group of people who were convinced things were better up north and wanted to join them. Joel said he tagged along to keep an eye on Tommy,” Will replies and Benny nods.  “Seems they had a pretty rough journey,” he says, “they lost most of the group, stopped in some QZ:s along the way, moved on when FEDRA got too oppressive or the smuggling got too dangerous.”

“So everyone in the group died until it was only them left?” you ask, seems like you guy got off easy in your journey if that’s how bad it’d been for Joel and Tommy.. 

“No, they left a few behind in Pittsburgh,” Will says, “Tommy said two of the guys found partners there, one of them had a kid, another one was fed up with running, wanted to take down FEDRA there. Thanks, man.” he sits down at the table and accepts a glass of whiskey from Pope. “I think Tommy wanted to do the same but Joel thought it was a bad idea and got Tommy to leave. They were heading to New York but ran into some trouble and decided it’d be safer to go further north.” 

“What kind of trouble?” Pope asks, “New York seems to be the logical choice if you’re leaving Pittsburgh.” 

“I didn’t ask,” Will says, shaking his head, “seemed to be a sore point with Joel so I didn’t push it.” 

You put the pot of stew on the table and everyone sits down, “So the plan is to start up the way we did in New York?” you ask, “And maybe avoid pissing off any local gangs?” 

“Yeah, I guess so,” Will nods with a crooked grin, “Joel seemed to have some ideas so maybe he’s heard something about what’s going on.”

Joel does have plenty of ideas you realize when he and Tommy turn up an hour later. Tommy’s been asking around and there’s a couple of people to approach if you’re looking for something not available with ration cards. But Joel’s been more direct, he’s found a route to get outside and tested it, venturing far outside the wall and picking up the rifles and ammo you left out there. He’s also made a connection with the man who runs the private radio in the QZ and figured out which FEDRA soldiers have what weaknesses and who can be exploited for those weaknesses. 

“How’d you find out all that,” Will asks as Pope and Frankie exchange a worried glance. 

“Asked the right people in the right way,” Joel grunts, stretching out his long legs as he leans back on the couch. 

“What do you mean, ‘the right way’?” 

Joel eyes Will for a few seconds before he responds, “I ask and make sure they know they need to tell the truth;” he says, his tone curt and crossing his arms over his chest, his face closed off, it’s like watching a shutter come down the way he clenches his jaw tight. There’s a menacing tone to his voice that makes you shudder when he says it and by the way Frankie tilts his head and shoots a quick glance at Pope, you know you’re not the only one who picked up on it. 

“Joel, you know I’ve been smuggling for years,” Will says, “We’ve got to be more subtle or FEDRA’s gonna catch on and we haven’t got any protection in place yet.”

“That’s what I’m getting us,” Joel says, “protection. And, speaking of protection,” he looks over at Frankie, he’s sitting next to you as usual, with his arm over your shoulder, “you two can’t go on runs together, you don’t prioritize right when she’s with you and it puts the rest of us in danger.” 

“Joel,” Benny interjects, he can see Frankie’s hackles rising, “we came all the way from Arlington and it was never an issue, Fish’s got everyones’ back.” 

“She nearly got us killed yesterday,” Joel growls, “because he wasn’t paying attention to covering us, only her. No offense, darlin’,” he says, looking over at you and you’ve never felt less like someone’s ‘darlin’ with the way he’s looking at you, “I’m sure you can handle yourself, but I ain’t working with you and Frankie together when it’s plain as daylight who his first priority is.” Joel shifts his look over to Frankie before he lands on Will, “He’d try to save her even if it was hopeless, he’s too focused on her.” 

“Well, I guess that’s us out then, Will,” Frankie growls just as low as Joel in response, “because I’m not letting her go out on a run without me.” 

“She’s a good shot and a great look out, Joel,” Pope interjects, looking at you and giving you a small smile, “I’d work with her any day. And Fish, I trust him with my life,” Pope looks over at Joel again, “we need both of them.”

“Like I said,” Joel is standing up, getting ready to leave, “I’m sure she can handle herself and I know Frankie’s as skilled as any of you guys, but I don’t trust them together, she makes him unfocused and I ain’t risking my life for it.” 

Frankie opens his mouth to snarl something, but Will’s quick nod at him makes him snap his mouth shut while Tommy stands up and joins Joel at the door. 

“Thanks for the whiskey, see y'all tomorrow,” he says, giving a wave as Joel disappears out the door and he follows, an uncomfortable silence falling over the room when they’re gone. You’re chewing on the inside of your cheek, your eyes on your hands and you feel Frankie’s fingers flex around your shoulder. He inhales and opens his mouth to say something but you cut him off. 

“I’ll just stay behind, you need Frankie more than me,” you say to the room, “and you need Joel more than me.” 

“Cariño, fuck him, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Frankie says, squeezing you under his arm but you shake your head. 

“He’s got a point, who would you save first, him or me?” You’re looking at Frankie and you can see in his eyes that he knows full well you’d be the first one he’d save, and you’d do the same for him. You hadn’t seen it until Joel put his finger on it, but your bond puts everyone else in danger. 

“It’s never been an issue, hermana,” Santi says from his corner of the couch, “we’re not in the army anymore, different rules apply and we adapt around it. Will would save Benny first if he had to choose.” 

“But Frankie doesn’t even want me going on smuggling runs,” you say, “I had to twist his arm to let me come,” Frankie’s eyes are pained when he meets yours, “You would rather I stayed behind and be safe.” 

He sighs, running his hand over his neck, “Yeah, I would, you know I hate the thought of you getting hurt, or worse.”

“So I won’t go anymore,” you shrug, pretending it doesn’t bother you, and stand up, getting ready to leave, “If I’m with you on a run your focus will be on me, and I know you won’t let me go with someone else. It’s just better if I don’t go at all.” You know Frankie isn’t fighting you on this because it’s what he wants, he’s trying to hide it but you see relief in his eyes as he gets up to join you. The other men remain silent, Benny opens his mouth to say something but thinks better of it, closing it again as he stands up. He surprises you with one of his signature bear hugs instead. 

“I’d have you on my team any day,” he mutters close to your ear as his arms crush you to his chest, “fuck Joel.” His support makes you smile and you give him an extra squeeze before letting go. 

You’re subdued when you get back to your own apartment and Frankie hovers in the living room as you go to the bathroom to brush your teeth. You know him well enough after all these years to know what he’s doing, and when he comes in and leans on the door frame, watching your evening routine, you know he’s getting ready to speak after sorting the words in his head. 

“Cariño,” he begins, his hand shooting up and rubbing across his neck, “I can’t pretend like I won’t be calmer if you’re here, safe, instead of out dealing with FEDRA patrols, raiders and infected and all the other shit. Joel’s right, when we’re out there, I’m always focused on you, and I’m always worried about you, in a way I never was when it was just me and the guys on missions in the army or doing runs with Pope in Arlington.” He’s gripping the door frame, grinding his fingers into the wood as he speaks, his eyes seeking yours in the mirror as you continue to brush your teeth. When you look at him he takes a tentative step towards you, his hand coming out and resting on the small of your back, as if he wants to circle your waist and pull you close, but he’s not sure how you’ll react yet. “I know you wanna come with me too, I know you worried about me when I went out with Pope, but it’ll be different now, I’ll be with Will and Ben too, we’ll be able to handle anything, it won’t be as dangerous as before.” 

You spit the toothpaste out and rinse your mouth before meeting his eyes in the mirror, “I hate it,” you say, giving your head a small shake, “the idea of you being out there, in danger, I fucking hate it.” 

“I know,” Frankie says softly, his arm coming all the way around your waist and you lean into him. 

“If you don’t come back, I’m coming after you, you know that right?” you whisper into his chest. 

“I’ll come back, I promise I’ll always come back.” He’s turning you so that he’s got you pressed against him, his arms around you and holding you tight as he drops his head against the top of yours. 

“You can’t promise that, Frankie.” 

“Watch me,” he mumbles, “Just fucking watch me.” 

