#I’m so head over heels over Reagan but
AHAHDBKEFB I COULDNT STOP GIGGLING WHILE I WAS SKETCHING THIS
I made another one for the tik tok gang yaaaay ✨ I was scrolling through my likes on tik tok and when I saw this I couldn’t help but think it was perfect for Andre bc of the STD part HAHAHAHA help I’m having too much fun w these
Next one will be Gigi 👀 I have something special for her and another meme idea of Gigi with A.T. - while I work on those tho I’ll also work on oc/sona interactions with A.T. I’ve been wanting to work on this week sjdjekrne
Also can I just say I’m way more happy w how this one turned out 💕 it’s the second one I’ve made but I’m more comfy w the tools that I used on this one than in the first one, so the quality of the rest of these series will be the same as this or might improve and I’m excited
Anyway this is the tik tok I used for this post
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HELLO PLEASE I NEED MORE FOR THE EVIL BRETT AU. LOVE IT SO MUCH
I shouldddd be sleeping but you know what why not, I do also have a few drabbles but I’ll see if I post them later
- No one notices he’s evil at first, not even him. He’s still the exact same, just no moral barrier. When he goes to therapy and starts to get to the root of his trauma, he realises how much he wants to get revenge on everyone who hurt him in the past (which ofc is v unlike him)
- he doesn’t really care tho?? Like his morals are zapped now who cares, especially since in his mind those people are ass and if he sets a couple nukes on them then he can move on with his life right?
- he also wants to kill rand given literally everything we don’t need to go through it, and since Reagan is his first friend (and real girlfriend but I know Breagan isn’t everyone’s cup of tea so if you wanna read over it as platonic I wouldn’t blame you)
- the team start to notice sus behaviour from him and write it all off initially because even tho Brett’s quite possibly the worst liar he’s also their golden retriever
- It’s only when myc just casually reads his mind that he understands what’s happening and tells everyone else, Reagan is the only one who refuses to believe it because at this time there’s no ‘cure’ for the evil ray gun and this is literally the guy she’s head over heels for
- when she confronts Brett he just kinda goes silent and apologises before trying to convince her to the dark side and Reagan pretends to agree with him so she can get some time to figure out how to reverse the effects without betraying Brett’s trust so now it’s a race against time for the gang to save the people Brett’s planning to kill and Reagan to save Brett
I have too much fun with this AU I’m tempted to stay awake just to write another Drabble
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Sugar and Spice [Maxwell Lord x Reader] - Chapter 5
Summary: When you are evicted from your apartment by your toxic ex boyfriend and have no place to go, who do you turn to? Alone in the city as the countdown to Christmas begins, you find yourself applying for a job as the assistant of the world’s biggest entrepreneur; Maxwell Lord. Little do you know, he has other intentions for you. No doubt about it, this Christmas will truly be like no other.
Word count: 2k
Warnings: Smut, mentions of a previous verbally abusive relationship, typical 80s misogyny (but very little of it), mentions of food and drink, alcohol consumption. This is a sugardaddy x sugarbaby fic soooo… a daddy k!nk too oops.
But in this chapter - Maxwell's mother is ~annoying~, general fluffiness and feelings.
Author’s note: OOOOH, it's starting to get interesting guys! More of Maxwell's mother… let me know what you think please! I hope you enjoy!
PREVIOUS - CHAPTER FIVE - NEXT
You weren't sure what time it was when you woke up, but the beams of golden sunlight were already seeping through the curtains and, although quiet, you could hear some kind of commotion going on downstairs. The bed was amazing. It was so soft and warm, and enormous, so you were able to stretch your arms and legs out like a starfish. You couldn't help but smile when you remembered the night before; the restaurant, the signing of the contract and the amazing sex. You pursed your lips together and closed your eyes, hoping to get a few more hours of uninterrupted sleep.
Just then, you heard a crash and a yell and your eyes shot open. "Get out!" You heard Maxwell cry and you rubbed your eyes, feeling a confused but tired look wash over your face.
Another voice followed his; feminine but just as angered. It was incoherent to you, probably because it was mazed in between the many walls and rooms of his penthouse. You yawned and stumbled out of bed, still in your little black dress from the night before. You padded over to the mirror and checked your appearance. You hadn't been washed so your makeup was smudged and your hair was knotty. You didn't know who was downstairs but you didn't want to meet them in that dress. You walked into your en suite bathroom and splashed warm water over your face, taking some soap and begging to get washed. You considered getting a shower but you weren't exactly sure what the protocol right now was.
If he was your boyfriend, sure. You'd happily take a shower in his home. But then again, you'd also be sharing a bed with him. You found it difficult to understand why he didn't want to sleep with you after sex but you managed to brush of the feeling. It was your first time and maybe he wasn't used to the company. Nevertheless, it hurt. You wished it didn't hurt. You were his sugar baby and there was essentially no string attached; at least not ones of value and importance like of what a relationship might have.
You looked at yourself in the mirror, sighing at the way the dress slouched over your tired body in the morning. You ached to change into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Nevertheless Maxwell Lord was a bachelor and it would be incredibly unlikely to find any clothes of your size just lying about in his penthouse.
You quietly left the guest bedroom, walking down the hallway. You remembered that he had told you his own bedroom was just two doors down. You stood before the closed door and knocked on it gently, but there was no answer. You slowly and carefully opened it, without making a sound, and tiptoed in. It was empty, his bed was unmade, his clothes were scattered untididly on the floor. Okay… so he wasn't in his bedroom. You went to leave but something stopped you. When would you ever find yourself in Maxwell Lord's bedroom? Instead, you took a further step inside, your feet sinking into the plush carpet, a shut the door behind you.
His bedroom was magnificent— twice the size of the guest bedroom you had stayed in. You didn't know how it was possible but his bed was even bigger than yours. He had his own balcony, and other doors leading elsewhere into the penthouse. There were dressers and bookshelves embellished in gold and mirrors that fit the whole wall, although you were beginning to expect nothing less than extravagant from Maxwell Lord.
Nosily, you walked through his room, opening the two doors that were opposite you. One led into an en suite bathroom, and the other led into a walk in closet. You were quick to shut the bathroom door, not really having any interest in scoping out a rich man's bathroom, but you found yourself completely stunned when you pondered into the walk in closet. You smiled, sure you'd be able to find something in here to change into. By the looks of it, he had thousands of items of clothes. You took a closer look and noticed they had all been ordered by the name of the designer. You chuckled, shaking your head, thinking it was typical of a man like Max. You were almost certain you could find some kind of comfortable outfit to change into. You two had slept together— you doubted that he would care that you had stolen some of his clothes. You wondered how many other women had worse his clothes and your stomach churned at the thought.
You spent a long ten minutes raking through his closet. It couldn't be possible. Did this man seriously own no casual clothes? At this point, you just wanted to see Maxwell Lord in some sweats and a hoodie. You wanted to laugh, imagining the CEO dressed in such a way. He mustn't have known what comfort is. You pulled out an inconspicuous white shirt, which he had thousands of, and held it against your body in the mirror. Sliding off your dress, you put on his shirt, realising you were completely naked underneath. You grimaced, remembering that your panties were probably still in the conference room, absolutely ruined from your arousal. Luckily, the shirt hung down to just above your knees. Still, you felt uncomfortable meeting whoever was with Maxwell wearing no underwear. What were you going to do?
You decided to find out if Maxwell was more of a boxers or briefs type guy. You went through his drawers and picked out a pair of soft Calvin's, pulling them up your legs. You couldn't help but laugh when you saw yourself in the mirror. Talk about overstepping. Nevertheless you shook your head and with a walk of confidence, you padded into the kitchen.
"The president thinks you're going to be there, Maxwell. Are you crazy? You are not going to stand-up the president of our great country. It would embarrass me, but most of all it would embarrass your father. He'd be turning in his grave if he knew you planned on making a fool out of his business like that." A woman with tight blonde curls and a ruby red frown shouted. You froze at the door frame when you overheard the conversation.
Maxwell and the older lady turned to face you in unison. The lady looked horrified when she saw you, her hand clutching her heart dramatically. Maxwell opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish, his brown eyes wide as he took in your appearance. He thought you looked amazing, despite your tired eyes and messy hair. The way you looked in his shirt made him want to ravish you in that very moment. His heart was doing loopdaloops, racing wildly. He was softening for you.
"Oh-" you stammered out, raising both of your hands defensively. "I'm sorry, am I overstepping?" you asked, biting your lip.
"Overstepping into my son's closet, it looks like." Snarled the lady who you now identified as Maxwell's mother. You knew you recognised her from somewhere. It must've been from the painting in his office when you had first met him. "Maxwell, who on God's great planet is this whore you've picked up?" she spat, disgusted.
You knotted your eyebrows together and folded your arms across your chest. "What did you just call me?" you gritted out furiously.
When Maxwell sensed your anger he panicked and stood up. He knew better not to fight with his mother over her ingrained misogyny, but you didn't. "Ladies please." he said, trying to remain as calm as possible. He shot you an apologetic look. "Come sit with me, join me for breakfast." Maxwell pulled out the seat next to him and ushered you over. You sighed in defeat and sat next to him.
"Well?" Maxwell's mother found her hand on her hip as she stared you out.
"Well what?" Maxwell sighed, taking a sip of his black coffee and closing his newspaper.
"Who is she?" yelled his mother.
"Remember when you told me to stop fucking my assistants? Because they'd give me a lawsuit or whatever? Well, I hired someone. We went through a legal contract last night so she's not going to sue me, and then I let her stay the night."
Maxwell Lord's mother looked at you like you had grown a second head. "What's going on exactly?" you leaned into Maxwell and whispered in his ear.
"Will talk about it later." he promised you.
Just then, Maxwell Lord's mother screamed. You stiffened up and turned to Maxwell, who looked like he was used to it. How could he be used to that screaming crazy bitch standing in his penthouse talking to him like that? You wanted to knock the pearl earrings out of her lobes. But hitting your boss’s mother might cost you your job.
"Don't get any foolish ideas Maxwell, she's not going to the Christmas gala!" his mother reprimanded with a warning tone. "Reagan's daughter, Margaret, has agreed to have drinks with you! Think about what a relationship with her could do for your company."
Maxwell scowled. "I have no interest in Margaret."
