#whoever i end up with is going to have to have So much patience

[fawnindawn]

the line between thieves and healers (Luke Castellan x apollo fem! reader)

Summary: Luke Castellan returns from his quest as a ghost of his old self with a bleeding scar to prove it. With his golden boy exterior all but shattered, no one in camp has tried to approach him since his return. This changes when you stumble upon the son of Hermes when he decides to go back to his old roots, stealing from your infirmary at midnight.

pairing: luke castellan x apollo fem! reader

Content: forced proximity, tending to wounds, luke develops a little crush, set after Luke's failed quest in the Garden of Hesperides, mentions of injuries and scars, Luke tries and fails at being mean, hurt-comfort, fluff

masterlist for this series (everything in between) every part in this series can be read as a stand alone!

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"Come on." One of the campers prodded despite your obvious discomfort. "I'm sure you've squeezed something out of Castellan by now. He's been silent about what happened during his quest for days."

"I told you, I know nothing, and even if I did- patient confidentiality exists." You repeated for the ninth time in a week. Ever since people found out Luke had come personally to you to tend to his wounds, they had lost all decency over the hope of digging for some good gossip. If you were asked one more time, you were sure you would tell them to stick their noses right back up their asses and leave.

Even after his return, Luke Castellan remained a constant in word of mouth around camp over his sudden change in persona. His usual grin and charm was replaced with a dark gloom unfitting for the son of Hermes, who used to light up any room he entered. The scar that permanently rests on his face didn't make it easier for him to avoid watching eyes either. After refusing to play in Capture the Flag for the first time in history, whatever patience the camp was trying to uphold dissipated into chaos.

Sure, you could see why it was a big deal. If you're a person with a sane enough mind (of course, not guaranteed in the premises of Camp Half-Blood), you’d understand why the fellow camp counsellor of the Hermes Cabin was popular. With his constant presence around camp as the cool, attractive camp counsellor helping other campers with that small quirk up his lips, or through word of mouth of how talented and kind he was, it wasn't a huge surprise that he attracted as much attention as he did.

Once the ninth camper in a row finally gave up and left with a huff, your eyes lingered over the bed where you first tended to Luke.

_

It was the dead of night when you were woken by the sound of creaking wooden floorboards and the cold chill of the wind that had snuck into the infirmary. Somehow, you had overslept again on your shift and no one had bothered to wake you up or even check for your missing presence.

Groaning at the awkward shift of your bones from your horrible sleeping posture on the desk, you were halfway through your stretch to crack your stiff neck when you heard the sound of footsteps. Freezing in place, you paused to listen in once more only to heard the soft thud once again. Peering to the left side of the infirmary, your heart stopped.

"Hey, listen." You spoke with that awkward crack in your voice whenever you go too long without speaking, causing the large shadow to flinch, pausing in its pursuit through your medicine cabinet. "I may not seem like it, but I am the best in combat in my cabin so whoever you are, step away from the cabinet and put your hands up."

Gee, that's convincing, you sound like an unnamed extra from the first few minutes of a horror movie before they end up six feet under. Cursing yourself internally, you watched the shadow raise to full height from its bent position. Gulping at the height that seemed to be at least six feet, you wonder if you should have just left this cabinet thief be and go to sleep for the night.

Why would anyone even want to ransack an infirmary at midnight?

You quickly grabbed for your oil lamp situated beside you, still flickering with the smallest of flames and you stood from your chair, causing it to creak back and scratch at the wooden floors as you made your way around the table to approach the thief.

The light was dim, but you spotted the familiar outline of a broad back and curls before he even fully turned.

"Castellan?" You gasped in half-asleep shock, disbelief obvious in your tone as you moved the oil lamp nearer to prove your eyesight wasn't playing tricks on you.

He didn't respond verbally to the call of his name, but when he turned around, his eyes narrowed on you as if you were the intruder. You barely had the chance to form words, questions- before you spotted the dripping crimson liquid near his eye.

"Oh gods." You muttered, grabbing at his arm and tugging him towards the nearest bed. "Why didn't you wake me up? It's not like you could wrap this up yourself."

With some struggle, he finally gave in, plopping down the edge of the bed and watched you scour through the medicine cabinet for bandages and other supplies, muted and stiff.

"I seriously don't understand why you didn't wake me up. Would you rather bleed to death or get an infection?" You scolded, your inner concern bleeding through your usual sense of politeness for injured visitors.

"Maybe." You thought you heard him mumble, but when you turned to look at him, he was facing the window right beside the bed and staring out into the shadows of the forest, the glow of the moonlight illuminating his features like a haunted painting, blood dripping down his cheekbones like fallen tears. You waited longer for an elaboration but there was none. You assumed you heard wrong, or at least you hoped you did.

You got off your knees, splaying out the supplies on the surface of the bed beside him, and pulled up a stool for you to sit at. He was still facing away from you, and your irritation combined with your lack of sleep made you more reckless than you'd usually be with an injured patient.

You gripped at his chin, forcing him to look at you, watching with satisfaction as his eyes widened at the sudden force. He looked more alive when he was caught off guard, his face devoid of the usual disinterest and distance it had ever since he arrived back from his quest.

"How do you expect me to treat you if you keep looking away from me, Castellan?" You challenged, gazing back into his eyes with fire you hoped was fierce enough to break down the coldness in his gaze.

After seconds of nothing but two stubbornheads trying to win a useless battle of eye contact, he sighed. "..Fine."

You were more gentle after that, letting go of his chin and reaching for the cloth. Your hands remained delicate on his skin that seemed to have pulled at the edge of the scar, where it was now bleeding again through its previous stitches. You mumbled a warning before dapping a wet handkerchief on top of the wound to soak in the blood, and he unintentionally grabbed at your thigh as he tried not to hiss out in pain.

You froze at the sudden tight grip, moving the cloth away from his skin and he was quick to retract his hand, positioning it awkwardly on top of the bedsheets instead.

"It's okay if you grab me." You reassured. "It'd be easier for me to gauge if you need me to stop when it gets too painful. You could give me a squeeze if you need a breather?"

You waited, watching his thoughts flicker through his narrowed eyes before slowly, his hand went to rest around your thigh again.

Ignoring the warmth of his palm on your skin, you cleared your throat. "Ready?"

He nodded stiffly, and you went back to work. After the cut had stopped bleeding, you were quick to grab the gauze and bandages. Tenderly, you placed the gauze above his wound, then wrapped the bandages around his face, from the top of his head to below his chin. This was the closest you had ever been to him, and you could feel and hear both his and your breathing in the quiet silence of the infirmary, with no living signs of life aside from the two of you on the infirmary bed and the dim orange hue of the oil lamp.

You could feel his intense gaze on you from his one good eye, while you concentrated on tying a secure knot so it wouldn't fall loose. The moment felt oddly intimate, knowing how sensitive his temper had been ever since he arrived back at camp, scarred in ways not even ambrosia could heal fully.

His hand resting around your thigh felt hot, and you tried to ignore how your mind subconsciously kept track of every time his thumb would brush over the material of your pants.

"Next time.." You hinted, hopefully not crossing his boundaries. "If this happens again, you come straight here, got it? I don't care if I'm sleeping or attending someone else. You are not allowed to take care of a wound like this yourself, especially since I remember how reckless you can be."

Luke Castellan may be an excellent swordsman, but his cockiness was one weakness that he failed to keep controlled, and on days where it won over, he would always end up at the infirmary with a bashful smile as he tried to explain to you on how he ended up with a dislocated shoulder. That felt like eons ago, when that cheeky smile would always be present on his face, his signature move in getting away with any chaos he caused.

Staring at him now, you caught sight of that smile for such a split second you could've sworn you mistook it.

You couldn't stop the teasing smile that slipped past your stern attitude. "Was that a smile I saw, Castellan?"

He cleared his throat, his face falling back into practiced nonchalance, wearing a frown too forced to be real. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I may be sleep-deprived because a certain someone decided midnight was the best time to ransack an infirmary, but I'm not blind. For making me work overtime, I at least deserve to know what you found so amusing."

He made a face, and you were sure if his face wasn't tightly bandaged, he would roll his eyes in exasperation. "I wasn't amused. Just don't remember you being this.. unhospitable with someone that's injured. And I am not reckless."

You scoffed, causing him to look over at you. "I'd say trying to steal from an infirmary is pretty reckless. I thought Hermes kids were supposed to be good in stealing?"

You realised all too late that you may have touched on a sensitive topic, with the mention of his father, but he didn't seem to notice over the frank insult of being called a bad thief.

"I am excellent in stealing." He bit back so quickly, you choked on a snort. Hermes kids and their egos. "I was just going easy on you because you were knocked out at your desk. Oh, and you snore, you know that?"

"I do not."

"Do too."

"You're a liar and a thief. Don't get why your reputation is as marvelled upon as it is, Castellan. You don't live up to the hype at all."

"Oh, and what about you, Miss Sunshine?" He retorted. "Aren't you suppose to be the famous sweetheart who sings all injuries away with a smile on your face?"

"Don't call me that ever again." You must have looked extremely repulsed because he let out a laugh so genuine, it wiped any disgust off your face at the sound of pure heaven flooding into your ears. God, you forgot he could laugh like that.

"Yeah, I suppose it doesn't suit you, does it?" He murmured. "Maybe Apollo kids are only nice when others are around to see it."

"You've only come back meaner, Castellan." You scoffed. "I almost regret helping you. Would much rather see you stumble over trying to deal with this yourself if I knew you'd be so ungrateful."

"Sounds righteous of you." He nodded with a sarcastic hum. "Leaving me to bleed out to death while you watch. I understand why the camp has such high stakes when it comes to survival now. Never knew there was a sadist hiding in you, sunshine."

"I told you not to call me that." You reminded. "And I'm doing the best I can to keep everyone here alive so don't come to my infirmary talking about stakes when I've just saved your ass from blood loss."

Your response triggered something in him and he grew silent, his gaze locked on you as if analyzing you. That was when you're really reminded of how awful you must've looked. With your bed hair, sunken-in dark circles and sunken shoulders from the lack of sleep, you did not exactly feel the most confident. You didn't know what happened to make the casual atmosphere disappear as fast as it did, but you were anxious that somehow, you had shut him up again and you'd never get the chance to see him that way again, with his playful banter and light-heartedness of a teenage boy that he should have.

"You shouldn't have to." He muttered, almost to himself rather than to you. A seriousness unlike the previous few quips he'd thrown at you took ahold of him, and you had a feeling this was a slither of who he had really become through his rapid transformation, hidden under the jokes and sarcasm.

"What?"

"You shouldn't have to." He repeated a little louder, trying to get you to see his point. A point he'd been trying to tell Chiron, his friends even- ever since he came back here, only to be meet with pitying looks like he was a madman who spoke nonsense to try and make sense of his failure. "Lives should not be your responsibility. You're younger than me, and yet, you're dealing with kids that are near death's door every time they make it past that barrier. I barely made it back here. Some don't even.."

Luke tried to breathe, remembering how he got to camp in the first place. The unnecessary sacrifice that had to be made, the tree that now rests at the barrier of camp, the sound of thunder and pouring rain beating at his face.

"Now, I'm stuck with this disgusting scar on my face for the rest of my life, a stupid reminder every single time I look at myself, that I failed my only chance at proving I was something more than just wasted potential. Now I've gone and screwed it up for everyone because I couldn't do some easy quest someone else already accomplished-" He winced suddenly, grabbing onto the bandaged part of his face that seemed to grow more irritated and inflamed as he spoke.

You were quick to reach for his hand, knowing his aggression may harm the wound more. "It is not disgusting." You answered for him, and slowly, your hand rested over his, removing it from his face so he wouldn't accidentally cause the wound to start bleeding again. "You are not a failure, Luke."

"Don't take pity on me by saying words you don't mean." He muttered. "Everyone expected me to succeed, I could feel it in their gaze when they looked at me. I was supposed to be the best, and just because everyone told me that, I believed it. Now, I'm nothing but a disappointment to everyone."

He didn't know why he was saying all this to you. Maybe because you were the only person to treat him normally in the past two weeks, to really listen instead of trying to get him to move on, and maybe because his heart felt like it was growing too heavy to carry on his own. The insecurity and vulnerability made him feel sick, and he found himself trying to tear his hands away from you out of the need to run, which only made him feel more disgusted with himself. Like a coward, his mind taunted.

You remained stubborn, holding onto his cold palms because you know he has had no warmth, no real genuine words spoken to him since he returned. No one to see him when it was clear he was suffering, that he needed all the time in the world and more to heal, and that he deserved more than self-loathing and an absent father who sentenced him to this fate.

"I am not pitying you." You insisted, and you leaned closer so he couldn't look away from you. "Your scar does not make you ugly or less valuable to anyone. It is not pity, it is a fact. You are a person who has survived a fate so close to death, and any feat to survive death is strength. You are strong, and you made it back here alive with a scar to prove it. It is not a sign of weakness."

"Anyone who tells you different has no right or say in your situation because they did not go through what you did." You said with a stern voice, your anger not towards him, but for him. "Not your father, not anyone."

Luke finally looked at you, like looked. His eyes were scanning all over your face as if not quite believing you were real, but the fire in your eyes was so magnetic, he couldn't look away. The pinch between your brows, the addictive warmth of your hands in his, and the close distance between the two of you, and yet, it didn't make his skin itch with the need to pull away. To hide in his corner and wallow over the heavy weight of knowing his world had ended in the Garden of the Hesperides. Or had it?

Your eyes looked right through him, and for once, he felt like there was someone there for him.

"I suppose I can see where your reputation comes from now, sunshine." He responded weakly, and his heart gave a thump when you smiled back at him.

"Healing's what I understand best." You shrugged casually, as if you didn't just silence his thoughts for a moment of peace, or that you have somehow dulled the internal blades that bled with self-hatred and world-consuming anger pointed at himself, and at the injustice of the gods who could not give a damn about their children. “If I can help you even a little, why shouldn’t I?”

He could feel time ticking again in the back of his mind, the night slowly passing into a new one, and he thinks as he holds your gaze, that maybe this world wouldn't be so painful to live in if he had someone to look at him the way you did.

"I don't know how I'm going to go back to normal. Or if I'll ever be normal again." He admitted, softer in his voice now that his mind didn't deem you as a threat.

"Normal can be lots of things." You said with a comforting smile. "It's normal to have a breakdown when you've nearly faced death. Multiple even. It's normal to feel fine one moment then not in the next. Healing isn't linear, and when you come to terms that you have a right to feel upset and a right to exist without being held to any expectations of others or what you think others want from you, it'll feel easier to just allow yourself to exist throughout the day. Not the perfect camp counsellor or a hero with no faults. Just as yourself."

He let your words sink in, his thumbs subconsciously rubbing over your knuckles, feeling the healed scars of your own from what he assumed must be from previous combat training. "I'm not that great as myself. You might find me disappointing."

You quirked your lips at that, and shook your head. "I don't believe in that one bit. You're already great just as you are now."

He raised a brow. "Even after trying to steal from your infirmary and having a mental breakdown past curfew?"

"Well, just be glad I was around because I'm much more understanding than Will would be with four hours of sleep."

"I am glad." He insisted. "That it's you."

"I'm glad it was me too." You reassured. "It is midnight though and there's Capture the Flag tomorrow, meaning someone's going to end up whining and moping in here in about eight hours so why don't you let me close shop and come by tomorrow, Castellan?"

"Luke." He corrected, giving you a smile you're sure must be the one the other campers rave about all the time. The charming one that made your heart stutter, even with half his face bandaged and eyebags resting below his caramel eyes.

"Luke." You tested it on your tongue tentatively, and it only seemed to spark an electricity between the two of you that you were sure he must've felt too. In the dark corner of the infirmary, with nothing but crickets and your hushed voice, you spoke again with a heavy heart when you needed to tell him to leave. "I have to close this place up or someone else might try and steal from the medicine cabinet, not that I thought it was possible before but.."

"Fine." He complied, getting off the bed and rising to his full height, towering over you and blocking the moonlight from your view. "I'll wait outside and walk you back to your cabin. It's the least I could do."

You tried not to seem too elated over the idea that you could spend a little more time with Luke, though you're sure your glowing smile must've shown. "Sure you're not just trying to improve your image around me, thief?"

He smirked, following you out to the front door while you wrestled for the keys in your pocket to lock up for the night. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

_

"What are you smiling about?"

You looked up from your daze to see Luke leaning over the door frame, watching you with a smirk over his face.

"Can't a girl smile just for the sake of it?" You bit back, cheeks flushing at the idea that he could've possibly seen your focus lingering a little too long on the bed he had sat on. "Why'd you drop out of Capture the Flag? You know your cabin's going to lose their streak to Ares at this point."

"Wanted to see someone." He replied with a shrug, pushing off the door frame to walk towards where you sat, leaning over your desk and watching you compile the latest stock of ambrosia into a box. "Plus, Athena and Hermes are joining for today so Annabeth's got it handled."

He shuffled his fingers along the edge of the table, outlining the curve before clearing his throat. "I heard you covering up for me just now, and I wanted to say thank you."

You looked up at him then, and his eyes seemed to convey that he was thanking you for more than just that. He looked like he wanted to say more, but didn’t know how to.

"Eavesdropping on me now?” You teased. “Careful or you might end up becoming obsessed with a poor, overworked healer."

He scoffed exaggeratedly. "You wish. Just take the thank you. Should've known not to show my gratitude to an Apollo kid."

You stuck your tongue out at him before going on about how mind-blowing it can be that some kids really did not have emotional intelligence when it came to basic decency. Listening to you ramble on as you went on to arrange your first aid kits, Luke realised for all the disappointment he has experienced in his life, maybe there was one good thing his father led him to.

a/n: Couldn't resist writing how this duo met because I live and die for banter. inspired by 'my reputation's never been worse so you must like me for me' trope which is what i live and breathe for. His reputation as the perfect golden boy is in shambles, and sunshine couldn't care less.

taglist: @stars4birdie @elysiandumbash @kehlanislefttoe @mqg125 @madzlovez @0revna0 @auroraofthesun1 @idli-dosa @buubsii @kaylasficrecs @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @itsdragonius @moonlightfoxs-cantina

[evertidings]

— MAY 2024.

accomplishments.

hi everyone!! i hope you're all doing well hehe. i recently came back from a mini-grad trip (oh yeah, i graduated? like, i finished university? woah. weird) in europe and it was so so wonderful. i can only imagine living in places like that.

in terms of chapter eleven, rest assured that it is still being worked on! i didn't bring my laptop on my trip so i couldn't write for the past two weeks, but since i've been back, i've slowly gotten back on the grind. i'm still trying to adjust from the trip and just, well, overall living in general, but we're making progress! i don't want to give any set dates for when the chapter will be released yet in case i let anyone down if it doesn't come true, but i feel really good about the content so far.

all five ros will appear in this chapter in individual or shared branches. one of the combos is expected (they're kinda stuck together like glue) and the other, well, i'm really excited to have them interact more. it sets up a base for the friendship they're going to work towards in the later books, which is very exciting. can you guess who the two characters are?

on a similar note, flirting has reached an all-time high recently and it's, like... gahhh. so much fun. i think i mentioned last month that the romance lock is coming up (should be within the next two chapters ish) so i'm really ramping up the options here. one, it gives you a better idea of who you might choose and two, well, it's just fun isn't it? it makes the progression of your relationship with the chosen ro, whoever it may be, much more natural as well. (and also i just like writing about stoic characters like Blane and K, or flirty characters like Rylan, blush).

i hope you all know this, but i adore this story and i have no plans to abandon it. no matter how long ago the last update, i am still very much working on the next one. that said, i really appreciate everyone's patience. knowing that there are still so many people sticking by me despite the radio silence on my end is more than i deserve, really. so thank you. i really hope i can continue to live up to your expectations <3

[grandlinedreams]

|| i regret nothing I need Cooper Howard viscerally both pre and post Ghoulification

|| notes: semi Canon compliant, spoiler-ish for end of s1, semi-shifting pov, Lucy is adorable but baby girl you will be chewed up and spat out pls grow more spine, Dogmeat has never done anything wrong ever, godbless Cooper having a southern accent bc that's my accent, yeah, gonna do a sequel to this and a prequel on Coop and reader's first meeting, ok bye

|| warnings: weapons supplier!reader, couple of allusions to cannibalism, reader is not specifically gendered, NSFW ㅡ fingering/touching

“Where are we going?”

Not for the first time today, or even the last week, Cooper questions why he's letting the Vaultie (“Lucy,” she informs him primly, “my name is Lucy.”) tag along. The dog, at least, is a good, reliable companion. Dogmeat trots dutifully at his side, her tail wagging as he stops to glare at Lucy.

“Supplies, Vaultie,” he tells her, relishes the flicker of annoyance in her eyes. “Need supplies or we'll both be knee deep in shit.” He pauses. “More than we already are.” 

She mumbles something he doesn't care to catch as he resumes walking, rolling his eyes as he adjusts his hat. He knows he could stand to be a little more sympathetic with the bombshell she's still dealing with, but he can't bring himself to ㅡ not when his daughter might still be alive out there, somewhere. (And his ex-wife, who he's pointedly trying to not think about too much.) 

Lucy is blessedly quiet for a good while, all the way until they get closer to where they're going. Cooper doesn't need that piece of shit vault-tec device on her arm to know where he is, but Lucy says it anyways.

“It's a town,” she mumbles at the cluster of ramshackle buildings, surrounded by the clustering of trees so much like Filly ㅡ but isn't. “Is thisㅡ”

“Yes,” he answers, “now shut it and walk.”

Lucy huffs. “I don't know if you've realized neither of us have means to pay for anything,” she protests, “but the general rule ofㅡ” 

“Vaultie.” If looks could kill, she'd be six feet under. He's never had much patience, but she’s already reached the bottom of it and keeps digging. “Shut the fuck up about your goddamn rules. If you haven't noticed, nobody up here gives a damn about playing by what's wrong and what's right.” He gives her a meaningful look. “Now if you don't want me to leave your ass to whatever comes along next, you'll be quiet and let me handle it.” 

Lucy's mouth shuts with an audible click, and Cooper turns on his heel to resume walking, Dogmeat at his heels. 

Like Filly, the center of buildings bustle with the day to day of so many others, the cacophony of animal sounds along with chatter ㅡ Cooper spares Lucy a brief glance to watch her struggle to keep up and scoffs to himself, shaking his head as he continues.

He knows where he's going, a little shop shoved between two others, narrow but deeper than the other two, because he's been here before. Several times, actually. Which accounts for the familiarity with which he strolls over the threshold and leaves Lucy and Dogmeat to follow. 

There's the jingle of what might be a bell over Lucy's head when she follows, blinking at the interior. Neat and tidy, or at least as much as can pass for such things on the surface ㅡ rows of weapons and other assorted things on shelves and stands. 

Lucy watches The Ghoul rap his fist on the counter. “I know you're here,” he calls, “you never leave this damn place!”

She expects whoever it is to come scuttling out with the tone of voice he uses and being as accustomed to his rougher attitude, and she listens to the clatter of something further in the shop.

“If that's your greeting nowadays,” comes the answer, “you can fuck off.” 

To Lucy’s surprise, The Ghoul husks a laugh instead of offering another threat. Footsteps approach, and Lucy blinks at the person who rounds the corner. 

“You,” you accuse, finger almost into his chest, “thought I told you I was done dealing with you if you couldn't work on your manners.” 

Lucy stares, and watches as you turn towards her and raise an eyebrow, eyeing her with unrestrained curiosity, then at Dogmeat. “A vaultie and a dog,” you say, then glance back at The Ghoul. “So, taking in strays, huh?”

The Ghoul grimaces. “Guess so.” He clears his throat. “Need supplies again, sweetheart.”

“Figured as much,” you say, arms folding across your chest. Lucy decides she likes you, because you're standing up to him ㅡ and he's letting you. “Take it you have no way of paying, again.”

Lucy wants to tell The Ghoul I told you so, because he can shit on all her little rules all he likes but the surface still deals in keeping the scales balanced. You have to eat too, so it's fair that you're expecting payment in the nonexistent caps they have. The Ghoul, on the other hand, tries a different route. 

“Oh come on now sugar,” The Ghoul wheedles, tone almost what could be considered as sweet. Playing at a gentleman for the way he leans against the cobbled together counter, even goes as far as to take his hat off and place it down. “Don't be like that.”

“Don't you sugar me,” you counter with an attitude that honestly startles Lucy for both the lack of genuine bite or answering hostility from The Ghoul. This isn't the first time you've met, she realizes, and is also quietly a little horrified to register that this almost sounds like flirting. “You're a pain in the ass, you know that?”

The Ghoul almost grins. “At least I'm consistent. Besides, you know you miss me when I'm gone.” 

You snort, pressing your lips together to hide a smile. Lucy feels a tiny bit uncomfortable with the atmosphere, like she's watching something she shouldn't be privy to. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you answer, bustling around to shove several fabric wrapped packs into his chest and giving him a meaningful look. “You owe me.” 

It's definitely flirting now, Lucy notes as The Ghoul's face lights up in a way that's still entirely human, tracking your movements with something far softer than anything she's ever seen from him. 

The turn towards her and head jerk to her and Dogmeat is as clear as dismissal as she's ever seen, to make herself scarce ㅡ so she does, but not before she catches the peripheral glimpse of the way you let him reach for you, almost melting into him for the way he moves to undoubtedly murmur something. 

That something is not the sweet words of a long time lover, but it's probably about as close as you're going to get with things the way they are.

 

“Anyone causin’ you trouble lately?” 

You roll your eyes. “Besides you?” He gives you a look, and you shake your head. “No, and even if there was, you know I can handle myself.” You turn to throw him a teasing look over your shoulder. “Don't tell me you're getting soft on me, old man.” 

It's Cooper's turn to snort, even as he moves to follow you. There's a sort of peace to watching you sort through boxes of shell casings and bottles of powder, letting his gaze drift over your body. 

When you turn, he doesn't even bother to hide the way he's watching you, and you arch an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothin’,” he returns. “Can't I admire you?”

You roll your eyes. “I'm too expensive for you, Cooper.” It's a playful taunt, one that incites a little flare of something in his eyes as he approaches, the jingle of his spurs as he comes to loom over you, cages you in against the shelves of “inventory”. 

“Really now,” he drawls, leans in, eyes predatory dark. A lifetime ago, you might have been scared. But the wastelands made no qualms about beating fear out of people just as quick as it snuffed out life all together. “Here I was thinkin’ I might get a discount.” He reaches, thumbs at your bottom lip with his gloved digit. “What's the askin’ price, sweetheart?” 

This close, he smells like the wastelands and sunbaked leather, with a little bit of blood ㅡ but you don't mind. Never have, not sure you ever will. Not when it comes to him, anyways.

He's a dangerous man. A man with a reputation that's well-earned, spoken in hushed whispers and anything but nice. But you let him slot a leg between yours, lean in, press his lips to your hair. You smell like gunpowder and hot metal, grease stained fingertips and more than a couple bruises and scars for your efforts. 

Sometimes Cooper contends with the idea he might need you just as much as he needs that chem that keeps him sane. Admits it here and there, quietly to himself when he wanders in, squashes it down that he makes the trips sometimes just to make sure you're still alive. Not like he'd know if you were, till he sees you. Not sure what he'd do if he someday came up and found you gone. No note, no goodbye ㅡ quick and quiet, the cruelty of the wastelands.  

“Didn't answer my question, darlin’.” He mumbles, lips to your cheeks now. Soft skin, kept carefully with rationed doses of radaway and a healthy heap of keeping your cute little self out of business that doesn't involve you. “Come on, I asked you real nicely.” 

You hook your fingers in the loops of his belt, pull him closer. He can feel the jump of your heartbeat under his lips, now at your jawline. A soft, shaky inhale. Selfishly, he wants to keep you. Steal you away, greedy to keep you for himself. Hates the idea of whatever scum that rolls in that you have to deal with on your own. You can handle yourself, he knows that. 

Doesn't stop that little piece of him that's still truly Cooper Howard from worrying. But he knows better than to think he can protect you, because he can't. So he does what he can.

Your skin is soft under his teeth, forgiving to the nip of them, the blooming blossom of pink that reminds him of strawberries. The noise you make is just as sweet, and he wonders if you'd taste like that, too. 

“I'm waiting,” he prompts between little nips, mouth curving against your flesh when you grip at him tighter. There's a lot he could do to you, and not a lot you wouldn't let him. “Don't tell me this big ol’ cat’s got your tongue, little songbird.” 

Your lips part, and he expects either a sparky response or a soft plea for what this is tilting towards, partaking of something far softer than anything he's used to nowadays ㅡ  but you’ve always had a taste for throwing him for a loop, and you do it now. 

“Take me with you.” 

That snaps him out of his little hazy, touch-greedy daze, enough that he pulls away to look at you properly. “Repeat that?”

“You heard me.” You tug at the loops of his belt, eyes steely, expression firm. “Take me with you. Tired of this shitty little outpost. Figure it's time to move before I get myself into trouble I can't get out of.”

Cooper laughs. “Think you're runnin’ straight into that fire by askin’ what you're askin’, sweet thing.” A warning and a plea, mixed mish-mash in his words. Part of him wants you to stay here. Concrete, much as it can be, where he knows where you are. Other part says it'd be easier to watch your back if he saw it all the time. 

“That's not an answer, Cooper.” 

He snorts, softens at the edges again, a little sadder as he reaches to stroke your jawline, leans to bump his forehead to yours ㅡ radiation warm against radaway cold. “Wanna make sure you know what you're asking for, darlin’. I ain't your babysitter. Got my own shit to do.”