Chapter 29

Taglist: @pimosworld @i-own-loki @casa-boiardi @littlenosoul @stormseyer @mxtokko @javicstories @nunya7394 @welcometothepedroverse @harriedandharassed @meveispunk @hiroikegawa @jwritesfanfics @vickie5446

[cha-melodius]

Firstprince, and look don’t ask me why this is what my brain came up with but: meetcute at the STI clinic

(OMG, I love your brain so much. This made me cackle and immediately start writing it. Thanks so much, hope you enjoy!)

chamel's fandom fest info | read all the fics

Getting Clinical

(firstprince, 2k, T; read it below or on AO3)

Alex has to admit that the very last thing that he expected to get upon coming out to his mother was an appointment made in his name at an LGBTQ+ focused sexual health clinic near his apartment. Really, he should have known better, given the PowerPoints that resulted from said coming out, but still. He’s a grown-ass man with a career. He lives on his own in a city in which she does not live. He can take care of himself.

He still goes to the appointment when he gets back to New York. It’s already made, after all, and it’s been a while since he was tested. Since he’s had any sexual partners, in point of fact; he’s been more or less a hermit for the past couple of years, throwing himself into his work and only letting Nora and June drag him out on rare occasion. The whole bisexual revelation had been a slow thing, born of the unexpected feelings evoked in him when one of the senior partners at his law firm came out as gay, in combination with finding himself staring a little too long at the shirtless male leads when he’d put on The Mummy or Indiana Jones on in the background while working late nights at home. He hasn’t actually acted on any of this newfound knowledge save for flirting a bit with the barista at the coffee shop in his building.

He’s gonna, though. He’s determined to get out there and meet someone. A number of someones, maybe—why not have some fun while he’s discovering a bit more about himself? Explore what’s out there. So it makes sense to just go when he gets the email from his mom with a screenshot of the appointment confirmation.

“I wonder if anyone’s done a comparative study of these lubes,” Nora says, too loudly, from where she sits beside him inspecting a selection of samples that she’s collected from a display in the waiting room. More than one person waiting nearby looks over at them, and Alex sinks a little deeper into his chair.

“Ugh, why are you here again?”

“For the moral support,” she chirps with too much glee. “Not like I have any need to be tested right now. Although, June and I did meet this very intriguing guy—”

“All right, enough of that,” he interrupts sharply before she can say any more about her and his sister’s sex life. He already knows far too much about it as it is. “No one asked you to come.”

Nora tips her head at him. “Not in so many words, no. But if I had to listen to one more minute of you hemming and hawing about whether you could make the appointment or whether this was the ‘right place for you’”—she adds the air quotes, annoyingly—“I was gonna start breaking things.” Something softens in her expression, then. “You do belong in these spaces, you know.”

“I know,” he mutters, staring down into his lap. He’s even getting better at believing it.

At that, Nora returns to her lube investigation, and Alex rage-reads some twitter threads until someone steps up to the empty chair next to him and says in a mellifluous British accent, “Pardon me, is this seat taken?”

The waiting room is not that crowded, so Alex doesn’t know why this guy needs to sit directly next to him. He’s in the middle of trying to figure out a polite way to convey this when he finally looks up and right into what he’s pretty sure are the bluest pair of eyes on the planet. Jesus fuck, this man might be the most attractive person he’s ever laid eyes on in person. He doesn’t actually seem like he could be real, but he’s here, looking hopefully at Alex like he wants to be next to him, which is, let’s just say, intriguing—

“It’s only— there’s an outlet on the wall here, and my phone is dying,” Blue Eyes says with an apologetic smile.

Right. So, not particularly interested in sitting next to Alex, then. And that’s definitely not a hollow feeling of disappointment settling into his stomach.

“Yeah, no problem, man,” Alex says, trying to school his expression into something appropriate for conversing with strangers. “It’s all yours.”

Blue Eyes thanks him and takes the seat as he reaches into his bag to pull out a phone cord. The thing is, the outlet is kind of under the chairs and between the two of them, which necessitates some twisting and bending as he tries to blindly reach for it. That definitely doesn’t seem to be working, though, so Alex ends up twisting in his chair too to try to see if he can help.

“A little lower, I think—”

“Oh, thank you, I just can’t quite feel—”

“Fuck, you’re too far now— look, you need to shift to the right, yeah, there—”

“Ah, there it goes,” Blue Eyes murmurs with a pleased hum that brings to mind a very different setting than the one they’re currently in.

This seems to occur to Blue Eyes at the same time as it does Alex, which is approximately when they both look up and realize that their faces have ended up quite close together. Blue Eyes’ cheeks are rapidly turning a lurid pink; Alex quickly replays their previous exchange in his head and yeah, fuck. Suggestive doesn’t seem to begin to cover it. Slowly, Blue Eyes straightens, his posture stiff and eyes fixed on the floor in front of him.

“Er, thank you,” he coughs.

“Don’t mention it,” Alex mumbles in response.

A strained silence settles over them that’s somehow heavier than your usual odd-encounter-with-a-stranger awkwardness. At some point during this encounter, Nora had disappeared to god knows where, so Alex doesn’t even have her company to fall back on. He scrolls on his phone without actually reading anything on it, half hoping one of them will be called into the doctor and half dreading it. Next to him, Blue Eyes is typing furiously with his thumbs.

Alex shouldn’t interrupt him. Just… mind his own business. That would be the reasonable thing to do.

Oh well.

“So, come here often?” he tries to joke, only to realize too late the implications behind asking such a question in a sexual health clinic. He grimaces, hard. “Fuck, I didn’t mean— you don’t have to answer that. I was just— trying to make it not awkward.”

To his relief, Blue Eyes just looks amused. “And made it exceedingly awkward instead?” he replies with a tiny smirk tilting his perfect mouth. There’s a mole right next to the corner of it that Alex would very much like to bite. “I do visit regularly, in fact,” he continues after a moment. “I consider my and my partners’ sexual health to be very important.”

Fuck, that just makes him hotter, which shouldn’t be physically possible. “Lucky person,” Alex hears himself say. “Your partner.”

“Oh, I, uh,” Blue Eyes stammers slightly. “I’m not dating anyone. Currently, that is. I’m just getting out of a relationship, actually.”

“Sorry,” Alex winces.

“Don’t be,” he replies lightly, a flickering smile on his lips. “I’m well shot of him. Anyway, it’s been long enough. Thought I should get back out there.”

“Oh,” Alex says. That’s a good sign, right? Alex could just ask him out. They could have fun if nothing else. That’s all he’s looking for right now. And he’s good at picking people—women, anyway—up. Or was, historically. He just needs to… say something charming. “Well, good luck, then.”

Not that.

He’s really, really hoping he’s not misreading the look of resignation that flickers across Blue Eyes’ face. Before Alex can figure out how to make his big mouth say something useful, though, Blue Eyes’ gaze flickers up behind him. “Ah, your partner’s returned.”

Alex glances back long enough to see Nora flopping down into the chair next to him with more lube samples. “Oh, she’s not my—”

“Alex?” a nurse calls from the other side of the waiting room, leaving him little other choice but to get up and follow her. Blue Eyes shoots him a tight smile and a tiny nod of acknowledgement that they’re probably never going to see each other again before Alex turns and starts walking away.

He’s halfway through the door to the exam rooms when he glances back to see Blue Eyes still watching him, which is frankly more than he can take.

“Sorry, just— forgot something,” he says to the nurse before all but sprinting back to his chair. He plucks Blue Eyes’ phone right out of his slack grip, opens a new contact page, and types in his number. Then, as if he’s in some kind of fever dream, he actually says, “Let me know when you get your results,” and winks.