"Do you have interest in that little slut? Who steals your clothes and helps herself to your waffles?" You froze up, slowly removing your fingers from Maxwell's breakfast plate.
"I don't care if she eats my waffles! Please mother, just leave us alone. See yourself out." Maxwell sighed and you tried to stifle a laugh. You popped a blueberry in your mouth and she raised an eyebrow when she screamed again, stomping her heels and storming out of the apartment, slamming the door behind her.
You burst out into laughter. You couldn't hold it back anymore. Maxwell's head snapped in your direction and he shot you a confused glance. You pulled his plate and took his knife and fork before eating his waffles.
"Hey that's my breakfast!" he pointed his finger and you laughed harder. He couldn't help but smile. A genuine smile that was so rarely seen on Maxwell Lord.
"I thought you said you didn't mind if I ate your waffles," you said in between breaths of laughter. He rolled his eyes as you centred the plate, and both of you began to eat from it. "Your mother is batshit crazy." you told the businessman, licking the syrup from your lips.
"Yeah, I know," Maxwell ran a hand through his hair. "This is why I never invite girls to stay the night. She'll come over in the morning and scare them away."
"Well, it takes a lot to scare me." you smiled and his own smile only grew when he saw the way your eyes sparkled like diamonds.
In the silence, Maxwell wanted to tell you how beautiful you looked. He thought you couldn't look any more beautiful than you did last night in the black dress, but there was something so angelic about seeing you with no makeup on and wearing one of his shirts. He cleared his throat, opting against the gesture. There was no need for him to play up an unnecessary romance in this arrangement. He shook away his feelings and took another sip of his coffee.
"We're going shopping today." he told you matter of factly.
"We are?" you asked. "What for?"
"The gala." he flicked to the next page of his newspaper.
"Your mother made it quite clear I wasn't invited." you sighed.
Maxwell turned to you and placed a hand on your thigh. "Darling," he said, and your heart done an excited flip. "It's my gala. I want you by my side." he rubbed comforting circles into your skin before sliding his hand further up. He knotted his eyebrows together when his hands came up to his boxer shorts. He lifted the hem up of your shirt and saw you were wearing his Calvin's. His eyes widened.
"Oh- I can explain-" you chuckled awkwardly.
Maxwell shook his head and said your name, his voice stern. "It's fine, but I'm going to have to ask that you don't go into my bedroom without my permission."
You paused, feeling your cheeks heat up with embarrassment. It felt like he was hiding something from you. You sighed. Even if he was, it shouldn't matter to you. You were just an arrangement to him. The words stung as you recalled what he had said to you last night. A business deal.
"Okay." you replied, pushing the plate of breakfast away and standing up.
"Good girl." Maxwell smirked and you felt that familiar fire set alight in your stomach.
TAGLISTS - let me know if you want to be added!
December Magic: @kiwi-the-first @100layersofdaddyissues @mrschiltoncat @honeymandos @thisisthe-wayson @this-cat-is-dea @blonde2bomshell
Permanent: @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first
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Walking on Broken Glass || Solo
TIMING: Last night.
LOCATION: The Bend.
PARTIES: Eddie and a ghost I accidentally became emotionally attached to.
SUMMARY: Eddie spends some time with a ghostly friend, things get a little heavy, then very stupid, and then heavy again. It’s a roller coaster.
CONTENT: Internalized homophobia tw, homophobia tw
Ask any White Crest native about the derelict houses in the bend and they’ll tell you that ‘abandoned’ doesn’t always mean ‘empty.’ Squatters looking to put a roof over their heads might hunker down in the neglected homes, usually becoming a meal for something sinister, but some occupants can’t be so easily disposed of. Those who have no life to be taken from them cling to familiar places instead of moving on. Before death’s embrace, they hung pictures and changed lightbulbs. They tried to determine which color to paint their living rooms before deciding it would be too much work to relocate the furniture. After all, for something to be abandoned, it must have once been cherished.
Eddie knocked on the front door before letting himself in. He arrived later than usual with hardly any time before the sun hung its hat. Soon enough, ‘the bend’ would become ‘the buffet’ for creatures of the night. “Amira?” he called out as he nudged the door shut with his heel. Broken glass covered the living room floor and crunched under his feet as he ventured into the living room.
“You were supposed to be here hours ago,” a voice replied.
“I got tied up,” he said, turning to face the specter standing mid-way up the stairs. Amira’s arms were crossed, but a few of the stab-wounds on her chest remained visible. “What’s with the glass?”
“Oh, you know,” Amira sighed as she descended to the ground-floor. “I started thinking about how I’ll never taste freshly made coffee again and it made me so distraught that I shattered the windows.”
“As one does,” Eddie sagely responded. With a shrug, his backpack slipped off his shoulders. He tossed it onto the faded couch and began rifling through the main compartment in search of his portable speaker. “On the bright-side, the outcome of your afterlife crisis has inspired the first title on tonight’s soundtrack.” Eddie placed the speaker on the coffee table and synced it to his phone while Amira closed the distance between them. Her eyes curiously watched as he scrolled through song titles.
“Why couldn’t those have been around in the ‘80s?” she asked with a huff.
“Blame Reagan,” Eddie said before hitting play.
‘Walking on Broken Glass’ by Annie Lennox streamed from the speaker in all its soul-pop glory. Eddie shoved his phone into his back pocket and took a cursory glance around the room in search of the broom and dustpan.
“In the kitchen, where you left them,” Amira instructed.
“How do you do that?”
“What, read your mind? You act like it’s difficult.”
Eddie eyed her with light-hearted skepticism as he slipped by, careful not to pass through her. Amira didn’t like being reminded of her intangibility; it exacerbated the ache of a half-existence. From time to time, when their conversations lulled or Eddie seemed distracted, she asked if he couldn’t see her anymore, always with a look of mild panic. The thought of her killer seeing the world continue to grow and change while she faded away kept her from crossing-over. It didn’t matter that prison bars obstructed his view, she said they were both destined to cope with cages someone else put them in. Her cage had nice flowers on the wallpaper and memories of brighter days, at least.
In the kitchen, Eddie noticed the cupboard doors opening and closing along with the music and immediately grinned. Life dealt him a hand he didn’t always know how to play, but helping the dead come back to life for a little while made it seem worth it. He grabbed the handle of the broom and rejoined Amira in the living room. He watched as her shoulders bounced rhythmically.
“Looks like I’ve given Annie Lennox a brand-new fan,” he remarked.
“I’m inclined to agree.” Amira simpered at him over her shoulder. “When did this song come out?”
“Uh, the ‘90s, I believe.”
“Explains why I’ve never heard it, but I’m in love with her voice.”
“With pristine taste like that, you’re a girl after my own heart,” Eddie crooned wistfully while ushering shards of glass into a neat pile.
“I don’t think I’m your type.”
Eddie froze mid-sweep and furrowed his brow. He thought about Nell, about Alfie and Kyle, how they highlighted an aspect of himself he preferred to keep in the dark, all in unique ways that seemed to share the same conclusion. Eddie remembered the first time he saw two men holding hands in public and the way his mother told him to look away. He felt scared, not for himself, but for them. That day in the common, onlookers didn’t see an innocent display of affection, they saw something unfit for their children to be around. Eddie didn’t agree, but to think that someone might view him as a threat for something as innocuous as holding another man’s hand shook him to his core. He didn’t want that to be his life.
“Why does everyone assume I’m gay?” Eddie laughed, trying to pretend it didn’t bother him. “Is it, like, a vibe, or… ?”
“I meant because I don’t have a corporeal body, but now that you mention it…”
Realizing the error in his assumption, he quickly pulled his phone out and turned the speaker’s volume up to maximum. “I’m sorry,” he shouted. “I can’t hear you at all, Amira! You’re gonna have to speak up.” Eddie gestured to his ears and shrugged helplessly before turning away from her and making a beeline for the stairs, letting the broom hit the floor as he departed.
“Edward!” Amira called out to him.
“You got me feeling like the Ting Tings because that is not my name!”
“I don’t get that reference! Eddie, get back here, there’s still glass everywhere!”
“Shoulda thought of that before you took your anger out on innocent windows!”
Annie Lennox wailed from downstairs as Eddie barrelled towards the closest door. His hands wrapped around the handle and pulled, but to no avail.
“You idiot,” Amira scolded, suddenly right next to him. “You can’t hide from me in this house, I’m everywhere.”
“That’s so scary, why would you say that to me?” Eddie balked through laughter, still tugging fruitlessly on the door.
It didn’t take much to distract Eddie from the uncomfortable topics that plagued his mind. He perfected the art of running away from his problems at an early age like a true prodigy. Even Amira cracked a smile at how utterly ridiculous he looked trying to open a door he didn’t stand a chance against.
“Fine, you want inside that bad? Go ahead.” With a flick of her wrist, the door opened and Eddie, not letting go of the door fast enough, fell back against the upstairs railing. His chest heaved as looked down at the distance between himself and the floor.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “I could’ve died—then we’d be roommates.”
“God forbid,” Amira tittered.
Eddie elected to ignore that comment and focus on the room he now had access to. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in here,” he said as took a few steps in. Aside from the moonlight streaming in from the window, shadows dominated every corner. He squinted to bring what he could into focus: a large bed with a plush comforter, a vanity littered with objects he couldn’t quite make out, a couple of nightstands. All in all, it seemed like a perfectly normal bedroom aside from the dated furniture, but that was to be expected.
“Probably not,” Amira said, drifting in after him. “Look, Eddie, about what happened downstairs…”
Eddie turned to face her and shook his head. “We really don’t need to talk about it.”
“Okay, but let me just say that, if you were…” she trailed off with a sigh. “Whatever you end up being, it won’t matter to me.”
“It’s not you I’m worried about, Amira.” He wandered over to the bed and ran his hand over the comforter. He wondered if time took away its softness or if the people of the ‘80s harbored a vendetta against comfort. “It’s everyone else.”
Eddie collapsed into bed and closed his eyes, laying on his back while Amira watched mournfully. She wanted to offer him comfort, to somehow convince him that happiness existed even for those who didn’t fit into society’s neat little boxes. The words wouldn’t come to her and, even if they did, she knew how difficult he could be. If Eddie didn’t want to listen, he wouldn’t. She wracked her brain for something that might cheer him up.