“I know.” There's that fire in your voice, the kind he loves and hates at the same time. “Wasn't asking for you to babysit me.” 

He swallows roughly. Lets his hands drift up your sides, tug at the tuck of your shirt, underneath to drag sun-worn leather against the soft skin of your abdomen. Relishes the way you shiver, leaning into his touch. “Can't promise nothin’, you know that.” 

Your smile promises the same kind of heartbreak his own words do, the kind rooted in the reality that the world doesn't deal in any absolute but death, and sure as shit won't give happy endings. Not anymore. “I know.” 

Cooper can't think of what to say to that, at least anything he's ready to, so he kisses you. Your lips are too soft against his, the warmth of your mouth reigniting that greedy, needy, human thing inside him. He pulls, digs his fingers into your soft, pliant skin, and he takes.

Takes what you willingly give him, hand over hand with nothing but that pretty little smile of yours. He muffles your gasp as he wedges his leg a little firmer, coaxes the part of your legs with a rough husk of, “just like that, dollface,” and delights too much in the sound of you moaning for him.

Hushed, quiet enough that there's no reason for Dogmeat or Lucy to come back yet (he doesn't know what they're up to nor does he really fuckin’ care at the moment), he lets himself indulge in the pleasure of your body against his. The sweet little sounds, half-gasped as he mouths at your neck, hitched to something almost like music as his hands wander. 

Pauses long enough to bite at the tip of his glove and tug, one then two, the bare, radiation scarred wander of his fingers over your body. It's selfish, the way he covets every little twitch and jump of your muscles, the choked gasp as he guides you into rocking against his leg. 

“You're so sweet for me, sugar,” he coos, syrupy as he picks you apart meticulously, piece by piece. Fingers still far too good at what they do when he replaces his leg with the press of them against you, remnants of a past life for how well he gets you to whimper his name. “Like ambrosia.” 

His fingers stroke, deceptively gentle, working over your slick, too-hot, achy skin until you’re panting and gripping at him, pleading for a relief only he can give you. And that’s exactly how he wants you, where all you can see and think of is him. 

The expression you make when he finally lets you come might truly be the most beautiful thing he’s seen in a very long time. Headier than the Jet, dizzying and making him swear as he jerks his clothed hips against yours, breath sharp in his chest. 

“Gonna be the death of me, I swear.” He bites at your neck, digs a little harder, scrapes his canines into your sweet, yielding flesh. He could devour you, take bite after sweet, sweet bite and actually test that theory about the strawberries. Crack the cage of your rib, feast on that beating yolk of heart that thumps so hard in your chest. 

“Gonna let me do it, sweet thing?” He rumbles against your ear. “Let me have it all?” 

Your eyes flash, lips pretty and swollen as they part to answer ㅡ and the bark of that damn mutt ruins it all. At least it's a warning for you both, because he's stepping back and letting you fix yourself with surprising speed as Lucy and Dogmeat return, an expectant look on the fuckin’ vaultie's face. 

“Well? Got what you need?"

Cooper snorts, tracks you instead of answering as you press your hand to his for a second, gone around the corner. Lucy frowns when you return, pistol strapped at your hip and a bandolier slung over your shoulder like his, broad pack strapped to your back. Like you planned for this.

And you did, he notes, but it hadn't been contingent on his agreement. Idly, he notes he never did answer you, not really. But he just hums, then turns towards Lucy, who looks between the two of you, confused. 

“Yeah,” he finally answers, “got what I need.”

[marvel-snape-writes]

What if snape fucking you in his potions closet and he has to muffle your cries with his big hand🫣and he tells you he’ll use truth serum on you if you don’t tell him exactly what you’re feeling 😵‍💫

Come On Time

Snape x original female character

18+ smuuuuuuuuut

2.5k words Thank you to whoever requested this, I hope I did it some kind of justice 🫣🫶

Severus recognised her footsteps the moment he heard them echoing down the corridor. His mind immediately fell victim to trying to guess what she would be wearing; something revealing to entice him what he could have later, something excessively covered up to keep him guessing, or, perhaps, nothing… just like a couple of nights before.

His head turned in the direction of her footsteps, though his face remained expressionless. Once she was in clear view, she flashed him a smile, but it did come across a little weary.

“Sorry, Professor, I—” She began before he cut her off abruptly.

“Were supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago.” He finished her sentence for her in his own words, though he more spat than spoke.

“I… got caught up.” She swallowed hard, able to feel his temper through the air.

“Sh.” He brought his index finger to his lips and glanced up and down the corridor before reaching behind him and placing his hand on the door handle, “Come quietly.”

She nodded and followed him inside, feeling her heart rate increased as the door shut behind her. He paced to the far end of the Potions Closet and huffed loudly, his cloak swishing as he moved.

“Time escaped me, Severus…” She spoke timidly as she walked cautiously behind him.

“Enough.” He raised his hand and turned around, “You were made fully aware of the amount of time I have between classes,” His eyes walked all over her body, his lips remaining parted before speaking again, “And, yet, you failed to come when I asked.”

“Severus— uh, Professor, it was not my intention to come so late,” She spoke uneasily, “I swear…”

“No… excuses…” He shook his head, moving their faces closer between words and raising one of his large hands to cup her face in.

“I-I’m sorry.” She whispered, daring to place her hands upon his chest.

“’Sorry’ just isn't going to cut it this time, I'm afraid.” He flashed her a smirk, their lips only inches apart this time.

“How long have you got?” She asked, tickling her lips against his.

“Fifteen minutes less than I'd like.” He grumbled, finally claiming her lips.

Her hands moved to hold onto the lapels of his large overcoat and she pulled him forward in an attempt to deepen the kiss almost immediately. Snape stumbled forward slightly and placed his hands against the shelf just above her shoulders to steady himself.

“Mm, desperate…” She teased as their bodies collided, kissing him now with parted lips.

“Do not test my patience any further, Eleanor…” His grip on the shelves tightened and his kisses became less forgiving.

Their eyes fell shut and Eleanor’s hand slipped down the front of his body until they met with the front of his trousers, instinctively massaging her palm against him with each kiss. Severus’ hands moved to her hips and he whimpered against her lips, feeling his neediness already beginning to become obvious in the crotch of his pants. He pulled at her bottom lip and pushed his body forward against hers, pausing slightly when he heard the several glass bottles knock against each other as the shelf wobbled.

“This won't do,” He spoke in between breaths, pulling back slightly, “We’ll cause too much of a disturbance if all these come tumbling down.”

“What, and throwing me around your Potions Closet won't cause a disturbance?” She smirked.

“Sometimes I only kiss you to shut- you- up.” He snarled against her lips, lifting her off the ground and placing her on his desk.

“Bloody charming.” She giggled, leaning up to kiss him as her hands immediately darted to his crotch, desperately trying to unfasten his pants.

Severus didn't respond this time, only by grunting harder against her lips. His hands found the hem of her dress and he pushed it up slightly, biting down on her bottom lip. His fingertips slipped under the hem of her dress this time and brushed back and forth over her tights that were clung skin-tight to her thighs. Eleanor’s hand purposefully slipped from the fastening of his pants to instead grasping his hardened length through the material. Only seconds after her hand found his cock, Severus’ hand found her neck and grasped it loosely.

“Do not taunt me,” He warned, nipping at her lips, “I assure you it will not result in a gentle outcome.”

“What if that's what I want?” She asked, gripping the crotch of his trousers again and tugging them open.

“First, you don't show up for me on time, and now…” He gasped quietly when he felt her pull the zip of his crotch down properly.

“And now, Professor?” She arched a brow, their lips less than an inch apart.

He didn’t answer.

“Has the sharp-tongued Professor finally lost his tongue, hm?” She began to smirk until Severus gripped her hips and pulled her off the table, spinning her around and pushing her against it.

“I don't know how you have the nerve…” He spoke each word sharply, grasping onto her thighs and roughly pushing them apart — silently to her delight.

“Hmm?” She placed her hands flat against the table, gasping with a wide grin as Severus reached between her legs this time and ripped a desperate hole in her tights, swallowing hard and then parting his lips when he noticed there was no further material underneath, “I came unaccompanied by underwear, what more could you want from me?”

“There comes a time,” He spoke as he frantically pushed down the front of his own underwear, “When she just needs to be bent over the desk, and asked…” His lip twitched as he lined himself up with her properly, wasting no time in thrusting his hips forward and leaning over her as his head dipped to whisper lowly into her ear, “’So, what's all that attitude about?’”

“Are you going to punish me, Professor?” She asked, biting down on her lip hard to try and stop herself from moaning now he was all the way inside her, “For not coming on time, hm?”

“Oh, I'm going to make you cum on time…” He gritted his teeth, starting to move his hips, “Cum on my time.”

Eleanor’s head fell forward in pleasure as Severus’ thrusts became more frequent and fast, trying her best to keep her moans to a minimum. Severus’ hands remained clamped onto her waist, shaking his hair out of his face as it began to move with each motion of his hips. His eyes fell shut and rolled back in pleasure, his jaw locking with each thrust.

“S-Sev, mmmh…” Eleanor whimpered, her grip on the table tightening as his thrusts from behind her only grew faster.

“Hold on tight, Princess, there's two whole days of not having you pent up in these thrusts.” He snarled, smirking wickedly as he briefly made the table legs squeak from the force of his hips.

“Two whole days of not having me, hm?” Eleanor grinned smugly and bit her lip for a few moments before speaking again, “Did you want me that badly, Professor?”

“Yes.” He answered bluntly, moaning several times under his breath as his length pulsated while it slid in and out of her with ease.

“And you didn't think to think of me and touch yourself?” She dared herself to ask. The grin remained on her lips for a few more short moments before letting out a pleasure-filled shriek when Severus’ response to her question was a harsh palm across her bottom.

He followed this with an assertive, “Do not be absurd.”

His hips gained a rough speed as if punishment for her question. It was punishment she liked, though; letting out a blissful cry. Severus let this one slide, also grunting himself each time he harshly thrust his hips forward. He squeezed his eyes shut from the delight of his throbbing length filling her perfectly each time his hips moved forward. Eleanor’s hands began to shake against the table as her grip weakened from the strength of his movements, moans now uncontrollably falling from her lips as he repeatedly slammed his hips forward. The sounds of her moans, however, were what shook him out of his trance; the sudden realisation that her moans could most likely be heard from outside the Potions Closet dawned on him — sending both fear and thrill of them both getting caught.

“Severus, fu-!” She tried to shout in pleasure before she found his large hand clasp around her mouth.

“Quiet!” He commanded, fighting off his own moan as he spoke shakily this time, “Y-You’ll get us caught…”

“Mmh, g.. f…bid… pe..pl…f…nd…ou…Prof…Sn..p…ac..t…lly…h…s…ex…” Was all that she could manage to murmur into the palm of his hand.

“What was that?” He snapped, thinning his lips when he felt her press a gentle kiss to the palm of his hand before he brought it away to allow her to speak properly.

“I-I said…” She tried to gather her breath in order to speak in full sentences and found this increasingly hard from the relentless thrusts of his hips now knocking her into the table each time, “God forbid people find out Professor Snape actually has sex…”

“Don't be a fucking brat.” He growled lowly, gripping onto her tighter.

“Or what?” She practically moaned out her words, her fingertips now turning white from how hard she was holding onto the moving table.

“Or I'll fuck you like a brat,” He spoke through gritted teeth, “And you’ll tell me exactly how it feels.”

“B..But…” She whimpered, already finding it hard not to make any sound, “H-How do I do that without us… g-getting caught?”

“You tell me and not the whole fucking world.” Severus fired back quickly, his movements stopping completely as he leaned over her to breathe into her ear, “Or I'll force-feed you the Truth Serum and then you’ll have no choice but to tell the whole world how you meet up with your old Professor in secret to fuck in his Potions Closet between lessons just so you can get a good reference from your work experience.”

“I…” She lost her breath — and train of thought — just from his words alone; turning her on even more than she thought possible.

“You can stand in front of everyone in the Great Hall and tell them how it feels to have your old Professor, the one that you despised so much, how it feels to have his cock pounding into you until you come apart for me…” He smirked evilly against her skin, pressing a singular kiss behind her ear before whispering even lower this time, “How, at times, I've had you beg for mercy, beg for faster, beg for harder… Beg on your knees for my cock.”

“S-Sev…” She could barely speak through her aroused state.

“Are you going to behave?” He spoke cruelly slowly into her ear, hovering his hand over her mouth again, “And tell mehow it feels? You won't even have to beg if you comply to simple instruction…”

She nodded, desperate to feel his movements again.

“Good girl.” He grinned wickedly and placed his hands against her hips again, standing up straight.

Eleanor braced herself, knowing she had earned herself a pleasure-filled punishing. Severus remained teasingly still for a few moments before he roughly began to plunge himself forward again, so hard Eleanor swore she could see stars.

“Fuck, Severus!” She gasped in a high pitched whisper, already having to grasp onto the table from the strength of his thrusts, “O-Only your cock is capable of doing this to me… making me feel like this.” She whimpered as her body began to shake in pleasure.

“That's because only my cock is allowed to do this…” He growled, a hint of possession in his voice.

“I-It feels so…” She bit her lip hard before her mouth fell open in delight, “S-So fucking good…”

The table squeaked beneath them and Severus’ fingertips began to dig into the material covering her hips. The two of them filled the Potions Closet with subtle noises of delight as their eyes remained tightly shut, both of them getting closer and closer to their climax.

“O-Oh, my… fuck.” Severus began to lose himself, his knees threatening to buckle as his hips continued at a merciless pace.

“I-I don't ever want another man to have me like this…” Eleanor panted out her words, the heat in the pit of her stomach starting to spread, “G-Good reference or not, no one can fuck me like you, Severus.”

“A-Agh!” Severus let out a strangled cry of pleasure, suddenly reaching his orgasm as a result of her words and in turn shocking himself and Eleanor at how quick it was.

“Sev! Mmm…” Eleanor moaned as his thrusts became more and more clumsy.

“C-Cum for me, Eleanor…” He leaned over her again, his lips lingering against the back of her neck as he continued to shoot his release inside her with each shaky thrust, “Fuck, I used to love it when we’d cum together. Cum for me… Now. Now!”

“P-Professor!” Her breathing almost cutout as her own climax shortly followed, sending tingles of bliss throughout her entire body. She gripped onto the table the best she could, and though she used it to bear her weight, the amount of pleasure coursing through her made her feel like she was about to collapse onto the floor.

They moved against one another until their orgasms were ridden out, the room now becoming filled with their heavy breathing and musky, scandalous scent instead. Severus stood up properly and inhaled deeply, tucking himself back into his pants and fastening them back up. He ran his fingers back through his hair in an attempt to fix it back into a presentable state as Eleanor readjusted her dress after straightening herself back up, both their faces flushed.

“Here,” Severus said firmly, reaching for a small goblet with liquid in which was placed on a conveniently close shelf and handing it to her, “I already made it before you came.”

“Hm?” She arched a brow, playfully playing dumb as she took the Contraceptive Potion from him, “What happens in the Potions Closet stays in the Potions Closet, right?”

“Something like that.” He nodded, though allowed a brief chuckle to escape his lips.

“Bold of you to assume I'd let you have your way with me in here.” She teased, drinking from the goblet.

“What's the difference between this time and every other spare moment we get without prying eyes or students?” Snape narrowed his eyes briefly, “Besides, I think what you mean to say is ‘bold of you to assume I was going to be late so had to make this potion before I arrived because you knew there would be little time after.’”

“Excuse me?!” Eleanor snorted out a quiet laugh, trying to come across as offended as she swatted his chest lightly.

“Oh, come on,” Severus rolled his eyes, “You can't even cum on time, let alone come on time.”

-

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[dolliethv]

One Of The Girls.

summary: English is not my first language, so if you notice any mistakes I'm sorry!! Hiii, this is a pretty TO long story, I wanted to write something with a lot of sexual tension and a lot of smut, read it calmly and I hope you enjoy it xoxo!!

Pairing: Jude Bellingham x fem reader!!

Word count: about 6k

You weren't sure if attending Jude's party was a good idea, but something inside you—maybe the excitement of Halloween and the thought of celebrating with your group of friends, or perhaps the hope of seeing him—convinced you. Jude's huge, new house in Madrid, decorated with lit pumpkins and fake cobwebs, gleamed in the distance, full of people already enjoying the night.

You stepped inside, and strobe lights danced on the walls, while laughter and music filled the air. You grabbed a drink as you passed by the improvised bar, trying to relax. You hadn’t taken more than two steps when you felt that familiar gaze tracing your body. You slowly turned, and there he was, Jude, leaning against the wall, his eyes fixed solely on you.

You wished the ground would swallow you because your damn group of friends was headed straight toward Jude Bellingham’s group. Of course, they all knew each other.

After your friends had chatted enough with the other group, you decided to take the lead.

"Couldn’t you put a little more effort into your costume?" That was the first thing you asked when you finally looked him in the eyes for the first time that night.

Curious about what he was actually dressed as?

Seriously? A simple cop uniform? You could bet your life on the fact that men have zero originality—they always go for the easy option. Lord, give me patience.

You absolutely hated basic Halloween costumes. Anything that took less than ten minutes and minimal effort didn’t deserve attention. It might seem a bit over the top, but given the number of creative ideas this particular holiday offered, you just couldn’t stand it.

Not when you even designed and made your own costume for the occasion.

But it was funny how quickly Jude changed your mind.

Basic is good. Basic is great. Damn it.

"What’s your costume supposed to be, anyway?" Jude continued, his voice calm but his body still a bit tense.

"It’s Suki from Fast and Furious!" Drew, one of Jude’s friends, shouted loud enough that the music barely muffled it.

He wasn’t even trying to hide his blatant staring, but truthfully, neither of you cared. You turned and headed off with your friends to who knows where.

You knew you looked good. You’d worked particularly hard on your outfit for tonight, so you had no reason to hide. Everything was perfectly planned, from head to toe.

Minutes passed, and you tried to convince yourself there was no reason to panic, but there were a lot of people, and your outfit was a bit too revealing. So, when you felt hands around your waist, you were ready to scream for whoever it was to back off.

"It's me."

Oh my God, you almost had a heart attack.

Jude pulled you against him, your back pressed to his chest, his left hand settling on your hip while his right extended around your shoulder to not-so-gently push people aside. The tall, dark-haired boy didn’t take long to start moving you both, making space with his prominent frame when people were too slow to get out of the way, shoving them until he cleared a path for both of you.

Stupid party, stupid Jude Bellingham. It was his fault you ended up there anyway. Jude may not have seen your face, but he definitely felt how tense you were in his arms.

"Why the bad attitude?"

Bad attitude? You didn’t know much about attitudes, but all your limited knowledge vanished when he pulled you even closer.

You cleared your throat briefly, your words followed by a slight shake of your head.

"Am I the one with the bad attitude?" you replied.

Because truthfully, you’d been on your best behavior since you got to that house. Or at least trying.

Jude loved driving you crazy; he thought you looked damn adorable acting tough at barely 5'1".

"By the way, you look amazing."

It was a great move, saying something so flattering to ease the tension.

"Thanks," you murmured, not caring whether he heard, your eyes glued to the back of the guy Jude was elbowing out of the way.

Two stomped-on feet and a "Are you gonna move or what the hell are you waiting for?" later, you were finally out of the chaos.

Well, as far out of danger as you could be at a party and in a house full of mostly strangers.

However, Jude didn’t stop there. He guided you to what you vaguely recognized as the first hallway on the right, his hands never leaving your body. It wasn’t unpleasant for you, not at all, but you both drew more than a few curious stares. It didn’t bother you much now that your closest friends knew. Other people’s opinions of you were never the most positive anyway, but you were surprised at how little Jude seemed to care, considering it was his house.

When you finally stopped, you found yourselves where you’d suspected a few moments earlier, slightly sheltered from the loud music. There were a few other people around, but they were far enough away not to intrude on your conversation.

Jude released you a few seconds before turning you around and wrapping his arms around you again, pulling you close as he leaned against the wall.

"I like your hairstyle; it’s cute," he said, grabbing a lock of your hair between his fingers. "Scratch that. Actually, I love how sexy you look with your hair down."

You were starting to seriously regret the day you told Jude you wouldn’t mind being complimented daily because it was getting out of hand.

How were you supposed to function properly when Jude kept looking at you with dark eyes?

You swallowed hard, shifting your gaze to the side of his face to avoid dealing with the intensity of his stare. You needed to say something and had to do it now.

"People were staring at us."

Of course, your voice trembled, and of course, out of all the things you could’ve said, you picked the one with the most potential to ruin the moment.

Jude was being very open tonight, and while you didn’t dislike it, it was new and somehow made him even more intimidating. All you could focus on was trying to stay afloat, despite involuntarily melting into the warmth of his touch and the comfort of his voice.

"When you look like that, baby, of course, people are going to stare."

You were getting nervous so quickly that it was unreasonable. Your breathing was already picking up, and butterflies were fluttering, one by one, to the point that you could no longer distinguish between those in your heart and those in your stomach.

This was exactly why you shouldn’t stay away from Jude for too long.

"News travels fast, Bellingham. Especially when you’re the footballer of the moment."

But with Jude, you didn’t have to worry. Jude could take care of both of you, and maybe you shouldn’t trust him, but God, it felt so good to be protected.

You desperately wanted to kiss him. Every brush of his thumb against your skin was electrifying. You needed to be closer, needed more, and this time, it had nothing to do with lust.

It was the kind of need you hadn’t felt before, the kind that demanded an exchange of feelings, even if not through words. Even if you tore off your clothes and pressed skin to skin, chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat, it wouldn’t be enough. You wanted to be inside Jude’s mind, to share all his thoughts, to experience the unknown, to finally understand each other, but you were too scared.

You couldn’t get there just yet.

"Your costume is stupid," you finally said, your voice coming out a bit more determined.

Jude’s lips curled into a smile, which quickly turned into a laugh that disappeared just as fast, but it was definitely something worth remembering.

"You’re so good at flirting," he purred sarcastically. "Tell me more."

You thought you might be able to keep a straight face, but as soon as you saw him smile, you followed. There was something so addictive about it, maybe the fact that you didn’t see it often, but it definitely made Jude ten times more attractive.

And he was already too attractive to begin with. God.

"It really is stupid," you confirmed your own thoughts, your fingers trailing up to fix the collar of Jude’s cop uniform. "But you look so sexy. I don’t know why I’m so into this kind of stuff."

You knew you weren’t the only one. It’s not for nothing that women love men in uniform.

"You don’t like the uniforms; you like the authority behind them. Or should I say, you’re afraid of it?"

Even though you had the same smile, Jude looked completely different, but he was right. You always felt uneasy around any kind of authority figure.

Watching Jude—with the quite noticeable height and body size difference compared to you, with the sleeves of his uniform stretching around his biceps every time he moved—you couldn’t blame yourself for feeling a bit nervous.

And to top it all off, a pair of very real-looking handcuffs hung from his belt.

So yeah, you gave up your principles about liking the basic for one night, but Jude had chosen a really good costume to spark your imagination.

"Honestly..." Jude grabbed your chin and pulled you even closer, his eyes fixed on your lips. "I wouldn’t mind being a cop if it meant I could make pretty things like you tremble."

As if he needed to be a cop to do that. Idiot.

As if you didn’t already find him intimidating enough without the costume. As if your knees didn’t buckle and your body didn’t heat up every time Jude looked you in the eyes for more than three seconds.

"I think that’d be an abuse of power."

Very socially aware of you, but it might be more believable if you stopped looking at him like you wanted him to take advantage of you. You know it's wrong to think that.

Jude hummed, sliding his thumb over your lower lip before pressing it and pulling it down. The movement was so sudden it made you hiss. It was almost embarrassing how willing you were for Jude to do whatever he wanted, to play with your body however he pleased, without questioning the reason.

"It isn’t if you enjoy it."

Their heads tilted to opposite sides, moving closer with lips tingling from the desire to kiss. You could feel Jude exhale before gently pressing his body against yours and brushing his mouth against yours when—

"Bellingham!"

Both grimaced, and you quickly jumped back, your hands starting to smooth out the wrinkles in your clothes. You didn’t turn around or look at Jude; you didn’t want to know if someone had really seen you and didn’t want to deal with it.

Jude’s friends weren’t the type of people he enjoyed talking to, so it would be weird to find yourself in a situation where you had to pretend to be a bit interested in what they had to say.

"Oh, hey," Jude responded with much less enthusiasm as the sound of footsteps grew louder.

"Good party, man."

You recognized the characteristically deep voice and immediately tried to move a little further from the sound. You opted to take the empty space next to Jude, and to avoid seeming rude, you looked up, meeting Trent Alexander’s eyes before giving a small nod in his direction. The man nodded back with a shy smile resting on your lips.

"Hey y/n, you look great!!" He said.

"Thanks."

You knew him, or at least you knew who Alexander was. In your defense, you knew all the people in your circle of unfortunately extroverted friends. You knew he was a guy with too much money, another footballer, not surprisingly—very attractive—and also much kinder than many other rich and attractive people.

However, you started to feel anxious.

Alexander didn’t seem to notice your discomfort, even after greeting you. But then the guy lowered his gaze, not going below the level of your skirt, but enough to make you wonder— is this guy checking me out?—God, men are all so bold.

Suddenly, Bellingham cleared his throat, subtly but enough to move you a little out of Trent’s view.

Oh, okay.

"Sorry to bother you, but my friend here won’t stop saying she wants to meet the great Jude Bellingham."

Unaware of the presence of someone else before, you moved your gaze to Trent, where a model-like tall girl was giving all her attention to Jude.

You were annoyed by how attractive she was. You couldn’t imagine how she looked in Jude’s eyes. You weren’t a fan of the cliché thought of hating other women over men, but damn, this feeling was hard to handle.

"Can you blame me? He looks even better than I imagined," she said loudly.

Then you looked at how that girl was dressed.

She was obviously someone very bold, and you were all for female empowerment, but if she came any closer to Jude, you’d have to break her neck.

If Jude hadn’t noticed her before, he definitely was now, shamelessly scanning her figure until stopping on her chest a bit longer than necessary. When he looked back at her face, he gave her a playful smile.

"She knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to ask for it. My kind of girl."

Sorry, what? His type of what? Is he really giving me a hint?

A fake and shy smile spread across the unknown girl’s face as she tilted her head slightly and flipped her hair back, exposing more of her neck and collarbones.

"Oh, yeah?" She asked, her voice interrupted by laughter. "What else is your type?"

Me?

The girl started tracing circles with her index finger over the lower part of her collarbone before dragging it down, outlining the beginning of her breasts. They were quite exposed; it was hard not to notice them, but there was no worse way Jude could handle it than staring at them, his expression not hiding what he was thinking.

Bellingham took a step towards her, immediately placing his right hand on her hip without gripping it, just touching a bit, while moving to whisper something in her ear.

There was absolutely no damn way Jude was doing this in front of you, there must be some kind of reality error. No fucking way, you were really holding yourself back from pulling him away from her and giving him a beating.

Once the brunette straightened up, they were both smiling, and you couldn’t hear it, but you read it from the girl’s lips.

"I got lucky tonight."

Well, you had never considered yourself a crazy person, or at least not one who acted out of her mind with no regard for social norms.

Nevertheless, at that moment, you could barely stand.

You had no doubt about it anymore; it was too strong not to recognize, too powerful to ignore. You were jealous, so jealous that all you could think about was violence and all you could see was red.

"I’m leaving," Alexander suddenly said, visibly uncomfortable with the looks being exchanged.

You didn’t even have time to thank him mentally before the girl grabbed his arm as if her life depended on it, sweetly smiling at Jungkook and saying:

"I’ll be waiting."

And with that, they left.

The crowd made them disappear in less than a minute, leaving no trace. All you could focus on now was the unshakable smile on Jude’s face.

You despised him.

None of this was part of the plan.

Jude’s plan was to keep you without sex for a while, make you show how much you missed him, make you feel so needy that you’d give in to anything in seconds. Bellingham thought nothing could compare to the feeling he’d have once he saw your desperation, the ease with which he’d let you go, giving him the upper hand in the situation.

He was wrong.

Something better than a proud version of you was a version willing to admit, to admit that you were jealous, and he made you realize it after this little outburst.

"Where were we?" He asked as if nothing had happened, his attention slowly returning to you, clearly displeased at his side.

-I might have overstepped a bit- you thought. Relax.

Since Jude did everything he could to avoid giving you more than a glance while talking to that girl, wanting to make it as real as possible, he was enjoying watching your reaction.

You stared defiantly at the wall opposite them, obviously trying to transfer all your anger to her instead of Jude.

Seeing you cute probably wasn’t what you was looking for, but Jude found it absolutely adorable.

"Is something bothering you, sweetheart?" He gently brushed a lock of hair from your forehead, his voice laced with false concern.

"No."

It wasn’t a very convincing lie with your teeth clenched and a blank expression on your face.

"Mm, I think it is."

"Good for you."

Jude had to stifle a satisfied smile. The way you responded with the first thing that came to your mind showed you weren’t thinking much before speaking.

"Not in the mood for a conversation anymore?"

You closed your eyes.

But you couldn’t do that, not when it was exactly what you wanted to do. He couldn’t be the first to break, admit his lust, show that he wanted to be with you so much that he’d trample his pride.

Not again.

“You know, I never took you for a jerk who got jealous so easily.”