Alex hurries off again before the nurse can call after him, leaving one extremely stunned Brit in his wake.

~~~~

A week later, Alex’s test results from the clinic show up in his inbox. He’s clean, of course, no surprises there, but the visit itself had been worthwhile—he’d found himself talking to the doctor about aspects related to his health and wellness that went beyond what he might encounter now that he’d be branching out, so to speak—so all in all, not a waste of time.

His phone stays silent, though.

Of course it was always a long shot. That doesn’t change the bitter taste of disappointment on his tongue that not even his endless cups of coffee can cover up. He gets the results on a Friday and lets himself be dragged out to a club on Saturday night to ‘celebrate’, though he ends up politely rebuffing the advances of everyone who hits on him. Nora gives him a look after the third one—a tall, gorgeous brunet with a jaw chiseled out of marble and blue eyes that do give him a half a second of pause—but he shrugs her off.

On Monday morning, he’s in the middle of a conference with a partner and a client when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He assumes it’s Nora or June, so he nearly drops the damned thing on the floor when he finally gets out and swipes open to see a screenshot of an email that looks suspiciously familiar. There’s one key difference, though: under ‘name’ at the top, the text says Henry Fox-Mountchristen.

The screenshot has been sent without comment or followup, just a dry, clinical report, and somehow it’s still one of the sexiest texts he’s ever gotten. Fuck, he’s at work.

Which is exactly what he sends back to Henry. (Henry, he thinks, mulling over the name. It suits him. Alex would very much like to taste it, pressed into his skin.)

Apologies, but you did ask to be informed.

Am I to assume this was an academic interest, or…?

nothing academic about what i want to do to you, sweetheart

Right, then. Jolly good. Are you free this weekend?

Alex wants to say he’s free tonight, actually, so they can put those results to good use, but halfway through writing his reply, he stops. Yes, he wants Henry in his bed, but he also doesn’t want Henry to think he’s only interested in sex. Which is exactly the opposite of what he told himself he was going to do when he started exploring his bisexuality. He shouldn’t be looking for a relationship, and there’s no guarantee Henry is interested in one either. Maybe he’s just busy until then.

Alex thinks another moment, then sends back: what did you have in mind?

~~~~~

(Henry takes him on a date date, all romantic candlelit dinner with a single red rose and a walk in Central Park afterward with their fingers tangled together. And when he finally leans in to kiss Alex, it’s soft and sweet and Alex feels it down to his fucking toes. So, like. That’s a whole thing.

Turns out that they do make good use of their test results that night, thoroughly. And again, the next morning in the shower. And again and again, until they each get a reminder email from the clinic that it’s time for a regular screening.

Which they each promptly delete.)

[thebibutterflyao3]

Day 21 - Prompt: Cowardly @wolfstarmicrofic

January Daily Series - 797 words

<<<Previous Post OR Start Here

Sirius knew that it was cowardly of him to hold back while Remus attempted to cross the chasm between them on his own. It wasn’t fair for Remus to risk the fall alone. That was an inescapable fact, but Sirius simply could not balance that risk with enough sound, logical reasons to meet him halfway.

Remus stepped in the kitchen and propped his hip against the counter next to the sink. “I’m not great at reading subtle hints, Sirius. So, if you’re not interested in me, that’s completely understandable. I’m not offended.”

Completely understandable. Now who’s spouting bullshite?

“If there is a part of you that could have feelings for me, even a small one-“

None of my emotions are small.

“If there’s a chance, I mean, for this to be something…eventually, maybe…I’d like to know,” Remus said. His rambling was painfully sweet.

Say something, you twit!

Remus brushed his fingertips over Sirius’s knuckles and traced the pattern of the tiny bird whose swooping path lined the tops of all of the fingers on his right hand. When he reached the shadowed figure of a bird beneath the nail bed of his middle finger, he tapped it twice. Sirius wasn’t sure if it was in approval of the bird’s placement or an attempt to pull his attention away from the empty sink.

“Or, am I making an arse of myself for hoping that a brilliant bloke who quotes Chaucer, The Guinness Book of World Records, and Roman history in casual conversation would give me the time of day?”

Sirius scoffed, “You make that sound impressive, instead of incredibly lame.”

“It’s impressive to me.”

“Then you’re easily impressed,” Sirius replied, shaking his head. “I’m well-read, that hardly means I’m brilliant.”

“Agree to disagree?”

“No.”

Remus huffed an amused breath through his nose. “Right, I should have seen that coming. You still didn’t answer my question.”

Sirius eyed the tattoo that still tingled with a phantom of Remus’s touch. “I can’t see how it would work, even if I wanted to. Our lives are too far apart.”

Remus covered Sirius’s hand with his own and fitted his long, knobby fingers in between. He pulled a pen from the pocket of his flannel pyjama pants and connected the lines of the bird’s path that his own fingers disrupted. With his additions, the trail became smoother overall. The wild loops were now tempered by gently sloping intersections.

“Paths can change,” Remus said, tucking the pen away. “If we want them to.”

“I like my path the way it is.”

Sirius hated how defensive he sounded, but he meant what he said. He loved living with his best mate in Edinburgh. It was an enchanting city filled with history, the Potters lived nearby, and it was the one place where he felt truly happy. While he didn’t think Remus wanted to ruin that for him, he honestly couldn’t see how a clever Welsh bloke fit. Not without entirely uprooting his own life anyway, and Sirius wouldn’t ask anyone to do that.

“Oh, I see.”

Remus pulled his hand back and shoved it in his pocket. A flush spread over his cheeks, highlighting the yellowing bruise under his eye. A bruise that Sirius gave to him two days ago. The one he’d kissed with a tender affection that even surprised him.

“I seriously doubt that you do,” Sirius countered. He offered Remus a smug grin as he turned to face him. “Nothing about my life is incidental, Remus. It is intentionally crafted. Where I live and with who, my family and friends, my career path, all of it. I don’t leave anything to chance. The only missing piece was my brother, which is now sliding into place as well.”

Remus nodded slowly, then hummed a note of rebuttal. “There’s already a conflict in your life plan though. Is that intentional too?” A flicker of hope in his eyes left Sirius uneasy.

“Which is?”

“With Regulus and James together, won’t that change it?”

Sirius frowned. “No, why would it?”

“Your brother lives in London,” Remus said. “If they stay together, one of them will have to move.”

“James and I will make room in our flat.”

Remus arched a sceptical eyebrow as his gaze swept over Sirius with detached assessment. “You want to share a flat with your brother and his boyfriend? Do you really think he’d want to do that?”

Sirius’s brain screeched to a halt, then the wheels spun wildly. After being separated for years, they had plenty of catching up to do. What better way to accomplish that than by living together? Surely his brother would agree. Except, Regulus rarely agreed with him on anything.

Shite. Is he right? If the plan is already changing, then perhaps there is room for…him?

Next Part>>>

[mendesbadrepuation]

|| Hear You Me || Joe Burrow

Based off A Cinderella Story (with Hillary Duff)

A/N: I realize that this was a long time coming. Yes, I have been absent for a HOT minute. For that, I truly am sorry. But my absence will always bring new content :P My best friend has been begging for this scenario for a lonnnggggg time and I told her it would take time for me to come up with this. Just like they always say…good things take time ;)

Pairing Joe Burrow x reader

Trope: best friends to lovers

Warnings: Joe just being too stupid to see what was right in front of him all along! Angst and fluff! This was very much rushed as well and I am sorry for the time jumps :/

__________

The night air was turning colder but your body was warm. The water in the hot tub was just the perfect temperature and the jets were soothing your sore muscles. A glass of wine was perched in between your fingers and you gaze out to the city lights shining brightly. You may have been bias but Cincinnati did have the best skyline.

“Scoot over!” Your silence was broken as you see Joe coming through the sliding doors of the patio. He was wearing his swim shorts and the moment the cold air touched his skin he wrapped his large arms around his body. He was trying to keep as much heat trapped in his body as if he wasn’t about to sit in a hot tub.

You lightly giggle at his behavior and scoot over a little to allow him room to get in. He quickly steps in and sinks down slowly to allow the water to submerge him. He scoots in close to you and this relaxed sigh leaves his lips once he settles.

“I told you the hot tub would be worth it.” You say and thank your past self for purchasing it. You’ve wanted one for a long time for a lot of reasons. Joe said it would be a waste of money and he even offered to just buy you one so you’d shut up about it. You told him no because you wanted to earn that after all the hard work you put up with. Late hours at work was definitely worth every second for this moment.

“Debatable. You should have just let me buy it for you.” Joe closes his eyes and leans his head against the head rest. His body sinks even further to where his legs stretched across the tub.

“There’s no satisfaction in that.” You argue back.

“Whatever you say babe.” Joe mumbles and the pet name made you crane your neck towards him. That’s the third time he’s used that this week.

“What’s up with you and the word babe lately?” You put the air quotes around babe.

He shrugs his shoulders like it’s nothing. In all the 7 years of knowing Joe he’s never called you that. In fact, he’s only ever called you by your nickname he made for you. You two have had a long history of friendship. On either ends of the relationship you have dealt with a lot. A lot of breakups, drama, stress, and simple life hassles.