“Hey Eddie,” she said as she moved to the unoccupied side of the bed. “This is where I died, my final resting place as it were. I’m willing to share it for a while if you are.”
“Nice,” he replied with a hint of a grin. “I’d like that.”
She lowered herself onto her side, propping up on her elbow. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but have you ever looked into therapy?” She peered down at him as he nodded solemnly.
“And therapy has looked into me.”
From across the room, Amira lifted a throw blanket off of the vanity’s chair-back and guided it to the bed to drape over Eddie. It felt like the closest she could get to giving him a hug, which looked exactly like what he needed as he laid next to her in silence.
“You’re gonna be okay, you know that, right?” she softly asked.
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Wide Awake in Washington - a Sleepless in Seattle au - chapter 5
(find it here on ao3)(chapter 1) @today-in-fic
Thanks so much to @impulsive-astrophile for being my late night beta reader
Georgetown, D.C., January 14th, 1993, 6:50 PM
Dana regards herself critically in the bathroom mirror. Her hair is as perfect as it is going to get, her makeup is neat, and her white dress has made it through a primping session without a single stain or crease. Overall, given that she hasn’t been on a date since Reagan’s first term, she feels pretty good.
However, it appears that she is the only optimistic member of her household at the moment.
“But Mom,” Emily continues to pester her from outside the locked bathroom door. “If you want to marry someone in the FBI, you should read this letter. His name is Mulder and he works for the FBI, too!” Her daughter’s voice is high-pitched and whining. Dana can’t wait to get out of the apartment for a few hours. Conflict resolution has never been her strong suit.
She checks her teeth for lipstick residue one more time before swinging the door open. Emily looks up at her, letter in hand.
“You know, not every date is about getting married. Sometimes it’s just about going out and having fun, talking to someone,” she says, walking into the living room and stepping into her heels. She wonders if her dress is too much, suddenly fighting the urge to rush back into her bedroom to change into something a little more conservative. No, she decides. Her first instinct in choosing the outfit had been right. The white lace of the dress looks nice in contrast to her red hair, which is up and away from her face. She feels young and wanted, less like a cranky, overworked single mother and more like a woman someone could desire. She’s probably not being fair to herself, but it doesn’t matter right now.
Besides, if her look is a bit much, she’s not taking much of a gamble. Tom seemed nice, but she certainly hadn’t fallen in love with him while discussing the details of an autopsy the other day.
Emily trudges over to the couch and sits, still reading the letter. “He says that he has trouble sleeping too! It’s good to have similarities with someone when you date them, right?”
Dana shakes her head and takes the letter out of Emily’s hands, skimming it. It’s one of the most respectful letters she’s received as a result of the Wide Awake in Washington Incident (her curiosity had gotten the better of her, causing her to read through some of them). However, the fact that this Mulder seems to be a decent person and lives in the area doesn’t change the fact that meeting a stranger, especially a man, based on a single letter is both completely insane and extremely dangerous. She wonders if Tom knows Agent Mulder, but decides against bringing it up over their first date. Hopefully the conversation won’t be so awkward that she is forced to such an extreme.
There is a knock at the door, followed by the voice of the babysitter letting herself in. Dana sits next to Emily and hands the letter back to her, placing a hand gently on her shoulder.
“I know it might be weird to see me go out with a man that’s not your dad...even if you were the one who told the entire world that you want me to get remarried.” she amends and Emily smiles a little. “But, I promise that this is just a get-to-know-you date, nothing serious. Okay?”
Emily nods reluctantly. “I still think you should give Agent Mulder a chance,” she mutters.
Dana smiles a little. “I know you do. Thank you for caring so much about me, but I think I can take it from here.” she glances at the clock, noticing that Tom should probably be arriving to pick her up any minute now. She wants to meet him outside to avoid an interaction between him and Emily. “I have to go. Be good and I’ll see you later.” she kisses Emily’s head, just above her bangs. “I love you.”
Dana hands a list of emergency numbers to the babysitter and steps out into new territory.
Dupont Circle, Washington D.C., 7:30 PM
Dana is starting to envy the corpse that she had autopsied that morning. Having her brain removed sounds like a dream compared to the awkward, stilted conversation she and Tom are suffering through right now. They keep interrupting each other accidentally, or finding themselves in awkward silences. She’s starting to wonder how best to escape the situation when their server approaches the table.
“Ms. Scully? There’s a phone call for you.”
Dana looks at Tom apologetically. “I’m sorry, I have to take this. I left my daughter with the babysitter.”
“Of course, of course,” he says quickly. Dana is led to a phone at the back of the restaurant, images of accidentally swallowed cleaning products and overflowing sinks and ovens ablaze flickering through her mind.
“Hello?” She says anxiously into the phone.
“Mom, can we go to New York City for Valentine’s Day?” Emily asks on the other end, not at all sounding injured or in peril. Dana is almost annoyed at how chipper she sounds.
“Agent Mulder from the FBI wants to meet us at the Empire State Building on Valentine’s Day,” Emily explains.
Dana grinds her teeth, glancing back at the table where Tom is sitting, perusing the menu. “Emily, I am on a date. I am not going to have this conversation with you now. Or ever. Please go to bed.” There’s only a sigh and a click in response.
Dana releases the tension in her jaw, pushes her shoulders back, and returns to the table with renewed ambition. She had gotten this date all on her own. Hell, she had been asked out. She didn’t need the help of her daughter or Dr. Marcia Fieldstone or any random man with a radio. She would make this work.
“Is everything alright?” Tom asks when she sits back down.
Dana takes a small sip of her wine. “Tom, do you have kids?”
“Do you want mine?” she deadpans. He looks confused until she cracks a smile, and then they are both laughing.
The rest of the meal passes more easily than the beginning. Tom does most of the talking, and she lets him. He talks about his job, the challenges the Violent Crimes Section presents, stories from the Academy, his plans for moving up the chain of command sooner rather than later. He doesn’t ask her many questions about herself, but she is too distracted by the intrigue of being an FBI agent to care. While he rambles about some outlandish conspiracy theorist that recently left the VCS, she finds herself wondering if Quantico is in need of pathologists, and whether they need to attend the Academy, too.
The check shows up and Tom reaches for it, somehow making a show of not looking at the amount, sending a message through inaction. Dana wonders whether he is expecting her to put out tonight, deciding for herself that she may be ready to go on a date, but sex is out of the question for the time being. This night already feels like something of a Herculean task for her.
Luckily, he drives her home, asking a few polite questions about her job and her daughter on the way. She answers them, trying to avoid the topics of her late husband and the incident on Christmas Eve to make the ride less awkward. Tom had never mentioned whether he had heard her that night, and she would never volunteer that information on her own.
He drops her off outside her building and walks her to the front door. They stand there for a moment before he kisses her on the cheek and bids her goodnight. Dana walks inside, depositing her heels at the door and slumping down on the couch as if she had just run a marathon. The date had been nice, pleasant, but she isn’t head over heels for Tom by any stretch of the imagination. She can’t decide if she wants to go out with him again. While she ponders the events of the night, she looks down at the coffee table where the letter from Agent Mulder sits. For some reason, she leaves it there instead of throwing it away.
Well, she had said it herself. The kind of destiny that led to her first marriage only happens once. Why should she expect her experience with Tom to compare?
Alexandria, VA, January 20th, 1993, 10:30 PM
The sound of the phone ringing down the hall wakes Mulder from his half-asleep daze. He had always had trouble falling asleep, and thinking with his eyes closed is the closest he can get some nights. Tonight is one of those nights.
He extricates himself from Diana’s tangled, slumbering limbs and shuffles down the hall in his socks.
“Mulder,” he whispers into the phone.
“Mulder, it’s Langly. Turn on your radio. Network America.” Before he can respond, the dial tone sounds in his ear. Mulder is torn between going back to bed, to the warmth and familiar sleeping sounds of Diana, and pursuing whatever odd tip Langly has just given him. Like always, his curiosity wins out and he grabs their radio from the mantle and carries it into the bathroom on the other side of the apartment, where it won’t wake his fiancee.
He sits in the tub and pulls the shower curtain closed. A young and instantly recognizable voice fills the bathroom and he panics, turning down the volume.
“She’s kissing him right now! I have to make them stop!”
Emily, are you spying on your mother?
“No! But I got out of bed to get a glass of water and I saw them on the couch and they’re kissing! What do I do?!”
Mulder feels for the kid. Her panicked voice matches the anxiety welling up in him. Who is Dana kissing? He gives himself a shake, a reminder that he has less than no claim to this woman and that he has a fiancee asleep in the other room. Still, he listens on.
Emily, it’s good that your mother is dating. She should be allowed to judge who is right for her and choose what she does. She’s an adult. I know these changes can be scary, but it’s important to tell her how you feel in a constructive way.
“Constructive, right.” Emily pauses for a moment, then hangs up. Mulder can’t be sure, but he thinks he heard a shout from her end of the phone before the click. He holds the radio in his lap and stares at a bit of mildew in the corner of the shower while contemplating what he just heard. Before he can analyze why he cares so much about who Dana Scully is kissing across town, the shower curtain swings open and Diana stands before him in her robe and nothing else.
“What are you doing?” she asks crossly.
Mulder stands and runs a hand through his hair, setting the small radio on the bathroom counter. “Langly called and told me about an interview with a recent abductee, he thought it was important. Just a load of crap.” he shakes his head wearily and takes her hand, guiding her back to bed. “Sorry that I woke you up.”
Diana climbs under the sheets with him, shedding her robe and dropping it on the floor. His body reacts predictably, although his mind is still reeling. “Well, I’m awake now. Care to make it up to me?”
He nods and slowly climbs on top of her, intending to kiss her neck and take his time. However, she pushes his head down beneath the covers, where she wants it. He indulges her, letting her guide his movements and maneuver him as his mind floats away from his body, feeling that this is the least he can do for her.
He can’t even bring himself to feel ashamed while wondering if Dana Scully is engaged in similar acts at this very moment.