If it were physically possible, your jaw would be hitting the floor. The air caught in your throat and your lips hung oddly open as you looked at Jude and found the lack of concern on his features.

Being honest was the easiest way to get through to him.

“How dare you?” You asked offended, pushing Jude away as hard as you could.

His balance seemed to falter as you failed to move him an inch, but he did successfully sway on his two feet, before Jude grabbed your wrists.

“How dare I what?” He asked you with an amused smirk. “Does she make you jealous? I was just having a conversation, babe.”

“No, not that.” You finished your statement with an irritated groan, violently breaking free from his hold. “You’re an idiot. Go have a conversation then.”

“Should I?”

The look you gave him only said one thing. “I fucking dare you.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to find her?” You couldn’t help the sarcasm. “You didn’t look at her face even once.”

Well, if it wasn’t obvious, you screwed up. The chances of her living without Bellingham mentioning what you wanted him to not notice were now basically non-existent.

“She didn’t put that on so I would look at her face.”

You had never looked so angry, your head shaking in disbelief and fists clenched on either side of your body. You looked like you were really struggling not to slap him and Jude couldn’t blame you. That was the point, after all.

“Oh, wow.”

He was already on his way to calming her down, his hands reaching for your waist, when you raised his in defense.

“Don’t touch me.”

You even pointed with your index finger in warning, wagging it when Jude didn’t stop.

“I’m not joking, I’ll slap you, don’t touch me- mhppm-”

With one hand around your waist and the other pressing against your jaw, Jude had you backed up against the wall in no time. Despite your earlier threats and your bad mood, you surrendered into his arms quickly, melting into the touch, your soft moans being muffled by Jude’s mouth. The longer it went on, the more eager you became, tugging at his uniform, trying to pull him closer despite your bodies already being together.

When he pulled away, you were a mess. It was being a fight for him to refuse your touch.

“We can go to my room…”

He whispered against you, before moving lower.

“Talk…”

He pressed a kiss against your chin

“I’ll make you laugh…”

And then one on the side of your jaw

“I can make you cum…”

You shuddered at the proposal.

You both knew he wanted it, that was not in doubt. The question was how far he would go to get it.

“You will have my full attention.” With sarcasm.

Another kiss, just below your ear.

“All you need to do is ask.” He made sure you were looking at each other when he spoke, eager to see your reaction. “Tell me you don’t want to see me with someone else.”

You noticed how your body completely gave out, all hope in your eyes. Your excitement was replaced with panic as your pupils dilated and your mouth opened and closed without saying a word.

The offer was so tempting, the promise so real, so possible. I hate it.

You wanted it so badly, but it was a matter of pride and even though you were the prouder of the two of you, it was clear that you still had a hard time taking a step back from him.

“If I need to ask for attention, then I don’t want it.” You replied with a dry tone.

“If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Your jaw clenched at the implication. You knew it.

With the girl dressed in a bad porn nurse costume.

(...)

“Can you stop looking at him? I’m talking to you.”

The words of Odessa, your best friend, barely reached your ears, your thoughts overwhelming you in an almost pleasurable way.

You watched as Jude’s hand wrapped around an unfamiliar waist for the umpteenth time that night, causing your own fingers to grip your knee tightly.

This time it was a redhead, dressed in something that was more meant to cover the most private parts of her body than disguise, but who were you to judge? Right?

There was clearly a set pattern that you noticed during the time you spent sitting, gaping and staring in Bellingham’s direction. People would come up to say hello, most often women, their hands touching as much as they could without being inappropriate and a few minutes after sharing a few words they would come over with eyes fluttering in a way that could only mean one thing.

The first few times it happened, your heart nearly stopped beating. You were sure you knew what was about to happen next- Jude would take her by the hand and lead her to his bedroom.

But it didn’t happen. Not with the curly-haired brunette, not with the six-foot-eight leggy blonde, not with the one he was feasting on now.

Is he not interested? You asked yourself.

A raspy growl rumbled somewhere deep in your throat before you grabbed your glass and clumsily emptied it down your throat, not caring how the liquid spilled from the corners of your lips and down your chin.

You called out to your friends, as you abruptly stood up, almost tripping over someone sitting between them.

“Let’s dance.”

Your lips formed a smile at the thought of Jude seeing you with someone else. It was childish, yes, but you didn't really care.

You were about to execute your plan, but when you turned around, you found nothing worth your attention. The spot Jude was occupying all this time now had other people in it, no sign of the brunette in sight.

You wished you could say that it didn’t affect you.

So you turned your back on your friends and walked in the opposite direction, your newly gained good mood now ruined. You thought maybe if Jude admitted to being jealous, you could too. It would make it less embarrassing.

If Jude was here, surely he could get something better.

Yes, if Jude was here. If he wasn't fucking someone else.

"Having fun?"

A familiar voice reached your ears, close enough to feel the vibration of the sound, making you shiver, thanking God the place was too dark for anyone to notice as Bellingham's proximity made your entire body shake.

You kept your eyes on the empty glass in front of you not quite sure how you were going to respond with his mood.

Any words or actions from you from now on could be detrimental.

"Don't you want to talk to me?"

Silence.

"Okay, I'll go then."

Jude didn't even move. He didn't pull away, nor did he lean back. He stood right where he was five seconds ago, the same annoyed, mocking smile on his features.

"You're still not jealous?"

You weren't just jealous, you were seething with it.

"I am, actually. Tell anyone and I'll make sure it's the last thing that comes out of your mouth."

Admitting jealousy was a big deal for you, especially since you didn't know if Jude felt the same way. Also knowing what was coming after this.

"There's not much that can brighten my mood right now."you entered the room, "I just needed courage for what I'm about to do." locking it once the door was closed.

When you turned around, your eyes met and Jude felt something he hadn't felt in a while, it felt like he didn't really know anything about you.

He wasn't blind to the progress you'd made in the different areas of your relationship, but there was still a lot left to say, explain, discover, and - in a situation like this, when you seemed to be a completely different person - he was surprised at how much he still had to get to know you.

"Yeah? And can I know what it is?"

He longed to feel you again on other parts of his body and even more so when your hot mouth landed on his mouth as you said-

"Punish you."

It wasn't that it hadn't crossed Jude's mind that you might do something like this all night, but still, hearing you out loud was enough to bring a smug smile to his lips.

"Oh, really?"

It would be a lie to say you didn't find it fun.

Things were definitely taking a different turn than he had planned, but then again, ever since the party started, all of his plans were ruined, so he was surprisingly not opposed to the idea.

He was actually very intrigued.

You hummed in agreement and within seconds your hands were back on Jude's body, this time being bolder and freer with your movements.

It was the first proper touch that night and Bellingham thought he was ready, but he really had no idea how much he had missed this until he experienced it again. He struggled to keep his eyes open, but the feel of your palms and the heaviness of your fingers prevented him from doing so.

Your hands moved in opposite directions, one sliding down his abdomen and the other circling the side of his neck. With the pad of your thumb, you traced circles on his skin, massaging and releasing some of the tension.

He had a hard time trying to keep from getting an erection from the moment he laid eyes on you when you arrived. Now... now it was impossible.

"You know..." you started saying.

Jude heard your whisper, but could barely register it due to the heat that was beginning to creep steadily down his body, fading only for a moment when his belt got in the way, but then coming back stronger, with a grip more powerful than before. Bellingham would be ashamed to admit that his breath hitched as soon as he felt you where he wanted it most.

“I’d rather have these for myself, but you left me no choice.”

It all clicked, both metaphorically and literally, in his brain and out loud, but Jude couldn’t move fast enough to stop it.

The handcuffs were already dangling from the tip of your index finger as you swung them teasingly back and forth in front of his face.

Oh. Interesting.

The way you could overpower Jude in a mere second was wonderful.

“What makes you think I’m going to let you do that?”

You pursed your lips briefly as if contemplating his answer.

“And what makes you think I’m going to ask for your permission?” You replied.

“Maybe that drink was too much after all,” he looked at you with a smirk. “Looks like you’re confusing roles.”

Judging by his expression, you didn’t share the same opinion.

You pushed him until the back of his knees hit the bed.

Jude didn’t stop you or object, instead sitting on the edge as he was pushed down, curious to see how things would play out.

“Are you threatening me, baby?” He asked, leaning back on his forearms.

You looked perfect from every angle, she was so sure of it now.

Your free hand gripping Jude’s jaw and squeezing it a little in annoyance.

“My name isn't ‘baby’.”

You slid your fingers down the side of Bellingham's throat where the smear of a lipstick still rested on his skin.

As you stared into each other's eyes, you looked so angry that Jude couldn't help the heat spreading throughout his insides.

"Wouldn't that make you even more angry, baby?" He emphasized on the nickname on purpose, arching an eyebrow mockingly.

The sound that came out of your throat was quiet, but he didn't miss it.

-Even her grunts are cute.-

"Shut the fuck up."

It was clear that you weren't usually the type to get angry to that extent, and even if you had been, you were the type to never act on it.

"Keep your hands behind your back if you don't want to lose your most prized possession."

You felt it before you understood it - a pressure of something hard and unfamiliar against your crotch. Something unwanted.

And it came, a sign. Not too big, not too flashy, not too obvious, but painful and threatening.

Your foot moved so abruptly that the tip of your shoe met the tip of Jude's cock and hit dangerously close to his balls.

You did it. I got you.

"Good choice."

With one swift movement, his crotch was free again, but his hands were bound at the wrists by the steel rings.

You pushed him down onto the bed and pulled his shirt open, leaving his chest completely bare.

“Shit,” you muttered at the sight. “You’re lucky to be attractive.”

“And you’re lucky to be able to see me like this.”

You sent him a questioning look. “Oh, I am? Who hasn’t gotten to see you like this? Because from what I’ve witnessed, you don’t exactly have a criterion when it comes to who you let undress you.”

“You seem really upset by that thought, sweetheart. Are you scared of having a little competition?”

“And what makes them my competition? They’re not as pretty as me.”

“But they’re a lot more obedient.” He replied.

Pure shit.

There’s nothing Jude likes more than how disobedient you are.

“You know my legs are always open for you.”

"Baby..."

"You know you can take anything you want from me, anywhere you want... any way you want..."

Every syllable that came out of your mouth was filled with confidence. Your fingers caressed his jaw as if he was teasing, barely grazing the skin before pulling away and touching another part.

"You have such a dirty mouth." The boy said.

"You want it around your cock?"

Holy shit, did you really say that?

"Yeah."

You hummed, acting like you were considering it.

"But I think you acted like shit, I don't think you deserve it."

"You're lucky that I'm tied up right now, otherwise I'd fuck you until you were ruined."

You seemed to take it as a compliment, your thighs clenching tightly around Bellingham's hips to feel him better.

"Oh yeah? You wanna fuck me?"

As if his massive erection wasn't proof enough already.

“Yes, baby. So bad.”

His confession brought a satisfied smile to your face.

“You wanna see what I got under there?”

“Show me how pretty you are.”

But you didn’t take off any clothes.

You just started riding one of his thighs, your movements teasing and slow.

“Shit. Take this off me.” The dark-skinned one said.

“And why would I do that?”

God, this was getting so frustrating. Jude wanted nothing more to do than watch you choke on his cock until you remembered how to talk to him properly. You shifted a little on his lap, creating a small but effective friction.

“Baby…”

“Suck.” You claimed.

Shit. Usually, Jude was the one giving the orders. Usually, you were the one with Jude’s fingers inside your mouth, too. He opened his mouth obligingly and you immediately pushed two of your fingers in, letting them rest on the tip of his tongue before pushing them fully into his mouth.

“You like having my fingers in your mouth?”

Jude couldn’t help but like the mess he was turning you into.

You withdrew your fingers without warning and brought them to your own mouth, sucking and moaning lewdly as you looked directly into Bellingham’s eyes.

“You’re so fucking dirty.”

Your hand trailed until it was just above your breasts, eyes still on Jude’s as you squeezed your tits.

Jude didn’t even have time to react before he saw you move up your own body and rub through the material covering your pussy, touching up and down a bit teasing the boy in front of you, leaving a wet spot when you pulled your hand away.

“Move your hips for me. Can you do that for me?” That innocent tone you set made Jude explode. And he didn't need to be told twice.

He put all of his weight on his arms, his palms and heels sinking deep into the mattress, and he lifted his hips so hard that you jumped a little on his lap.

Without further ado, he thrust up, fast at first, to give you a taste of his desire, but then slower, nicer, dragging his length over your underwear-covered clit.

You decided to go a little further and freed Jude's cock, so damn big and veiny. You pulled off your underwear and started rubbing yourself. It was so damn delicious the difference in size and how the head of Jude's cock rubbed against your clit.

But what kind of punishment would it be, giving him something he so craved? You knew. You had prepared better.

So when you forgot about everything except the repetitive motion you were supposed to follow, when your moans were finally released loud and clear in the way only he had heard them before, when he could already feel the pleasure, you lifted your hips.

Bellingham groaned in frustration, closing his eyes as he fucked into the air, unable to stop his body from seeking the orgasm he had just been denied.

“Untie me this very instant.”

He may not have sounded angry at his ragged breathing, his body still recovering from the denial, but he was and he would gladly show you how terrifying he could be if he gave him the chance.

You smiled sweetly, dropping your weight onto his lap, a movement so sudden it left him breathless.

“No.”

"I wasn't-" He trailed off, a small sound escaping his mouth from another roll of your hips on his axis. "I wasn't asking."

"Fuck, did I tell you how big you are?" You replied, your small body shaking as you pulled away and sat on the edge of the bed. "You should learn not to play with me Bellingham, I'm not one of those girls, don't get wrong with me."

You pulled up your underwear and pulled back up the shorts that barely covered your ass and the small miniskirt accompanied by a pink belt that was hooked with straps to the leggings that reached just above your knee.

"Shit, shit, shit..." He replied frustrated.

"I'm sorry but now you'll have to fix this on your own." You turned around and walked away.

Jude Bellingham is totally lost.

[thedemoninme141]

Her Heartbeat, Chapter 1: Her Anger.

Summary: Wednesday's anger got her into trouble, Where do you come along?

Warnings: There isn't really any warning but I guess WednesdayBeatingPeople???? FLUFF!!!! No angst in this chapter, but who knows what happens in the future...

Masterlist

Wednesday sat there, in her dorm, right in front of the half-colored half-dead window.Your diary in her hand. And for the first time in her life, Wednesday felt anger. Anger was for people who lost control, who let their emotions drive their actions, who lashed out in fits of rage. Wednesday was never angry. She was annoyed most of the time, but angry? Never. At least that's what she kept telling herself. But inside, her blood simmered with a quiet rage, an anger that she had never considered a flaw but rather a necessary tool for survival. It was not an issue—it was a tolerance bar. And God help whoever crosses it.

So when those boys at Weathervane decided to mock Enid, they unknowingly signed their own fate. The day was already going bad and Wednesday's tolerance bar had reached its limit, and she had done what she deemed appropriate. Enid had tried to stop her, of course, pulling on her arm. She was still in control, right?

Okay fine! She broke a few bones, dislocated a jaw or two, and made sure they would remember to keep Enid’s name out of their mouths for as long as they lived.

When the cops came to the scene, Wednesday was still standing over the boys, wiping her knuckles with a napkin. She was arrested for the third time in her life. Or was it fourth time? Those boys were arrested too, but somehow it was only Wednesday who ended up with a mandatory sentence: Anger Management Therapy sessions. How utterly ridiculous. What could possibly be wrong with expressing herself in a way that ensured she was heard, understood, and remembered?

"You cannot say no, Wednesday, if you do not attend and pass this therapy session, I will have no choice but to expel you."

Ugh, why did Weems even survive Thornhill's poison?

And that’s how Wednesday found herself stuck in this new circle of hell. It was infuriating. It was unjust. And it was a complete waste of time.

The sessions were held in a nondescript building just off the main street in Jericho, where people who had done things they "shouldn't" were supposed to fix themselves. They were meant to "reflect," "heal," and "improve." Wednesday didn't need improvement. She was perfect as she was, she was everything they could never be: self-sufficient, rational, and unapologetic.

The group leader, David, was an insufferable man in his mid-thirties. And much to Wednesday's dismay, he was the male version of Enid. He was incessantly cheerful, overly intrusive, and sickeningly optimistic about everyone’s potential for change. Wednesday found him exhausting.

David had made it his mission to get Wednesday to "open up," constantly encouraging her to share her feelings, recount her past, and dig deep into the source of her "anger." But Wednesday refused to play his game. She sat through the sessions in stony silence, expressing her disinterest as the other participants spoke of their mistakes and regrets. The only sound she made was the tap of her boots. Maybe she can annoy David enough to get kicked out of this nonsense.

She showed up late, ignored his questions, and rolled her eyes whenever he tried to address her. But David was unflappable. He would only chuckle softly, as if she were some mischievous child whose antics were endearing rather than infuriating. Every time she pushed, he merely pushed back with more patience, more persistence, and an infuriatingly steady resolve. After a while, she realized he would not break, and she would only be prolonging her sentence by continuing to fight him.

She attended every session and waited silently while the others poured their hearts out. She refused to say a word, they didn't deserve to know a thing about her. Maybe things aren't exactly too bad. She can just go through alone without causing any trouble so David can finally give some positive feedback on her report and let her be free.

But he had thrown a new wrench into her already miserable routine. He announced, with that obnoxious grin plastered on his face, that they were now required to bring a "partner" to the sessions. Someone who can vouch for them, that they are making progress outside of the therapy session too. Someone who could act as their support system, their "anchor" in times of distress. As if she needed an anchor.

The mere thought of dragging someone else into this circus wasn't exactly unpleasing. At least she could pass her time watching them suffer.

But the problem was she didn't have a line of volunteers waiting to join her in group therapy

Enid, unsurprisingly, had refused immediately, citing her “makeup sessions” with Yoko as an excuse. Wednesday could see right through her, though. Enid’s answer wasn’t about makeup; it was about not wanting to spend her Fridays and Saturdays in a gloomy room with a bunch of disgruntled teenagers and their annoying leader. And honestly, can Wednesday blame her?

Eugene was a possibility, but he was too innocent, too eager to please. He would end up making her look ridiculous in front of the group.

Xavier would have jumped at the opportunity if he hadn’t transferred out last month, much to Wednesday’s relief. Wednesday needed someone but Xavier? Ew, Wednesday wasn't that desperate.

However, she was desperate enough to ask Bianca, who, getting the chance, mocked her before refusing her, “You got yourself in this mess, Wednesday. Surely you can get yourself out,”

That left no one. Not a single person who would willingly subject themselves to the torture of these sessions, and certainly not for her sake. But David had made it clear: no partner, no progress. And no progress meant more sessions, dragging on into the foreseeable future until she complied.

Fine. Screw Bianca. Screw this whole place, this entire ridiculous therapy group, and all its pointless exercises. There wasn’t even a single murder to investigate, no mysteries to solve, nothing to occupy her mind except these meaningless tasks assigned by the so-called professionals who think they can ‘fix’ her. Wednesday was done. Maybe she should run away again. Yes, she could slip out, make her way to Weathervane, and catch a bus to anywhere but here. No one would miss her, and she wouldn’t miss them.

Wednesday was so engrossed in her thoughts of escape that she didn’t even notice when someone approached her. It wasn’t until she heard an exasperated voice that she snapped out of it.

“Hey! Are you even listening?”

She blinked, her gaze shifting to the source of the interruption. A girl stood in front of her, arms crossed, looking more annoyed than intimidated. Wednesday’s eyebrows knit together.

“Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Y/n.”

Wednesday raised an eyebrow, completely unimpressed. “Congratulations. So what am I supposed to do with that information?”

"Ugh" you groaned “Well, I need your help,” you stated, trying to sound confident but there was an edge of uncertainty in your voice.

“No.” Wednesday didn’t even bother to ask what you needed.

“Oh, come on!” you shot back, clearly annoyed by her immediate dismissal. “At least ask what I need help with! I heard you’re quite good with these kinds of things.”

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What things? If you’re talking about murdering someone, then sure.”

“No, not murdering someone!” You glanced around nervously, almost mumbling. “It’s… umm… kind of like that, but not really… how do I say it…”

Wednesday cut you off with a sharp glare. “Waste my time, and you'll be the one getting murdered.”

“Okay, Jesus, calm down,” you muttered. “I need your help kidnapping someone.”

Wednesday blinked, taken aback. Her expression flickered with surprise, but it was quickly masked by her usual indifference.

"Why would you even think I’d help you? Wait, first of all why would you even think I’m qualified for this job?"

"Because you’re bored," you said plainly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You see, I missed the last few months of last year, so I missed your grand entrance and your Hyde case, but I’ve heard about your reputation. How you took down Crackstone and how you saved the school. But I know you didn’t do it for the school—you did it for the thrill. For the challenge. You like going against the system."

She hated how accurate that was. It made her uneasy, like you could see right through her. Still, she wasn’t about to admit that you were right. Instead, she said, “No,” once more and got up, ready to walk away.

“Wait, I can give you money.” you blurted out.

The audacity... Wednesday stopped in her tracks, turning to glare at you. “What on earth is wrong with you? Do you really think I’m some kind of hired goon? Someone you can just pay off?”

Your face flushed, and you quickly shook your head.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. It just… slipped out. Please, I really need your help. Just tell me what I have to do.”

Wednesday should have turned around and left. She should have put as much distance between herself and this ridiculous request as possible. And yet… there was something in your audacity that intrigued her. Besides, she did need a partner for her therapy sessions, and making someone else suffer through them could be mildly entertaining.

"Fine," Wednesday said, her voice low and measured. "I’ll help you, but in return—"

You didn’t even let her finish. "Okay, done, agreed."

Wednesday blinked, momentarily thrown off by your eagerness. She hadn’t even told you what you would need to do, but you didn’t seem to care. You grabbed her hand, pulling her along with you as you headed towards the main gate.

"We don’t have much time," you said hurriedly. "We need to kidnap her right now."

Wednesday stumbled slightly as you dragged her along. Why wasn't she yanking her hand back? Her brows furrowed in confusion.

"Right now? Without any plan or any information?"

"Yeah, yeah," you said dismissively, waving your hand as if that was a minor detail. "I’ll tell you that on the way to the asylum."

“The what?” Wednesday’s voice rose slightly.

You just kept walking, your grip on her hand firm, and for once, Wednesday found herself caught up in someone else’s madness instead of her own.

CHAPTER 2 : Her Touch

[Author's note: Celine pretty much wrote the chapter 1, I just made some changes here and there, lol it took more time for me to create the art for this project than writing this, good news is Chapter 2 and 3 are almost ready.]

[wintrwinchestr]

bite the hand

the killer & the sound - chapter 3

summary: you hadn't expected joel to put such an abrupt end to... whatever it is you two had. or, what you thought you had, anyway. you write and perform a new song on the second night of the tour about it, and the consequences aren't quite what you expected them to be. how could something that seemed so simple at first have become so complicated?

warnings: 18+, smut, no outbreak au, no use of y/n, rockstar!joel, aspiring rockstar!reader, d/s dynamics, pretty major daddy kink, age gap (reader is early-mid 20’s, joel is early-mid 50’s), pet names (sweetheart, darlin', baby, babygirl, songbird(!!), etc), big time angst, daddy/mommy issues, religious shame, degradation (joel calls you a whore), spanking, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv sex, manhandling, one (1) kiss, spitting, smoking (reader & other characters), drinking (reader & other characters), getting walked in on, characters who need therapy sooooo badly, lots of internal monologue, let me know if i missed any!!

word count: 13.2k

a/n: as always, thank you so much for your patience and sticking around to see what i put our pookies through this time. these chapters just keep getting longer and longer but it's not my fault they have a lot to say!!!!! if you'd like an idea of what reader's lil diss track sounds like, i very much imagined gibson girl by ethel cain when i wrote it. thank you as always to my best babygirl kiers i love u to death. i hope you like this one, nice comments/reblogs appreciated if you enjoyed!!

series masterlist

read this chapter on ao3

divider by @saradika-graphics

Jesus Christ, what the hell is he doing?

Joel has been in the shower for at least thirty minutes now, and he’s spent more than half of that time just letting the scalding water pound against his back as his vision goes blurry from the steam. He finished his “rinse off” within five minutes of stepping inside the bathroom, and now he’s just stalling, wondering how the fuck he’s supposed to go back out there and get in bed with you.

If it weren’t for the decades’ worth of tattoos that he can see when he looks down at his bare body, he wouldn’t be able to recognize himself right now. He’s always been one to hit it and quit it, love ‘em and leave ‘em, or whatever little figure of speech you want to use for just being a fucking playboy. Since when has he ever cleaned a girl up, given her his clothes to wear, let her sleep over after he fucks her? Though, he has to give himself some credit, it’s not like he was planning on letting you stay. He was just trying to preserve some of your dignity, but then, when did he even decide to start caring about shit like that? 

Fuck.

When the tour bus jerks to life as the driver begins the trip to the next city, the loss of balance is enough to finally snap Joel out of the uncharacteristic morality spiral he’s now found himself in. He rubs his hands across his face, pinching the bridge of his nose and cursing under his breath, knowing that he can’t hide in here and avoid you forever. Besides, he’s getting old, and he has to sleep at some point if he wants to be at least a little functional tomorrow. And what is he so fucking scared of, anyway? 

Joel turns off the water, and the knob screeches in protest as the dull roar of the shower fades into silence. He steps out of the stall and hardly makes any effort to dry himself off, solely focused on getting out of there before the fog evaporates from the mirror and he’s forced to confront his own reflection. He shakes out his hair and pulls on a clean pair of briefs, then sends out a silent prayer to whoever the fuck might be listening, begging for help in making it through the night without having to address whatever it is that’s gnawing at his conscience. He didn’t even think he had one of those anymore.

Joel enters the bedroom quietly, hoping that you’d be exhausted enough to have fallen asleep by the time he returned. When you don’t even twitch as he shuts the door behind him and climbs under the covers, he lets out the breath he’d been holding, and lays himself down as close to the edge of the mattress as he can without falling off the damn thing. If he can put as much distance between the two of you as possible tonight, maybe he can make it out the other side unscathed.

Just when he thinks he’s in the clear, having settled himself down with his back to you and situated his silk sheets and pillows to his liking, he feels you roll over in your sleep as you let out some dreamy little whine. Joel likes to keep it cold on the bus, and your shivering form must feel the heat still radiating off of him from his shower, because then you’re wrapping your little arms around his bicep and pulling him close. He wants to shake you loose, to put some extra pillows in between your bodies just for good measure, but he can’t be so cruel. Not when you look like such a goddamn angel, sleeping so peacefully with your hair spread out around you like a halo, long lashes fluttering against your cheeks. He wonders what you’re dreaming about. 

Joel isn’t sure when exactly it happened, but somewhere in between that very first rehearsal and right now, the lines started to blur between a fun little fling he wasn’t going to think twice about letting go of once the tour ended, and something that he wants to sink his claws into and claim as his own. He has to face it now, whether he wants to or not—he can’t get himself to push you away, to growl at you not to touch him and to stay on your own side of the bed, because he doesn’t want to. What he wants is to tattoo his fucking name right underneath that shitty moth on your upper thigh, and therein lies the problem.

He has a history of breaking things, of being too controlling and rough and mean when he plays with his toys, until they fight back and tear themselves apart as they escape his clutches. But you seem like something that can’t be broken, that would glue itself back together just to get played with again the next day, and that sets off some alarms he didn’t know he was capable of hearing. Maybe he does still have a conscience, after all.

At first, Joel had liked how eager and willing and naive you were, how easily he could push and pull you this way and that because you didn’t seem to realize what this was. Or at least, what it was intended to be. Whether you were smart to his intentions or not was never really his concern before, but now… You’re nuzzling your face into his arm, breathing in his scent and letting it soothe you as it coats your senses, and it’s awakening something protective, possessive, in him. Joel has never been good at romance or love or relationships, and he had resigned himself a long time ago to the fact that he’d never be able to settle down. The life he lives can’t sustain something steady or healthy like that anyway, what with the touring and the groupies and the sex and the alcohol. 

But now here you are, this fragile and yet unbreakable thing in his bed who he worries wouldn’t run away no matter how much he growled and bared his teeth. And god dammit, that scares him. Joel had thought he was done being scared, that he had left that feeling behind before you were even born, probably. And yet, here it is creeping up on him again, grabbing him by the throat and suffocating him. You’ve got real talent and beauty, with a promising future and blossoming career ahead of you, and you’d probably give it all up and follow him into the darkness if he promised to call you a good girl once you did.

Joel has never been a very good man, but something about you makes him really have to stare down the barrel of it now. He can’t do this to you, he can’t let you in, and he knows that. He’d poison you, if he hasn’t already. And he can’t give to you what you seem to think this is, what it could be, if he wasn’t so fucking damaged. So he decides it then, as he doesn’t stop his hand from brushing a stray strand of your halo out of your delicate face, that he has to put a stop to this first thing in the morning. And he has to be cold and concise about it, so that you’re perfectly clear on what the two of you are going to be from now on, even if it hurts you. You’re a big girl, and he trusts that you’ll get over it somehow, because letting this continue would hurt you a hell of a lot worse, in the end.

And you seemed to have taken it well, all things considered. He didn’t tell you the whole truth, the real reason why he decided to yank the arrow out of your heart when he was the one who shot it in there in the first place. Because then you’d know that he’s a broken man who also breaks things, and he can only shatter so many of your illusions about him in one morning. He knows this is his fault, and he was at least man enough to take the blame, he can give himself that. He had decided to paint himself as an actually respectable person who knows when he’s taken something too far, who definitely does have a conscience. Maybe you’re the one who lured it out of the dark cave it was hiding in, but he still can’t risk anything, on the off chance that he still is the same mangled man he always was and the one he will continue to be. So he lies to you, just a little bit, because what you don’t know won’t hurt you, and he can’t let you come any closer for fear of causing even more pain than he already has. 