Within in the last year you began to have some subtle new feelings arise to the surface for him. Everyone knows those feelings and they all start so innocently. Of course, you love Joe. You two said it frequently but it never meant nothing more than the I care for you kinda I love you.

It wasn’t until you and him were placed in one of your college friends wedding together did you first feel it. You told yourself it was just the atmosphere from that night that made you think differently. You tried so hard to push the thought away. But it just kept coming back and it kept coming back in different forms.

In little segments or moments you slowly started to fall for your best friend. You didn’t really put it together until Joe did one thing for you. It was so simple but it’s what tipped the iceberg for you. He was there for you the moment you needed someone the most. And he saw that and knew what he had to do.

“Where did you just go? You just got really spaced out.” Joe asks and he was staring at you intently.

“Oh-I-“ you pause to come up with an excuse but nothing appeared. “Did you know this has a speaker?!” You excitedly stand and reach across Joe to get to the speaker that connects to your phone.

He grins at you as you fiddle with the volume and song selection. Your body was so close to his and deep inside of him he was losing it. Yet he knew he could never cross that thin line you two have between each other. He was terrified of losing you if he did.

You were trying to adjust the jets and your body began to slip from the position it was in. When your foot slipped was when you then fell onto Joe’s lap. Instantly your cheeks were red and not just that small pink tint, the fiery red tint. He caught you at your waist. His large hands held onto your bare sides and you’re not sure if you’d adjusted the temperature accidentally from the fall. Because the area was beginning to heat up.

His eyes meet yours as you still sat frozen in his lap. Neither of you were attempting to move from this position. Those blue eyes were glistening even more from the steam and city lights reflecting in them.

It all happened so fast. In the blink of an eye you were leaning in and he was pulling you closer to him. He places his hand up behind your neck and just like that he guides you towards his lips. The moment your lips collide is the moment everything started to align. It was an innocent kiss but a passionate one. It was as if all the energy between you two had been released.

That one kiss led to more kisses. The kisses became longer. You adjusted yourself to properly face him and straddled his thighs. He held on to you so tight. With each lingering kiss he pulls you in further and further. His hands were roaming your body. In all his years of knowing you he wondered what this would feel like. It was better than he could ever imagine. You were gasping for air and so was he. The steamy hot water multiplied everything in that moment.

“Joe.” You pull away for a moment to look him in the eyes again. It was like everything shifted inside of him. There was this unreadable look in those eyes now.

“Um I-“ He was at a lost for words and suddenly you were being lifted up off of him. He stood from his seat and climbed out of the hot tub. “I think I should go.” He announces and starts to dry off very quickly.

“Joe wait a second. We should talk about this.” You stood up and began to climb out as well. He was already through the doors that lead into the living room. You grab your towel and rush inside after him.

He was picking up his sweatshirt and throwing it over his torso in a rush. “Joe please we have to talk about this.” You step across the room to reach him but he was not listening to you.

“I shouldn’t have done that.” He says and those words stung so much.

“What do you mean ‘I’? We both made that decision.” You were trying to remain calm so he would calm down enough to talk about this.

“I shouldn’t have let it continue.” He slings his bag over his shoulder and turns away.

“So that’s it. After 7 years of this friendship you are going to turn your back on me and leave. I thought what we had was better than that.” Your eyes fill with tears and you swallow the lump in your throat. Is this a nightmare?

“I need some time to process this.” His words were short as he stood in front of you. You could see the way his tough guy ego was beginning to falter.

“Time?? Joe just talk to me. We can work this out. Please don’t leave like this.” You could hear the shakiness in your voice. Your hand reaches out for his and he pulls back away from you.

A small single tear spills over the edge and you frantically wipe it away. He takes long strides to your front door and you follow close behind him.

“Joe please.” You beg of him to acknowledge anything that just happened.

“I have to go. What just happened between us was a mistake. I need time.” Joe’s words left you concreted to the floor in a state of shock. The word mistake rang in your ear so loud.

There were no words that you could muster up to say to that. Before you knew it he was in his car and speeding down the road away from you.

—————-

A month has passed by since the kiss. Joe was now heavily drawn into his season and you were going through the motions everyday. He seemed to be doing alright without you. All his post conference interviews he seemed put together. Like nothing ever happened.

Joe hasn’t spoke to you since that night. You wanted to respect his wishes of needing time and space. But now you felt betrayed. You were missing your best friend terribly.

It was only a matter of time before you two would somehow cross paths again. Your friends all intertwined and parties did happen quite frequently. His teammates began to notice your absence rather quickly. When they questioned him about it he just brushed it off as if it was nothing. All of his closest teammates like Sam and Ja’Marr began to worry about him. He was not himself lately and it was beginning to show in practice and games.

“Joe what’s up with you and Y/n? Why hasn’t she been to our post game parties and even the wives and girlfriends at tailgates have been asking about her.” Sam comes up to Joe after practice.

Joe was sitting in front of his locker staring at his phone. He was looking at a picture of you from Halloween last year. You were decked out in a Star Wars Jedi costume. You stood in a stance with a lightsaber held in your hands as he snaps the photo. He remembers so much from that specific night.

That was the night he realized he was falling in love with you.

Joe looks up from his phone and quickly locks his screen to hide what he was doing. “What did you say?” He asks Sam to repeat himself.

“Alright that’s it. Talk to me man. You are not yourself lately. It’s starting to show on the field.” Sam cautiously begins to question Joe’s behavior.

Joe sighs and looks at Sam with this pleading look. “I messed up man.” Joe replies.

That’s when Sam pulled up a chair and sat there to listen to what Joe had to say. From the very beginning he told everything and he told his true feelings. Joe made the biggest mistake of his life walking out on you that night.

“Tonight we have our annual bonfire. One of the wives made sure that Y/n was going to be there. You need to talk to her tonight and apologize.” Sam gives the best advice he can. "Most importantly, you need to tell her how you really feel."

"Sam I can't. What if she doesn't feel the same way and it totally alters our relationship. I'd rather be in her life than not." Joe says.

"If you keep ignoring her like this, you will lose her for sure. The what if's are scary but what you did is not fair to her. She did nothing to deserve that. You need to try and fix this." Sam explains.

“It’s not going to be that easy. But I will try my best.” Joe replies.

After their talk they both go home and get ready for the bonfire that was held at Evan’s place. It was kinda ironic that Evan was the kicker and he was the one with the huge field to have this bonfire. A kicker and a field. It’s not really that ironic.

Joe was sitting by the large fire talking with his teammates. You were nowhere in site yet and Joe was beginning to think you wouldn’t show.

It took everything in you to get the courage to go. You parked your car out in front of the house and began walking towards the back entrance where the gate was. You saw all the girlfriends and wives sitting at the patio area talking and drinking a glass of pink lemonade. You knew it was spiked lemonade but that didn’t bother you one bit.

Everyone of them light up when they spot you coming through the gate. Each of them gives you a hug and asks where you’ve been. They missed you. It wasn’t uncommon for you to be the funny one in this mixed group. They love to hear your stories and you never fail to make them smile or laugh.

You sat with them for awhile catching up on the latest gossip. The wives in the group always seemed to know the dirtiest of drama. It was like something straight out of a telenovela.

“Y/n.” You hear that familiar voice say your name and you wanted to curse at yourself for the butterflies it caused. He stood across the patio area and stared at you. Joe was in awe of you and not seeing you in a month made all those feelings burst inside of him. He felt a head rush as you connect your eyes.

“Joe.” You stood from your chair and excused yourself from the ladies. You two step away out of ear shot from everyone else.

“I was beginning to think that you were not going to come.” Joe starts the conversation.

“The ladies really wanted to see me. I didn’t really want to let them down.” You reply. There was an uneasiness in your voice and you were building walls up to protect yourself.

“They do love to be around you.” He adds and you awkwardly look around the field. Joe could not do anything else but stare at you and he was doing his best to come up with the right words.

“I should probably get back to the group.” You begin to turn around until his hand reaches for your arm putting a halt to your movements.

“Wait. There is something I need to say.” You face him now and stood firm in your stance. “I just want you to know that I miss you and it’s been really hard without you this past month.” He continues to speak but there was an angry spark beginning to form inside of you.

“Is that all?” Your lips press together in a firm line.

“I’m sorry too. What I did was inexcusable.” He adds and you cross your arms in front of your chest.