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time’s gonna take me - pt. 1
wow I am SO excited about this!!! This spin off has been in the works for months, and while it def didnt need to take that long, I got a little too into creating the characters and world lol. this fic wouldnt be possible without @daddystevee help, so thank u for listening to my writing rants and helping me create things out of that madness! this will follow the events of time flies by, but based off the alternate ending rather than the original. weird, I know, but like, hey, im doing it anyways. im gonna make a post soon introducing all the characters, because we’ve got lots of new ones! the old crew will be in this fic, quite a bit, but it’ll also include their kids!
read time flies by here - find upcoming parts here - join the taglist
Summary: After the events of Time Flies By, the reader makes it back to 2019, with Steve in tow. But the Upside Down and the scientists trying to weaponize it aren’t finished, leading Steve and the reader to find allies in the original party, as well as their children, to stop them once and for all.
Word Count: 3.3k
The world - your world - looks different after over a month in the past. Despite years of walking the path through the forest and guiding yourself by muscle memory, your time in the other Hawkins has affected you, and oddly enough, walking along the dirt path leading out of the woods feels more unfamiliar than walking the path behind Steve’s house, back in 1985.
You’ve been gone for six weeks, or thirty five years, depending on how you look at it.
You found your phone where you dropped it - six weeks or thirty five years ago - and though its dirty, half dead, and covered in scratches, it still works, and tucking the object into your pocket is an immediate relief borne out of years of carrying the thing.
Steve walks beside you, hesitating when you exit the trees and come onto your street, the new houses off-putting after the 80’s style. He stops at the edge of the grass, frowning, and you pause, turning to face him.
“You still sure about this?” You ask. His brows twitch, and a smile tugs up on his lips. He crosses the short distance between you, wrapping his arms around you.
“You kidding?” He asks. “I almost lost you today. Now, instead, I’m walking around town with you. I’m pretty damn sure.”
“I still can’t believe you did that,” you say, hands sliding up to settle against his chest. He shrugs, cocking his head.
“Me neither,” he says, grinning.
You smile, pulling out of his grip, reaching down to take his hand in yours. He threads your fingers together, and you squeeze.
“Seeing as I’ve been missing for weeks, my house is probably not a safe bet tonight.” You tug your phone out, tapping a few times before the screen lights up, damaged but not destroyed. Steve’s eyes widen, and he steps closer to you, peering over your shoulder.
“The hell is that?” He asks.
“It’s a cell phone,” you say. “Like, the landline in your house, except its right in my hand.” He nods, clearly still confused, but watching as you flip through apps and search bars.
“If we can’t go to your house, where can we go?”
“For tonight?” You ask. Your lips tug into a grin. “It’s time to find an old friend.”
Having the internet after six weeks of slaving around without it is like being handed the keys to the universe; it’s so ridiculously simple, after those weeks of trying to coordinate and navigate without it, that you almost feel like it’s too easy when you find the article about the music teacher Robin Buckley, with the photo of her standing outside a home that you recognize from your years biking and driving around the town.
Before, you didn’t know the woman who lived inside the big brick house. Now, though a little and a lot of time has passed - depending on how you look at it - that house contains one of your best friends. The Robin Buckley you and Steve remember has grown up, but you have to believe she’s still her, that she’ll still open the door for you.
The house is a short walk from the woods, and for the first few minutes, it feels like you’re out for an evening stroll with a boy, like the world is normal. Steve asks questions about the new technology he sees - cars and TV lights flashing through windows - and you feed him answers. It’s like that first day in Hawkins, back in 1985, except now, Steve is out of place, thrown into a world that is not his own.
This time, though, there will be no going back. When Steve jumped through that hole, you watched the gate close up behind him. You were the key, and with your exit, the door was locked. You just hope that Steve doesn’t come to regret it, to regret you.
“It’s so weird,” Steve says as he walks, shaking his head. “Like, Robin’s gonna be old. Dustin, Lucas, all the kids.”
“Time travel’s a bitch,” you say, and Steve snorts a laugh.
“It got me you,” he says.
He grins, swinging your hand with exaggeration as you head down the sidewalk. The brick house comes into view, two stories, covered in gnarled vines that climb up and down the walls. Two cars sit in the driveway, and a light on the porch beckons.
You both stop at the base of the driveway, staring up at the house.
“This is it?” Steve asks.
“This is it.”
He nods, taking a breath before tugging your hand, pulling you up the drive.
“Well,” he says, “guess it’s now or never.”
You stop before the door, and Steve reaches out, rapping his knuckles against the wood. He lets his hand drop, stepping back, shifting back and forth on his heels, the only indication that he’s nervous. You reach out to take his hand, squeezing, and he catches your gaze in his.
“It’s gonna be fine,” you say. “It’s not like she forgot us.”
He nods, but before he gets the chance to speak, the door swings open, and a girl around you and Steve’s age stands on the other side of the threshold. She’s beautiful, with shiny dark hair and curves, and her dark brows furrow at the sight of you.
“Can I help you?” She asks, propping a hand on her hip. Steve looks to you, dumbfounded, and you clear your throat.
“We’re looking for Robin Buckley. She lives here, right?”
The girl’s brows arch, and she nods, stepping back and turning toward a staircase stretching up and out of sight of the door.
“Mom!” She calls. “It’s for you!”
A moment later, a woman in her late forties comes down the stairs. She has dark hair and bangs, and light eyes, and though her initial expression is curious, it hardens the moment her eyes land on you.
“My god,” she says, coming to stand beside the girl. “It’s you.”
There’s something familiar about her, and though it takes a moment, old memories from the world before you went back in time flutter into your head. The woman standing before you is Reagan Ruthers, and she’s a member of the Hawkins Police Force.
“I-uh-we-” You stammer.
“Reagan? Kait? What are you two-” Another woman descends the stairs, but this one is familiar, recognizable, though older.
Robin Buckley, now 50 years old, but still resembling the 20 year old version of her that you remember. Dirty blonde hair, though now it’s longer, tucked back, and streaked with gray, piercing gaze, though with more lines on her face, and that expression she had reserved for Steve Harrington and his stupidity. It’s that expression that plays on her features, now.
A wide smile tugs on her lips, and she pushes past the two women onto the porch, wrapping you in a tight hug. You hug her back, burying your face in her hair, remembering the last time you hugged Robin Buckley. Not much time has passed for you or Steve, but for Robin, it’s been a lifetime.
Last you saw Robin Buckley, she was still figuring out who she was. Now, she’s concretely herself, with a wife and a daughter. As far as you can tell, she got everything she wanted; everything she deserved.
Maybe that means you did the right thing by coming back. Maybe that means you fixed the problems, that the gate and the Upside Down died when you left them behind.
She moves on to hug Steve next, and steps back, looking between you and shaking her head.
“Took you two long enough.”
“Mom?” The girl - Kaitlyn - asks, peering at you an Steve curiously. Reagan stands behind her, fully in cop mode, her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed. Robin turns to face them, giving them a soft smile.
“You owe me twenty bucks,” she says to Reagan. “I told you they were coming.”
Reagan shakes her head, eyes wide, lips parted. Her gaze stays on you, her brows furrowing.
“We’ve been looking for you for a month,” she says.
Robin scans the driveway and street, and thought quiet and dark, she frowns, gesturing for you and Steve to go inside. You do so, and she follows you in, tugging the door shut behind her. She leads you, Steve, Reagan, and Kaitlyn through the main entrance down a hall opening to a big living room with big, comfy couches and a flat screen propped on the wall.
Robin, Reagan, Kaitlyn, and you immediately settle on the couches, but Steve hesitates, clearly trying to take in the room and getting overwhelmed by it all. You reach out, touching his hand with yours, and he meets your gaze. You give him a reassuring nod, hoping the message of ‘ill answers any questions later’ is conveyed. He nods back, some of the tension leaking out of him, and comes to sit beside you.
Robin stares at you both, a hint of a smile on her lips.
“Sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s just…it’s weird. I haven’t seen you in over thirty years, and now, here you are, exactly the way you looked the day you left.”
“You really did it, then?” Reagan asks, sitting beside Robin, her brows furrowed. “You went back in time, and jumped forward again.” Robin’s eyes widen, and she pushes off the couch, crossing the room to the fireplace the TV rests atop. There are photographs in frames along the ledge, and a small stack of pictures near one corner. Robin grabs it, thumbs through it, and pulls out a photo, coming back to the couch. She stretches across the coffee table to hand it to you, and you take it, sitting back to show Steve.
You don’t remember the photo being taken, but it must have been done by Jonathan. It’s old, faded with time, but the photograph clearly shows you standing in the Wheeler’s basement with Robin, Steve, Nancy, El, and Max, all of your heads tipped back and eyes closed as you laugh about something.
Your heart twinges, an ache for the world - the time - you left behind and found a home in. That place is gone, and all of those people, with the exception of you and Steve, are grown up. Life never affords us the opportunity to go back, but in this case, that inability feels heavier than you expected.
Robin has a family. The rest of the kids are grown up, likely with their own lives and families, too. And yet, you and Steve are still at the beginning of your journeys. You’re standing on blank slates, and will find others to walk the paths with. It’s a little sad, but hopeful, too.
“Hold on,” says Kaitlyn. “They’re the Steve and the Y/N from the stories.” She looks to you and Steve, one side of her mouth quirking up. “You guys were my bedtime stories. I grew up hearing about how Steve Harrington and Y/N Y/L/N closed the gate and saved Hawkins.”
“You know about us?” You ask. She nods, smile widening.
“Of course. All of us do. I mean, Steve was named after you,” she says gesturing at Steve. Steve stiffens, gaze snapping to Robin in a silent question. Robin grins, shrugging.
“That’s Dustin and Luna’s son. One of their twins is named Steve,” Robin says.
“After…after me?” Steve asks, sounding a little breathless. Robin nods. Steve shakes his head, sitting back against the couch. “We missed so much.”
Your stomach twists, and you take Steve’s hand. He squeezes, but keeps his eyes on Robin.
“The others. They’re all okay? After we left, nothing…I don’t know, happened?”
Robin nods again, leaning into Reagan, who wraps an arm around her wife.
“It went silent after that. The hole you came through disappeared, and we went on with our lives,” she says, though there’s a little sadness to her voice. You realize that, while you’ve only spent a few hours in this time, missing the time you lost, Robin and the others mourned you and Steve. You weren’t dead, but you weren’t alive, either; you were out of time, and all they could do was wait, and wonder; wonder if you would pop back up eventually. “I graduated. Then the kids. Lucas and Max were in California for a while, and Will went to school in Washington, but they’ve been back for about ten years.” She presses her lips together, inclining her head. “We all knew that, if you two were coming back, it would be around 2019. No one knew when, so we made sure everyone was here.”