Joel watched as your bare legs carried you out of the living area and off of his bus, the tops of your thighs just barely concealed by his shirt he had lent you the night before. He didn’t react when you slammed the door on your way out, he had expected you to do as much. But he did half-expect you to turn around and spit a fuck you, Joel at him the way he would have deserved. It might have hurt less if you did, that way you would have left a sour taste in his mouth to replace the still-lingering flavor of your pussy mixed with the cum he had spilled inside you last night. 

God, he is so fucked.

—

You had made sure to thank the audio technicians before you disappeared from the venue after your sound check, but otherwise avoided looking at or speaking to anyone on your way out. Especially him. You had held Angel close as you swiftly made your way back to your bus before Death’s Head had a chance to take the stage for their turn, not wanting to hear any more of Joel’s voice than you’ve had to today. Besides, it’s already been looping like a skipping record in your mind since this morning, refusing to let up no matter how hard you try to drown it out. 

Mistake, respect, and professional are the choice words that are chanting themselves over and over again, so many times that they almost don’t sound real anymore, just a random sequence of letters and noises that you can’t make sense of. What happened last night didn’t feel like a mistake to you, especially not when he was so gentle in cleaning you up afterwards, when he brought you a glass of water, when he let you curl up against him in his bed, wearing his clothes. He sure as hell had plenty of time to decide that you were worthy of respect before he had you act like a whore on stage in front of tens of thousands of people for his own sick pleasure. (And apparently yours, but that’s not the point.) And now you’re supposed to believe that he suddenly had a change of heart overnight, that splitting you open on his cock and using your body to get what he wanted made him finally develop a moral compass and decide that he wants to start acting like a professional? Damn, maybe you are more powerful than you thought. 

You just can’t believe you were stupid enough to let yourself feel something for him. He was just playing you like his guitar this entire fucking time, a pretty instrument that he can pluck and strum and draw pretty noises from, then put away without a second thought. He’s a celebrity, a rockstar, for fuck’s sake. Half of his songs are about sex, and if the rumors are true, he recorded the original intro to Kiss it Better while he was hooking up with some groupie in a bathroom. Just like you, he had probably used her to get what he wanted, then dropped her like it was nothing. Of course he never fucking cared about you. 

You should burn the clothes that he sent you scurrying back to your bus wearing this morning. They’re currently shoved into the bottom of your plain-looking laundry bag in the corner of your room, though you’re half tempted to just toss the whole thing into the dumpster behind the venue and set it ablaze. But you know he doesn’t care about material things as much as he does his ego, and it’s going to be much more satisfying to set that on fire than some worn-out pieces of clothing, anyway. Destroying them also wouldn’t do anything about the way you keep catching an inhale of his cologne every once in a while, the masculine smell of it wafting from his t-shirt and carving out an undesired space for itself in your brain. You try to ignore the way your cunt flutters against your will at the scent, at the memories it conjures, and hope that she doesn’t develop a habit of betraying you like this when it comes to him. She almost gets the better of you, tempting you to second guess your plan to perform your scathing new song at the end of your set tonight.

Almost.

You’re feeling good about what you wrote, and you’d be even more upset with yourself if you backed out now, if you gave in to Joel once again, without him even knowing it this time. He seems to think that he knows you better than you know yourself, that he can make decisions for you and that he always knows just what to say to get you to do as he asks. For once, you want him to be fucking wrong about you.

The show starts in just under an hour, and you’re dedicating your last bit of quiet solitude to solidifying the new words and the motions of your fingers in your memory. While you were scribbling in your notepad earlier today, you had tried to ride the fine line between calling him out so blatantly and using descriptions that were too clichéd, and you’re happy with the in-between that you landed on. The song could be about anyone, but it isn’t, and if the shoe fits when he tries it on, oh fucking well. Plenty of men wear the same size, and if he wants to make yet another thing about himself, that’s not your problem.

Ideally, you had wanted to include the song in your sound check so that your band would be prepared for tonight, until you had let your eyes drift to the side of the stage and saw Joel observing in the darkness, just like he had done while you were performing the night before. You suppose it wouldn’t be very professional of him to avoid you like the plague the way you’re trying to do with him, but still. You had averted your eyes as quickly as you had spotted him, and decided that the song was just going to have to be a surprise for everyone, not just Joel. Your band members are smart enough guys, you’re sure they’ll be able to catch on and back you up when it’s time to unveil what you had been working on all day. But if they don’t, you’re prepared for it to just be you and Angel up there, the same way it has been for as long as you’ve been making music. Until recently, at least.

You’ve opted to get yourself dressed and ready in the safety of your bus, attempting to avoid a repeat of last night’s pre-show interactions with Joel by minimizing the amount of time you actually have to spend inside the venue. You doubt he’ll try anything, but considering how unafraid he was to volunteer himself as a witness to your sound check, you’d rather not risk it. So, you do your best to keep your distance as you make your way off the bus and to the side of the stage with Angel in tow, hoping that your viscous aura alone will be enough to keep him away. 

Your band members are already waiting for you in the wings when you get there, and you tuck yourself safely behind the group of them as you wait for the lights to go down. You ghost your fingers along Angel’s strings one last time, just to make sure that your muscle memory is securely locked into place—it is, because you’re fucking good at this. You don’t need Joel’s whispered praises and soothing touches to know that you’re a star, and you don’t want them. You don’t. You fucking killed it last night, and you knew it before he told you so, because your ears were still ringing long after the audience had finished applauding and screaming for you. For your own performance, not for the on-stage degradation you endured because of a dumb teenage crush you couldn’t seem to shake off.

If your timing is right, you should’ve gone on a few minutes ago now. Each passing minute has you gnawing at your bottom lip and picking at your nails with increasing intensity as you and the audience both become more restless. You aren’t sure what the hold up is, but you just want to get out there and safely away from the possibility of Joel before you make one of your goddamn fingers bleed. You’re so consumed in your destructive self-soothing that you don’t hear the sound of jingling chains and creaking leather approaching you where you stand, followed by a clearing throat and the last voice you want to fucking hear right now.

“Tommy told me they’re jus’ tryin’ to fix a light or somethin’. Shouldn’t be too much longer now,” Joel says, and you stiffen as he speaks. He sounds earnest in the way he addresses the group of you, but the feeling of his gaze lingering on your skin tells you his true intentions.

Your bandmates hum in acknowledgement as they maintain their casual demeanors, while you shift your jaw and remain steadfast in your stoicism. Your face is calm and concentrated, but your fidgeting hands tell a different story, and the telltale habit is most of what prompted Joel to come over here against his better judgment. He so badly wants to take your hands in his so that you’ll stop tearing at your skin, to massage the worry right out of your palms and tell you there’s nothing to be nervous about, just like he did last night. Though, you’d probably bite his goddamn fingers clean off if he even so much as reached out a hand in your direction, and he wouldn’t entirely blame you if you did, considering that he’s more than likely the reason for your agitation.

Instead, he settles for asking, in as neutral of a tone as possible, “You okay, darlin’?”

Your gaze remains focused on the stage, on the mic you should be standing behind right now, if it weren’t for some stupid fucking light. After a pointed beat, you answer him with a short, “I’m fine.”

You can see in your peripheral vision that Joel nods and shifts his weight, moving a little further behind your band and closer to you. He lets a matching bit of silence pass, for some reason not using the opportunity to just turn around and walk away, before speaking again. “Quit messin’ with your fingers.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you snap, whipping your head to finally face him. You peer up at Joel from under your eyebrows, putting on a stony face and doing your best to look intimidating even as he towers over you. Despite your efforts, your heart still flutters for just a second when your eyes meet, before he drops his own gaze to the floor and takes a step back from you.

“That how this is gonna be?” Joel asks, and you could swear he sounds a little defeated.

“Yeah, it is.”

You turn yourself back to the stage again, and he takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to steady himself and suppress a reaction to your attitude that he might regret.

“Look, can we–” he starts, but a sudden burst of screams and hollers cuts him off as the venue lights finally dim. You push past your bandmates and stomp your way towards the stage, feeling volatile and as determined as you’ve ever fucking been to give a killer performance tonight. You could’ve spit some real fire at him, told him to leave you the fuck alone like you had been so tempted to, but you didn’t want to scare him off. You don’t even need to check to know that he’s still standing exactly where you left him, and that he’ll probably stay there and watch you the whole time because he doesn’t know what the fuck he wants, apparently. Maybe you should bring him onstage for his public humiliation the same way he did to you, see how he likes it. But you have a little more humanity than he does, and if it all works out, he’ll have to watch you tear him down surrounded by his own bandmates and brother, and that’s gratifying enough for you.

When you and your band have all taken your places, you introduce yourself to tonight’s crowd with a newfound vigor, and begin your set with a chord so resonant it vibrates your bones. The sound surrounds you, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking loose the wallflower version of you who performed these same songs just last night. It feels like a metamorphosis, like the moths that adorn the strap slung around your body and the one etched into your skin finally belong to you instead of him.

—

You sail through your set, never stumbling over a chord or missing a lyric, even in your anticipation to reach the end. While you thank the crowd and wait for their roaring cheers to die down, you finally chance a look at the side of the stage. Just as you had predicted before you went on, Joel’s silver-tipped boots are still planted in the same place they were thirty minutes ago. Perfect.

“Y’all have been amazing tonight, this was so much fun,” you pant into the mic. “I, uh… I actually have one more song before I go, if that’s alright. Just wrote it this morning.”

Another wave of whistles and applause engulfs you as you turn to check on your bandmates, who all wear confused expressions as expected. You step back from the mic to tell each of the guys the key and tempo of what you wrote, and ask if they can maintain something steady and follow along while you carry the melody. When they’ve all gotten the plan, they look at each other and wordlessly communicate a final decision, seeming to be up to the challenge. 

You resume your place at the front of the stage, taking one last look at your victim before beginning to strum the song’s now-familiar echoing intro. The tone is a little Western, and you wrote it that way on purpose, just as an extra hidden jab toward the obnoxious midnight cowboy persona Joel had first lured you in with. Your haunting voice comes in a few measures later, singing lyrics that are unlike anything you’ve written before. They’re darker, more graphic, and they tell the story of a girl and a cold-blooded man covered in leather and tattoos, who got her alone one night and ripped her clothes off and whispered things he didn’t mean while he fucked her. And after everything was said and done, the girl had lied to herself, replaying everything that had happened between her and the cold-blooded man that night, convincing herself that because it felt good, because he was good to her, that it had meant something. She had bared her body and soul to him, only to find out that he had also been lying to her that night, playing with her like a doll who didn’t know any better, who was just happy to get looked at and touched and praised by someone she had once held on such a high pedestal. You let the lights embrace you and warm your skin as you bare yourself once again, trusting this time that it won’t end in shame or hurt or tears. 

When the buildup of your lyrics and chords finally culminate in the song’s cathartic crash, the first thing you feel is relief, like a crushing weight has been lifted off your heart. The crowd’s enthusiastic response to your creation surrounds you, filling your ears and infiltrating your soul, and you can’t help but laugh at the overwhelming feeling. You gesture behind you for your band to meet you at the front of the stage, and you all bow together to another round of raucous cheering before making your way offstage. This time, you do remember to leave Angel behind, satisfied in what the two of you accomplished tonight.

You’re still reveling in the rush of your performance by the time you’re shrouded in the backstage darkness once again, so caught up in the feeling that you nearly forget what your moment of spontaneity was for in the first place. Or rather, who it was for. You didn’t have enough wherewithal to check if Joel would still be lying in wait once you exited the stage, mostly assuming that his ego would get the best of him and he’d just huff his way out to the buses for a smoke once he realized what you were doing.

You assumed wrong.

Before your eyes even have a chance to adjust to the change in lighting, a calloused hand is gripped tight onto your upper arm, dragging you deeper backstage as you exclaim in protest and try to snatch your arm out of the iron hold that traps it.

“What the—Joel?! Get the fuck off me! What are you–”

“Will you fuckin’ quiet down?” Joel hisses next to your ear. “Quit makin’ a goddamn scene, already made enough of one as it is.”

Despite your struggle against him, his size and strength overpower you, and before you know it you’re being shoved into a dressing room, the door getting slammed shut and locked behind you in a second.

“What the fuck, Joel?” you shout up at him as he backs you into the door, finally letting go of your arm to loom over you and brace one of his hands next to your head.

“I can ask you the same goddamn thing. What the fuck was that out there, hm?” He spits back at you.

You massage the aching finger-shaped marks on your skin where he had gripped you, eyeing him with an annoyed expression. “It was just a song, what is your fucking problem?”

He scoffs, rolling his neck as his brows twitch in disbelief. “Just a song, right. Everybody knew that shit was about me.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, both from the anxiety of being confronted like this and the aggravation caused by his egomaniacal tendencies. “You are so fucking self-centered, it’s insane. It could’ve been about anyone—”

“But it wasn’t, huh?” Joel interrupts. “Who else do they know that has a filthy title inked into his hand, as you put it. Gimme a break, sweetheart. As if that same title didn’t have you soakin’ your fuckin’ panties for me last night.”

You hate that you can feel your cunt flutter in response to his words. “Whatever, will you just let me go? This isn’t very professional of you, locking me in your goddamn dressing room just so you can throw a fit,” you retort.

Realization flashes across his face as he steps back from you, breathing a heavy sigh. “Professional…” he speaks quietly, testing out the word, searching for the meaning behind why you had used it so pointedly. “Jesus Christ, is that what this is about? You are such a goddamn child, you know that?”

Now it’s your turn to laugh, crossing your arms now that he’s given you the room to do so. “Didn’t seem to think of me that way last night. I’m a big girl, I can do what I want, why do you care so much if I wrote a stupid song about you?”

Joel shuts his eyes, scrunching up his face like he’s fighting against what he wants to say next. “Because, fuck—This ain’t what I wanted, okay? Said I wanted to keep it professional between us, not that I wanted you to make a goddamn fool outta me in front’a God and everybody.”

“Well, what do you want?” You push, stepping into his space as your blood begins to boil over. “Because I thought you fucking cared about me, and then you just told me to get lost this morning, like none of it meant anything to you—”

“Of course it fuckin’ meant somethin’ to me, Jesus Christ.” Joel says, so breathlessly it’s like the words escape his mouth before he can catch them. “Did this for your own goddamn good—”

“Oh, for my own good?”

“Yes, for your own good. Because I know what you want this to be, and I can’t give that to you, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Joel doesn’t answer, but he shifts his jaw like he considers it, and lets your angered breathing fill the silence.

“Huh?” You provoke, hitting your palms against his broad chest once. Your push hardly does anything to knock him off his balance, but you swear it makes his eyes darken. “Why not?” You demand a second time.

You can tell he wants to bite back, but he suppresses the instinct, instead backing away from you as he shakes his head in disbelief. “Y’ know what, I ain’t gonna do this with you right now. We can talk about this later.”

Joel makes for the exit, but you dart in front of the door handle, feet planted firmly on the ground as you block his only way out. You grit your teeth as you stare up at him, daring him to either do something about it or finish what he started.

He takes another steadying breath. “Really ain’t helpin’ your case much right about now. I suggest you move, sweetheart.” His voice registers a somewhat eerie calm, the kind that a storm usually follows.

“You don’t get to back out of this.”

“Ain’t backin’ out. Said we’re gonna talk about it later. Move.”

You stare at each other in strained silence for a few moments, neither of you in the mood to give in to the other. You doubt that you’re about to bear witness to the first time Joel has ever submitted to someone else, so you slide away from the door, making a vow to yourself to find him after the show and force him to make good on his word.

“‘S what I thought,” he huffs, unlocking the door and slinking out into the hallway. He holds his head a little too high for someone too scared to tell you how he feels, like it’ll eat him alive if he admits to anyone that he really does have a heart.

You step out of the room and watch him walk, waiting until he gets a few paces away from you to grumble under your breath, “Self-centered and a fucking coward.”

Either Joel wasn’t as far out of earshot as you had thought, or the angry thudding of your pulse inside your head had made it difficult to tell just how loud you had said your little dig. He stops in his tracks, giving you a second to sweat before turning around to face you. “What was that?” he asks, but you already know he had heard you loud and clear. He begins to stalk towards you, and that predatory sway of his shoulders has you suddenly feeling meek.

“N-nothing,” you lie, backing into the dressing room as he continues his prowl.

“Nah, go ahead. You wanna do this right now, we’ll do it right now. What’d you say, baby? C’mon.” Joel’s movement forces you backward until the base of your spine hits the edge of the vanity table in the room. You wince at the impact and the sound of the door slamming shut again, and then he’s bracing both of his hands on either side of your hips, caging you in. Joel’s hot breath ghosts against your face as his eyes seem to glow a fiery shade you’ve never seen before. “Say it again.”

You swallow hard, nervous eyes flitting around his face, unsure of the safest place to land, or if there even is one. “Called you a coward…” you admit softly, voice trembling.

“Yeah? I’m a fuckin’ coward? What else, hm? Why don’t you use your big girl words and say to my face what you really wanted to say about me out there instead o’ that bullshit lil’ poem you wrote.” He’s just being mean now, lashing out because you hit him where it hurts. But god fucking dammit, there’s something about the way he’s standing over you, how he’s using his size to intimidate you and how the smell of his cologne mingles with the fading aroma of his last cigarette, that begins to cloud your judgment. You can’t help the way a dampness begins to bloom between your thighs as a result of his demeaning words and close proximity.

You figure you don’t have much of a reason to hold anything back anymore, already having pissed him off by threatening his ego twice in one night. “I hate you,” you rasp, which is pretty much what the lyrics of your song boil down to. You do hate him, for saying all the right things and touching you all the right ways to make you think he wanted the two of you to be something, only to throw your naivety in your face, tell you that you’re acting like a child when he’s the one who tried to give up and walk out when something became more complicated than he could handle.

“Yeah, I bet you do. Think you can do better than that, though, huh? Sure had plenty to say earlier, don’t get all shy on me now, sweetheart.” He spits the pet name at you like it’s an insult, coated in the venom dripping from his sharp canines.

“Fuck you,” you snap, eyes welling up and threatening to spill over despite yourself.

Joel spins you around as soon as the words leave your lips, pinning your wrists behind your back with just one of his hands, using the other one to grip your jaw and make you face your own reflection in the vanity mirror. You shut your eyes tightly, not wanting to confront what he’s reduced you to, and he allows you to keep them that way for now.

“You want me to? That why you’re all fired up, ‘cause you need Daddy to fuck this bratty ass attitude outta you?” Joel rumbles next to your ear.

You struggle to shake your head in his hold, mumbling, “No, I don’t.”

“No? So if I reach my hand under this lil’ dress, I ain’t gonna feel that pretty pussy drippin’ for me?”

You aren’t sure why you bother lying to him again, humming an mm-mm that sounds more like a whimper.

“Hmm, let’s see about that, then,” Joel muses, releasing your face from his hold to bend you forward and flip up the skirt of your dress. “Would you look at that… panties are ‘bout fuckin’ soaked through, ain’t they?” You whine as he begins to rub your folds over your underwear, pulling back the crotch of them and letting it go so that you can feel the damp snap of the fabric against your sensitive skin. “Thought you were such a good girl… you like it a lil’ mean, hm? ‘S that why you pulled that stunt tonight, to get Daddy all worked up so he’d treat you the way you really been wantin’?”

You feel a stinging smack on your ass before you’ve even finished muttering a complete No. Joel’s rough hand does nothing to soothe the burn as he rubs it around your smarted flesh, squeezing at the plush of your ass with a possessive grip. “Had just about enough of you lyin’ to me tonight. Why don’t you tell me the goddamn truth and I’ll give you what you want, hm? Gonna ask one more time. You want Daddy to beat up this lil’ brat pussy?” He asks, moving his hand back to the wet fabric of your panties, circling your clit over the material with the pad of his finger.

You can’t help but moan at his crude language, releasing another pulse of wetness in response. “Mmh, yes, please—” you mewl.

“Open your fuckin’ eyes,” Joel barks, and it startles you into obedience. “Yes, who?” he challenges, making eye contact with your reflection in the mirror.

He continues his ministrations over your covered clit, and you force your brain to work through the distraction, to give him what he wants and not earn yourself another spank.

“Y-yes, Daddy, I want it,” you admit, your voice drenched in a pathetic need. 

Joel swiftly yanks your panties to the side, practically tearing them clean off your body with one hand in an effort to expose your swollen core to him, not daring to release your aching wrists from the other one’s hold. He circles your dripping entrance with the rough tips of two of his fingers, not pushing all the way inside just yet.

“Think you owe me a goddamn apology first, hm?” he taunts, using his fingers to smear your ashamed slick around your entrance.

“Sorry, ‘m sorry–” you whine, pushing back into him impatiently.

Smack. “For what, baby? What’re you sorry for?” Joel presses, his harsh spank telling you to stay fuckin’ still. 

“For… for writing that song… for calling you a c-coward… ‘m sorry, Daddy, I’m sorry–” you cry. He shoves both of his thick fingers inside you as your reward, carving out space for them inside your little hole as he starts up a bruising pace, the obscene wet sounds of his movements filling the room and mingling with your broken little wails. It shouldn’t feel as good as it does, getting ordered around and talked down to and used like this by someone you said you hated only a few minutes ago, but you don’t really care to unpack that right now. Or ever. Maybe you were naive and immature in thinking that this thing you’ve gotten yourself into could ever pan out like what you’ve seen in the movies, but you think you could learn to be content with what he is willing to offer you—praise doled out as easily as he deprives you of it, a firm hand and fingers that can strum along your clit as expertly as he does the strings of his guitar, and a cock that makes you feel like someone else entirely, that can send you somewhere far away and bring you back down to earth at the same time. You let him use his fingers to pound all that angst and fire and attitude out of you as your eyelids flutter shut again, losing yourself in the feeling of him.

“How many times I gotta tell you, huh? Keep ‘em open, look, baby,” Joel commands, letting go of your wrists to deliver a light smack to the side of your face. You fall forward at the sudden release of his hold, catching yourself on the vanity table and digging your nails into the hard surface to ground yourself. His punishing hand forces your gaze straight ahead with a claw-like grip on your jaw, and your eyelids still feel so heavy, everything moving slowly as you look at yourself in the mirror. Your parted lips, smeared mascara, and unfocused gaze paint a debauched version of yourself that you don’t recognize, blurred by the sleepy submissive state he seems to be able to plunge you into so easily. “Take a good goddamn look in the mirror, at what I’m doin’ to you, and you tell me if you really want this.”

Every sharp thrust of his hand against your cunt knocks loose more and more of your ability to think, let alone speak. But you know by now that if Joel demands a response from you, he’ll get one, coherent or not. He seems to like it when your words come out a ruined mess of whines and slurred syllables, anyway, getting off on how hard and fast he can knock down those walls you attempt to put up and turn you into something so servile and saccharine.

“Want it, please, Daddy,” you beg, struggling to hold yourself up as his fingers get you closer and closer to your release.

“You sure about that? ‘Cause this is what you’re gonna get, sweetheart,” Joel grunts, the exaggerated word punctuated by the stretch of a third finger joining the other two inside your already fucked-out cunt.

“D-don’t care, just want you—ah—” you’re cut off by the sudden stroking of Joel’s curled fingers against a particularly tender and unfamiliar spot inside you. You begin to unravel at the overwhelming feeling, letting out little wanton pleases and Daddys as you continue to soak his tattooed hand.

“Fuck, gonna be the goddamn death o’ me, lil’ songbird, you know that? Tried to stop this shit before it could get started, tried to keep you away from me, but I just can’t seem to fuckin’ help myself, can I? We’d be nothin’ but bad for each other, but—shit—been thinkin’ ‘bout this tight cunt all goddamn day, couldn’t get the taste o’ you outta my mouth. Reckon I never will… In fact—” Joel pulls his fingers out of you in an instant, and you cry out from the sudden loss as you watch him suck them clean in the mirror. You feel dizzy, letting him manhandle you as he spins you around to face him and hoists you on top of the vanity table with little effort. He groans as he crouches, pulling your drenched panties down your legs and tossing them somewhere behind him. With your raw-looking cunt now fully exposed to him, he spreads your legs wide and curses under his breath, “Should’a done this shit last night, fuck—” before diving in between your thighs and licking a long stripe from your entrance to your swollen clit. He latches onto the sensitive nub, closing his eyes and sucking hard as his large hands force your legs to stay open. You let your upper back rest against the mirror as he works you over, and the cool glass sends a shiver down your spine as your hips tilt upward, allowing him better access.

He drinks from you as if you taste like his favorite top-shelf whiskey, growling into your flesh as he’s surely leaving fingertip-shaped bruises on the softness of your thighs. He alternates between swirling his tongue around your clit and fucking it in and out of your hole, beckoning you to spill yourself into his mouth. He savors every wave of slick that pours from you, each of your little cries and whimpers making his cock strain harder against the confines of his jeans. 

You can’t help but let one of your hands drift to his hair, and he doesn’t stop you from grabbing onto his messy curls as you buck pathetically against his tongue. 

“Such a sweet lil’ cunt, got me fuckin’ addicted to it, I swear…” Joel half-whispers, rubbing his thumb in circles around your clit to make up for the absence of his tongue as he speaks, your hips still desperately chasing after his movements. He spits onto your folds once, watching it drip between the curves of them for a moment before lapping up your combined juices and picking up where he left off. Your eyes are shut tight, brows peaked with need as you beg him to keep going, please, Daddy, gonna come.

Joel pulls away again just enough to tease, “Always come for me so easily, don’t you? Sing for me, songbird, c’mon.” A few more rough strums of his thumb and pulses of his tongue have you crying out, shaking where you sit on the table as you gush into his waiting mouth. Joel works you through it as you practically ride his face, your hips twitching with each overstimulating flick of his tongue over your sensitive clit.

He doesn’t wait very long for you to come back into yourself, the impatient bastard that he is, before he’s commanding you to open and using his strong fingers to yank your jaw downward. Your eyes blink open just in time to watch him spit a mouthful of your own release onto your waiting tongue, and then he’s pressing his lips to yours in a sloppy kiss, tongues twisting around each other as he forces you to taste yourself. So immersed in the distraction of finally feeling his lips against your own, you don’t notice when he loosens his grip on your face to grab one of your hands instead, placing it on his still-clothed bulge and growling into your mouth as you massage the hard shape of him.

“Feel what you do to me, babygirl?” Joel breaks the kiss to ask, voice low and eyes dark. “Even if I kept you away from me, wouldn’t fuckin’ matter. Still have to take care o’ myself one way or another, would just be pretendin’ it was your perfect cunt squeezin’ me instead o’ my hand, anyway. Might as well stick to the real thing, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree, lashes fluttering at his filthy words.

“Yeah? You want it? Want Daddy to split you open again?”

Your skin is burning hot, every one of your nerve endings on fire with need, and you don’t care how pitiful you sound when you answer with, “Please, Daddy.”

“Good girl,” Joel praises. He makes quick work of ridding himself of his belt, tossing it aside to join your discarded panties on the floor with a metallic thud before freeing his leaking cock from his jeans. He prods the thick head at your entrance, still so wet and stretched out from the earlier efforts of his fingers and tongue that he slides inside with hardly any resistance. “Greedy thing…” he hisses, holding onto your hips as he watches his thick length begin to slide in and out of you. A flash of silver catches his attention from the edge of his vision, and he focuses there instead, on the cross shaped charm dangling from your neck and resting between your breasts. He picks it up between his large thumb and forefinger, rubbing the pads of them along the smooth metal. “Probably shouldn’t be wearin’ such a thing anymore, hm? Now that I know how much of a whore you really are.”

“Not… ‘m not a whore,” you counter, but it’s so futile, meaning nothing at all when you really take a look at where you are now, how it all began, and how your voice cracks in your poor attempt to prove him wrong.

“Y’ are, though, songbird. ‘S okay that you are. Only for me though, huh? Jus’ Daddy’s whore? All mine?” Joel drops the cross in favor of cradling your cheek, hurrying his pace as he taunts you. There’s no use in denying it, not when his degrading words prompt your cunt to squeeze around him and provide more slick aid for his quickening thrusts, an involuntary whine escaping your throat. You’re seeing such a different side to him now than the one he showed you the night before, and you begin to wonder which one is the real Joel, or if either of them are, or if both of them are, somehow. Or if he even knows. You’re willing to take whichever one he decides to let you have, you think.

“Y-your whore, Daddy… wanna be yours, please,” you babble, his cock hitting you deep and hard as you let him fuck you so dumb you allow yourself to just give in and agree to whatever he says you are, whatever he wants you to be, just the way he likes.

“Fuck,” Joel curses through gritted teeth, removing his hand from your face and to grip onto the plush of your hip again. Your pliant state and filthy admission combined with that sinful symbol around your neck spur him on, and he uses his hold on your skin to fuck into you with abandon. “Really would just let me ruin you, huh? Tried to be a decent man for once in my goddamn life, but you just had to be a fuckin’ brat about it and start some shit, didn’t you? If you don’t want me decent, tha’s fine by me, baby. But lemme make somethin’ real goddamn clear to you,” he rambles, each slam of his hips into yours getting you closer to release for the second time. He delivers another sharp slap to your cheek with a You listenin’? and you nod to the best of your ability, finding it impossible to focus your eyes on him as that knot in your stomach begins to tighten.