“Joe you hurt me.” You say to really get your point across.

This frown forms on his face as he looks at you. “I appreciate the apology. I truly do. This entire month you didn’t once check on me. I know you said you needed your space but Joe that has never stopped you from caring. I thought I lost you.” You have to take a few deep breaths to hold back the tears. You’ve done your fair share of crying lately.

“I wish I could take back everything that I said that night. It was not fair to you. After everything we have been through I walked out on you. I was scared.” He confesses.

“Scared of what?” You question.

“I-“ He tries to find the right words for you. “I was just scared.” Is all he could say.

“Will you just tell me Joe? I’m just trying to understand what went wrong that night. You know as well as I do what that kiss meant.” Your eyes were deeply looking into his. Maybe they would have the answer you want to hear from him.

He stood there frozen in his stance now. Does he say those three words? No. His heart was so afraid of what it would do. He couldn’t do it.

“You know what? It’s not my place. I can’t wait around for you. It’s been a year of me hopelessly falling for you.” You huff out a deep sigh in annoyance. Joe’s eyes light up at the words you just spoke. Then the brick wall that protects his heart appeared so quickly.

“But waiting for you to realize what truly lies beneath the surface is like waiting for rain in the desert.” Joe couldn’t move. He was at a lost for words because everything that she was saying was true. He was to afraid of what could be instead of trying it. That was going to be his downfall.

You were standing up for yourself though. After this past month you had to do something right for you. You cared for Joe so much. That’s why you never let yourself start to heal from those words he said to you after the kiss. You wanted to keep him as close as you could. You blamed yourself for what had happened. A situation like this, it goes both ways. You knew what you had to do.

Time was something that you both needed and hopefully when things are better then you guys can repair what was broken. At least you hoped that. Joe was and will remain to be your best friend.

__________

Two weeks later you found yourself talking on the phone with Sam. He was begging you to come to the AFC Championship. Joe didn’t realize after that night of you walking away from him he lost his charm. His good luck charm to be exact.

Now his career was on the line and the Bengals were headed to the championship. A spot that would earn themselves a Super Bowl game. Joe needed all the support and help he could get tonight. All he could think about was you. He needed you back in his life.

Joe didn’t want to hurt you again though. Maybe that’s why he let you walk away. It didn’t take long for him to realize what mistake he made this time.

“Sam I don’t know. It’s been really hard for me. Even seeing him on tv is difficult. Going to the championship is way worse.” You confess to him as you sat on your couch anxiously chewing your nails.

“Please. He needs you. I know he doesn’t show it. But he needs you now more than ever. I left you your ticket with the box office. Please come. I have to get ready. I hope to see you here tonight.” Sam hangs up the phone and leaves you sitting there questioning everything.

*You can start playing Hear You Me if you wanna set the mood*

The walls you have built were surely crumbling now. You wanted to stay at home and watch rom coms all night until you cried yourself to sleep. Deep down inside of you you knew that no matter what feelings arose to the surface between you and Joe, you had to be his supporter first. He was your friend first and friends wouldn’t let each other down like that. The least you can do is show up. For one night.

With a great unsteady sigh you get up from the couch and begin to get ready. Hanging in your closet was one of Joe’s old jerseys he gave you. It was the middle of winter so you dressed in layers. A black turtle neck was worn underneath the jersey and you chose leggings with loose jeans over top to hopefully keep warm. You wore this jersey a lot. It symbolized many things for you two. It felt normal as you reach for the small gold necklace with the number 9 charm attached to it. Another gift Joe gave you with beautiful memories along with it.

Your heart was heavy and burning as you drove to the stadium. Sam even made sure you had your same parking spot that you preferred. All of those guys became your family and this just goes to show what they would do to make sure their friends are okay. The game just tipped off as you reached the box office. They immediately recognized you and slid the ticket with the pass through the window slot.

You walk through security and make your way down to the lower section in the front row right behind the bench. People noticed you and their faces lit up. You try to keep a soft smile on your face as you watch the game.

Joe hadn’t noticed you yet. You could see the frustration in his eyes and he was not playing like Joe Burrow. You felt nauseated watching the game unfold. People around you were chanting and most of all chanting his name.

You were trying so hard to keep everything together. This was much harder than you ever thought it could be. The man you so desperately love was a couple hundred feet away from you and you only wanted him. He was struggling because of the emotional toll you two have been through.

Something caught your eye quickly and you saw snow flakes begin to fall on to the field. The flakes turned into heavy flurries and filled the area quickly in this white blanket. The white snow complimented the black of their jerseys so well. The game was nearing the end and the score was tied. Sudden death was in play and you were falling apart piece by piece and second by second.

You catch eyes with Sam standing by the benches. There was this thankful look in his eyes from the realization. Joe still had no idea you were there. His body was physically and mentally exhausted as he huddled up with his teammates. This next play was detrimental for the Bengals.

Joe looks up and scans the crowd. He couldn’t help but wonder if you’d be here and the moment he saw you his heart beat skips. His eyes fill with those pesky tears and everything came crashing down at once for him. He allows his impulsive thoughts to take over and one foot led out in front of the other. He could hear his teammates yelling as he pulls his helmet off calling for a timeout.

Zac Taylor was yelling at his quarterback rather aggressively, but Joe was only focused on you. You were beginning to turn and leave so you could get out of this bitter cold snow. You couldn’t bare this place any longer.

“Y/n.” Joe yells your name. The name that rolled so perfectly off his lips. The one name that he wants to call after for the rest of his life. Fear be damned. You were all he ever needed in this world.

You turn around thinking that you were hallucinating. When you see Joe climbing the stadium wall and over the rail you locked up. He slides past a couple people and they all move out of the way to let him through. The stadium was louder than ever before. Joe grabs a hold of your sides and looks you straight in the eyes.

“Joe what are you doing?! You are going to get fined or something worst.” Your eyes were like golf balls as he just looks at you smiling.

“I’m saying something I should have said a long time ago but was the biggest chicken shit ever.” He wipes away the snow flurries that land on your pink cheeks.

“Im falling in love with you. I love you. I’m not scared anymore. I have to have you Y/n.” He confesses and you were in complete shock but a small smile formed on your face at his words.

There Joe stood in front of you, shoulder pads, cleats and sweaty

Joe cups your face and leans down to give you a kiss. The snow falls harder around you guys and the crowd around you was going in a frenzy. Both of you smile into the kiss and Joe lifts you up off the ground. Your arms swing around his neck to hold on to him.

“I’m sorry I waited for the…” he pauses for a second and looks around. “The snow.” He grins and you roll your eyes. There was happy tears spilling out of your eyes and you lock your lips with him again.

“I love you Joe Burrow.” You say in between kisses and he was whole again. You were right where you should be. With him. “Now get back out there and win this game!”

Joe gently sits you back down. He gives you another passionate kiss before rushing back to the field to finish what he started. His teammates were going to give him hell and back for his actions tonight. You could see it in their faces and the way they looked at each other. However, they were happy to see that smile on their quarterbacks face again.

AFC Champions sounded better now that Joe had his girl back. His best friend in the entire world was his.

[beezusvreeland]

dear reader - chapter 3

summary: Miguel took the reader’s love and friendship for granted. Something he learns reading her column, when it’s too late…Or is it?

ship: miguel o'hara x f!reader // matt murdock x reader

______________________________________________________________

Chapter 3

Two weeks passed, but it might as well be an entire lifetime. Edinburgh suited you very well. The cold early mornings that turned into very nice afternoons and ended with you making sure the heater was on for the night. You woke up at the dorms provided by the school, made yourself a nice Earl Grey tea, got ready and walked your way to class. 

You picked a different path every day, but there was no denying that walking by Victoria Street in the Grassmarket area was your favorite way to get to university. It was just so charming: bright colored walls, cobblestones and unique shops. You had even read somewhere that it was the inspiration for Diagon Alley in the Harry Potter books. There really was something magical about that city.

A couple of mornings a week, you had a writing workshop titled “The Self and Others: translating feelings into words”, which you couldn’t even believe was a real thing. There were a few familiar faces in the class, but you were drawn to Jessica Drew, the girl you met on your first day, and a younger kid who she took under her wings called Miles Morales. The three of you would always sit next to each other. It was kind of nice.