“And they’re all…” You flick a glance at Kaitlyn. She may have heard the stories, but she didn’t live through the bloodshed, and you’re not sure how much of the darkness Robin and Reagan let slip into the tales. “Alive?”
“They are,” Robin says, smiling. “And they’ll be thrilled to see you two. If you’d come back twenty years ago, you likely would have gotten punched out by Dustin, but thirty five years is a good buffer period.”
“Can we…see them?” Steve asks.
It’s Reagan’s turn to speak now, and she straightens, nodding.
“For right now, you both should stay here. Steve, because you technically died in 1985, and Y/N, because this entire town has been looking for you. Tomorrow I can take you into the station,” Reagan says, looking at you, “and we’ll contact your parents. Steve, you’re damn lucky Lucas and I are officers. We should be able to make you official again soon enough.”
Robin pulls out her phone, tapping away for a moment before looking up.
“I let the others know that the package arrived. I imagine they’ll start showing up as soon as its socially acceptable.”
“Which, if the kids are involved, will be around 4 AM,” Kaitlyn says. Robin and Reagan smile.
“They’re just like their parents,” Robin says. “Luckily, their parents grew up, and won’t bug us until at least ten.”
“The package?” Steve asks, cocking a brow. Robin grins.
“You’ve been gone thirty five years,” she says. “We had to have some fun with it.”
Robin directs you and Steve to a guest bedroom for the night, though it will likely become Steve’s room, as he can’t exactly go after his parents, if they’re even still in Hawkins, or alive. You mentioned it once, and he shot it down quickly, saying he didn’t jump through time just to move back in with his shitty parents. So, for the time being, he’s the Buckley-Ruthers household’s fourth occupant.
The house quiets quickly, Robin, Reagan, and Kaitlyn heading to bed. You and Steve borrow pajamas, but you’ll need to take Steve shopping; just thinking about that reminds you of the mall, all that time ago - six weeks or thirty five years, depending on your preference - when you still had no idea where your path would lead.
You certainly didn’t expect this, to be laying in a bed in 2019 with a boy from 1985 beside you.
“How are you holding up?” You ask, rolling so that your head is on the same pillow as Steve’s your faces inches apart.
“I’m okay,” he says. His brows twitch. “I guess I know how you felt, now.”
“Weird, isn’t it?”
“Did you get used to it?”
You purse your lips, and say, “In some ways. In others, though, I always knew it was…off, if that makes any sense.”
He nods, shifting, gaze moving to the popcorn ceiling above you. He’s quiet for a long moment before he speaks again.
“I always felt, like, out of place there. Like I was on the wrong step, or I was missing something. And then you showed up, and I felt like I was halfway there. I thought that coming here would…I don’t know, throw me even more off step, but…” He shakes his head, gaze slipping back to yours. “It doesn’t make any sense, but the minute I came through that hole, I felt like, for the first time, I was in the right place.” He shakes his head. “How is it possible that the only place I’ve ever felt right isn’t even mine?”
Your stomach tumbles, and you shift closer to him, slipping an arm around his waist, curling the fingers on your free hand around the fabric of his shirt, knuckles against his chest.
“Maybe it is yours,” you say. “Maybe it was always supposed to be yours.”
A tiny smile tugs on his lips, and his eyes flutter shut.
“So…you don’t…I don’t know-”
“Regret it?” He asks, opening his eyes. He lets out a breath, and says, “No. Not even for a second.”
You smile, and he ducks his chin, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You sink into him for a long moment before pulling away, tugging the blankets up. You reach over to grab your phone off the nightstand - an old but familiar habit - and open it, the screen lighting up. Steve stills, gaze snapping to the phone, curiosity weaving itself into his features.
He doesn’t say anything, so you let him watch as you go through the old motions, checking social media - not the best idea, seeing as everyone thinks you’re missing. You end up on google, and type in a few keywords, just to see what comes up: Hawkins Starcourt Mall Explosion & Deaths.
The article, old, tells the story of the explosion, and just as expected it’s as cleaned up as it was in 1985. The cover up was successful, and from what you can tell, the Russians and the Americans working in the lab halted their operations after Starcourt; or, at the very least, halted them in Hawkins.
“So…it’s really over, then?” Steve asks, reading along with you. He’s shifted, has his head pillowed on your chest and an arm across your waist, the weight comfortable against your side. You smile, nodding.
“It’s really over,” you say.
“Good fucking riddance,” Steve says. You laugh, turning off your phone and setting it aside.
“You can say that again.”
“What do we do now?”
“We live, Steve Harrington,” you say. “We live.”
SOMEWHERE IN HAWKINS
The control room is full of desks and computers, each with a man or woman sitting behind it. They all wear headphones, listening to radio broadcasts and snippets of phone calls. The computers run on their own, working through algorithms, plucking out information deemed relevant.
In the back of the room, a man in a suit stands overlooking. He’s young, new to his position and eager to follow in his predecessors footsteps. He’s confident that he will be the one to complete the work started, and destroyed, here so long ago.
Behind him, taped to the wall, are a handful of photos. A few headshots - three teenage girls, two Wheeler’s and one Byers’ - and a few of people in action, walking through town or leaving the high school or heading into Melvald’s general store. At the top of the photos is a copy of a polaroid taken in a basement.
A few teenagers stand in the shot, and though the photo itself was already old and faded before the copy was made, the faces are clear. The names are scrawled at the bottom - Robin Buckley, Eleven Hopper, Nancy Wheeler, and Max Mayfield - but two are missing: the names of boy in the middle and the person beside them. The boy has an arm around them, and they’re all laughing with their eyes closed and their heads tipped back.
There is no label for the boy, only a question mark; they have no name for him, as his very existence cannot be verified. He’s a ghost, just like his partner.
As for the other person in the photo, the monicker simply reads: the Key.
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Would you mind telling us some of the un-picked/left over titles please?
sure! theres a ton so i’ll put them under a cut
some of them were planned main storyline oneshots that i cut, or alternate titles for oneshots for example
a monologue shot underwater - the flashback conversation between Durant and Greta in even to the edge of doom was originally going to be its own, separate oneshot with this title, from Depression Is Funny Like That, by Reagan Myers. It was going to go between like my pulse beneath it and a field of burning lavender
becoming ash without ever having been coal - Greta’s “yeah im definitely an actual witch” conversation at the end of for who would inhabit this bleak world alone? was going to be separate, and the fight Virgil rescued her from was with humans, not an ogre. its from Head Over Heels by Emi Mahmoud. was going to involve a lot of Greta making macabre “burnt at the stake” jokes
it is the habit of the living - original title for might have cherished you more wisely, from The Translation of Grief by Hieu Minh Nguyen
armfuls of poppy blossoms - another alternate title for might have cherished you more wisely, from Life In Reverse by Gray Thomas
a love that was more than love - the cut Patton backstory discussed in this ask, from Annabel Lee by Edgar Allen Poe
sweet moment stay with me - a royality bonding oneshot that was going to be after what you choose to put in the ground and before confuse my tongue with your tombstone - i may eventually re-write this as an Extra, but at the time i was concerned about taking too long to get to the actual LAMP part of my LAMP au, and i was worried people would lose interest. from Hold You In My Smile by Ernestine Northover
not sleep nor dreams nor peace - essentially the original title of Sleepsong, which was going to be part of the main storyline - virgil’s perspective of the time in the casket. from Remember by Michael Lee
the future has been at war (but its coming home so soon) - an epilogue after of quiet birds in circled flight, before i’d decided i was gonna write the extras. from The Future by Neil Hilborn
hold on when there is nothing in you - alternate title for even to the edge of doom, from If by Ruyard Kipling
let me be my whole self tonight - alternate title for hoping that the whole makes sense, from Hangover Thoughts by Matt Coonan
and finally i waffled for AGES on what i wanted of quiet birds in circled flight to be titled - options included but no man can help you die (Solitude by Ella Wheeler Wilcox), life means all that it ever meant (Death Is Nothing At All by Henry Scoot Holland), no prayer nor bells nor any voice of mourning (Anthem for a Doomed Youth by Wilfred Owen) and finally, and this all mourners know (from A Dream Lies Dead, by Dorothy Parker)
some others that i just liked/ wrote down but didnt have any planned use for
and with no need of tears - A Happy Man, Edwin Arlington
in the center of me hangs a small bell - What I Told The Doctor The Second Time, Sabrina Benaim
God let me be this happy again - Replay, Jesse Parent
I’m so soft i cant be broken - The Shotgun Cabinet, Alex Dang and Dante Douglas
death owns everything i love - Cancer Suite, Talia Young
the only way up is to hit the ground - Bathtub, Asia Samson
if today were the last today - This Woman, Alysia Harris
held together by prayers- Eddie the Butterfly, Hasani Harris
as you can see i uhhhhh really like poetry aljksajlkd
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The Audit, Chapter 1 (Branjie, Scyvie, Ninex) - Phryne
She’s back back back back (quarantine back rolls)! Here’s the rewrite of The Department of Public Safety, with more jokes, more warm and fuzzy moments, and less safety. Please reblog and comment if you enjoyed!
Thank you to @janssports for being the most lovely beta and @scarletenvy for endless support!
This Chapter: There’s a new sherif in town, and she doesn’t play around (though Vanjie hopes otherwise).
In the simple town of Lanmore, Virginia — where the grass trimmings lay on the sidewalks until the next storm washes them away, where the sun burns heavy on every blacktop in every strip mall parking lot, where the flag blows freely and haphazardly — it is quiet.
It is all quiet until Vanjie hefts a Wal-Mart bag, filled to the brim with loose packets of SweeTarts, onto the freshly waxed conference room table. She dumps them out, all good and messy, letting them brush against A’keria and Nina’s piles of citizen suggestions, and spill off onto the floor.
And there were at least a hundred suggestions at A’keria and Nina’s end of the table, sorted haphazardly into Bad, Extra Spicy Bad, and Wrong Department piles. They pass workable suggestions directly to Silky or Vanjie to turn nonsense into gold with their keen understanding of Lanmore and its specific breed of citizen, until they spit out a new program to address the concern. Or the suggestion goes to Scarlet, who brings it to Yvie, who then handles the issue swiftly—and loudly— like she always does.