“You want this, you wanna be mine, you can be mine, babygirl. Lord knows I’d find my way right back inside this sinful lil’ cunt, anyway. But this ain’t gonna be a fuckin’ relationship, you understand? Take it or leave it, songbird.” He slows his thrusts as he spells out his ultimatum, but they still make you ache, all the same. His fiery gaze bores a hole straight through your skull as he awaits your response.

“Take it, w-wanna take it, Daddy.” The desperation in your voice and painted across your expression have him returning to his punitive pace, grunting and swearing into the warm skin of your neck as your hands scramble across his back, pulling yourself into him and burying your face into his shoulder. His thick leather jacket helps to muffle your cries as he loses all control, using your body to chase after his own high.

“Course you’re gonna take it, filthy thing. Made to fuckin’ take it, Christ,” Joel rambles, your vocalizations increasing in pitch as you squeeze around him, whole body tensing as your sore pussy prepares to drench him one more time. “So goddamn desperate… Just take whatever I give you, however I wanna give it to you, always have you comin’ on my cock just the same, huh? Go on, babygirl, come for Daddy again, tha’s right…”

With his permission, and a few more just-right strokes of his tip against that sweet spot deep inside your walls, you’re spasming in his hold, whining that filthy title you had just used against him less than an hour ago. He spills his release into you at the same time, and despite the way he’s treated you and the words he’s spat at you tonight, it makes you feel whole again.

You breathe heavily against each other for a few minutes, neither of you wanting to let go as you both struggle to process what the hell just happened, what it will mean for the remainder of the tour. 

A sudden knock at the door quickly yanks you out of your thoughts, offering a taste of what the future may hold much earlier than you were expecting.

“Joel? You in there?” a voice asks from outside the dressing room.

“Huh…? Yeah, just gimme a–”

The door opens before Joel can finish answering, and you can see clear as day over his shoulder that it’s Jesse.

He claps his hand over his eyes when he notices you, but you can still see how his cheeks burn red under his fingers as he shifts where he stands, undoubtedly trying to come up with the least mortifying way to get himself out of this situation.

“Jesus, kid–” Joel grumbles, finally pulling out of you and shoving his still-slick cock back into his briefs. He zips himself up as you tug the skirt of your dress back down to cover yourself, still feeling much more exposed than you’d like as you eye your forgotten panties laying just a few feet from where Jesse stands.

“Sorry! Sorry, Joel. It’s just, uh—”

Joel turns to face him as he finishes adjusting himself, and you’re thankful that he doesn’t walk away from you completely, using his broad form to provide you with what little modesty he can afford under the circumstances. “What, Jess?” he barks, exasperated.

“Um… The guys asked me to come find you, we’re on in like a minute—” 

“Well, tell ‘em to hold their fuckin’ horses. I’m comin,” Joel orders.

“A-alright, I will, man. I’ll, uh… I’ll see you out there.” 

Jesse leaves the room as hurriedly as he had entered, nervously fumbling with the handle as he shuts the door on his way out. “That kid ever learn how to fuckin’ knock?” Joel mutters to himself, picking his belt up off the floor and looping it back around his waist. He retrieves your ruined panties when he’s done and casually tosses them over to you, a stark contrast from the attentive aftercare he had provided last night. You slide off the vanity table and tug them back on over your legs, shivering at the feeling of the cool, damp fabric against where you’re so sensitive and sore, still leaking Joel’s spend. You fidget with the hem of your dress and try to ignore the way your heart sinks into your stomach, wondering what Jesse must think of you now. You haven’t really spoken to him at all since this whole thing started, and you doubt you ever will after what happened tonight. Of course, he’d had a front row seat to your obscene little performance during Kiss it Better, but it was all just an act, as far as he knew. But he has more than enough confirmation now to know that it very much wasn’t, and the humiliation of it all makes your anxious imagination begin to run wild. Your bottom lip quivers at the thought of Jesse running straight back to the guys with a shit-eating look on his face, eager to tell them all about how he just saw their opening act with her legs spread for Joel in his dressing room. Images flash through your mind of the band you’ve looked up to for so long now shooting you dirty looks backstage and whispering about you amongst themselves, sharing their doubts about if you really deserve to be touring with them at all. Maybe they’d call you easy, say that you’re just another dumb slut who gave it up for the first rockstar who asked, that your career will be doomed unless you grow up and learn to respect yourself a little more. And maybe they’d be right.

You can’t stop a few hot tears from rolling down your cheek at your catastrophizing, but you wipe them away quickly. This is what you asked for, isn’t it? Joel had given you an opportunity to leave this where he had ended it, and you were the one who had begged to be his, even after he showed you what it would look like, and told you explicitly what it would never be. You pull your shoulders back and make an effort to stand up a little straighter as he addresses you again, not wanting to look like some pathetic, defeated thing.

“You good? Need anythin’?” Joel asks, and it would be kind of sweet if he weren’t halfway out the door already. 

You sniffle a little, but try to feign nonchalance as you shake your head and reply, “No, ‘m fine.”

You must not do a very good job of it, because he’s craning his neck to look down the hallway as soon as you finish your sentence, like he knows exactly what’s on your mind. “Don’t worry ‘bout him,” Joel says to you, giving an annoyed shake of his head. “If he knows what’s good for him he’ll go to his grave swearin’ he didn’t see anything. Kid knows better,” he reassures, and it does help to slow the unspooling of your thoughts some. 

“Okay,” is all you offer, along with a small smile.

Joel nods curtly, “Okay.” And after another beat and a rake of his eyes along your form, “I’ll see ya, songbird.”

He’s gone before you can reply, and you let the sound of the door closing ring out in your ears until you’re left in total silence, save for the sound of your own unsteady breathing. More than anything else, you just want to head back to your bus and scrub yourself clean of him, to put on unstained clothes and remove your ruined makeup so that you have a better chance of recognizing yourself in the mirror if you’re unfortunate enough to catch a glimpse of your reflection. Maybe if you hurry the pace of your walk of shame, you can outrun the feeling altogether, you think, swinging the dressing room door open and letting it slam behind you as you make a swift exit, heading straight for the one place that even slightly resembles a home to you right now. You keep your head low as you wander the unfamiliar backstage halls, and hold the skirt of your dress down against the breeze that threatens to expose you yet again when you push open the venue’s back door. More tears begin to fall as your boots carry you up the steps of your bus and lead you to your private little room in the back, and you don’t wipe them away this time, although you can’t put your finger on why they stream down your skin so impatiently, one stinging droplet after another.

You sit down heavily on the edge of your bed, although you have a strange urge to kneel at the foot of it instead. Your fingers find their way to your crucifix as you contemplate the idea, and it hits you all at once how very lost you feel. You miss… something. Your mother? Perhaps not, but maybe the idea of having a caregiver, someone to turn to when you feel the way you do now, to help you sort through the tangled knot of emotions unraveling itself in your heart and attempt to make some kind of sense of it. She wasn’t the perfect mother, by any means, but she tried, and it was her first time being a woman too, after all. You are following in her footsteps, as many daughters aspire to do with their mothers, but you don’t think she would be very proud of the particular path of hers you’ve begun to find yourself stumbling down—the one that leads you to a man who won’t change himself, who can’t, but who you’ve somehow convinced yourself that you deserve, because you’ve never known a man who’s told you otherwise. 

And now here you sit, alone, in the dark cave of your too-big bus on the second night of a career-changing national tour, crying girlish tears and missing something you can’t place but that you know you can’t go back to, wishing someone could just wipe your mind clean and tell you that you’re good and that you’re not a disappointment to your mother and God even though you don’t really care what they think of you anymore, anyway. You need someone to tell you who you are, and Joel seems to know the answer—a good girl, a whore, his songbird. You shift at the memories of when those names for you have spilled from his mouth, and you’re reminded of the wet fabric still pressed against your core. It feels good when he tells you who you are, after all, when he slots himself inside of you and makes you feel like something he owns, when he makes you feel perfect and floaty and beautiful and like he knows you better than you’ve ever known yourself.

And how could something that feels so good ever be bad for you?

—

The whiskey burns as it slides down the back of Joel’s throat, but it still isn’t strong enough. All it does is remind him of the igniting spark that led to the blaze now engulfing him—when you’d both had a few glasses of the stuff swimming around in your blood streams in the green room of last night’s venue, when he’d lured you onto his lap and teased the wet spot on your panties and asked if you’d let him touch you. He knew you were going to say yes, but it was still the respectable thing to do, and he had liked hearing you beg for it all pretty and polite. He fears that’s the last he may have seen of that version of you, that what he did this morning had stomped out the little delicate, glimmering light that had drawn him to you in the first place. And if it wasn’t snuffed out then, it’s surely nothing but a wisp of smoke now.

Joel had recognized when everything had started to become too real too fast, in the dark of his bus last night when even in your sleep, you had seemed to consider him as something warm and comforting and safe, instead of the beast that he knows himself to be, with too sharp of claws and too loud of a roar. He had tried to do the right thing for once in his goddamn life by finally thinking about someone other than himself, so why didn’t you take the opportunity to get out of this while you had the chance? What is it that you see in him that he knows for a fact isn’t there, has never been there? You had retaliated because you had wanted this to work, because he had hurt you when he shoved you away, but he can’t possibly fathom why you’ve chosen to fight so hard for this. And he’d only gone and proved himself right when he responded to your reprisal the only way he knows how, especially when you’d used that word against him that he’s always been avoidant to admit about himself—coward.

And you were right, weren’t you? Joel is a fucking coward. He does everything in his power to pretend otherwise, to show his fans and the world a version of himself who’s never for a second thought of himself as anything less than God incarnate. And maybe except for Tommy, no one has ever been the wiser to his ruse, until you. And it scares him, to be seen so clearly. Because then he might actually have to try to understand where all these defense mechanisms came from in the first place, and he can’t have that. 

Coward.

Joel tosses back the last of the amber liquid in his glass, releasing his white-knuckled grip on it and slamming it back down onto the green room’s bar cart. He knows that his band and about twenty thousand people are waiting for him to buck up and emerge from yet another hiding place, and he realizes that this is becoming a pattern with you—you awaken some long-dormant feeling from deep inside of him, it makes him feel threatened, and he retreats until it goes away and he remembers how to paint his mask back on. And the one time you didn’t allow him to run away, he lashed out like a caged animal and undoubtedly gave you a pretty solid idea of what he meant by “for your own good”. And yet, you were so desperate to be allowed any part of him at all that even in his most volatile and beastly state, with his talons out and his teeth bared, you didn’t run away. You didn’t even try. You didn’t want to. You took everything he had given you like it was a privilege to do so, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever understand why. 

Joel shakes himself out, hitting a solid hand against his cheek once in order to bring himself back from the depths of another unwanted episode of introspection and self-loathing, and lets the burn of the whiskey dissipate as he makes his way to where the rest of Death’s Head is waiting for him. He can feel their eyes on him without even needing to look, and snaps out a defensive I don’t wanna hear it before any of the guys get a chance to say anything. 

Tommy shrugs, stepping up to Joel with his arms crossed. “Wasn’t gonna say nothin’.” 

Joel finally turns to face the group, giving each member a scrutinizing once-over in an attempt to read their body language, to suss out if they’re just pissed because he left them waiting, or if Jesse ran his mouth while he was gone. When Joel’s examining eyes land on the dark-haired guitarist, Jesse’s quick to shake his head, mouthing the words they don’t know. Satisfied, Joel nods once in understanding, adjusting his jacket and cracking his neck before turning toward the stage again.

“Y’all ready, or what?” he mutters rhetorically, not bothering to wait for an answer before he marches his way into the spotlights and allows them to enshroud him, burning up what remains of that cowardly version of him, if only for the remainder of the night. Joel picks up his guitar, swinging the strap around his chest before fiddling with his mic stand as the deafening sound of the crowd reminds him of who the fuck he is, or at least, who they think he is. Who he pretends to be. And he gets to believe it for the next two hours. If he plays the part well enough, maybe he can lose himself in it entirely. But then, hasn’t he been trying to do that for the past couple of decades? It hasn’t seemed to work yet, but it doesn’t hurt to keep trying. 

Or maybe it does.

—

You feel a little better now, more at ease, now that you’ve had some time to focus on taking care of yourself. It’s easy to forget the wonders that a hot shower can do for a girl, especially when you have to fight against your own brain just to get up and take the ten or so steps towards the bathroom, when you’d much rather stay curled up in the same position on your bed until your skin adheres to the sheets. Now having scrubbed away the tears and the sweat and the tacky dampness between your thighs, you emerge from a cloud of rose-scented humidity as someone you think you understand a little better now, who deserves to be taken care of instead of reprimanded for only doing her best with what she’s been given.

With clean hair and skin and a comfortable change of sleep-ready attire, you decide to finally make some efforts to unpack your suitcase and make your little room feel more like a home. You hang your dresses up on the rack, set your shoes into a somewhat orderly line on the carpet below them, and place your jewelry neatly onto the antique tray you had carefully packed away to bring along with you. You had found it in a little thrift store downtown, when you had first left home and decided you needed something that was only yours, something pretty and special that you could look at everyday and know that it was the very first step in building the life that you had always wanted for yourself. The brass needs a little polishing, but it’s still one of the most beautiful objects you’ve ever seen, and the way the ceiling lights glint off the metal brightens up your space just enough that it feels a little more familiar to you now. 

Your earrings and other necklaces fill the blank space in the center of the neatly carved filigree, and you make the decision to add your crucifix to the pile of silver studs and chains. It’s strange how such a simple charm can make things feel so complicated. You haven’t taken it off in so long that you fear the guilt that might come with removing it, but you figure it will still be there for you if you ever feel like clipping it around your neck again. And if that feeling never comes, then you’ll deal with that then, too.

For now, you breathe a little deeper without the weight of the thing resting against your chest, and smile to yourself when you hear a small group of excitable-sounding male voices approaching your bus. Your bandmates file through the door a second later, though you’re suddenly shy to greet them as you emerge from your bedroom, worried that they might be pissed at you for what you sprung on them earlier in the night. You lean against the doorframe as they each collapse onto the living area couches, cracking open beers from the minifridge and passing them around to each other.

“Hey, you,” greets your floppy-haired drummer, Max, patting the cushion next to him. If any of the guys were to be easy going about what you put them through tonight, it would be him. You’re happy to see that he doesn’t seem to hold any animosity towards you. “You want me to crack one open for you?” he offers.

“Um… sure,” you agree, approaching the group and relaxing into the open seat next to him as he hands you a bottle. You take a few swigs while the guys begin to talk amongst themselves, waiting for an opportune lull in their conversation for you to chime in.

It comes about halfway through your beer. “So, listen,” you start, setting the sweating bottle on the table in front of you as you feel their gazes shift in your direction. “I’m sorry for pulling that on you guys tonight. This whole thing is just as big for y’all as it is for me and… I guess I forgot about that, for a second,” you say, although the end of your sentence kind of sounds like a question. “I really appreciate how you backed me up out there, that’s all.”

It’s rare that the four of you get sincere with each other like this, and your apology lingers in the air for a moment before someone else speaks up. 

“It’s alright, kid.” The comforting voice comes from Scott, your quiet and kind-eyed bassist. “We’re all professionals here, yeah? We’d be some sad fuckin’ musicians if we couldn’t improvise every once in a while.” You laugh at that, and his lopsided smile warms you when you meet his soft expression.

“I mean, I kinda fucked up a little bit,” says Joey, your rhythm guitarist, ever-reliable for lightening the mood. “You sounded badass though, so whatever. Nothin’ you need to apologize for.” When you turn your head to look at him, he looks slightly uncomfortable with the way Max has him pressed up against the wall, but his gaze is sincere. “You wanna talk about it, though? Some pretty heavy shit you wrote.”

You do consider it, but shake your head, having reflected on it quite enough for one night. “Not right now,” you reply, and he gives you a sympathetic smile in return. “One of you have a smoke, though? Think I’m just gonna get some air and call it a night.” 

“Now, how are you gonna ‘get some air’ with all that smoke in your lungs?” Scott jests, and you give him a look before standing up and holding your palm out flat to him, making a hand it over gesture with your fingers. 

“Don’t give me shit, dude, I know you have one. That’s why I asked.”

Despite his protest, he digs the pack out of his pocket and slides one out, playfully holding it hostage against his chest. “Still shouldn’t smoke ‘em, though. Gonna ruin your voice one of these days.”

You roll your eyes at him, but laugh, anyway. “Fine, tonight’s my last one, I promise. Just gimme.”

Scott extends his hand out to you, and you snatch the cigarette out of his hold. “Light, too?” he asks, and you nod, leaning down to him with it in your mouth already.

You make a quick exit when the tobacco begins to burn, trying to fill the bus with as little smoke as possible, but not before making your appreciation known to the guys one last time. When you step out into the chilly night air, you wish you’d brought a sweater to wrap around you, but figure the flame between your lips will warm you up soon enough. 

The Death’s Head bus is parked just up ahead, and you can make out Jesse’s silhouette in the moonlight, his back leaned against the idling vehicle as he puffs his own cloud into the sky. The sound of your bus’s door shutting behind you draws his attention your way, and you give each other a friendly nod as you each burn through your cigarettes.

“Can I join you?” he asks, having to shout in order for his voice to reach you over the rumbling engines.

The fears you were ruminating on a few hours ago all come rushing back to you in an instant, but his inquiry seems casual enough for you to let your guard back down a little. It would be rude of you to decline, and it might be nice to get to know him a bit more if he’s offering, you suppose.

“Yeah, okay,” you reply, nodding for good measure in case your voice didn’t come out loud enough. His long legs close the short distance between you in just a few seconds, and you shove your unoccupied hand into your pocket in an effort to come across more relaxed than you feel. You’ve never been great at small talk, or meeting new people, especially ones who’ve walked in on you after having just been fucked by the lead singer of his band. 

You’re grateful that Jesse decides to break the silence first. “So, uh… you two, huh?”

“Mhm,” is all you offer, kicking a rock around the asphalt with the toe of your shoe.

“Yeah… Well, I don’t want you to feel weird around me, or anything. We can just forget it ever happened.”

You can’t help but release a puff of smoke through an awkward giggle. “Sounds good to me.”

“And I didn’t tell the other two, just so you know.”

His admission makes you pause, trapping the rock underneath your shoe as you peer up at him. “You didn’t? So… they don’t know?”

Jesse shakes his head. “Don’t think so. Well, Tommy might, just ‘cause he knows Joel better than anybody, but Eugene’s probably clueless. They’re all good guys, they won’t give you shit for it even if they do find out… I might, though, just for fun.” He nudges your shoulder with his as he jokes, and it makes you laugh a little more earnestly this time. “Just… be careful, that’s all. And I want you to know you have a friend in me, if you ever feel like you need one.”

His kindness is nearly enough to bring you to tears. You feel so relieved that everything the worst parts of your brain had conjured up had all been a lie, that Jesse isn’t who you feared he’d be, and that he’s offering you his friendship, even after he’d seen you in such an embarrassing and compromising state tonight. 

“Jess!” Joel yells from the doorway of his bus, and the harsh gravel voice startles both of you out of the moment you’d been sharing. “Finish up, kid. Takin’ off in a few.”

Jesse nods, raising the end of his cigarette in acknowledgement before stomping it out on the pavement. “It was nice talking to you. Remember what I said, okay?” 

“Okay,” you nod, and he’s handsome and boyish when he smiles back at you before following his orders and jogging back to his own bus, sliding through the door past Joel’s broad form.

Joel’s expression is hard, but otherwise unreadable as he juts his chin at you, wordlessly suggesting the same direction he’d just barked at Jesse. He shuts the door behind him as he steps inside, and you think on Jesse’s words as you finish puffing your smoke down to a nub. Be careful, he’d cautioned, and it’s like he had been waiting outside for you to make sure he had a chance to tell you that. Remember what I said, like it was important to him that you took his words to heart. You finally toss the end of your own cigarette onto the ground, letting it sizzle out before heading back inside and carefully passing the now-occupied bunks as you make your way to your own little sanctuary. 

You’re still buzzing from the tobacco as you close yourself into your room and crawl into bed, and you can’t decide if the emptiness of it makes you feel comforted or afraid. You don’t necessarily wish you had Joel’s heavy, lumbering form tucked in beside you, but you hadn’t anticipated how having a bed to yourself would leave you with only the company of your own thoughts. You try not to dwell too much on Jesse’s warning, instead trying to snuff it out like the smoldering end of your cigarette so that it doesn’t prevent you from getting some much needed rest.

Even for being a bed inside of a tour bus, you have to admit that it’s one of the most comfortable, luxurious things you’ve ever slept on, especially compared to the lumpy double bed from back in your apartment. You don’t fight it when sleep begins to pull heavily on your eyelids, the incoming wave of it washing away any lingering anxieties as you allow yourself to relax into the plush mattress.

You hardly rouse even as the bus heaves forward on its trip out of the parking lot, leaving everything that happened tonight exactly where you left it, the ghost of it now left to wander the halls of the venue instead of haunting you as you travel to the next one. And there’s something comforting in that, you think, in the idea that nothing on this tour is permanent, that your life begins anew every 24 hours in a city you’ve never been to that doesn’t know your name yet. 

And maybe that’s how you’ll figure this whole thing out, by taking it one day at a time, fluttering as close to the flame as possible without touching it, because you kind of like feeling the heat on your wings. As long as you’re careful when you dance around the fire, then there’s really nothing to be afraid of.

But only time will tell.

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[sometimesanalice]

Like I Can (Part 3)

Summary: After yet another bad date and tired of swiping on apps, the Dagger Squad steps in to help you out by setting you up on a series of blind dates. Much to Rooster’s dismay.

Warnings: fluff, swearing, slight angst. Minors DNI

Length: 7.2K

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw X Female Reader

Part 1 | Part 2

(All’s well that ends well❣️ Enjoy!)

You’d been on edge all day. 

Having slept terribly the night before, you’d woken up early and giving up on the idea of going back to sleep had ended up at a sunrise yoga class, hoping that some movement would help you clear your mind. By the end of the hour you were even more frustrated than you were before you arrived, the poses feeling unnaturally forced instead of flowing seamlessly as they usually did. 

So much for some goddamn inner peace.

Work was even worse. You had arrived to find that the espresso machine was broken. And whoever made a pot on the ancient drip machine, that was undoubtedly pulled out of a dingy storage closet somewhere, clearly hated everyone else since it tasted like tar. You could barely focus enough to clear out your inbox, when your work nemesis started breathing down your neck about a proposal that wasn’t due for another two weeks. 

Time was dragging on. And every time you looked at the clock thinking it had been at least an hour since you’d last checked, were continually shocked to see that barely fifteen minutes had passed by. Thankfully it was Friday, so your boss didn’t care when you called it a day and left at lunch. It was better for everyone this way.

You had tried painting your nails, but didn’t have the patience to let them dry and smudged them trying to open a package of crackers. Ignoring the crumbs that got everywhere as you ate them while working the cotton pad over the remnants of your pretty pink polish. Your new favorite show didn’t hold your attention like it usually did and you found yourself mindlessly scrolling on your phone, missing most of the plot you’d had to restart it. Twice.

Not even the scenic drive along the coast to the restaurant you were supposed to meet your date at had done anything to alleviate your nerves.

You had been surprised at the choice of location when you had received the text message with the information about this particular date. As much as you enjoyed going to the Hard Deck, you were very much looking forward to drinking something other than a beer. Sure, Penny could make a mean spicy margarita, but sometimes an overpriced aesthetically pleasing cocktail just hit the spot better than anything else. 

But most of all, you were thankful for a change of pace and the privacy this offered you. You had never been one for the spotlight, and dating on display had left you feeling drained.

You’re sitting in a surprisingly comfortable wooden wicker dining chair on the outdoor patio of the new trendy fusion restaurant you’ve been dying to come to. From your spot tucked away in the corner you can see the ocean waves rolling in and back out again. The golden rays already promising a stunning sunset later in the evening.

The foliage of the giant potted monsteras and birds of paradise made the terrace feel like a lush oasis, and contrasted stylishly against the large painted terracotta tiles on the ground. The pergola that covered it was dotted wisteria amongst the other climbing greenery, and numerous oversized hanging rattan sconces. The dainty lights woven throughout reflecting off the wine glasses on the table.

This was exactly what you needed. Too bad you couldn’t let yourself enjoy it, the twisted knots in the pit of your stomach had served a constant reminder of your nerves all day.

You had used this date as an excuse to finally buy the deep green floral dress you’d had your eye on for ages. The gentle drape of the neck was subtly sophisticated, while the high slit on the side added some serious sex appeal. 

There was nothing wrong with a little retail therapy you had told yourself as you’d swiped your credit card. If you looked good, maybe it would help you to feel good.

In all honesty, it probably had a little too much sex appeal since you couldn’t stop fidgeting in your chair trying to get the silky dress cover up more of your thigh that was currently displayed rather provocatively. It felt like the more you tried to get it to lay right the more of your leg was exposed. 

It probably didn’t help that you couldn’t stop the restless bouncing of your leg. You weren’t usually an antsy person, leg bouncing had always been more of Rooster’s anxious habit than yours.

Maybe you’ll feel less exposed once you draped the linen napkin across your lap. You’re tempted to do it now, but you don’t want to disturb the artfully laid out tablescape before your date has arrived.

It had been three weeks of back to back truly terrible dates. You could see the finish line now, but you couldn’t say that it wasn’t wearing on you. It had sounded like fun in theory, but now you weren’t so sure you would said yes again if you were offered a do-over. 

You were tired. 

Tired of going through the motions with men who could hardly be bothered to do the bare minimum. Tired of trying to sell the best version of yourself. Tired of putting on a show when all you wanted to find was an easy kind of love.

And this particular date had you more on edge and anxious than any of the other ones you’d gone on.

Even if you were pressed, you could not remember a single thing about the guy Payback had set you up with on your most recent blind date.

That evening you hadn’t even bothered trying to put together a cute outfit for the meeting. Instead, the only real effort you’d opted to put in was painting your lips a bright red as an attempt to psych yourself up for it. You didn’t usually wear such a bold color, but when you did it never failed to make you feel more brilliant.

And while you couldn’t remember anything about your date, what you did vividly remember was the fight you got into with Rooster that night.

You had been coming back from the restroom and on your way back to your date when you had bumped into him rounding the corner. 

“Sorry, that was my fault,” he’d said as he reached out to steady you with hand going to your waist, dropping it once he realized it was you. “Oh, hey.”

Glancing over to your date who seemed absorbed in some game he was playing on his phone, you figured he wouldn’t miss you if you spent a few extra minutes away to catch up with Rooster.

He had been acting really distant lately, taking a couple days to respond to texts rather than a couple of hours like it usually took him. Natasha had told you about the rigorous training they were being put though, and you had assumed it probably had something to do with that. However, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off between you two.

Rooster was already pulling away from you and taking a step towards the bar when you reached out grabbing his wrist to keep him with you. Looking around for a quiet place to talk, you’d heard him sigh behind you, but still held on to him as you made your way to one of the high-top tables in the corner by the empty stage. 

You’d stopped and let go as you turned towards him, only to find him already looking at you with an expression that landed somewhere between expectant and exasperated. The cuffs of his shirt straining around his biceps as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Well?” he grunted out.

Was he mad at you? You couldn’t think of any recent arguments you’d had recently that would explain the harsh tone he was using with you. 

“Is everything ok? I feel like you’ve been really off lately. You know I’m always here for you, right?” Your hand was already reaching out to touch him, but you resisted the urge not wanting to further agitate him.

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m surprised you even have time to talk to me with all these washouts you’ve been wasting your time on. You’re the one with the busy social calendar, not me.” He was looking over the top of your head avoiding your gaze now, the bitterness in his voice had stunned you. 

“Seriously? What is the matter with you?” 

He’d never been so intentionally callous with you before and it hurt. 

“Listen, if there is an issue me dating the people your friends have been setting me up with, you need to let me know,” you’d said pointing a firm finger at him, your anger rising. “This was supposed to be a fun no pressure situation, but I don’t want to be in the middle of this if things are getting heated between you guys. It’s not worth it to me. But you don’t get to ignore me for days and then claim that I’m the one avoiding you.”

He made a noise of frustration as he dragged both hands through his curls. You could see the flex of his jaw as he’d clenched his teeth together.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he ducked down to that his eyes were level with your, and you could see the remorse in them. “You’re right, that was shitty of me to take it out on you. I’m just… tired.”

You’d simply nodded at him, feeling like you weren’t on the same page as him didn’t sit well with you. “Phoenix told me about your new training program, it seems intense,” your voice sounded small even to your own ears.

“Yeah, the training,” he’d sighed out pausing for a moment as he weighed his words, rubbing at his chest, “It’s taking a toll on me, but that’s my problem. I mean it, I’m sorry.”

“Are we good?” you searched his eyes, your friendship with him was so important to you.

“You and me? We’re good, kid. Always.” He’d reached out and squeezed your shoulder before heading back to where the group was gathered together pretending like they weren’t just watching your argument play out. 

Needless to say, your head was somewhere elsewhere entirely as you made your way back to your date. You’d felt bad being so distracted, but your mind just kept playing the argument on repeat. It was like your brain was trying to pull apart every little word to decode something that you didn’t think was there.

After Payback’s friend had left, you rejoined everyone else around the pool table. You couldn’t tell if the mood was off or if it was just you reading into things, since they hadn’t been prodding you with questions like they usually did.