The workshop was led by professor Otto Octavious, whose passion for writing was infectious. So much so, that your peers affectionately called him “the last romantic” behind his back. 

“Today is a beautiful day to increase your word count”, the teacher joked, making the class erupt in laughter. “Usually we start the day with a discussion, but I’d like to do something a little different today.”

“Always keeping us in our toes, huh, professor?”, Miles teased.

“You know it, mr. Morales”, professor Octavious said, a smile on his face. “Most of you have been writing for a long time, so you probably have already learned about one of the biggest challenges a non fiction writer faces: most times, what happens in real life is so unbelievable, it doesn’t translate well to the page.”

The professor gets up from his chair and writes the name “Dani Shapiro” on the chalkboard. “That’s the name of one of the most prolific non fiction writers today. She has a quote about our craft that I always carry near my heart: ‘Writers are outsiders. Even when we seem like insiders, we’re outsiders. We have to be. Our noses pressed to the glass, we notice everything. We mull and interpret. We store away clues, details that may be useful to us later’.”

The room was quiet, except for professor Octavius’ voice. You could tell, even without looking to your classmates, that what he read had resonated with all of them. It was a perfect description of a sentiment you always had, but were never able to describe. You just thought there was something wrong with you. But there wasn’t. And you were not alone. 

“Let that sink in for a moment”, the teacher smiled. He knew exactly how the students felt the quote deeply. “Today I’d like for us to do something different. For the next hour, I want you to write about a detail you kept to yourself for a long time. The idea is to describe it and explore the reason you shelved it into your minds for so long. It can be about anything, as long as it is meaningful to you and that you allow yourselves to dive into your own vulnerabilities.” 

After the hour passed, you and your peers would share what you wrote with the rest and discuss it.

You opened a new document on your laptop, taking a deep breath. Obviously you had a whole storage of small details inside your head. But you felt uneasy, something you kept shoving to the side slowly creeping back to you. Or rather, someone. 

As if reading your mind, a notification appeared in the corner of your screen. A new email from no one other than Miguel O’Hara. 

Hey there, how are you? How is Scotland treating you? I hope you are drinking as many pints and visiting as many castles as you can. Congrats about the scholarship, by the way. It’s a big deal and you deserve it. I’m sorry about the whole dinner thing, I really fucked up and haven’t been a good friend to you. I’m sorry about that too. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but if you do, I promise I will do better. 

Anyways, enjoy your time there as much as possible — Hobie and Pav have been complaining that you haven’t sent them pictures so far, thought you should know. 

Miguel

PS: Do you remember my roommate from college I told you about? Peter B. He’s back in town and just the other day showed me an interview you did with Mary Jane Watson. It turned out really good. You always ask very thoughtful questions. 

And just like that, the Miguel area of your heart exploded again.

***

Dear reader,

Just the other day I was talking with my girlfriends about the romantic gestures in books, TV and movies that made us create insane expectations about love. The impromptu declarations, the running in the airport, the showing up unannounced — any decent human being knows you have to at least send the other person a text saying you are coming by. 

I have always been more drawn to the caring gestures and the acts of service. Maybe because that is my own love language. There is a scene in Say Anything… (1989) where Lloyd is walking Diane, the girl he has loved throughout high school, home after a party. They are talking and he is paying so much attention to what she has to say. All of the sudden, Lloyds stops her. There were pieces of glass in her way on the floor. He kicks them to the side and keeps walking, as if it was nothing, just the way things are supposed to be. It gets me everytime. 

I love to bring my friends coffee or even bake them food when they are having really intense weeks at work, helping them out with some errand or impossible shore. Sometimes I feel really silly about it. Especially when it comes to the guy . I know I shouldn’t, but when it comes to him, I feel insane. 

I feel insane because I always have his favorite ice cream in my freezer and the drinks he likes in the refrigerator. In my love drunk brain, these can be excuses to ask him to come up to my apartment, to have him stay more, even if it is just for a few minutes. This is not a tip, by the way. If anything, it is a warning: seeing the person you love enjoying their favorite dessert can make you lose your mind. Be aware.

Once I planned a Fast and Furious marathon. But only from the 5th movie on, when things get out of hand and the franchise becomes something else entirely. It was a way to spend a rainy sunday with snacks and drinking games. I spent saturday cleaning the apartment and buying everything the two of us would need. Imagine my face when some of our other friends showed up as well, because he had invited them. And I love all my friends, but only wanted to spend time with him.

There is also another fictional gesture that has been stuck in my head since I was a pre teen. Before the show, the Gossip Girl books were a huge deal, and I read almost all of them. Each chapter was told from a different character's perspective and Blair’s were my favorite. When she is mourning her relationship with Nate, who was in love with Serena, Blair remembers what they had gone through together. Once, wanting to impress him, she sewed a heart pin inside the sleeve of a sweater she gifted him for a special occasion. It was a way to show him that he literally had her heart under sleeve. It was such a simple and meaningful gesture. Except Nate never noticed. Not while they were together, at least. Isn’t that always the way?

Maybe we were supposed to focus some of that energy on ourselves. The hours of disappointment for the retribution that never happens won’t come back to us. 

I wish I had a more uplifting message today, but this is all I could manage. I hope you understand. 

Meet you here next week. And remember: never take advice from someone who’s falling apart.

Love, 

The writer

***

Miguel felt anxious about your lack of response to his email. He kept trying to reason it in his mind: you were probably really busy…or you were still mad at him. He was sure the fact it took him so long to write to you didn’t help. But the constant checking of his emails and all social media and waiting for a life sign from you was exhausting. Is that what addiction felt like?

Miguel tried to distract himself by taking more workloads and secretly reading your columns. It was fascinating getting to know that side of you, and he wondered why it was so new to him. You were more reserved, of course, but never failed to be there or show interest in his life. He couldn’t remember the last conversation you had that wasn’t about him and his work. It felt horrible knowing that maybe there was a lot you wanted to talk about and he never gave you space to or asked questions about you. Miguel asked himself when he had become that person, or if he had always been that way. And what he could do to make things better, because an apology didn’t seem like enough. 

He took a break from his spreadsheets to check his email inbox and social media. Nothing. So he went back to Bliss ’ archive and read another one of your older columns, the one where you wrote about romantic gestures. That last part had him so confused, he decided to ask for help. Miguel was that desperate.

“Lyla”, he called on his office phone.

“Yes, boss.”

“What is Gossip Girl?”

Lyla remained silent. Miguel was about to call the thing of, saying it was a joke, when she answered, her excited and teasing tone coming through:

“Why do you ask?”

“It’s classified.”

Lyla chuckled. She had noticed her boss had been acting weird lately, but couldn’t quite point her finger at why. 

“Is it for an Alchemax project?”, the assistant tried to keep her language professional. 

“It’s for…a personal one”, Miguel regretted everything, his eyes closed in embarrassment, even though Lyla was in another room.

“Okay…What exactly do you want to know about Gossip Girl?”

“Who are these people, Blair, Nate and Serena? What’s the story?”

She laughed. He should’ve known his assistant would have too much fun with it.

“Lyla…”, Miguel complained.

“Okay okay, sorry, boss, it’s just these are names I never thought I’d hear you say.”

“Just tell me the story.”

“It’s a big one, actually. The show has six seasons.”

“Does Blair end up with Nate?”

“Hell no”, Lyla scoffed. “She marries Chuck.”

“Who the hell is Chuck?”

“Nate’s best friend who, in his own twisted way, actually gave a shit about her.”

______________________________________________________________

<< chapter 2

>> chapter 4

all chapters

______________________________________________________________

dear reader playlist

[loveforcarmen]

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 - CH. 7

- carmen berzatto x fem!oc coworker | - slowburn

NOTE: warning, this chapter contains out of character carmen 🤗

AN: hello, apologies for not updating for like 2 weeks?? anyways, enjoy this filler chapter and i apologize in advance for any spelling/grammar mistakes!!

-

single - the neighbourhood

-

As Margaret got ready, her stomach was filled with anxiety. She huffed, digging into her dusty blue makeup bag, pulling out a neutral eyeshadow pallet.

She blended a warm tone of eyeshadow over her eyelids, sitting propped on her bathroom counter, feet in the sink. After drawing a clean-cut black wing of eyeliner over it, she glued on some fake lashes. Just enough to enhance her eyes, not to overpower them.