“So you’re tellin’ me—” Silky reaches across the table and snatches a packet of candy. “That these hos found a way to snort this?” She dangles it between her well manicured nails, as though it were a little bag of dog shit found next to the trash can in Smallman Park.
“They ain’t hos, Silk. They’re like….” Licking her finger, A’keria ponders the hoes as she flips through another stack of suggestion slips rescued from their cardboard box, which lived under Scarlet’s desk, more specifically underneath Scarlet’s balled up fuzzy socks and “secret files,” which no one really wanted to investigate, lest they get trapped in Scarlet’s world by spending too much time with her thoughts. “I don’t know, like, twelve year old boys. They’re just stupid.”
Nina turns around, capping her marker. “Twelve year olds can’t be hos. They’re twelve.”
“You can be a ho and be twelve.” Another flip. A’keria crumples a suggestion slip and launches it at the Extra Spicy Bad pile, missing and hitting Scarlet’s feet.
The Extra Spicy Bad pile held all the suggestions that A’keria took great pleasure in reading out to the group during happy hour, in the traditional Monthly Suggestion Box Clean-Out fashion — in the corner booth at Chewy George’s bar, sat halfway in Silky’s lap, drunk from three blended margaritas, sticking her favorites into her bra, so she could hang them on her desk when she got back to work the next day.
Scarlet turns in her chair and snorts. “Wouldn’t you know,” she says easily, teasingly light.
“Please, you wish you were,” A’keria shoots back, half her attention still on the suggestion slip in front of her.
With a laugh, Scarlet clutches pearls she’s not even wearing. “Excuse me, I’m a lady.” She brightens, splaying out her hands on the conference table, accidentally bumping the Bad pile. “Brigid treated me to a lovely dinner and show last night, sooo. That’s lady-like shit.”
“You’re excused,” Silky adds, but not before she can join Vanjie in rolling her eyes at Scarlet’s remarks.
“She’s not a ho and neither are you, so shut up.” Yvie booms from the front office in that unmistakably Yvie way — loudly inviting herself into a conversation happening in a completely different room, which she has no part of. Such are the powers of being the director.
“Course she chimes in now.” A’keria rolls her eyes before handing Nina a suggestion. “This one’s actually good.”
Vanjie trails away from A’keria and back to the candy. She whips off her shoe, holding the orange suede pump by its blocky heel, and starts pounding the candy mercilessly, throwing her whole body into it. Once, twice, three times, before she shifts her bare foot on top of her other shoe to redistribute her weight. She continues pounding, even as Silky reaches across her to grab a packet of candy, mesmerized by how Vanjie swings her shoe with a vengeance.
She rips it open and carefully pops a SweeTart in her mouth. “So how do these kids even get to snortin’ this shit?”
“You can do anything when you’re stupid enough.” A’keria begins folding the suggestion into a paper airplane, crumpling the nose of it when it doesn’t look pointy enough.
Silky waves a SweeTart in front of Vanjie’s mouth until she opens, letting Silky place it on her tongue. “But what are they getting out of this? Is it like drugs, or…?”
“They snort it, Silk,” Vanjie switches the shoe around to pound with the heel. She gives it a good whack and looks up at Silky with wide eyes. “That’s how they get to snortin it.”
“Yeah but they snort it and then what?”
“I guess you guys better…”
Nina shoots A’keria a look and mouths do not.
“Maybe we should try it and find out?” Scarlet adds, before taking the paper airplane from A’keria, looking over her shoulder, scooting her chair out into the hallway, kicking off of the door frame, and launching herself toward Yvie’s office.
She rolls through the open door, and in one swift move, hands Yvie the airplane, captures the stack of papers Yvie’s waving with a smile, and rolls over to the photocopier next to her desk, yelling behind her, “That’s three points.” Yvie marks the tallies on a Post-It. She’ll put it into the spreadsheet later.
Nina turns back to the candy and opens her mouth. She wants to say something, but instead mashes her lips and shakes her head. Vanjie and Silky mumble “stupid kids,” and “they got nothing to do but dumb shit,” and “you’d probably try snorting candy to get out of reading Lord of the Flies too, Mary,” as they take turns pounding the candy with Vanjie’s shoe.
“I did not, Scarlet did” A’keria drawls, judging that the suggestion of “No more traffic lights. I’m sick of fines and I want to drive like a man” as stupid enough to earn its spot in the “Bad Box.” She crumples it up and tosses it away.
Nina grabs another paper, breaking into a sigh as she scans over the first line.
“Marty the Giraffe and I had a real connection. He ate leaves out of my hand. Who can I call about adopting him?” Nina reads slowly, carefully, as though the sentences were not basic, as though there must be some deeper meaning to glean from the citizen report.
“Gimme that.” Vanjie says, grasping the air until Nina scoots around the table and fits the paper between her fingers. “We’re gonna try some Rizzoli and Isles shit, Silk.”
Silky comes up from under the table, having grabbed Vanjie’s other shoe clean off her foot. She smacks the candy with the heel. “What’s Rizzoli and Isles?” She hits it again, once more, with feeling.
“Like crime ladies who investigate drugs and the one is tough and wears leather jackets and also hot and the other looks at dead people and keeps them chocolate Ho Hos in her desk.”
“Oh my god,” Yvie drawls from her office, watching as Scarlet rolls back in with the photocopies and two pink Starbursts from the candy bowl she keeps on her desk. She breaks her gaze. “None of you are hos.”
A’keria smirks and flips over her phone with a sly smile, before sliding it across the table over to Silky. “Brightness down.”
Vanjie grabs it instead, glances down for a split second, and lets the phone drop into her lap “God, my lesbian eyes.”
“I didn’t know eyes could be lesbian,” Silky mutters, snatching up the phone and turning the brightness back up. She nods, and decisively states, “ho.”
“Everything’s lesbian. That’s how it works. Head, shoulders, knees and toes, Mary,” Vanjie sings, poking Silky.
“And how is your head?” A’keria calls across the table, fishing a slip out of the box. “Nevermind I found it.”
Dropping her shoe back on the table with a clean thud, Vanjie throws herself across the table grasping for the slip.
“It says Vanjie’s tongue is so sloppy…” A’keria pauses to clear her throat.
“How sloppy is it?” Scarlet calls back
“It don’t say shit. Gimme that.” Vanjie grabs the slip and quick stuffs it down her shirt. “There, now you won’t get it.” She pushes herself up and walks back to her side of the table, looking pleased with herself.
A’keria rolls her eyes and turns to Nina. “You wanna get it?” She points at Vanjie, who is now pulling out her credit card. “I won’t even tell HR.” A’keria laughs, and Nina blushes furiously at the thought of HR, which only makes A’keria laugh harder.
Vanjie separates the powdered candy with her credit card and turns to Silky. “We’re gonna try it, Riz.”
With a shrug, Silky pops her finger into her mouth, sticks it into the pile of candy, and then back into her mouth. “Why don’t they just eat it the regular way?” she mumbles around her finger.
“Because they’re fucking stupid,” A’keria drawls. “That’s how kids are. Fucking stupid.”
“Well, not all of them,” Nina chimes in before sliding another slip to Vanjie. “Here’s a suggestion I think you guys can do something with.”
Vanjie takes up the slip and sets it to the side before taking up the one about the giraffe, rolling it into a thin straw with precision. “Just the stupid ones.”
“Y’all are a bunch of clowns.” A’keria shakes her head as Vanjie cuts the candy into lines.
Vanjie ignores her and turns to Silky. “So, I couldn’t really understand the principal, on account of he sounded like one of those grown ups in those Peanuts cartoons, with Charlie Brown and that dog and shit. But anyway, he said he saw them snortin’ it through the milk straws during lunch period. And then that mom started goin’ off in the office about the police and Reagan and the War on Drugs, and then I stopped listenin’ so…”
“That’s fucked up,” Yvie yells, unwrapping a Starburst.
“Yes it is, Yvangeline. Yes it is,” Vanjie replies, ungrateful for Yvie’s input, before turning back to Silky. “So I take my card and make it into a thin line, like this. And now you got to get something like a dollar bill like they do in the movies or some other paper shit.”
Silky sticks the rolled up suggestion slip into Vanjie’s hand.
“So you just make a roll, and then you get one end to your nose and the other to the line and, like, you just sniff it up.” She plugs one side of her nose, imitating a sniff, but coming out more like a snorting pig on Benadryl.
Yvie glances up from her freshly printed budget papers, and flashes eyes filled with exhaustion and slight amusement toward the group in the conference room. “Guys, we really don’t need to practice snorting candy to see why it’s a problem that middle schoolers are making fake designer drugs out of candy.” She turns to Scarlet. “Hit me.”
“No, like with a big piece of wood, a lead pipe, your hand.” Yvie huffs, looking over the spreadsheets. “We’re fucked.”
Scarlet rests her hand over Yvie’s shoulder with a giggle. “You don’t try hard enough to be fucked.”
Yvie lets out a tight laugh, ignoring the warmth of Scarlet’s touch and focusing again on the budgetary discretion spreadsheet.
Scarlet gives her one more pat before walking back out of the office. “Yeah guys, it’s kind of inappropriate.”
“Yeah guys, it’s kind of inappropriate,” Silky mutters into the powder, imitating Scarlet’s high-pitched whine, making Vanjie and A’keria snicker. She rolls up her own suggestion slip, presses it to her nose, and bends over the conference table.
Scarlet rolls her eyes, shoving her chair back toward her desk.
“Well, here I go.” Silky shrugs, making a sign of the cross and taking a deep breath. She holds her finger to her left nostril before shooting up at the sound of a nail tapping at the window behind her and Scarlet screaming at the sight of the blonde woman it belonged to.
The woman has her nose pressed against the window, peering in eerily, eyes wide and cold at the sight in front of her.
The air in the office sinks, quickly becoming dense and stifling. Silky releases the paper from her limp hand, A’keria drops her phone into her lap, and Scarlet’s chair slams right into her filing cabinet, knocking her pictures to the floor with a shatter.
“What’s going on in there?” Yvie yells, standing in her door frame. Then she sees it, the scowling blond woman rounding the corner into her department.
The combination of the woman’s angrily clicking heels; Scarlet sitting in a pile of broken glass — from a picture of her and Brigid last Christmas at the city’s tree lighting — and cutting her fingers while trying to clean it up; Silky holding up Vanjie’s shoe; Vanjie bent over a table with candy “drugs” in front of her; and A’keria throwing a paper airplane that hits the newly arrived and even more agitated blonde lady in the chest; makes Yvie want to bite down on her hand until she sees blood.