Natasha was in the middle of giving you a glowing review of the man she had been bragging about since she first offered to set you up, when Rooster came to sit with you both.

“He’s just your type. He’s an engineer, so he’s smart. He’s got that whole glasses wearing and floppy hair thing going for him. And he’s funny. Rumor has it that he talked back to his Rear Admiral one time and got away with it because the guy had found him amusing. I fully expect you to name one of your future children with him after me.”

Rooster had surprised the pair of you when he stood up so violently that he almost knocked over the beers on the table. 

“What the fuck, Bradshaw?” Nat had exclaimed as you both worked to rescue the teetering bottles from becoming casualties from his sudden movement.

You had no idea what he was going to say as an explanation for why he’d jumped out of his seat the way he did, but what he ended up unexpectedly announcing instead of answering Nat’s question had sent you into a tailspin.

So now here you are in a restaurant you’d be dying to go to, fidgety and anxious in a probably-too-expensive-and-probably-too-provocative dress for a first date with the guy who Rooster was willing to break his long-standing rules for to set you up with.

To say you were feeling the pressure was an understatement. No one knew you like Rooster did. He’d seen you at your best and at your worst. He wouldn’t just pick any random guy he knew, he would be picking the one who he thought would be the best for you.

The thought should be comforting, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of uneasiness.

You pick up your phone again and double check the time in the text that Rooster had sent you with all the details for your date with his friend. 

It was either that do that again or moving the ever-so-slightly crooked gold salad fork back into place.

You’re about to open Instagram for the third time since you sat down, turning when you hear a throat clear purposely behind you.

“Hey, sweet girl.”

For Rooster, when you’d first agreed to participate in the bet with his friends those dates started off as annoying inconveniences. Just inconsequential disruptions that got in the way of his time with you.

You were his best friend and at his bar, yet he felt like he’d hardly seen you these past couple of weeks- or at least not as much as he would have liked. 

Sure, he got some time with you here and there at the end of the night like when you had late night tacos on the beach. Or when he’d taught you his favorite pool trick, well more like attempted to teach you, he loved how stunningly bad you were at the game. But he felt like he was competing with these idiots his friends had picked out for your time and your attention. 

He wasn’t used to sharing you. In the past, if you had a date that conflicted with something spontaneous he wanted to do or something that the group had planned together, more often than not he could get you to move it or cancel completely.

He’d never been above a little bribery to get his way, he knew what you liked.

You going on dates wasn’t a new concept to him, but seeing them paraded in front of him was a different story. And he was getting really tired of watching you from across the bar while feeling like you were out of reach.

The more of them you went on, and the more he heard Natasha crowing about having the perfect man for you the more agitated he felt. The worse that feeling in the pit of his stomach got. 

The evening of date for Payback’s pick, they’d all seen you walk in through the doors of the Hard Deck wearing that shade of red lipstick. You’d wore it so well. His friends had immediately started speculating about what it meant. Phoenix had called them all idiots, and while he couldn’t claim to know anything about make-up and those things, he did know you didn’t just wear that color for no reason. 

He had vague memories of his mom putting the color on when they’d go greet his dad, at least he like to think those were his memories. Or maybe they were just something he’d created in his head from all the time he had spent looking at old photos of his mom and dad together, her smile always outlined in the color. His favorite was the one where his dad’s cheeks were covered in bright red lipstick kisses as he smiled indulgently down at his mom while a young Bradley was propped on her hip clutching his prized F-14 Tomcat. He had that one framed on the end table next to his couch. 

And seeing that color on you for a date with this random guy had rattled him.

He’d felt so terrible later that evening when he took those feelings out on you. Hating himself as he lashed out at you. Hating himself as he saw your face fall and the hurt in your eyes. Hating himself for being the person who made you feel bad.

And the crux of it all was that you weren’t wrong, he had been deliberately distant by being slow to reply and ignoring texts from you. He wasn’t proud of it, but he didn’t know what else to do. He’d hoped by creating some space that it would help him to try and get his head back on straight. 

He’d let you assume that he was tired from the new training program they were being put through. What he didn’t tell you was that he was already outperforming everyone on the team, and that he hadn’t had to do any extra push-ups in a week and a half. 

He was tired because he hadn’t been sleeping, and he couldn’t sleep because every time he tried to close his eyes all he could see was you on these dates. Replaying them in his mind’s eye wondering what the outcome would have been had they not gone so terribly wrong each time.

The what-ifs swarming around his brain day and night like agitated hornets.

While he had been quick to apologize for being a dick, the sharp pain that settled behind his sternum wouldn’t subside no matter how much he had tried to rub it away.

He didn’t know what was more unbearable, the idea of losing you to a chance encounter of circumstance. Some meet cute courtesy of the universe that he couldn’t see coming until it was too late, when it’s already too far out of his hands and out of his control. To see you grinning that smile so bright, the one so wide it made your dimples appear, as you introduced that guy to him. 

Or sitting here night after night analyzing every little thing as you date the people some of his closest friends had picked out for you. Watching and hoping that these dates would just be funny stories you told on drunken nights out rather than the story told at your wedding about the night that everything changed when you met your person. Of having to be happy for you even as you pull away from him.

His ears were ringing and he’d felt his stomach drop. 

He could see it now, a day when your life ran parallel to his rather than entwined as he was used to. Of you with a partner. With children. Of him as ‘Uncle’ Rooster, demoted to the rank of ‘longtime friend of the family’ rather than a core member of it. 

The thought of it making him feel sick. 

All evening he had been moving around like a ghost completely lost to the thoughts in his head, but now it felt like he’d been shocked by a live wire. He’d pretty much jumped out of the chair he had just settled in, almost knocking the beers in front of him off the table completely. 

“I want in, I’ll do it,” he’d blurted out, interrupting the conversations that had continued on around him while he had been spiraling. “This whole thing has been a complete shit show. I can’t watch this anymore. I know a guy, I’ll set it up. I’m in.” 

His hands were sweating as he hoped no one would call his bluff. He’d made it a point to actively avoid looking at you. You had such an uncanny way of reading him. 

“I don’t know, Bradshaw. You’re a little late to the game, aren’t you? I’ve been saving the best for last, and I’m ready to collect my winnings.” He’d expected some shit from Hangman, but he never would have guessed it’d come from Phoenix. 

Feeling his anger flare up, he reached into his back pocket and fished out a $100 bill from his worn leather wallet, double the original entry fee. He slapped it down on the table, leaving no room for any further discussion, “I’m the one setting her up for the next date.” 

He’d caught a look between Hangman and Phoenix, but he couldn’t be bothered to read into it as he tried to keep his temper in check.  

He wouldn’t lose you. Not to someone who didn’t deserve you, especially when he already knew the person who could make you happy.

“Alrighty,” Jake had drawled out, as he pocked the bill. “Looks like we have another player. I look forward to taking your money.” 

He’d extended his hand out and they’d all shook on it, reaching Phoenix last her grip firm and her smile sharp. And that was that. 

Now he was here at the new popular restaurant he’d heard you talking about a few weeks ago, his feet cemented to the tiles beneath him just gazing at you. 

He could tell from where he was standing behind you that you were nervous by the way you were opening and closing apps without truly looking at anything. He knew it was a habit of yours when you were feeling anxious, something for your hands to do as you tried to distract yourself.

He had sweet talked the hostess over the phone into reserving the best spot on the outdoor terrace, and you looked so beautiful sitting there wearing his new favorite color. Your hair is held back by a delicate golden clip on one side leaving the line of your neck exposed, the sea breeze picking up a few wisps.  It makes his teeth ache with want.

He knew you were gorgeous, he’d stared down enough men at the Hard Deck to know that others thought so too. However, he’d never let himself sit with those thoughts for too long, not trusting himself to keep his mind from wandering. 

You were his best friend. 

And best friends don’t think about how the other would look so perfect in their bed, that pretty green dress forgotten on the floor. 

Best friends don’t think about how perfect you would look under his arm.

Best friends don’t think about how perfect you would look with his ring on your finger.

Best friends don’t think about how perfect you are for him.

Best friends don’t think about how perfect he is for you.

Him.

It was a good thing he didn’t want to just be your best friend anymore. 

He’d already done too much thinking, done too much waiting. He wasn’t going to miss his moment. 

Taking one more deep breath, he made his way to you.

“Rooster? What are you doing here?” He was the last person you’d expected to see when you turned your head to see who had been trying to get your attention, “Are you ok? What’s wrong?”

Did he get emergency orders? Did your date get in an accident? 

Your anxiousness was quickly morphing into panic, you’re already half way out of your seat when he puts his hand on your shoulder, his thumb stroking the skin there reassuringly. 

He is standing there looking completely at ease, as if he belonged there, “Nothing’s wrong, sweet girl.” 

And there it was again, you hadn’t been sure if your ears were playing tricks on you the first time he’d said it. That simple term of endearment silencing the alarm bells that were going off in your head, the edges of the lush restaurant softening around everything except him.

“Your mom always called me that,” you say softly. 

You cherished all the memories you had with Carole, the woman who had been such a significant figure in your life for so long. You knew your mom still sent Rooster a cake every year to celebrate her birthday from whatever bakery was closest to wherever he was stationed. 

“I know, I remember,” his voice so warm and deep, “She loved you.” 

He says it so simply, so sincerely. As if his presence here hasn’t just completely untethered you and sent you adrift in a sea of bewilderment.

The writhing snake that had made a home all day in the pit of your stomach finally disappeared, only to be replaced with the fluttering of wings that you were desperately trying to ignore. 

You’d been so shocked when Rooster had exclaimed that he was going to set you up with someone, your mind had been whirling so much at the time you could barely focus on anything that had been said in the aftermath of his announcement. Maybe you had missed some caveat he’d come up with for his participation in the bet? That could make sense, considering how adamant he had always been in the past about never getting involved in your love life. 

He was standing there looking so good in his best short-sleeved button up shirt, the one that was scattered with vibrant palm leaves that fit snugly against his body. And wearing the white slacks that usually had you looking anywhere else in the room to avoid acknowledging the way they clung to your best friend’s thighs and ass. If only he knew how weak they made you. 

There just has to be a logical reason for why he’s here, but the soft smile on his face was rendering your brain uncooperative. 

You were getting tired of feeling like you were missing something that should be so obvious, “My date is supposed to be here soon, are you going to hover in the back like you have been at the Hard Deck? Or are you just planning on pulling up a chair and third wheeling up close and personal?” 

“Why would I need an extra chair,” he asks as he pulls it out and eases his large frame down onto the wicker seat, “When mine’s already free?” 

You move to open your mouth when the waitress arrives, asking if you had your drink orders selected. 

“I’ll do the Bourbon Sidecar. You feelin’ like a gin, sweet girl?” You just nodded at him mutely, still desperately trying to catch up. “And the Clover Club for her, please.” 

It’s what you were planning on ordering to calm your first date jitters before had Rooster arrived and sent you into a complete tailspin. He hadn’t even looked at the thick textured cardstock of the drink menus that were strategically placed just to the right of the golden soup spoons on the artfully laid out table. 

The butterflies were threatening to break free from the tightly locked cage you had attempted to shove them in. 

The waitress took down the drinks, and you watched her as she crossed the patio pausing to tap away on the screen of their POS, trying to give yourself a few more moments to collect your thoughts. 

“Bradley. I don’t understand, what’s going on?” He’s sitting there looking so secure, so steadfast, so sure. 

His cheek ticks up, “I like it when you call me Bradley. Why did you stop calling me that when you moved out here?” 

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“Why did you stop calling me Bradley when you moved out here?” he asks again, leaning in. How does he expect you to answer a question, when your mind is going 1,190 miles an hour? 

“I don’t know,” you start with a halfhearted shrug. “You’ve made a name for yourself in the Navy, you are ‘Rooster’ to everyone here.” You open your mouth to say more, before closing it quickly.

“There’s more going on in that head,” you feel his foot reach out tapping against yours under the table, before leaving it there a steady presence. “Tell me.”

You know you can tell him anything, but this feels different.

The intensity of his stare has you fighting the flush you feel spreading across your cheeks.

It wasn’t something that you’d ever given much thought to before, but you know if you answer truthfully now that he’s asked you it’s going to leave you feeling more exposed than you’ve ever been with him. 

You sit up more fully in your chair deciding to be brave, “I mean, we haven’t really truly been in the same place since we were teens, and things are so different now. It was easier to start calling you ‘Rooster’ or ‘Bradshaw’ like everyone else, because it didn’t make me feel like I was piece from a different puzzle trying to force myself into a new picture. I wanted to fit into the life that you’ve built here, to feel like I still have a place with you as you are now.”

You’re actively fighting to keep your eyes on his. It would be so easy to look away or to laugh off your confession, but for whatever reason, you don’t want to take the easy out. 

“I never knew you felt like that, but I wish I had,” the look in his eyes is softer than anything you’ve ever seen from him before. “I like being Bradley to you, I want to be Bradley to you. You aren’t just a piece to me, you’re the whole picture. You’ve always had a place here, exactly as you are you are now.”

It’s never been like this between the two of you. It feels like you both are saying too much and not enough all at the same time. As much as you find yourself wanting to sink into these intoxicating yet unfamiliar feelings, you know you’re still holding yourself back.

God, he is so handsome. You had been right, the sunset that was just starting was stunning, but the way golden beams were hitting the lightened strands of his curls was spectacular.

You’re almost too afraid to ask, but it’s unbearable not knowing, “Why are you here right now, Bradley?”

Of course, the waitress chooses that moment to return with the drinks. 

She sets them down in front of you, the skewered raspberries sitting daintily on the side of your glass are suddenly the most fascinating thing in the room. You vaguely hear him saying you both need more time and that he’ll flag her down when you’re ready to order. 

He waits for her to leave to attend to her other tables before turning his heady gaze on you once again.

“I thought I’ve been making my intentions pretty clear here, sweet girl.” 

He takes a sip of his Sidecar before continuing, the slight bounce of his leg the only thing giving him away that he might not be as self-assured as you’d originally thought, “I’m here for our date.”

There’s no hope of containing the butterflies now. You’re a lost cause. 

“Bradley.” You can only imagine the emotions he is reading on your face. It would absolutely break your heart if this was some kind of bad joke.

“He’ll never love you like I can.” 

“What?” you ask sounding every bit as dazed as you feel.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says shaking his head slightly, huffing out a little laugh at himself, “I got ahead of myself.”

You watch as he resituates himself in the chair, wiping his hands on the front of his slacks before restarting. 

“Watching you on those dates has been hell, I don’t want to be jealous of some guy you gave a second glance. I don’t want hold back, not when we can be so much more,” he reaches across the table, taking your hand between his two large ones, “I thought having you as a friend was enough for me, but how am I supposed to sleep at night knowing that I could be the one who makes you happy and then do nothing about it? That I’m the only one who can love you the way you deserve to be loved?”

You’ve always known he’s cared for you, that was unquestionable, but to be loved by Bradley Bradshaw? It was something you’d never let yourself imagine, let alone dared to hope to for. It had been kinder to spare yourself from the heartache that came with hope. But now? With him sitting right here in front of you saying you could have him like this?

Was this how he felt flying in his F-18 every day?

He gets up and rounds the table coming to your side, hooking an ankle around the tapered leg of your chair pulling you out a bit. You’re suddenly very thankful for the probably-too-expensive-and-probably-too-provocative for a first date dress you purchased when you see the way his rich brown eyes turn molten as he gets a glimpse of your exposed thigh.

He settles into a crouch before you, his warm hands seeking out both of yours, “You don’t need Phoenix or anyone else to set you up, because he’ll never love you like I can. Let me show you how good it can be. Let me be it for you, sweet girl.”

The man in front of you is everything you could have ever possibly wanted for yourself. And to be the one who could get to keep him forever? There’s no doubt in your mind, it’s worth everything.

You’re sure you will have to have a more serious conversation about what this means for the two of you, but that can wait for another time when he’s not in front of you with his eyes so earnest. So hopeful. To another time when he’s not wearing his heart on his sleeve as he patiently waits for any kind of response from you.

It would be so easy to lean in and kiss him right now. 

So easy to learn what that mustache would feel like against your skin. 

To learn how his lips and tongue would feel against your own. 

To learn how his mouth would move with yours.

But what’s a couple more hours when you’ve had years to build up to it.

“Well then, Lieutenant. I guess you better show me how it’s done,” you bring your hand up to cup his face, your thumb gently stroking along his cheekbone. “But I’m warning you now, I fully intended to give you as good as I get.” 

Being on the receiving end of a Rooster smile was something special, but it had nothing on the beaming grin that Bradley Bradshaw is giving you now. 

“I wouldn’t expect anything else from you,” he says as he lands a lingering kiss on your cheek before standing and pushing your chair back in for you. “You’ve always known how to keep me on my toes.”

He returns back to his surprisingly comfortable wooden wicker chair, stretching his leg to rest it against yours. When the waitress comes back you both end up picking your meals at random, having been too absorbed with each other to actually bother reading the menu. 

You’d barely eaten all day because of the knots in your stomach, and now you were starving. Thankfully, Bradley at least had the commonsense to ask the waitress to pick her favorite dish as a third entrée “for the table”.

It feels the same in many ways, he knows what to say to make you laugh and what to bring up to get you fired up. And you know what questions to ask to keep him talking and how to push his buttons just right. 

But it’s also different when he doesn’t bother to hide his knowing smirk every time he catches you looking at his lips. And it’s even better when you don’t bother trying to hide yours when you catch him doing the same.

Afterwards, he takes your hand in his as you slowly make your way to the parking lot, his fingers lacing between your own. He surprises you when he leans against the Bronco, murmuring something about not wanting to let your pretty dress get dirty. His long legs extended wide as an invitation for you to come stand between them, his strong hands stroking the silky material of your dress on your hips as you step closer. 

You’ve been ignoring the pull low in your stomach all evening, the tension between you two the most luscious feeling you’ve ever experienced. The combination of his heat, his woodsy smell, the headiness of his gaze on you almost too overwhelming. 

Almost.

Your hands settle on his broad chest, playing with the button of his shirt now a bit nervous. Your faces closer than you’ve ever allowed them to be before. If what you’re hearing is the sound of the waves or the roaring of the blood in your ears, you couldn’t say.

You know he is waiting for you to make the first move. You see the moment when he’s about to say something, knowing him the words would be wonderfully reassuring and perfectly Bradley.

Why would you want to talk when his mouth was already waiting like a question. Why would you want to talk when you could learn what it’s like kiss him instead?

So you do.

When your lips meet his for the first time it feels like the sweetest kind of devotion. 

bradleybradleybradley

His mustache scratching satisfyingly at the skin of your upper lip. His mouth tasting like the Sidecars he sipped on throughout the night and something that was just fundamentally Bradley. 

Your hand moves on its own to stroke the side of his neck, your fingers seeking out the line of the longest scar that adorns his skin there from that night all those years ago. 

Your heart is beating wildly in your chest as he licks his lips before bringing his face down to yours again. Your other hand tightly clutching his shirt in anticipation.

He’s always been so in tune with you, so when he tilts your head just right before leaning into the kiss it feels like a homecoming. 

thisthisthis

One of Bradley’s hands makes its way up your back, pressing you closer to him as the other bands more securely around your waist. And when his tongue skims your lower lip, you sigh into his waiting mouth thankful for his strong grasp on you. 

Nothing your mind could have imagined would have ever come close to the perfection that is Bradley Bradshaw’s mouth moving against yours. Nothing has ever felt so good, so right.

When he pulls away, you’re both over fighting back the smiles that feel like have been permanently fixed on your faces all evening.

“I’m don’t want to call it a night yet,” he tells you, as he brushes the hair back from your face. His smile turning playful, “What do you say, kid? Wanna go get some milkshakes?”

“Depends,” you reply cheekily, “Can I drink it in the Bronco?”

Wrapping both arms around his neck you draw him back in towards you again.

“Anything you want, sweet girl,” he promises against your lips.

The next night at the Hard Deck, you entered the bar with Bradley’s arm draped your shoulders. 

His team whooping loudly when you pull him in for a kiss as he handed you a Blue Moon. They’d declared the drinks were on Bradley that night as they’d swarmed you both in celebration. Maverick pulls you aside to give you a warm hug, whispering “I knew you’d get here” in your ear before releasing you.

Now that you had let yourselves cross that line from friends to more, the pair of you are entirely too aware of the other. Never content to be too far away from the other. Your eyes like magnets, each seeking out the other to find them already looking back.

There’s nothing friendly about the way he has his hands on your waist. Nothing neighborly in the way his hands rub your shoulders. Nothing platonic in the way he rests one hand on the back of your neck, his thumb making teasing circles.

And there’s nothing friendly about the way you run your hands through his curls when he’s at the piano. Nothing neighborly in the way you slide your hand into his back pocket. Nothing platonic in the way you rest your hand on his chest, your finger tracing the line of his collarbone. 

It has always been so easy with him, even as you explore in this new area of your relationship.

You’d been orbiting around each other all night, when Jake yelled out to heckle you both about indecent exposure, threatening to call his cop friend if Bradley didn’t “get his ass over to the pool table in the next thirty seconds.”

He’d peppered your face with kisses before you’d shooed him away, laughing when you realized he had swiped your beer and had taken it with him.

“So you and Bradshaw,” Natasha states as she settles down next to you.

That makes you smile.

“Yeah, me and Bradley.” 

How could you have possibly thought you’d want anyone else other than him? You were a goner from the moment you’d turned and saw him standing there at the restaurant. Your golden boy.

You turn towards her, putting a hand on her arm, “I’m sorry that you didn’t get a fair shot at the bet. I really do appreciate the effort you all went through. I mean, Bradley would have had it in the bag anyways. But still–”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” she waves a hand, cutting you off, “We had a team meeting and changed the rules of the bet anyways. I still won, so it’s all good.” Her smile was nothing less than mischievous. 

“Wait, what?” 

“We could all see from Rooster’s reaction during that disaster of a first date with all the dogs that he was completely hung up on you. We didn’t want to wait for him to figure it out, so we decided to adjust the terms a bit to help him out,” she laughs at your clearly baffled expression. “We reached out to the cringiest people we knew and set you up with them instead. And then took bets on how long it would take Rooster to get his head out of his ass and go get his girl.”

“Oh my god, seriously?” The revelation has you bursting out in laughter.

“Yep, well except for Bob. His date was a genuine accident, bless him. I’ll be honest, I didn’t even bother reaching out to anyone. I was betting on Rooster getting it together before I needed to step in,” she explains while wearing the most self-satisfied smirk on her face.

Of course Natasha Trace had bet on him. On you.

You couldn’t wait to tell Bradley how you had both been so absolutely played by his team. 

You loved these people. You loved your life here in San Diego. 

“I’d apologize for putting you through all that, but it looks like it worked out well in the end,” she says knowingly nodding her head towards him. 

You’re fully watching him now as he bends over the pool table looking amused at something that Hangman says. 

Bradley looks up catching your eye and shoots a wink in your direction, a grin taking over his whole face. You already know you’re wearing a matching one.

“I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

Thank you so much for all the love on this one! I’ve loved sharing this journey with you all! Happy Valentine’s Day Everyone! 

If you want to know what happens next for these two you can check out my masterlist! 

Written as part of @roosterforme’s #Love Is In The Air TGM Fic Challenge!

Song Inspiration Sam Smith’s “Like I Can”.

Thank you Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) as always for being the ultimate hype girl! 

Taglist:

@sehnsuchts-trunken @top-hhun-main @itscheybaby @prettylittlelauraa @startrekfangirl2233 @marantha @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @itsizzythebell @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @boltgirl426 @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @torres-espana @uzumegui @dont-talk-me-down @fandomunite2107 @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pariahsparadise @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @nina-sj @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @misty-inferno @angellwingsss @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @mrsdaamneron @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @melllinaa @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @mandolin22 @imaginecrushes @soleilgrec @keyrani @finelytaylored @phantomxoxo @viridianphtalo @chicomonks @artemissunn​ @hey-assbutt35​ @mayempress​ @eddiemunsonreader @averyhotchner​ @caatheeriinee07​ @rileyanntoinette​ @lublycho

[tarjapearce]

Ways You Propose To Miguel #1

"Miguel?"

He was across the room, typing in data as you sat in your chair, legs stretched on the table.

"Baja los pies de la mesa.*"

Ignoring him, you started tinkering with an old broken watch.

"Can we talk?"

"Aren't we already?" Pouting at his response you sighed and put the watch on the table as you stood.

"Yeah, but it's polite to pay attention to the person you are talking to, cielito." You spoke as you hugged him from behind. His hands faltered what they were doing and it was his turn to sigh.

"What?" He saved the data and turned to face you, mask disappearing. His so ever stoic face receiving you.

If it came to comparison, you both were so different, personality wise. He liked being alone and sulk on his past, but you always made sure to make him understand that he wasn't alone. Sometimes your personalities clashed, making everyone around you uncomfortable by the tension.

However, mostly of the days were spent in harmony as everyone did their part.

"Why so serious?"

"I'm busy."

"The Spider Verse is doing fine."

"That's a stupid name."

"And so is the...Poly aracnid something that is impossible to pronounce." you chuckled and stood before him.

"Though you were in another universe, doing your job."

"Ohh, Boss is pissy today." You took his large hands in your smaller ones and smiled.

"I just wanted to see my favorite grumpy spider man."

"You saw me, now can I go back to work?" His hands left yours, and you sighed.

"Is something wrong?"

"Not particularly."

"Alright, whatcha working on?"

"A new watch prototype."

"What's wrong with the last one?"

He didn't replied, rather began in typing again.

Patience, patience, patience.

You were already used to his antics by this point. After all, it was your patience and caring for him that made you earn a spot in his heart. It wasn't easy, but it was all worth it.

"O'Hara"

He didn't reply and just looked at you with an blank expression. To his surprise you started dancing, with your hands up, wiggling here and there, his eyebrow rising.

"What are you doing?"

You giggled as you started a weak attempt into twerking, making him frown in confusion

"Isn't it Obvious? I'm seducing you."

You returned to the hands in the air

"Stop. And it's not female spiders that do it."

"Oh, will you dance to seduce me?" You couldn't help but wiggle your eyebrows at him, he just rolled his eyes and gave a tiny smile.

"I won't leave you alone until I have your full attention."

"I need to work-"

You went back to dancing, he pinched the bridge of his nose, asking for patience whoever above.

"And I won't stop seducing you with my aracnid dance"

"You're ridiculous."

"Yet, you love me."

Holding his hands in defeat you stopped and smiled.

"Te han dicho que aveces eres demasiado?*"

"Too much for who?"

"What do you want?"

"Annoy you."

"Done."

"And ask you something."

You chuckled and sat on the chair nearby him. Silence lingering in the air, patience running short on his end, but seeing you fiddling with your fingers, something he noticed you'd do when nervous, decided to indulge on your antics.

"How long have we been... eh... Together?"

His frown deepened slightly and he crossed arms, the question suddenly throwing him out of guard.

"Are you not happy?"

"What? That's not what-"

"You met another person in another dimension?"

You laughed at his sudden words.

"No, baboso* Wanna listen first?" You took his hands in yours again.

"Im asking you. Por cuánto tiempo hemos estado juntos?"

"Un par de años, ya. Por?"

"Do you... wanna get married?"

You smiled at him, genuine, sincerely as he squeezed your hands. He just looked at you like you had broke the Canon itself.

"What?"

"I asked, if you'd like to get married."

His eyes softened and he looked down, your heart flipped and you let his hands go.

"I... Guess not? Sorry. Too soon?"

"It's not that."

"Then what is it?"

"Te me adelantaste*"

Your heart leaped into your chest as a warm feeling spreaded all over you.

"Really? Like... Really really?"

"Really really."

"The dance worked" You mumbled proudly and he just pulled you closer, gently.

"It was everything but that dance"

You giggled as you kissed him.

"Admit it, it worked."

"Si tu lo dices. Ok."

"Now, now. Let's do things the right way."

You suddenly dropped into one knee, clearing your throat as he just stared at you with a hidden amusement in his eyes.

"Miguel O'Hara, Mi cielo, mi amor, mi arañita gruñona, mi niño, mi vida."

He tried with all his might to keep a straight face, but he just couldn't, chuckling to himself he stared down at you.

"Te casarías conmigo?"

"Claro que sí. Solo no bailes de nuevo."

He pulled you on your feet as you put a ring on his hand.

"If it's too small I will send-"

"It's perfect."

---------

Baja los pies de la mesa.* - Get your feet off the table

Te han dicho que aveces eres demasiado?— Have you been told that sometimes you're too much?

baboso - Dummy

Por cuánto tiempo hemos estado juntos?" - For how long we've been together?

"Un par de años, ya. Por?" —A couple of years now, why?

Te me adelantaste- You beat me to it.

Si tu lo dices - If you say so

Mi cielo, mi amor, mi arañita gruñona, mi niño, mi vida - My sky, my love, my grumpy spider, my deary, my life.

Te casarías conmigo?" - Would you marry me?

"Claro que sí. Solo no bailes de nuevo— Of course. Just don't dance again.

[angelkissiies]

hii can you do jock abby x cheerleader reader?

be aggressive

hockey player!abby anderson x cheerleader!reader

cw : modern!au, hockey!au, fluff, confrontation, abby stands up for the reader, cursing, college bitches being bitches.

“Fuck!” You huffed, attempting to find a parking space in the crowded rink parking lot. Game days definitely had begun to test your patience, today more so as you’d already been running late but now with how it was going- you’d be coming in seconds before call time, which gave you a heart attack to even think about. 