She had never been one to wear much makeup, mostly due to the fact she worked in the back of the kitchen, not the front. It came as a surprise to see her glammed up like this ; she looked like a doll.

After scrunching some of her curl-defining mousse in her hair, she headed to her bedroom, preparing to tackle her closet to find the right outfit for dinner. She rotated through a variety of styles: a pantsuit, a two piece outfit, a SKIMS dress, etc.

She finally settled on a low cut, shimmery light gold dress that hugged around her waist perfectly. Pairing it with a pair of 1 inch clear platform heels, she added a gold heart necklace to complete the look.

As she paced back and forth in her kitchen, waiting for Carmen to knock, she nervously chewed on her lip. She would surely chew through the damn thing by the end of the night.

Knock. Knock.

Margaret perked her head up at the knocks, the hard wooden, hard wooden door reverberating within the door frame. She drew in a breath, composing herself before opening the door, "Hi." she greeted him with a warm smile, subconsciously crossing one leg in front of the other.

He wore an all black Hockerty suit, paired with a sleek pair of Florsheim leather brown shoes. His hair was worn in its usual style, a jumble of mess of curls on his head.

"This isn't a date. It's an apology dinner." he reminded himself. His eyes glided down Margaret, taking in her entire being. As much as he didn't want to admit, she looked fucking good.

"How do I look?" she gave him a playful spin, being careful not to trip over her heels. Her Tory Burch Reva leather clutch swung around with her body, hitting the doorframe with a thud.

He shook his head, "Let's go." he laughed, still in the doorway. His hand rested on each side, practically leaning into her apartment.

"You're no fun." she spat, grabbing her long, black coat off the hook by the door. Although it was spring, the nights still remained cold enough to require another layer.

As they walked through Chicago, the night sky was clear of clouds. Though it was impossible to see the stars due to the city lights, Margaret still craned her neck up at the sky. Her hand reached over, grabbing Carmen's forearm lightly as she walked.

Carmen looked down at her hand, taken aback by the sudden contact. "What's your thing with stars? I've noticed that you've had this infatuation for them since you started." he asked as they walked.

"Well," she looked back down, rubbing the back of her neck, "There was this saying my mother always told me." They rounded the corner to the L, walking up the steps that led to the elevated platform.

When they reached the top, she continued, "She always said 'you can find me in the stars, even when I'm not with you'. The meaning obviously carries more weight now but..." she waved her hands in the air as she spoke, "It sounds like a cringey quote but it truly means a lot to me."

Carmen solemnly nodded, not wanting to continue to press on the subject. The train loudly pulled up to the platform, stopping with a sharp hiss of smoke. The doors opened, traffic immediately started to funnel in and out. Margaret luckily found a seat near the door, nestling herself down.

Carmen stood in front of her, hands loosely holding the pole. Whenever he took the train, he tried to come in contact with everything as little as possible. Margaret sat with her legs tightly crossed, arms folded, attempting to take up as little space as possible. She noticed and older woman limping through the crowded car out of the corner of her eye. Swiftly standing up, she offered her seat to the woman.

"Thank you dear." the woman said, sitting down slowly. She sat with her brittle arms crossed, arthritic hands on her lap.

Margaret nodded her head, standing next to Carmen. "Do you mind if I just hold onto your arm?" she asked quietly. The trained started back up, torque causing everyone who was standing to slightly sway.

Carmen turned to her, gaving her a puzzled look but obeyed her request. She hooked her arm under his, linking tightly around his bicep. "Why?" he asked, almost in a whisper.

"Look to your right, a few seats down." she whispered back. Carmen slowly turned his head to see a man, sitting in the middle of the car floor. He was clearly on some type of drug, bothering the young women who were alone for pictures of various body parts. Hands, feet, calves, etc.

Carmen turned away from him, staring straight ahead, keeping the man in the corner of his eye. Margaret felt his grip on her tighten, just slightly. As the train moved on, their bodies swayed in unison with the movements of which ever direction they were headed.

Getting off at their stop, they walked only just a short distance to the restaurant. The conversation between them was light, not dwelling on the same topic for too long.

They arrived to the restaurant, Margaret greeting the host warmly as Carmen checked them in. The host walked them to a booth that was cozily tucked in the corner.

The establishment was intimidatingly high end to say the least.

The dining room had booths lining the walls while circular wooden tables took up the space unused space in middle. Angular chandeliers hung down the center of the room in a warm lighting. Along the wide back wall sat a rich, mahogany bar. Illuminated shelves sat behind the counter, housing a variety of liquors to choose from

After seating them, the host handed them each a menu, the front cover reading the name "The Albert" in pristine gold lettering. "Your server will be here shortly." the host said kindly, walking back to the entrance of the restaurant.

As Carmen and Margaret flipped through the extravagant menu, each dish more impressive than the next, she chewed on her bottom lip. She nervously looked at the prices, the last thing she wanted to do was allow him to drop a shit-ton of money on a meal he could easily make.

The server approached them, smiling warmly, "What can I get started for you?" she asked. "We can start off with drinks and appetizers, or we can jump right into the menu." She clasp her blue notepad tightly in her hand, pen at the ready.

Carmen looked over at Margaret, allowing her to take the reins. "I think we're gonna need more time with the menu, but we can order drinks now. Can I please get an Old Fashioned?" she asked politely.

"Of course you may," the server said, moving onto to Carmen. "And for you?" she looked up from her notepad, eyeing Carmen down.

"Hennessy please." Carmen said, looking up at the waitress. His voice was sultry with his reply ; Margaret didn't think it was intentional but it still struck a nerve with her.

"Yes sir," she batted her lashes at Carmen, "We'll get that out shortly."

"Ok." he quietly, waiting for her to leave. The server turned on her heel, walking back into the kitchen with their order. Carmen turned back to Margaret, "You ever been here before?" He clasped his hands in front of them on the table, straightening his posture.

She shook her head quickly, "Are you kidding? Hell no." She looked around the establishment, absorbing its large gradniuer. "Look at this place."

The drinks were eventually brung out, the food following shortly behind. The porcelain dishes were placed on the dark wood table, the food plated so creatively it could be considered art. Margaret had order a duck honey glaze with a spring onion and an alpine radish to top it. It was sided with mustard seed dollop spread, the sweet taste was paired perfectly with the acidic nature of the spread.

She took a bite, her expression widening with each chew. "This is the best thing I've ever tasted." she took another small bite, "No offense." she added, smiling up at Carmen.

He laughed, wiping his mouth off with a napkin, "Absolutely none taken." he adjusted in his seat, "I actually created this dish for this place." he said causally, taking another bite his food.

Her jaw figuratively hung slack, "I mean," she regained herself, straighting her posture in her chair, "It's not surprising. The dish is alright I guess." she took another bite, fighting back a playful smile.

"Just alright?" he recited, cocking his head slightly to the side. He too fought back a smile that was starting to creep across his lips.

Her gaze flicked to her plate as she answered, "Yup." she looked back up, taking another bite.

There was beat between them until Carmen spoke, "You ever think about making a dish for a restaurant?" he took a long sip of his drink, setting it down gently on the table.

"Absolutely not." she shook her head, holding her hand in front of her mouth as she chewed, "I don't think I'm creative enough for that. I'm no Sydney or Marcus."

"Eh, you'll get there. I got a feeling." he replied, looking down at his plate as he continued to eat.

She felt something odd grow inside of her at the sudden praise from him. Unable to help the smile that bloomed, she looked down at her plate in a weak attempt to conceal her joy. "Thank you."

The two spent the rest of the evening talking about mostly food. Slowly becoming buzzed from the liquor, Margaret felt her confidence growing. They began to critic the dishes that were sent out and took notes on how the place was ran. Intently listening to how orders were called out in the kitchen, how the servers operated, everything. They were getting along, with no issues. A stark contrast to their (usual) rocky relationship.

"Woah, I think that's enough for you." Carmen grabbed Margaret's glass before she could take another sip. She had grown quite tipsy, which was unfortunate for her since they had walked to the restaurant.

"But-" she started before being cut off by the server presenting the bill.

"How is the bill being paid?" she asked softly, looking over at Carmen as he signaled to himself.

"Carmen," Margaret said as she dug into her bag, pulling out her wallet.