She resists the urge, however, because Nina taught her that was a bad way to manage stress. So she breathes in for eight counts and out for eight more. It doesn’t work, but repeating “fucking Christ” over and over in her mind helps a little, even if it’s not a Monet Invented Nina Approved Official Stress Relief Strategy.
The woman clears her throat and picks up the airplane. She unfolds it and reads carefully, in a disinterested, even tone, “I lost my water bottle here. It is blue.”
Nina staggers out of the conference room, the rest of the team shuffling after her, still disheveled, but not more disheveled than they are on a typical Tuesday morning. “That was for our boss.”
The woman looks them over, her well groomed brows taut. “Why does your boss need to know this?” She shakes her head, as though looking over the team provided her with all she needs to know. Instead, she crumples the paper airplane, just as Vanjie begins to interject about a city-wide reusable water bottle program. “Would someone like to tell me what is going on in this department?”
Silky folds her hands. Scarlet looks between Yvie and her now bloody fingers, before getting up, wiping them on her skirt, and slotting in between Silky and Vanjie. A’keria and Vanjie exchange glances before turning to look at Yvie as well. Nina stands still, silent as possible, fiddling with the button on her cardigan, as though it were of sudden interest.
The blonde nods and follows their line of sight, heels clicking against the cracked tile floor as she strides toward Yvie’s office, coming to a firm halt in front of her. Breaking into a smirk, she runs her index finger over Yvie’s name plate.
“Director Oddly, is it?” she asks in a tone that suggests she already knows the answer, yet she accompanies the question with a tilt of her head, awaiting a response.
Yvie walks out into the department, takes one look at the scowling blonde woman, and mutters, “Oh, fuck me.” Her head pulls back and she closes her eyes, inhaling deeply for eight counts, just like Nina taught her. When she opens her eyes, all she sees is the brown water stain in the warped ceiling tiles—which Scarlet referred to as “The Amoeba” and Vanessa parodied into “Miss Amoeba Edwards, for your consideration, yass gawd.” If only she could laugh upon seeing the silly looking stain, pretend for a moment that the blonde woman and her obnoxious tone would disappear.
But when she looks forward again, she finds her still there. Yvie exhales once more for eight counts and looks at the woman squarely, sternly, her lips forming a tight line, eyes firm and unyielding.
The last time that look saw the fluorescent light of the office was July 24, 2017, at approximately 2:30 p.m., when Silky cut the office’s only AUX cord in half because she couldn’t take any more of Scarlet’s Christmas Spotify playlist, droning out “Blue Christmas” from the small speaker on the windowsill, claiming that “Christmas in July isn’t a real holiday, it’s a day for capitalists, and no, I don’t care if your girlfriend made you that playlist, I won’t listen to ‘Frosty the Snowman’ while I sweat my whole ass off.”
Scarlet bites the inside of her cheek. This is bad.
Yvie raises her gaze to meet the woman’s, grinds her teeth, and replies with a curt, “Yes.”
She extends her hand, which Yvie unceremoniously shakes, before letting them drop. “I imagine you are to be their supervisor then, and yet, they are clearly unsupervised.” The woman takes in the disarray of the office and the embarrassed expressions of the employees, and continues. “So I must ask, of course, why exactly you have one employee teaching another employee how to do drugs off of my desk, while looking at another employee’s nude pictures, while your secretary rolls back and forth between you and the conference room, creating as many safety hazards as possible in the process, just to make sure she doesn’t miss out on everyone crumpling up suggestions from concerned citizens and playing a game with our constituents’ lives.”
“I’m not a—” Scarlet begins before the woman looks at her.
“Well, technically we’re not elected,” Yvie mutters, hoping the woman might just catch it, burning for an argument strong enough to get her out of her department. “So, not constituents, per say…”
“Also, it’s not drugs, it’s candy because we got a call from Charles Middle that kids are crushing up this candy and it’s got to do with DARE and… Anyway it’s not drugs and we’re trying to figure out what’s up there,” Silky digresses.
The woman rubs between her brows, urging them to unfurrow. “No, you misunderstand me. It was a rhetorical question to emphasize that you, a group of grown adults, being paid with tax-payer money, could not possibly be allowed to supervise yourselves.”
“Well, technically, I do supervise them,” Yvie adds, again, growing more irate at this conversation.
“Please.” The woman brushes it off, “If you’re aware that your department is throwing around paper airplanes made of suggestion forms, then you’re clearly complicit in their misuse of time and resources.”
“Only the good ones become paper airplanes.” Nina shrugs. “The bad ones are crumpled, that’s how we sort.”
“You heard it, that’s how they sort.” Yvie gestures to the group before snapping, like her patience had been pulled taut for far too long.
“I’m sorry, who are you?” she says, clearly not sorry.
The woman continues, unfazed.
“So we just ignore concerns?” She looks to the ground, before crouching down to snatch up a crumpled paper. She chokes a snide laugh, unfurls it, and continues. “A slip from a concerned citizen, writing into your suggestion box. And it says.” She pauses, face twisting, eyes widening, before returning to her previously cold countenance. “It says: The Mexicans are throwing cocaine over the fence and I’m scared one of them will become strong enough to throw it into Virginia. You need to stop them.” She turns the paper over. “Sincerely, Jenny Miller.”
Vanjie grabs the slip from her hands, pouring over the words before recrumpling it and shooting the paper ball into the trash can behind Scarlet’s desk. “That’s fucking racist, Jenny.”
“Yeah, that’s fucked up,” Silky pipes up, rubbing her fingers together to get rid of the candy dust.
“Vanj is right, it’s racist, and either way, no one could throw that far, Jenny,” Scarlet drawls, bobbing her head. “We’re a hundred miles from Mexico, at least.”
The woman lets out an exasperated huff, not even touching upon the poor display of geographical awareness. It’s Virginia, for fuck’s sake. “Who’s Vanj?”
Pulling at her bottom lip with her teeth, Yvie points with her pen, releasing her lip as she replies, “The one who took the suggestion slip from you, threw it in the trash, and called Jenny a racist.” She crosses her arms. “And again, who are you?”
The woman pulls back her blazer and taps at her badge. Vanjie tries to look like she’s still offended, but it’s harder by the minute.
“My name is Brooke Lynn Hytes, and I’m your state auditor.” She fishes around in her purse, undisturbed by Yvie’s tightening glance as she scans over her employees. “And you’ve just made my job exceptionally easy.” Finding her notebook, she scans the room, recording something with a scowl before closing it up and placing it on the reception desk before Scarlet can even raise her finger in protest.
Yvie rings her hands out, fears confirmed. A’keria catches the look, and mutters her own, “Ugh, Jesus.”
“Now I was told that your conference room is the only free one within city hall, therefore it will become my office for my tenure. So I expect my office to be cleaned and sanitized.” She throws her briefcase and purse down on Scarlet’s desk, the jacket soon following, Vanjie’s gaze following the jacket and back to the woman. Again, trying to maintain her irritation.
“I would also like the department’s financial statements stacked neatly on my desk.” Brooke eyes A’keria, her confusion over where they could possibly be evident in her squinting, sideways glance.
When the office finally reaches silence, caused by Yvie and A’keria’s worried glances and increasingly raised brow at the thought of the financial statements, the two of them both acutely aware of how quickly the department was sinking into something between quicksand and shit. Shitsand.
The rest simply studied Brooke. The pressed white button down and cigarette pants. The creaseless leather pumps. The unflinching gaze.
Of course, Vanjie breaks it.
“Uh, what’s an auditor?”
It’s ghost quiet as Yvie, from behind Brooke, drags her finger across her neck, shaking her head furiously.
Scarlet drags her foot across the cracked peach tile. “Well, an auditor is a—”
“Budget slasher,” A’keria interjects. She closes her eyes and inhales, hoping that someone will answer her prayers and make Brooke get out, and if not, will get A’keria out of here.
“Clean it. Now,” Brooke grits out before adjusting her shirt, picking an invisible piece of lint off of her and flicking it to the ground ceremoniously. “Director?”
Brooke pivots and heads straight for Yvie’s office, letting Yvie know that again, Brooke isn’t asking questions, though her intonation would suggest otherwise. Yvie follows. Brooke slams the door behind them, sits on the edge of the chair in front of Yvie’s desk, and waves her hand behind her aimlessly.
Yvie closes the blinds, leaving the team with a shaky thumbs up and a dorky smile as their only solace.
Somehow, this day of government work would be longer than all the others.
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My Way Out chapter 2
Summary: Negan and Reagan have dinner and drink a little bit of whiskey together.
Warnings: Language cuz its fucking Negan, flirting i mean a little.
Characters: Negan x Reagan MY OC
Authors note: i’m sorry it took me soo fucking long to upload this its just a lot of things are happening in my fucking life right now. if you absolutely fucking hate this story i get it i fucking suck at writing. but i know what i am going to do for this story and its kind of a fast burn story.
Reagan had a shower and put on an oversized black shirt and a pair of lacy black panties, she left her long black hair out so it could dry after she washed it. There came a loud knocking at the door, Reagan walked over to the door and opened it. Negan was standing in front of her with two plates of spaghetti, Reagan didn’t care if he saw her in her panties. “I thought we could have dinner together if that’s ok with you.” “Yeah puddin come in i don’t fucking care” Negan walked past her and put the plates down on the table. Reagan sat at the table across from Negan and began to eat the spaghetti, she made Negan feel a feeling that he hadn’t felt since Lucille.
Negan didn’t like this feeling so he was going to avoid it for as long as he could. “This is really fucking good did you make it?” Negan smirked at her “yeah Darlin i made it, i’m glad you fucking like it.” Reagan shook her head “don’t think we are going to be best fucking friends or anything and don’t get your hopes up for anything more than that.” “Darlin i know you would cut my fucking dick off if i tried anything so i am not unless you want me to.”