By some grace of god (or whoever was listening at that point), you found a spot nestled between a black jeep you recognized as Abby’s and some Nissan that was missing a bumper. Trying to waste no time, you hustled out with your hefty bag thrown over your shoulder and skates dangling from your hand as you held them by the laces. The lot was mainly empty as you sprinted towards the entrance, dodging random gaggles of people who you assumed were waiting for the game to start, but were conveniently in the way. 

You pushed through the main doors glancing around to find your team, before breaking through a group of away players that hoarded the doorway leading into the changing rooms (that weren’t even for them, you’d think they’d move considering the fact but no). “Sorry, excuse me.” You whispered harshly, giving them a half hearted dirty look as they barely moved to allow you through. It was so unnecessary, you almost let it get to you but for the sake of time you dropped it. 

The scent of hairspray hit you first as you rushed into the cheerleaders quarters making you cough before throwing your bag down before making a b-line for the staging door. This led you down the hallway under the rink to the otherside, where your teammates were waiting patiently to begin. You turned the corner before running smack into someone else, their sheer presence sending you stumbling back a bit. Fucking hockey players and their massive bodies. 

“Oh baby, shit, I’m sorry.” You heard your girlfriend curse, a tinge of a laugh in her voice as she reached out to you. Oh, it's your hockey player, nevermind. She was headed to the opposite side of the rink to sit with the other players, as the puck drop didn’t take place until the pregame festivities ended. If you weren’t so stressed, you’d probably have made a joke about breaking the ice but the time didn’t come. 

You shook your head, focused on getting to your spot in time (and not pissing off your coach- again), brushing your hair down with your free hand to tame the strays that had ventured from their previous tight curls.. “I’m late, I'm so late, Abby.” You breathed, motioning towards the door that now seemed much farther away than you thought. “Do I look okay? I gotta go on.”

She nodded quickly, understanding in half a second as the first announcement rang out, muffled from where the two of you stood. She hooked a finger under your chin, pulling your face to look towards her instead of the rink before she gave you a smile. “You look perfect, now get out there.” She hummed, giving you a light shove towards the door, watching as you didn’t hesitate to take off down the remainder of the hall. 

You practically ran to the door- skates clacking wildly as you barely made it before the second announcement came on the intercom. Its main purpose was to draw the ticket holders back into the building, signaling the entertainment was about to begin. You shoved your skates on, finishing tying them just as your coach called for the team to make their way to the door leading onto the ice. You released a breath you didn’t know you were holding as you followed behind your team, skates hitting the ice hard as you followed the outline of the routine you’d been practicing for the past couple weeks. Smile and skate, easy enough. 

Abby had made her way back to the other players, taking a seat as she double checked the laces on her skates. A habit she’d picked up after breaking her ankle a couple seasons ago due to her lace coming loose. She heard the music begin and dragged her attention to the ice, waiting to see you- just like she did every game. She always loved seeing you skate, even just as background but today you were front so she didn’t have to worry about not getting a good view. 

You came into view, your bejeweled uniform catching light from the overhead spotlights, shining gracefully as you did some precise turn that Abby couldn’t even name. She’d always be thankful for the convincing that had taken place to get you both here, as you almost passed up the idea of cheerleading due to annoying stereotypes from American football cheerleaders. She knew you didn’t see her in the haze of light, as the ice made it much too bright to see much outside of the rink, so she usually took the chance to brag to her teammates. Though, as she began to turn to a player she knew quite well, Nora, she caught the tail end of a conversation between two benched cheerleaders. 

“She only got in because her girlfriend is on the team, they totally played favorites.” The one on the left hissed, rolling her eyes at the number you were doing. It was virtually flawless, leading Abby to lean into the conversation more. 

The girl on the right laughed, yawning dramatically. “I think it’s kinda weird, Abby is definitely a good player but like why do they have to be gay? Gives us a bad rep.” She proclaimed, attempting to hush her voice down to a level nobody would hear. 

Abby caught it though, letting out a chuckle of disbelief as she turned around on the bench to face the girls. It seemed like they didn’t realize who they were sitting in front of, or, they knew and just felt brave enough to keep talking shit. “Fucking excuse me?” She stated, tilting her head at the duo. Angry was an understatement, furious would be a better descriptor as she watched the girls freeze. They could talk shit about her, sure, but she drew the line when it came to you or better yet your relationship as queer women. 

“I don’t know what you heard bu-,”

“Shut the fuck up,” Abby growled, cutting the girl off. “Keep my girlfriends name and our relationship out of your fucking mouth. I know for a fact you wouldn’t want this getting back to Coach Mckillen, right? Your little homophobic comments about a girl who’s ten times as talented out there than you are wouldn’t go over so smoothly, huh?” 

Knowing fully she planned to report them to the coach, she raised an eyebrow at the duo, watching them scramble to attempt to apologize. Her heart hammered in her chest, never having dealt with such outspoken bigotry- especially from a team composed of mostly queer women.  She didn’t let it show, only turning back to the ice, shaking off the stares she’d gathered from her tiny outburst. 

“Damn, Anderson. That was rough.” Nora laughed, nudging the girl gently, having overheard the entire ordeal. “You’re a mean bitch.” 

Abby bit back a smile at the comment, knowing it was 100% true. “Can’t have anyone out here bad mouthing my girl, that’s all.” She mumbled back, searching the skaters until her eyes landed on you again. From the distance she was at, she could see the healthy blush on your skin from the exhausting choreo she’d watched you practice solo multiple times in the past week, all accompanied by a blissful smile you reserved for crowd work only. 

Nora shook her head, eyes glancing over to see the way Abby watched you as you finished up the last of your performance, turning to skate towards the door that led into the players seating. She had seen firsthand how much Abby cared for you, knowing the girl's plans for your birthday made the moment even more special, seeing as soon there would be a crystalline addition to your relationship. “God help any motherfuckers who try.” She chuckled, standing up to give the cheerleaders room to sit as the groups traded places on the ice. 

You pulled the door open, allowing your mates to go in before entering yourself, coming up to Abby before even considering capping your skates. “Good luck, Abs.” You smiled, face glowing in a sheen of sweat and pure joy as you looked up at her. “You’re gonna do great.” 

Abby smiled down at you, cupping your face in her gloved hands as she pressed a deep kiss to your lips, intentionally drawing it out to annoy the girls who now sat sulking on the second row of benches. Her lips tasted like cinnamon and honey, something you’d grown to love about the woman, her unusual taste in chapstick- and how you never knew what you’d get. “Thank you, pretty girl.” She hummed, pressing another short kiss to your lips before Nora practically dragged her out onto the ice- throwing her helmet to her blindly. 

“Don’t forget!” You called after her, your stupid tradition drawing a smile onto her lips as you recited the beginning of an age old cheer usually reserved for football- but with the force your girl brought to the ice, it felt fitting “Be aggressive.” 

Abby shook her head at you gingerly, mouthing it back before pushing her mouth guard into place and throwing her braid over her shoulder. A slight laugh bubbled in her chest as she got into position, awaiting the face-off. 

B-E aggressive.

[starmosaics]

so what’s good about 12hsynastry 😂

It’s your choice and whoever you’re involved with if you want to work on the issues that come up or if you want those problems to stack up and eventually be the reason for the relationship to abruptly end, because it will more likely than not abruptly end one day just like how people didn’t commonly see a start of their relationship when dealing with this overlay.

IF the other person/you’re willing to go inwards and self reflect and work on baggage, you will have the opportunity to experience one of the most healing connections and you will insanely evolve becoming a better version of yourself.

There’s nothing more beautiful than having someone in your life who cares enough to point out your blind spots out of love and has seen all your facets and still chooses to stay by your side and root you on because they want you to want to get better and face your inhibitions. If you are questioning whether you’ve got the good or bad side of 12H synastry, ask yourself how they respond to you when you’re not at your best and vice versa. If met with patience, desire to understand, guidance, and respect, more likely than not, that’s a connection worth holding on to. That’s the good side of 12H synastry that I hope more people experience rather than the draining and destructive side.

Everyone wants something differently out of a relationship so 12H synastry may not be everyone’s cup of tea. I can only personally speak for myself, but life’s been incredibly difficult for me and I haven’t been met with much tenderness so it means everything to me to be with someone who lets me put my guard down and help me unlearn ways i’ve been living and functioning due to trauma and reconnect with aspects of myself that have been left dormant and to have someone who wants to better themselves as well so they can show up in a way we both deserve.

[ghostsvacuumcleaner]

Metamorphose | 2k

my masterlist | ao3 ✦ Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader ✦ Summary: You and Simon deal with the pain of losing a baby. ✦ TW and general warnings: established relationship, angst, fluff, sensitive content (abortion), depression and eating disorder mentions, it's painful but he comforts you

A/N: Hi everyone! Since I'm working hard on some requests I've received and in the next chapter of Shades of Red, I decided to release this kinda old drabble of mine here. I'm not too satisfied with how it ended up but enoughly to post, so enjoy <3

I'd also like to mention that I have a taglist for my longfic Shades of Red but not one for my general writing and drabbles so I'll make a post for it, but till then, if anyone's interested in being tagged in my general posts and drabbles, please let me know <3

The sky is colored in blue, pink and purple.

Mostly blue.

You stare outside of the window while it changes, a golden yellow sun by the morning that rises; it spent too much time burning bright in the also bright blue sky. You counted the hours till it started descending. Now, the sun was nothing more than a little line by the horizon, and the sky was fading into cold colors, fading into the cold night. 

You feel hungry, but it felt wrong to eat knowing you’d be sick of your stomach the second food hits it. You’re not in town anymore, Simon decided it would be better if the two of you took some time out in the country, where it was safe and you’d have time and space to do the things you loved. Running with your dog, swimming in the lake, breathing the fresh air. Truth is, you don’t feel like doing anything. Your legs are too tired, you’re sleepy, you’re tired. You’re very tired. 

You heard him on the phone earlier. His voice was hoarse and low, he argued you wouldn’t want to receive visits. You could tell whoever it was - was insisting, pushing him too hard into allowing them to visit you. He blatantly denied, and you could feel his mood changing in a bit of seconds, his patience running low and the moment he turned off and let out a huge snort; and it had been perhaps two hours since that happened.

You let out a tired sigh, your empty sad eyes stare down at a small sign of movement under the window you were staring at. A little cocoon, seeming to be still inhabited, was hanging from a little line in there. You knew it was supposed to keep hanging till the moment that little caterpillar metamorphosed into a butterfly, and broke the shell, flying out freely. But for some reason you can’t understand - as well as many things in nature, this one cocoon is about to fall.

Your shaky hands reach out for it and before it hit the ground, you carefully pull it and it detaches without a second guess. You take a small look around the room and grab a small empty cup where the water you were supposed to have drunk evaporated, and place the small thing inside of it.

“There you go.” You mutter, the first time you hear your own voice in days, maybe weeks. 

Some things aren’t supposed to happen. And you’re not supposed to die without being conceived the chance of living, even if only for a day.

You reach for Simon downstairs, minutes later. Looking pale for the lack of food you’ve been putting yourself through, tired for even standing, collateral effects of the strong medication you’re taking for the sake of your life. 

“Baby.” You mutter, and he turns instantly from the alluring stare he was giving the fireplace. Your man’s sitting in a cozy armchair, drinking tea - cold at this point - and dissociating just like yourself. You blame yourself for a second: how can you put him through so much? Isn’t he suffering as much as you, why are you isolating him?

“Yes, my love?” He quickly responds, like he craves for hearing more of you. “Another nightmare?” he asks, standing to come closer to you.

You shook your head. “No… I found this.” you show the cup between your hands; Simon doesn’t seem to get it at first glance. “A butterfly. It’ll come out anytime, the cocoon is moving.” you state.

“Oh.” He raises an eyebrow, and sighs a little. “What a cute thing… Should we put it in the garden?” He asks, so much calm in his voice you feel yourself a little lighter. 

“I want to see it.” You state. “The butterfly, I don’t know what type it will be, I’m curious.” 

Simon looks at you like love would, if love was a person. He’s as tired as you, you can tell. Maybe his legs work a bit more than yours and his hands have the capacity of doing the hard work still, but his mind is as empty as yours.

“Of course.” He nods, and reaches for his own coat, placing it around your shoulders. You feel warm and cozy to the smell of him. “We can watch, come on.” he suggests, and grabs onto your hand. 

His squeeze is light and calm, and your body follows him instinctively, not thinking about anything but the comfort you crave right now.

For the past few days, the only thing you could think of was the void in your belly. The void you haven’t felt in months; when you told him you were pregnant, Simon stared at you in complete despair and horror for at least ten excruciating silent minutes. You weren’t used to the idea as well, you’d have to interrupt your current work, you’d have to dedicate yourself to learn the slightest about being a mother.

It is a lie that every woman is born knowing how to hold a baby. When the two of you would visit some of your friends and their children, you’d try to picture yourself as holding your own baby instead of holding theirs. You couldn’t. They’d tell you that oh, god, don’t hold him like this, while laughing. But for you that was a sinful despairing moment.

Simon knew better than you, as a matter of fact. He held babies correctly, unintentionally - but very correctly. 

You didn’t know if you were supposed to feel envious of his natural ability or proud of having this man as a daddy to your baby. 

You learnt to love the little thing growing in your belly. He did, too. He would often bring gifts to you - keeping track with your cravings, and also buying things for the baby. Baby’s little room would be full soon enough. This little creature who wasn’t even born yet was everywhere around your house. The worries about conciliating Simon’s work with your pregnancy were starting to catch the two of you off guard, and soon as he asked for a license to take care of his pregnant wife, that day. That night. So much pain, so much blood. He wasn’t a small lifeless fetus anymore, it was a whole baby. It was a girl. She had a name. 

Some things aren’t supposed to happen. 

“Your parents want to visit.” He mutters, the two of you sitting in the swinging chairs by the garden, surrounded by dozens of different kinds of flowers. The weather is fairly cold, but you don’t feel it with his coat around yourself. “Told them you wouldn’t want to.

“I don’t.” You agree. “Tell them I need time.”

“I did.” He fixes the coat you have around yourself, and glares into you as the sky fades into deeper tones of dark blue. “I was a little less polite than that, but I did.”

“If you weren’t, they wouldn’t listen.” You argue, looking at him now, too. Your eyes fall deep into the void of his own. 

For the first time in those two painful weeks, you can feel his pain flowing through his damaged soul. Like yours. 

“I know. Terribly stubborn blood you have, dear.” he mutters, moving your hair off your face. “Did you manage to eat something today?”

“No. I’m sorry.” You mutter, your voice failing for the first time.

“Don’t do this to me.” His voice comes out pained like yours. He closes his eyes, and his jaw clenches in sadness when he sees the tears start gleaming through your eyes. “Don’t apologize. Don’t cry…” he asks in an almost begging voice.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, love, this is all my fault, it’s-” you catch your breath in your throat and suddenly, you’re falling apart. Days of nothing, weeks of not feeling anything but pain in your chest, despair, panic, and now you’re falling apart in front of him. Your tears stream down your face like overflowing rivers. “It’s my fault.” You say, grabbing handfuls of your hair and tugging your face on your knees. 

Simon feels his own eyes get drenched as he can’t hold his own rivers by seeing you like this. He kneels down to the ground in front of you, pulling your hands from your hair, carefully stopping you from hurting yourself; feels excruciating to him to be able to do nothing.

“It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.” He mutters, and you feel your body moving up. He holds you like you’re lightweight and takes his seat where you were sat at, now, holding you like a baby against his lap. You tuck your face on his chest now, the tears wetting his shirt, your painful voice coming out in low groans of pain, a painful cry of a mother who lost her children. The sad dead eyes of a father who watched this happening and couldn’t do nothing about it. The grief of parents, who didn’t have the chance of raising their children.

“Why? It hurts so much, so much.” You say beneath your cry, your eyes drenched, your face red from all of the crying. His hand is caressing the back of your head as he silently cries.

“I know. I know it hurts.” his voice is almost a blow of the wind, a whisper. “I can’t possibly know how it feels for your, my darling, but it feels bloody excruciating to me, everyday. I miss her all of the time.” He admits, his voice like the one of a kid who just lost its parents. “I miss talking to her, feeling her kick in. I miss her.” 

For the past few days, the two of you seemed to be speaking in foreign languages.

Couldn’t understand each other. Couldn’t comprehend. He was in pain, so were you. None of you could see each other, understand each other. The two of you needed space. The fights, the screaming, his complaints about your refusal to get help and your anger for not feeling understood.

Right now, you feel understood.

Who could understand a grieving mother more, than the kid’s grieving father?

You miss moments that didn’t exist. That didn’t even happen.

You shouldn’t have died without even getting the chance of living. Even if for a day.

“I’d give anything to have a day with her. A fucking day, just one.” You mutter in admission, as you hug in his arms and feel his warmth start to make you calmer by the second. Simon closes his eyes in acknowledgement.

“Me too, darling. And I don’t know what can we possibly do so this hurts any less, but I’m pretty sure we can make it easier if we’re together in this.” He affirms, his hand reaching for your face and washing away your tears. You look at his eyes for the very first time in weeks now. “We face it together.” 

The sky is painted in dark blue now as night approaches and the cold finally starts rising completely. You feel it hitting your skin, as Simon has you in his arms and you hum a low lullaby to the air. He runs his hand across your belly like he somehow tries to heal you from the void you’ve been feeling.

If she feels empty, then I’ll fill her with my own love.

You close your eyes and even though in this terribly uncomfortable position, you feel warm, and you feel cared. You rest. You fall asleep in a matter of seconds

None of you had awakened in time to see the cocoon hatch and the butterfly fly out. But for the past months, for the past years - when you were facing the task of emptying your baby’s room along with Simon, or when you were working - and even in other times, when you’d catch yourself thinking about her, you’d see a blue butterfly flying around you. 

Simon was too skeptical to believe, but even so, he’d always catch every butterfly he’d see, and bring it to you. “Look, who’s coming to visit!”

[melkyt]

Cora Lives au, Marine!Law and Luffy doing his pirate thing as per usual canon xd

They make it back, Law remembers enough medical knowledge from growing up with his parents while they were spending every day trying to cure their disease. Its enough to use his fruit and save Cora as soon as he can get the chance and approach, maybe this is his first time being able to do room and shambles as he has two thoughts, save Cora and get closer to do so. His power answers his needs.

It takes time, but they make it back to Sengoku. Cora goes back to being a marine, it is his home.

Law doesn't want to disappoint the man who took him in and saved him, so he learns and trains. He joins the Marines but there is a pulsing hatred under his skin. Years and years of pushing it back so he can 'earn' the love and repay the man who saved him. Law is struggling and repressed.

Law is high-up in the organization just with having the ope ope no mi, Imu and the elders are paying attention to him, which is why it is even more stifling, the vice admiral title he never wanted, and a promotion in the near future that he wants even less if not for the freedoms it will grant him. That is what Law wants most in this life, freedom and the ability to follow his dreams, but he owes a debt, and it traps him just as much as anything.

One day he is sent on a mission after a young crew that is making waves around loguetown. He is responsible for the area beyond. Law is glad to be out on the open sea, he takes his sweet time going after the strawhats, not as driven as Smoker or others sent after the pirates. He goes after them but it always turns out they just miss each other. The brats have done shit but nothing he would find big enough like hurting civilians that would make him move. That is the usual, everyone knows that any mission Law goes on will take forever until he finds a reason, and then he will slaughter whoever crosses his particular moral code. Worse he will make them into an art project, left to suffer on display as a warning.

He is ruthless as a marine, taking out his anger out on his targets.

It goes like that for a while, them missing each other until the Summit War. Law is called back, and he first is against going. The warlords will be there, Doflamingo will be there. He would rather never see that mans fcking face. Yet Cora is also summoned, the powers that be know that will make Law go, just to protect the only person he can call family.

He shows up.

Summit War is a mess, sides unclear and Doflamingo is getting on his nerves. The bastard having the time of his life just like in canon. If not for Cora's silence power shutting him the fuck up and way more self-control and patience for his brother than Law has, Doflamingo would be dead.

Law is going after the strawhats, and Doflamingo follows him to mess with the boy and also with Crocodile and be a problem for everyone xd

Since I make the rules, Ace's death here does not happen, Law snaps at the very end and unleashes room over the entire battle, casting shambles. His only focus as a marine has been to improve his power, as that is the only thing he can control. So it is a threat. He splits each side onto their own sides, ruining more than a few plans. Only those in logia are not affected, the confusion is enough to stop the fighting and to slow Akainu. Then promptly collapses in front of Luffy.

Luffy, who saw Akainu's attack coming, saw the man about to kill him, Ace getting in the way, then they were a few feet away and a dead marine in their place.

He looks at Law and is immediately obsessed in a way only Luffy can be, but they don't have time to take the weird admiral that saved them for some reason, but he remembers as they leave.

Later Law gets a lecture even if Akainu wants to murder the brat for getting in the way. His fruit is too valuable, and the marine elders put too much time in the kid to allow him to be killed. The ope ope no mi wielder needs time to gather knowledge for the immortality surgery and a certain devotion, which is what Law has for Cora and they are looking to use that.

So he gets yelled at and gets promoted, which pisses everyone off.

Law is even lazier in his missions, doing his own thing.

Luffy on the other hand after working to get stronger so he doesnt feel like he cant do anything ever again as in Sabaody, as during the war when all he could do is watch his brother almost sacrifice himself, sets off again.

In the two years, Law never left his mind. Luffy not only wants to thank him. But also free him, he knows that look of being trapped by obligation. He has seen it in Nami, Sanji, and many many others over his journey.

So they go looking for the admiral, raiding marine ships and bases, Luffy always running around shouting for him, even if he doesn't quite remember the name.

Ace who is just as interested in finding Law and thanking him, same wavelength as Luffy but more cautious, only a little xd. This is an admiral. He mentions that the man hates one of the warlords, they were bickering all fucking day during the war.

Luffy perks up, grins, and sets his eyes set on kicking Doflamingo's ass. He does a very Luffy thing and announces it at the next base they raid. Something like "Yo, yah saved my brother, so I'm gonna beat Doffy's ass for yah, Traffy!" He did not feel like writing the whole name out, so the nickname is born xd.

Law gets the message and sets out for Dressrosa, hoping to intercept them on the way. This is idiotic even by strawhat standards. He doesn't need their help, and they are going to get themselves killed. He goes alone without any backup, using his power to travel in some creative way.

The strawhats are unpredictable and fast, so they avoid him and only meet up in Dressrosa, with the birdcage falling as soon as the strawhats dock.

Dressrosa almost goes the same, with all the trauma hitting Law full force, even worse as he buried it so deep. It breaks the shields he had up for so long.

He is a mess, and Luffy is there for him in his usual enthusiastic way determined to be friends. There for Law in his most vulnerable moments like nobody has been since Cora saved him all those years ago.

The fights go on, and Doflamingo beats the shit out of Law, who is stronger, but he is tired and broken, and scared as if he is a child again. Law is going through it. He has not been working for years to make his life about revenge and did not face his trauma in the same way.

He watches as Luffy never gives up and wins where he failed, sitting alone on a roof, tears that he can't control spilling as Luffy takes that final blow against Doflamingo.

In the end, Law leaves behind his Admiral coat, with a letter of apology to Sengoku and Cora, that he can't lie to himself anymore, that he needs to be free and that's what the strawhats gave him, that's what Luffy gave him. So he joins the crew, not as anything useful in his opinion. They have a doctor and a historian, they have everyone that makes a crew useful but they don't care. They still make room for him.

Luffy said he is part of them now, and so he is. Even if the world government is hunting him for his fruit, they are all being hunted.

It is the best time of his life, for the first time he is happy. The warm feeling when Luffy smiles at him is something else. The soft touches, the stolen kisses when nobody is looking. Law for the first time understands what it means to be in Paradise, and hopes that this newfound peace will never end.

[wheredafandomat]

Party girl P2 : Trouble

Mob! Loki x female reader

18+ | contains smut - I wasn’t gonna do another part but here, Ao3 and wattpad are asking and of course I aim to please || Part 1 if you didn’t catch it TW KIDNAP

You regarded the roses suspiciously despite knowing they were from Loki although you didn’t give him your address. Remembering his status, you assumed he had connections and put the flower delivery down to that. Too fixated on the small card in your hand, you had failed to notice Natasha’s questioning gaze as she watched you.

“What’s that?” She asked, snapping you back to reality.

“Roses.” You answered plainly.

“Yeah, from who?” She delved.

“Never mind.” You shrugged, about to pass her before she stopped you.

“Come on, don’t be like that, show me the card.” She requested.

“No.”

“Y/n.” She spoke warningly.

“No.” You repeated, a smile spreading across your face before you broke off into a sprint around the apartment, Natasha quick to chase you. Both of you giggled, petals flying around the living room as you ran into it, circling the couch. When she finally caught you, she took the card from your hands, gasping as she read it.

“L as in Loki? How did he even get our address?”

“I don’t knowww.” You replied, sitting on the couch.

“Did you two?” She asked, clearly alluding to sex.

“Yess.” You smiled.

“Was it good?”

“Amazing” you sighed dreamily “but I told him I wasn’t looking for commitment and that that was supposed to be a one night thing but all these roses look like commitment.” You huffed.

“Or maybe he’s just thanking you for the good night. It’ll stop.” She assured.

“I hope.”

But it didn’t stop. Every day a bouquet of some type of flowers arrived at your door. As the week went on, the apartment grew full of them, the fragrant smell overpowering anything else. Eventually you began distributing them to your neighbours, wanting everyone to enjoy the fruits of your labour so to speak.

When it got to the end of the week, you began noticing a black Rolls Royce situated outside your apartment. At first it wasn’t suspicious considering you lived in quite a wealthy neighbourhood but then you noticed it didn’t move much during the day. The tinted windows made it impossible to tell whether or not someone was ever inside but considering it’d sometimes be in different locations, all still close to you, you assumed someone was inside which meant that they didn’t really leave the car. You felt surveilled, it was evident that whoever was in the car was interested in seeing you as you began noticing it following you around. When you brought it up to Nat, she told you you were being paranoid. So you were being paranoid.

“Is she not the most buigiling thing you’ve ever laid your eyes on.” Loki hummed contently as he watched you reading from your apartment, his car paired with the lack of privacy from your open curtains offering the perfect view of you.

“Loki, we’ve got business we need to deal with, you can’t just keep—”

“Silence!” Loki interrupted before calming himself down “make no mistake, I am very much aware of the situation however y/n has not yet thanked me for the flowers and I find such rudeness punishable.” He spoke.

“You’re going to kill her? Gosh Loki I—”

“No I’m not going to kill her, perhaps spank her yes” he smirked at the thought “or maybe I’ll have her on her knees begging for my forgiveness” he continued, smirk growing “regardless, my patience is wearing thin, clearly my more subtle approach isn’t working.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I have a few ideas.” Loki chuckled.

When you left your apartment this morning, the last thing you thought was going to happen was that a stranger was going to jump out at you, grab you and drag you to his car. Despite your desperate attempts at fleeing, he was too strong, too overpowering. You thrashed and screamed, no one hearing you until you gave up. Surprisingly, you were not carried to the boot and instead had your seatbelt secured by the kidnapper who then waved a bottle of water in your face leaving you confused.

“I’m not a monster.” He shrugged, leaving the water on your lap.

“How do I know it’s not poisoned?” You questioned. Huffing, the man picked the bottle up before opening it and taking a sip.

“Not a monster.” He concluded, handing you back the water before entering the car.

“Where are we going?” You then asked once he started driving, confused as to what the protocol was for a kidnap.

“Boss wants you.” He answered.

“Boss? What do you mean—” you began to panic before realisation hit you “Loki! Loki did this!” You exclaimed.

“Yes ma’am.” The man confirmed leaving you fuming.

“Let me out.” You demanded.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” The man shrugged.

“Fine, I’ll deal with him when I see him.” You decided, crossing your arms.

The drive was nice despite the fact that it was against your will. You eventually learned your kidnappers name, Bucky, and passed time talking to one another. By the time you approached where you assumed was Loki’s estate, your conversation drew to a close.

“Just tell her how you feel and be direct, unlike some.” You advised, your sentence ending venomously as your eyes met Loki’s. Pushing the car door open, you stormed towards him angrily before being stopped by one of his security guards.

“Let her go” he spoke nonchalantly before smiling at you being set down “feisty.”

“What the fuck Loki? What’s this?” You shouted.

“What?” He answered feigning innconcence.

“You’ve kidnapped me.” You snarled.

“I wouldn’t say it’s a kidnap, that makes it sound dramatic” he began “in fact, you’re not being held here against your will, I just wanted a thank you for the flowers.”

“Here’s your thank you.” You replied, putting your middle fingers up causing Loki’s brows to furrow.

“That’s not nice.”

“Sorry, I know it was a bit overdramatic.” You agreed, Loki nodding as you spoke “but you did kidnap me.” You reasoned.

“Enough with the accusations, join me for a meal.” He welcomed.

“A meal?” You scoffed.

“I’ve brought the best chef in to prepare us a meal.”

“You’re insane.” You stressed as Loki gestured for you to follow him inside. “Don’t tell me you kidnapped them too.” You mumbled, following him inside.

When you reached what you assumed was the dining room, Loki pulled a chair out before gesturing for you to sit on it. You did so, allowing him to tuck the chair in. In front of you there was a selection of different foods and fruits as well as bottles of champagne. You took a steadying breath contemplating your life choices leading you up to this moment.

“Do you need me to feed you or are you capable?”