"Maggie, no." Carmen said, not looking up from his wallet as he pulled the card out. He gave the server a small smile, then turned back to Margaret after she left.

"At least let me cover the tip." she said, her lips forming into a pert pout. Carmen stared at her, longer than anticipated then blinked rapidly before answering, as if he was trying to clear his head.

"I planned this. I'll pay." he leaned back in into the leather cushion of the booth, "I know the owner so I get a discount anyways. I made a fucking dish for their menu, a discount is the least they could do." Carmen said, sounding awfully pretentious. "I didn't mean it like that." he added, leaning back up.

The server returned with Carmen's card, then slipped him a note along with it. Carmen opened it under the table, unsure if Margaret saw it or not. It was her number, scrawled in messy Sharpie along with her name. Carmen looked back up to find her in the kitchen, only to see that she was already staring at him. She gave him a little wave, causing him to look away with rosy cheeks.

He wasn't used to being flirted with, so this came as a surprise to him. Growing up, he pretty much kept to himself and never got involved with the dating scene like most of his classmates.

Shortly after, Margaret and Carmen left the restaurant, beginning their trek to the L. The city was alive, which wasn't uncommon on a Friday night. Lights glowed in all directions, whether it be from cars or buildings.

"Margaret!" a male voice said from behind them. The pair stopped, lazily turning around to see who the voice belonged to.

"Matteo?" Margaret said in surprise, squinting her eyes as if he was far away. She walked over to give him a quick peck on the cheek, a custom in her family.

"How you doin, darling?" he asked, letting his hands fall to her waist, drinking in the sight of her. She looked absolutely delectable in her little gold dress, her gold necklace falling just before her cleavage.

"I'm great. Oh my gosh," she said sloppily, walking back over to put her hand on Carmen's shoulder, "This is my boss slash acquaintance, Carmen." she smiled at Carmen then looked at Matteo. "We just had dinner at.." she trailed off, looking over at Carmen for the answer.

"The Albert." Carmen finished for her, his voice cutting and mean. He sat with his gaze fixed on Matteo, staring hard at him.

"Yeah the Albert!" Margaret exclaimed, taking a step back to Matteo, "Carmen, this is Matteo by the way." she squeezed Matteo's shoulder, which coaxed a smile out of him. He glanced down at Margaret, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Carmen could see it plainly that he had it bad for the girl. The slightest touch from her was enough to plaster a stupid grin on his face. He watched as Matteo's hand snaked down to Margaret's waist, resting just above her ass.

"Are you guys doing anything?" he asked, barely giving Carmen a glance. As if he wasn't standing right fucking there.

"Um, I think we're both just going home." she smiled at him, unintentionally batting her lashes. She was fucking gone, logical thinking completely exiting her body in that moment.

"You could come back to my place, y'know." he said, finally giving Carmen a glance, "I can get her home, we live in the same building." he half suggested, half stated.

Carmen took a step towards Margaret, slowly pulling her away from Matteo, "Nah it's cool." he said, holding her firmly around the waist. "Let's go." he said softly to Margaret, walking away from Matteo.

"Don't be a stranger baby!" Matteo called, walking backwards from the 2, hands in his coat pockets. With his backed turned towards him, Carmen rolled his eyes at his pathetic attempt to hit on Margaret.

-

To say the least, it was a struggle trying to control drunk Margaret. Carmen was constantly apologizing for her actions to the poor people on the train and sidewalk who encountered her. It was quite annoying actually to him, as it continued after getting off the train. "Hey." Carmen backed her up, leaning her against a building. "Are you ok?" he asked sternly, annunciating each word.

Her voice was quiet, and her face—high cheekbones, sharp nose—was placid. "I'm perfect." she smiled up at him, her head spinning. She leaned to one side, relying on Carmen's strength to keep her upright.

He grabbed her arm, walking her over to a nearby bench as if she was child. His fingers pressed into the soft skin of her arms, growing tighter the more she resisted. "Sit." he demanded, pushing her down onto the bench.

Stubbornly, she sat down on the bench, resting her hands on her lap. Crouching down, Carmen began to slip off her heels, setting them in her lap.

"What are you doing?" she rhetorically asked. She looked down, eyes following Carmen as he pushed himself back up.

He turned around, hands slightly extended. "Get on." he said, his face turned away from her.

Confused but still obeying his request, she grabbed her heels in one hand then climbed onto Carmen's back. The warmth radiated from his body, keeping her warm from the nipping night air.

Her arms hung limp in front of his chest, swaying with his body as he walked. As Carmen strolled through Chicago, Margaret would point out memories from her adolescence, saying something along the lines of "That's where my dad crashed his car" or "That was my first job".

As they approached her apartment building, Margaret leaned her head against Carmen's back, arms still hanging lazily over his shoulders. "Hey." he poked her in her side, "Don't fall asleep just yet."

She grumbled, lifting her head up. "Home already?" she looked down at Carmen, her undereyes beginning to puff with sleep.

"What floor and apartment number?" he asked, turning his head as far as he could towards her. He could barely see her from the corner of his eye, only able to make out her blonde hair.

"216, floor 2." she said, reaching into her purse to hand Carmen the key. As he made his way up to her apartment, her weight became heavier and heavier, a sign that she was dozing off again.

He slipped the key into the lock, turning the rusted handle. It didn't budge so he tried again, ending up with the same results as before. "You got to wiggle it first." Margaret said softly, her lips brushing against his ear as she spoke. He swallowed a wad of spit, uncomfortable with their closeness.

But was it truly uncomfortableness he was feeling?

He wiggled the handle, then turned it again, opening the door this time. He nudged it open with his foot, walking inside of the small living space. Waking up Margaret with another poke, he slipped her off his back, making sure to hold her upright until she regained her footing.

"Thanks Carmen." she said, keeping herself up. She held onto Carmen's forearm for some support. She was close enough for Carmen to smell the honey and citrus in her hair, the scent bringing him a sense of serenity.

"Let's get you to bed." he said, ignoring her thanks. He needed to cut himself off from her and he needed to do it now.

Margaret turned on her heel, walking down the short hallway to her bedroom. Carmen trailed behind her, hands hovering at her sides in case she toppled over. "Yay round 2 of taking care of drunk Maggie" he thought to himself. This was a bad look for her, having to be taken care of by her boss not once but twice. Carmen repeated his routine of taking care of drunk Margaret, an exact repeat of when she spent the night at his house.

He put her to bed, carefully pulling the sheets up to her shoulders. He crouched down at the side of the bed, eye level with her. "I have a bucket right on the side of the bed in case you puke." he said quietly,his voice barely registering as a whisper.

Margaret's gaze darted to his lips then back to match his eyes, "You're a great boss Carmy." she softly smiled.

Pushing himself up off the ground, he looked down at her, "That's an overstatement." he dryly laughed.

Carmen walked over to flick off her small lamp when her voice spoke again, "Are you leaving?" she asked timidly.

Carmen felt his cheeks grow hot, the knot in his stomach swelling. He felt as if he was going to be sick, his gut twisting in every direction.

"I'll be on the couch."

With that, he closed the door behind him, leaving Margaret in her own thoughts. He shakily let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. Quickly walking to the sink, he turned it on, splashing the lukewarm water onto his face. He sighed into his hands, slowly dragging them down his face, allowing them to fall to his sides.

He grabbed the hem of his dress shirt, bringing it to up to dry his face off. The tips of his curls dripped water onto his forehead, agitating him. His chest began to close up as he drew in shaky breaths, breathing as if someone was clutching his throat.

"No, no, no." he whispered to himself, ripping open the collar of his shirt due to his increasing body temperature. The action caused a few buttons to fly off, landing on the kitchen floor. "Shit." he said aloud, collecting them quickly.

He gathered his suit jacket, tucking it under his arm as he left her apartment. He hurried down the flights of stairs, harshly pushing the doors open. He stepped into the cold night air, breathing heavily. Stopping at the entrance of the apartment, he rested his hands on his head, slowly walking down the street.

He didn't have time to have feelings for someone. No matter how he felt, it just couldn't happen. He was better off having Margaret hate him than have her feel any other emotion towards him.

Carmen pushed it out of his mind as he shoved his hands in his pockets, hurrying down the street to his apartment.

END

-

AN: omg rereading this, i realized how nasty this chapter is wtf