You glanced up at Loki who was sitting next to you before narrowing your gaze at him.

“Yes I’m capable.” You answered, picking up a knife and fork. Stabbing at a piece of food, you brought it to your lips before taking a bite. “That’s amazing.” You complimented just above a whisper.

“Only the best for you.” Loki grinned before picking up something. “You must try the pitted olives.” He insisted, using a cocktail stick to pick one up before feeding it to you.

“Mmm, that’s nice.” You hummed before Loki fed you another. He marveled in your sounds of appreciation, growing excited as you closed your eyes, swallowing.

Opening your eyes again, you noticed Loki looking at you intently.

“What’s your game here? What do you want?” You confronted him.

“For you to say thank you.” He answered causing you to roll your eyes.

“Really?” You huffed “a thank you? Cut the bullshit Loki and tell me what you really want.”

“Truthfully” he began, standing up and stepping behind you, his hands finding your shoulders before he began moving them in a way that could only be described as perfectly leaving you melting into his touch “I find myself wanting to please you” he admitted, lowering his lips to your ear to whisper, placing a single kiss just below it “and pleasing someone other than myself isn't in my nature so what is it about you that I can’t get over?” He queried, still gently massaging your shoulders.

“I told you I wasn’t looking for anything long term.” You opined.

“And I said I wasn’t the commitment type” he retorted “believe me, I have tried to get you out of my head. Every night I try to get you out of my head but no one fits me like you do. No one comes close to making me forget that night so let me have one more, here with you, in my bed, my terms and then you can go.” He proposed.

“No.” You quickly answered.

“No?”

“If you want me, you can have me right here, hard and fast and then I leave.” You bargained.

“It’s quite exhilarating, isn’t it.” Loki smiled coyly.

“What is?”

“Being ordered around” he began, lowering his lips to your ear again “I like it.”

Before long, the both of you were on your feet, Loki’s tongue pushing past your lips as he claimed your mouth. His hand was against your cheek as you leaned back against the table, kissing him back just as fiercely. His hand fell from your cheek before venturing down your body and finding purchase between your legs. His skillful hand cupped your pussy leaving you gasping into the kiss as he moved it to and fro. Using his other hand, he pushed you further against the table, ensuring you were stable before falling to his knees in front of you. He made fast work of eagerly tugging your trousers down as well as your panties, pulling them off of you before he was prising your legs apart, hungrily kissing your thighs. It didn’t take long for him to reach your centre leaving you moaning lewdly as his lips latched onto your clit. You ground your hips against his face as he flicked the bundle of nerves with his tongue before flattening it against it. Your head fell backwards, Loki’s name falling like a chant from your lips as he suckled on your clit. He felt you throbbing needily against him as he traced your pussy with his tongue before dipping it into your entrance leaving your legs trembling.

“I’m gonna cum.” You almost cried, legs clamping shut around Loki’s head as he circled your clit again leaving you spiraling into oblivion. “Fuckk.” You panted, reaching your climax.

Barely allowing you time to come down from your high, Loki was back up, freeing his hard length as he pushed you further up the table with his hips. Gripping it, he moved it through your sensitive folds, coating himself in your slick before reaching your entrance. Your eyes met briefly, your gaze daring him to enter you. Hard and fast you said. A small smirk spread across his lips as he pushed inside of you. He didn’t give you any time to adjust. Hard and fast. He bottomed out before slamming inside of you again, the movement leaving the table rocking. Hard and fast. Your eyes screwed tightly shut as Loki’s long cock moved in and out of your sensitive tunnel, every vein well received by your walls. His thrusts were merciless, his growls loud as he bared his teeth, fucking you against the table. Finally, he was back inside of you, where he fit, where he belonged.

“Say thank you.” He spoke, catching you off guard.

“No.” You answered, opening your eyes again.

“Say. It.” He ordered, thrusting harder with each word.

“Noo.” You insisted, clenching your walls around him, both of you granting each other pure, filthy pleasure. You lost all composure, practically crumbling beneath him as he reached between you again, using his thumb to toy with your clit. “I’m cumming.” You screamed, body tensing until you released but Loki didn’t relent, he continued playing with your clit, fucking your overstimulated pussy. “Lokiii.” You begged, needing him to stop, pleading with him to carry on.

“Say thank you.” He answered.

“N-no.” You choked out making Loki thrust harder until things were falling off of the table.

“Thank me!” He demanded.

“Fuckkk, I’m sooo closeeee Lokii.” You yelled.

“Thank me goddamn it.” He insisted, doubling over as he rested his head in the crook of your neck, thrusts growing sloppy.

“Thank youu.” You moaned, voice sultry in his ear as you reached another orgasm, Loki doing the same as he released inside of you.

Time stopped, both of you panting as Loki lifted his head, your gazes meeting again as you mapped one another’s faces. He was sweating, no doubt you were too as your heart rate began to slow. Your lips met haphazardly as Loki helped you to sit up before pulling out of you.

“I-I’m going to shower and then I’m leaving.” You spoke, trying to sound even, in charge.

“Very well” he spoke, handing you the trousers and panties that he previously tore off of you before clicking his fingers once you were dressed, Bucky entering the room “show her to my room.”

“Loki—” you began to protest.

“I’m not following you, don't worry” he interrupted “you can shower in there and then meet Bucky at the front, he’ll take you home.” He explained, turning away from you before you left.

Just over an hour later, Loki returned to his room finding it empty. Noticing that his wardrobe was open he walked towards it, smiling when he saw your clothes hung up on a hanger one of his shirts used to be. Making his way to the bed, he spotted the panties you were previously wearing as well as a note.

Consider me pleased x

But that gif 🥵

Tags:

@lokiprompts @mischief2sarawr @lulubelle814 @lokisgoodgirl @mochie85 @eyesbluelikethetitanic @vickie5446 @mcufan72 @fictive-sl0th @peaches1958 @lokilvrr @evelyn-kingsley @strangelockd @xorpsbane @lovingchoices14 @donaweasley @sailorholly @lokidokieokie

[restinslices]

If it's alright with you, can you write the lin kuei trio with a s/o, who is a detective tracking down a serial killer who is going to target s/o and the lin kuei trio's reaction to it.

I can confidently say I have never gotten a request like this

Handle it or he's handling it 

It's as simple as that 

Did Bi-Han let his own father die? Yes. But for whatever reason he didn't fuck with him 

I'm assuming he fucks with you though, so the thought of someone hunting you down is not something he's very fond of 

I don't think he'd have any strong feelings about you being a detective. Not everyone can be out and about fighting people from other realms. Some people gotta do some protective work for the smaller people 

So you being a detective is whatever to him

When you say you're hunting down a serial killer, I don't think he'd have any strong emotions either. He just assumes you'll catch them soon. His faith is pretty high 

When it's revealed the serial killer is hunting you, that obviously becomes a big problem 

A problem he has to solve 

If you're like “No Bi-Han! I got it! Let me find them and end this!” he'll consider giving you a set amount of time before he handles it 

Doesn't know how he's gonna track this unknown person down but his faith in himself is stupidly high 

If you find them and lock whoever up then great for you 

If the agreed time passes and they're still on the loose, he becomes Batman. Get out the way. He got it 

No point in protesting either. Just sit at home and let him figure it out 

He becomes the annoying boss in police movies. Y'all know what I mean 

Definitely finds the person eventually and finishes the job for you 

Hooray?

Honestly I think all the brothers are a “handle it or I'll handle it” case 

Thoughts on you being a detective are positive. I think he can see how difficult that certain job would be 

He's fighting with his fists. You're using your brain. You're both helping people. 

He admires it lowkey 

You're hunting down a serial killer now? Ok. Be safe-

What do you mean you're a target now?

He kinda saw it coming but it's still unfortunate 

He'd understand still wanting to lead this case and he applauds standing your ground, but he's also worried because ya know, you could be killed 

He'd try to assist but at some point he would really want you to let someone else handle it 

By someone else, he means him 

He's a trained assassin. He can probably hunt this guy faster than you can 

Has more patience than Bi-Han but if a lot of time passes and they're not handled, then he'll step in 

He probably would've warned you beforehand that this was something that would happen but as we can see, you either didn't listen or still slipped up 

It's not that he thinks you can't handle it… kinda. 

You're just not moving quick enough 

I think he’d be nice enough to remind you he has faith in you but would vocalize his concerns when it comes to you still working on this case 

Whether or not you decide to drop it is up to you, but he’s definitely not 

Thoughts on you being a detective I think are also positive

He thinks you're doing a good thing

The Lin Kuei can't help everyone. They do more bigger things 

So you helping civilians is great to him. It's a good cause 

I think he'd also enjoy hearing about your cases and chiming in whenever 

Hunting down a serial killer? Well, he guesses someone has to do it 

He'd be confident enough in your abilities to catch this person 

But then you're the next target

I think honestly all the brothers would have a similar reaction. So much so, I don't think there'd be much of a change. I probably could've written this in one paragraph 

He could possibility be the most cooperative when it comes to letting you handle it

Gives you the most time to figure it out and tries to help out as a partner 

Doesn’t wanna step on your toes but if you’re taking too long, he’s gonna do his own investigating 

Probably asks Kuai Liang for assistance 

I’m not saying any of them would find this person in days time, but they certainly believe they will 

Worried about your safety as you could imagine, so he wants you to sit this one out 

He’s probably conflicted, like what I said with Kuai Liang. One part is like “yeah, you gotta find this person!” And the other is like “you need to sit down so you’ll be safe”

Probably prefers for you to do all your investigating at home. Any leads you have you’ll either follow together, he’ll follow it, or someone else will 

I think all the brothers will want to help as much as they could and would wanna handle this serial killer. And by handle, I don’t mean letting them go to prison. You can get out of that if you play your cards right 

The only real difference is how much they let you help after they find out you’re a target 

Bi-Han is like “I gave you time. You’re done. I got it”. Kuai Liang is “I knew this would happen and I know you wanna stand your ground, but maybe take a step down” and Tomas is “I get it so let me help”

This is kinda boo boo. Also I hate their little moodboards I made. It’s sickening

[talesofesther]

sweet calamity | ch 7

Wednesday Addams x Reader

Series Summary: It was something people described as the sweetest pain, the feeling of when the soul that’s destined to find yours is closer to you. Wednesday saw it as a curse, promised herself she would hate whoever was chosen for her; but it’s easier said than done.

A/N: This chapter was going to be even longer, but in the end, I thought it was best to split it into two, next chapter should be out as soon as I'm done writing it. Anyway, Wednesday is head over heels in love and I'm not even sorry for it.

Masterlist | Read ch 6 here

Saturday's sun set to what seemed to be an ordinary night, but it was nothing of the sort.

Principal Weems could be seen speed-walking from one side of the big ballroom to another, gesturing wildly to where the fairy lights should actually be placed because someone — Xavier — got her instructions wrong.

The school was royally decorated to the nines; golden lights and a few wooden ornaments contrasting with the white tablecloths set the theme for this year's Rave'n. There were sweet flower arrangements on top of each table too, kindly made by you when Weems told you she wanted something that resembled a new beginning. Everything was ready to receive the students and their plus ones.

While everyone was getting ready, Wednesday sat in front of her typewriter, the sharp sounds of each letter she pressed resonating through the dorm room.

Since last weekend, Wednesday has been dedicating extra time to her writing. It meant she was either really inspired or frustrated, and from the permanent scowl on her face, Enid assumed it was the latter.

The werewolf stood in front of her mirror, her manicured hands adjusting the last details of her white velvet dress to perfection.

"Wednesday?" She started, shooting a side-eyed glance to the back of her roommate's head, "aren't you gonna get ready?"

The typing halted for half a second before it resumed again, "I won't be going."

Enid frowned at her reflection, tucking her hair behind her ears before stepping away. Her heels thudded against the wooden floor as she walked up to Wednesday. "What do you mean you're not going?" She asked as if the mere idea was absurd.

"That I am not going," Wednesday responded sharply, her eyes fixed on her writing.

If this was about anything else, Enid would've dropped it, she knew better than to test Wednesday's patience. But she has been seeing firsthand just how much your absence is affecting Wednesday — and herself, consequently, because living with a moody Addams could be considered torture — even if the girl herself still refuses to admit it.

"So you're giving up?" Enid placed both hands on her hips, knowing very well that her words would get a reaction out of Wednesday. "Just like that?"

Wednesday's frown deepened and she hastily got up from her chair, making it scratch the floor. "I'm not giving up on anything, I never give up."

"You're giving up on your soulmate." Enid dared say.

Wednesday's eyes widened the slightest bit, her posture going rigid. So Enid knows. She didn't know if it was you who told her or if Enid figured it out on her own, but either way, she knew the werewolf would figure it out sooner or later.

Wednesday gulped, trying to keep her features impassive. "I never wanted her in the first place," her voice isn't as strong as she wanted it to be for that line. Wednesday turns around and walks away to look out her window, far down, she could see students already making their way inside the ballroom.

Feelings have never been easy for her. Enid softens as soon as she hears the melancholic undertone behind Wednesday's words.

"But you do now, don't you?" It's not necessarily a question, Enid already knows the answer.

And because of that, Wednesday doesn't say anything. Though her silence is answer enough in its own way.

"You don't need to beat yourself up for it, Wednesday," Enid continues, "it's not a bad thing to have feelings for someone, I mean she is your soulmate."

"That's the problem, Enid!" Wednesday snaps, turning around and taking a few steps closer with urgency.

There's a glistening to Wednesday's eyes that Enid has never seen there before, it gets her own words stuck.

"If I am to-" Wednesday stumbles out, words thick with an emotion she herself can't name yet, "to love her," she tries to take a deep breath, but it turns into somewhat of a sob, "I want it to be my choice."

Wednesday blinks away whatever tears were trying to escape her, "and not some cosmic force pushing us together," she closes her lips in a flat line, the outline of her eyes and the tip of her nose becoming reddish the more she holds everything you've ever made her feel.

She's fighting against herself, against her own heart that beats erratically in her chest. And it was a losing battle from the start.

Wednesday breaks in the form of a single tear sliding down her cheek as a shaky breath comes out. The truthfulness of her own words cutting deep before she even says them; "I want it to be real."

A beat of silence passed and Wednesday finally looked up at Enid, only to see tears shaping her friend's smile and starting to ruin her makeup. The Addams girl scoffed, hastily wiping her cheek, "why the hell are you crying?"

Enid shook her head with a teary chuckle, quickly closing the gap between the two. She circled both arms around Wednesday's shoulders, pulling her in with a strong grip, "how can you be so smart and so clueless at the same time?"

Excuse me? Wednesday thought of saying. She didn't return the hug but did rest her head on Enid's shoulder, though there was a confused frown on her features.

Enid pulled back, resting both hands on Wednesday's shoulders to hold her in place, "just because she's your soulmate, doesn't mean you're gonna love her no matter what, silly."

"What are you saying?" Wednesday asks, and it's the most vulnerable Enid has ever seen her be.

It's endearing.

"I mean, sure your souls are linked and most of the time you're predestined to meet, but your feelings are yours," Enid's smile could be felt in her words, she spoke easily, sincerity overflowing her tone, "they're yours, Wednesday. You're not… predestined to have them or whatever, that would be impossible."

Wednesday keeps silent, her hands balled into fists at her side.

"I've heard so many stories of people who met their soulmates and rejected them, or either tried to be together but the spark was never there," Enid kept going and Wednesday realized she was quite the enthusiast. Not really a surprise; she'd kill for a love story, good or bad.

"Just because you're bonded doesn't mean you'll end up together," Enid shrugged, squeezing Wednesday's shoulders once, "as much as I'd love to believe that everyone who meets their soulmate lives happily ever after, that's as much of a media construct as anything else."

"How did I not find anything about it when I looked it up?" Wednesday asked one of the many questions swimming in her mind.

"That's because you're awful with technology," Enid grimaced, gaining a glare from her roommate.

She took a deep breath in as she let go of Wednesday; "the universe might point your person to you, but it doesn't have the power to control your feelings for them. Wednesday, if you do have feelings for her, they're yours. And they're real."

—

It was with careful steps that Wednesday walked down the stairs that lead to the ballroom, her hands smoothed out the fabric of her black dress and she could already hear the party's obnoxious music.

With much reluctance, she had taken Enid's words to heart and decided she owed it to both of you to at least try.

Because that was it, wasn't it? Somewhere along the way, Wednesday had developed feelings for you.

She closed her eyes, nails digging into her palms and almost drawing blood to try and feel anything besides that. To no avail and she knew it.

The ballroom was already filled with people when Wednesday walked in, it was dimly lit with blinking lights all around and questionable drinks.

Her eyes skimmed over the crowd as they always did, finding Enid dragging Ajax to the dancefloor, Bianca trying to get a hold of Xavier, Yoko and Divina doing a poor job of being sneaky when stealing from the snacks table, and… you. Wednesday's lips parted in a quiet sigh, the scrunch of her eyebrows softening at last when her eyes finally set on you after what felt like ages.

The feeling that you always brought to her chest washed over her, and Wednesday realized that try as she might, it would never go away. You had ruined her, killing her slowly the further away you went; because she knew what bliss it was to have you close even before any cosmic bond came to light.

It was the universe that, for some reason, decided that your light complimented her darkness. But maybe, it really could be her choice to call you hers if she wanted to.

You had a drink in your hands and a smile on your glossy lips — a smile that's directed at a certain boy but Wednesday doesn't think about that. The dress you wore was a dark shade of purple, almost resembling black when the shadows covered your body.

You were enchanting, bewitching.

Wednesday doesn't see beauty in this doomed world too often, but she seems to always find it in you.

And it's a realization that could be the death of her. But she does. She does want to call you hers.

She just doesn't know if it's too late for that now or not.

Shaking herself off of her trance, Wednesday makes her way to the drinks table, taking a glass of the blueish beverage. She raised it to her lips and took a generous gulp, grimacing at the sweetness of it.

What happens now? Wednesday wonders to herself. What's the next step on this?

Murder mysteries are infinitely easier to solve than dealing with feelings.

"Wednesday," Weems' voice caught her attention. "I'm so glad to see you here."

"I wouldn't miss it for anything," Wednesday stated as she turned to face the principal, her half-full glass held between her fingers, "I can't wait to see what disaster will end tonight's festivities."

Weems chuckles but there's no humor to her tone, "there will be no disasters this year, rest assured."

Wednesday hummed, her gaze focusing behind Larissa's figure to where you were standing; you talked animatedly with Yoko while Andrew had an arm around your shoulders and it made Wednesday grit her teeth, "the night is young still, I can think of a few ideas to make it memorable," she huffed.

"Don't force me to expel you a second time, Miss Addams," Weems warned with a raised brow, but there was a teasing tilt to her tone. She laid a hand on Wednesday's shoulder with a smirk, "enjoy your night."

Weems walked away and Wednesday paid her no mind, because she was suddenly underwater, the more she tried to gasp for air, the more her chest tightened. She was drowning, slowly sinking, going down and down and it's all your fault.

Your hand holds onto Andrew's as he drags you to the dancefloor, silver lights are shaping the curves of your dress as it hugs your body. You're grinning, swaying gently to the song that's playing.

Getting stabbed was way less painful, Wednesday decides, because she could physically feel her heart shattering and it almost made her drop her glass.

Because you're hers. Not his. Not anyone else's.

Your touch doesn't belong to him, your smile doesn't belong to him. It belongs to her.

Her urge is to walk up to you and punch the boy in the face for his audacity. But she refrains — begrudgingly, but she does — for the first time, Wednesday wants to do it right. You deserve as much.

"You can still turn this night around, you know."

Enid had materialized beside Wednesday, taking her by surprise and making her flinch; she curses you for her lack of awareness.

Wednesday scoffed, discarding her drink, "how? She looks sickeningly happy to be dancing with that moron."

Enid bumped Wednesday's shoulder with her own, smiling fondly, "I beg to differ, you don't know how miserable she's been because of you."

It gets Wednesday grimacing, her features falling slightly. "How is that a good thing?" She asks incredulously.

"No, my point is-" Enid shook her head, realizing how badly she had worded her thoughts, "uh I'm pretty sure she would rather it be you and her instead."

Wednesday hesitated, "I wouldn't be opposed," it was quiet, so much so that the music almost muffled the words.

Enid shifted so she was standing in front of Wednesday, blocking her view with a determined look, "then let her know that, ask her for a dance."

"She already has a partner," Wednesday tries weakly, trying to find good reasons to not do it, yet coming out empty.

Enid raises a brow, her eyes shifting to you as the song reaches its last notes. "When did that ever stop you?"

The song ends, and to the many present couple's delights, a slower melody comes in its place.

Your skin is hot and prickly under your dress because of the exertion, it's been a while since you've let loose enough to dance like that. "I could really use a drink," you breathe, pushing your hair behind your ears.

"Sure thing, I'll grab us some," Andrew smiled, his hand going to the small of your back as he leads you to your table before making his way to get the drinks.

You leaned back on the table, your gaze following him for a moment. He's always been nice, and you're thankful to have him with you to take your mind off of things tonight, but try as you might, you can't bring yourself to feel anything for him besides friendly affection. Your heart apparently had already chosen its owner, as much as you wish it hadn't.

Andrew returns, handing you your drink to which you mumble a thank you before taking a much-needed sip. You watch as your friends dance together, dry ice moving with their feet and shaping the lights into something magical. You get lost in it, and in some ways feels like a fairytale.

"Do you still have a dance left for me?"

The sudden voice almost gets you choking on your drink, it's one you'd recognize anywhere and the fluttering in your stomach is nearly instant. You can't decide if you're dreaded or relieved to hear it. You set your glass down, turning to face her.

She has her dark hair up, only a few rogue wisps framing her face; the black dress she wears fits her body to perfection; there's light makeup shaping her eyes and the outline of her lips, it's a darker shade of burgundy than what she normally uses, you think for a moment about how many times you'd have to kiss her for it to wear off. She's hauntingly beautiful, and you think you should be breathing but your brain seems to have forgotten how.

"I thought you said you weren't coming," you managed.

"I wanted to see you," it's a quiet confession from Wednesday, words a little tight because of how much effort it took for her to force them out.

You avoided her eyes, nervously tapping the table with your nails. "Don't do that." You shook your head, "not here, not now."

Wednesday could see your distress and knowing that she was apparently the cause for it brought her considerable discomfort. "Do what?"

An indignant scoff escaped you. You ran your tongue over your bottom lip before looking at her; "you have to stop giving me hope for something that's not there, Wednesday." Your gaze roamed over her face, and the sudden tenderness of Wednesday's eyes was so unfair. "Even torture has a limit," you mumbled.

With an annoyed huff, Wednesday cursed under her breath.

What would it take for you to see that, even if she didn't want it in the beginning, there always has been something there.

It didn't help that Andrew had watchful eyes boring into her. Wednesday wanted this moment to be yours and hers only, yet there's a crowd of people around and a parasite attached to you. Oh, she was hating every second of this.

"Please, I want to-" Wednesday hesitated for a beat, "I do want to try this." She extended a hand for you, praying to a god she didn't believe in that this would be enough for you to see.

Maybe you were a fool, but the soft lights were reflecting against Wednesday's dark eyes, and there was no denying the faltering in your heartbeat; trying to mimic her own, trying to tell you what you already knew. You glanced back at Andrew, silently asking if this was okay, to which he responded with a kind nod, and you took the hand Wednesday had extended to you.

No matter how many times you touched her, your skin would always fill with goosebumps when colliding with hers. Her hold on your hand wasn't light, almost as if you could escape her grasp anytime; it was dangerous how well her hand fit with yours though, almost as if they belonged. Touche.

Wednesday took you to the middle of the dancefloor and turned to you without letting go, placing her free hand on your waist; tugging you closer.

Your own hand hovered before settling on her shoulder. This felt too intimate, like crossing an invisible line with no way back.

When Wednesday started to sway your bodies from side to side, following no particular rhythm, you finally asked; "what is this, Wednesday?"

Wednesday's eyes didn't leave your face, the hand she had on your waist squeezed the fabric of your dress there. Your perfume is clouding her senses, something that reminds her of lavender. You feel warm under her touch, alluring; if she leans closer, and you don't pull away, your noses might brush.

For a fleeting moment, she caught herself wanting to.

Wednesday doesn't get nervous, but the twisting of her stomach was something very close to it. "This is me trying to tell you that… though it is true that I never wanted to have a soulmate, it was before I knew it was you." The words got Wednesday closing her eyes for a moment, she hated saying them; she's awful at this and part of her thinks she's doing a terrible job anyway, but words are what hurt you in the first place so they're the ones that also need to fix this.

"I couldn't hate you even if I wanted to, and it's not because the universe said so, it's because-" Wednesday tried to continue. She felt you squeezing her hand and at the same time that it helped it almost left her speechless. "You make me feel… a way I never did before. And though it's not always pleasant, I don't want it to stop. I want to make it up to you, if you'd let me."

Her eyes lazily glance at your lips, and she dares to intertwine your fingers; "and maybe we could start with this dance."

You could cry. You could kiss her. Part of you wanted to do both. But Wednesday's breathing fanning over your lips was worryingly unstable, her eyes couldn't find a place to focus on you, and her hand had a death grip on yours. This scared her. Being this vulnerable, it terrified her. It was a delicate line you were threading on, but you knew you'd never let go of her.

You settled for tentatively pushing those loose wisps of hair behind her ear, letting your fingertips touch her cheek while doing so; the gentle act spoke volumes for itself. "Okay."

———

Sunday's sun was setting to a peaceful night, everyone was still tired because of last night's partying. Nevermore has never been this quiet.

You had your eyes on the sky, appreciating how the usual blue took on shades of orange, pink, and purple; clouds highlighted by the strong colors. It was nice to have the gardens all for yourself; and as you walked towards the greenhouse, you couldn't help but think about last night.

Did she mean it? Did Wednesday really have feelings for you?

You'd be stupid to say she's lying, considering the toll her own words took on her yesterday.

Only the mere thought of it got your heartbeat skyrocketing and your hands sweating. You wished you could dive in head first into… whatever it was she wanted with you, but what if she's not there to catch you when you fall?

Another blow and your heart just might not make it.

The glass doors of the greenhouse opened with a creak and you breathed in the familiar scent of flowers and freshly watered dirt. It was so quiet you could hear the fluttering of the wings of the wandering butterflies if you focused enough. Some lingering rays of sun still managed to seep through the glass walls, molding shadows from the leaves around you.

Parties were cool, but nothing could compare to this.

Walking inside, you first spotted the familiar little orchid you've been taking care of; "hey, you're looking lovely today, miss," you smiled, allowing your fingers to run over its petals and give it just a tad more color.

It was routine for you to give a once over each plant whenever you were in here alone. As you did so, you slowly made your way to the teacher's desk to find what you came to get.

Passing by a cactus, you had to double-check; the poor thing had been neglected of water. "Oh this won't do at all," you grumbled, placing your hands around it, careful to not touch the spikes. The yellowish tone went away, being replaced by a vivid green that got you smiling; "that's much better, you deserve love too."

Finally reaching the desk, you opened the drawer that contained flower seeds yet to be planted. You sorted through the name tags until you found the one you came for. "Gotcha," you whispered, biting your lip as you stashed the seeds in your pocket.

"Y/N!"

The sudden call of your name almost got your soul leaving your body with the way you jumped. You placed a hand over your racing heart, looking up at the culprit.

"Holy shit, Eugene, you almost gave me a heart attack," you exclaimed.

The boy chuckled, raising his hands in surrender, "sorry, wasn't my intention, I'm just glad I found you."

You pushed close the drawer and walked around the wooden desk, stuffing your hands in your hoodie's pockets. Cold, and no gloves again. Very smart.

"What's up?"

"So, I actually came here looking for those lavender flowers you got me last time," Eugene adjusted his glasses, a sly grin coming to his face, "but since you're here, maybe you could grow some for me?"

You smirked, turning around to grab the seeds for him, "so the bees liked them?"

"They loved it, you have no idea how much," he told you excitedly, gesturing around, "even the new ones I rescued are looking chipper already."

Picking up an empty pot and filling it with fresh soil, you placed the seeds on top, easily making them grow and bloom into beautiful purple flowers. "I'm glad they did," you then handed it to him and made to walk outside.

"Thanks, you're awesome," he told you, truly meaning it, he stopped outside as you closed the greenhouse doors.

You shook your head and waved off his compliment, "it's nothing, really, I'm here whenever you need."

Eugene turned to go to his bee shed and you to the quad, but before you went too far, he called out again.

"Oh and, Wednesday was asking about you."

It got you stopping in your tracks, your cheeks instantly warming up, "she was?"

"Yeah," the boy nodded, his eyebrows furrowed as he remembered it, "I think she wanted to see you," he shrugged and waved you goodbye; "thanks again."

"Yeah, no problem," you mumbled, though he couldn't hear you anymore. The thought of Wednesday actively looking for you got your skin filled with goosebumps, maybe you'd find a way to go see her without being painfully obvious.

Reaching the quad, you kneeled down in front of the flowerbed you'd been renovating for the past few weeks. Various flowers were already in place, their colors mingling with each other nicely, one complementing the other; all around a big maple tree you managed to grow in the middle. It took a lot of energy from you and you could still remember the metallic taste of blood on your lips, but it was worth it; the tree was divine.

Burying your fingers on the rich soil, you found the perfect place for the last flowers to go in. And with a press of your fingers, they bloomed. Dark petals standing out amidst the sea of colors.

You could see them becoming your favorite.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Read ch 8 here

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I'd appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

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