Reagan chuckled and brushed her dark hair behind her ear, “well i might not puddin if you be nice enough to me i’ll think about us being friends.” “Alright sweetheart i want us to be friends”, after they ate Reagan did the dishes and put them on the table. Reagan yawned, she turned to Negan sitting on the couch “alright puddin i’m going to sleep if you don’t mind getting the fuck out of my room.” Negan got off the couch and grabbed the two plates from the table, “Alright princess.” Reagan walked over and went to hit him, “ok, ok i won’t call you that i’ll fucking go” Negan walked out the door and Reagan closed it behind him. Reagan smiled and turned the light off and walked over to her bed, she was fast asleep within minutes.
It was two am in the morning and Reagan woke up to a nightmare covered in sweat and breathing hard. She got out of bed and walked over to her black bag on the couch and took out her pack of cigarettes and her lighter. She opened the door and walked down the hall to a door that lead to a balcony, she lit a cigarette and put it in her mouth. While she was blowing smoke she thought about Negan, he had made her laugh for the first time in a long time. She also thought about how he made her dinner, Reagan put the smoke out and walked back down the hall. One of the saviours walked in front of her and stopped her in her tracks. “Come on Darlin you wanna come into my room and have some fun” Reagan tried to get past him but he grasped her wrist tightly. “No asshole” he stroked her cheek,
“oh come on sweetheart it’ll be real fun you will enjoy it.” Reagan went to punch him put he grasped her throat and pushed against the wall.
He strangled her hard, he shoved her panties down her legs, but before he could do anything there came a large bang on the wall. “Hey she said no and she fucking meant it”, Negan walked down the hall with Lucille over his shoulder. “You know rape is against the fucking rules yet you break the fucking rules, i can’t have that.” He let go of Reagan’s throat, she took in a deep breath and pulled her panties up, “i’m sorry sir i won’t happen again.” Negan grinned devilishly, “oh i know it fucking won’t i’ll get the others to chain you to the fence.” Reagan walked over to him, “no Negan i want to do it my fucking self” Negan smiled at her “suit yourself Darlin.” Reagan walked to her room and grabbed up Damien, she put her jeans on and walked down the hall, down the stairs and into the courtyard outside. The sky was still dark and the walkers moans carried in the wind. Negan was next to the rapist and smirked at her, she swung her bat and hit him over the knees.
He fell to the floor, “no please, please don’t” he begged Reagan laughed “begging is only going to make it fucking worse.” Reagan hit him over the head with Damien, then she did it again and again and again and again. She kept hitting him until his brains were scrambled, blood was splattered all over her face, arms and legs. Negan had never seen someone exactly like him in a long time, his feelings were starting to grow for her. Reagan looked up at Negan and licked the blood off of her lips, it felt good taking her anger and pain out on someone like that. Blood was dripping from the bat along with brain matter and hair, Reagan was breathing heavily. “Come on Reagan let’s get you fucking cleaned up”, she followed him up to his room.
Reagan had a shower and walked out of the bathroom wrapped in a fluffy white towel. Negan was sitting on his couch, he looked over at her, so many dirty thoughts were going through his mind. Reagan had took a pair of lacy black panties from her room and put them on under the towel. “Puddin do you have something i could wear just for now?” Negan walked over to the chest of drawers in the corner. He opened the first drawer and took out one of his white t-shirts and handed to her.
Negan turned around to give her some privacy, Reagan took off her towel and put on the shirt Negan had given her. “You can turn around now plus i wouldn’t of fucking cared if you saw me” Negan turned around to face her. Negan moved closer to her “you should care because evil bastards like that fucker that you killed can take you and fucking sexually torture you.” Negan shuddered at the thought he was strongly against rape and he didn’t want to picture someone raping the girl that he was falling for. Reagan was starting to realise what a sweetheart Negan was, “well i do like it rough puddin.” Reagan was teasing him and she wanted to drive him crazy,
“oh don’t worry Darlin i am fucking rough.” Reagan closed the gap between them and grasped his hard dick through his jeans “you fucking wish daddy.” Negan had utter need in his eyes, they had only known each other for a day but he was falling for her quickly. Reagan let go of his dick and bit her lip “hey um can i sleep in here just…i don’t want to be alone.” Negan smiled down at her “of fucking coarse Darlin i just have to make sure Simon and Dwight fed that bastards body to the dead pricks.” Reagan nodded and watched him walk out of the room shutting the door behind him, Reagan looked at the clock on his bedside table.
The clock read three o’clock she lied on Negan’s bed and she fell asleep, Negan came back in to the room. He looked over at his bed and saw her fast asleep, he smiled and walked over to left side of his bed. He put Lucille against the head board and lied down next to Reagan but didn’t touch her. He pulled the blanket over them both and turned facing her back, he sighed quietly and closed his eyes. Reagan woke up the next morning, her arm was around Negan’s waist and her leg was over his. Reagan let go of his waist and moved her leg off of his, she sat on the edge of the bed, it did feel nice having someone to cuddle with in bed. “It’s ok Darlin i won’t fucking take this as a sign” Reagan looked over her shoulder at him.
“Good” she stood up and walked over to the door and left the room, she walked down to her room and shut the door behind her. She got dressed into a pair of jeans, a black shirt untucked, black combat boots with red roses on them and her hair in braids. As she was tying her laces she heard a loud knock at the door, she walked over to the door and opened it. Standing there was Negan smiling at her, “hey Reagan i was wondering if you wanted to have some dinner with me in the marketplace tonight.” “I mean you don’t fucking have to if you don’t want to” she smirked at him. “Ok puddin you’ve got yourself a fucking date what time?” Negan wet his bottom lip.
“Let’s say around about six thirty sound fucking good to you?” she smiled at him “yeah puddin sounds good i’ll see you then.” Negan turned on his heel swinging Lucille over his shoulder as he turned the corner down the hall. Reagan closed the door behind her, she leaned her back against the door. “You stupid bitch what are you doing? he is your enemy not your friend, your friends are back at Alexandria.”
But there was a part of her that was starting to like him, he liked her even a blind man could see that. But she knew she could never love anyone again right? then she thought maybe she could make him weak. Find out his weaknesses and his strengths to strike when the time was right, but a part of her thought otherwise. He had been nice to her and had given her a chance, maybe a date was a good idea. Her husband had told her before he died to move on to find someone that made her happy and that would protect her.
A part of Reagan knew that he was right she had to move on but could she? maybe she could. Reagan also knew that Negan was suffering the same pain that she was and she knew that after a while a person becomes numb from that pain. Negan thought about how Reagan resembled his Lucille, a beautiful woman with an attitude. But he also saw Reagan for Reagan not just Lucille, maybe she looked like her but she wasn’t her.
As Reagan lied on her bed she thought about what she was going to wear even though she knew she had nothing to wear. So she thought that she would wear what she was already wearing but she would do her hair in braids. She looked over at the clock beside her bed and it read five thirty “shit time flies” she whispered to herself. Reagan stood up from the bed and walked over to the on suite on the left side of the room. She reached around the wall and flipped on the light, she walked slowly over to the shower block. She opened the glass shower door and turned on the faucets.
She took off her shirt and threw to the floor she did the same with her jeans, panties and her bra. The water ran hot with was the perfect temperature for her so she got into the shower and closed the glass door. She sighed as the water ran over her skin, it had been a long time since she had a shower that hot. Reagan didn’t wash her hair but she stood under the shower for a good thirty minutes. She finally turned off the shower and opened the now fogged up glass door of the shower.
The mirror above the sink was fogged up as well, Reagan took the white towel off the hook on the back of the door. She wiped herself dry and picked up her clothes from the floor and opened the bathroom door. She turned off the light and walked over to the couch that was near the curtain draped windows. She unzipped her bag and took out a pair of lacy black panties and a matching bra, she put them on and put her jeans and t-shirt back on. She took out her hairbrush and walked back into the bathroom and did her hair in two braids into a ponytail.
She then sat on the couch and put a pair of socks on and put on her black combat boots, once she laced them up she walked over to her bed head. She put her sword on her back and she picked up Damien, when she looked over at the clock there came a soft knock at the door. She walked to the door and turned the knob and pulled it towards her, Negan stood before her. In his jeans, a white t-shirt, his leather jacket unzipped and holding Lucille over his shoulder. Negan grinned widely at her, his dimples sucking in, “you ready?” Reagan smirked at him and nodded. “You look fucking awesome by the way” his voice echoing off the walls as they walked side by side down the dimly lit hall.
Reagan felt her cheeks blush slightly at his comment “Negan i thought we were going to the marketplace for dinner.?” They were walking down the hall to Negan’s room, “i fucking cooked dinner for us both plus the marketplace is a little over crowded.” As they reached the dark wooden doors of Negan’s quarters he opened one of the doors and gestured for Reagan to go in first. As she walked in she could smell the tomato from the pasta sauce that was mixed with garlic. Reagan looked over near the black leather couch and there was a dark wooden table in the middle of the room.
There were two plates of spaghetti on either side of the table. Negan closed the door softly and set Lucille down on the couch, Reagan put Damien on the couch near Lucille. She then walked over to the table and hung her sword on the back of the wooden chair. “You like whiskey Reagan?” he asked as he walked over to a cherrywood cabinet. “Yeah i do” she said as he bent down and opened the cabinet door and pulled out a bottle of whiskey.
He then pulled out two glasses and walked over to the table, he put the glasses down on the table. Reagan sat down at the table as Negan unscrewed the cap of the bottle and poured some of the honey coloured liquor into one of the glasses. He walked over to the side of the table Reagan was sitting on and held out the glass. As she took the glass her hand lightly touched his making her blush slightly. He smiled at her his dimples sucking in “you think i can’t fucking see you blushing Darlin.?”
Negan poured himself a glass of whiskey before he sat at the table he unzipped his jacket exposing his white t-shirt. She started to eat the spaghetti as soon as she put it into her mouth she closed her eyes. “God this is good” she said opening her eyes and smiling over at him. Negan smiled a toothy grin “well it is my fucking signature dish Reagan” She looked at him with a smirk.
“You can call me Rae most of my friends do” she brushed a strand of her dark hair behind her ear. “Oh so we’re fucking friends now are we?” he chuckled lightly, “yeah i guess we are” she said scrunching her nose. She took a quick nip from her glass of whiskey and went back to eating her dinner and she loved it like it was the first time she had tried it. “Is it ok if i call you puddin?” Reagan asked sweetly “yeah that’s fucking fine with me sugar” Negan replied smiling at her. They had both eaten their dinner rather quickly and had polished down the whiskey.
They had both moved over to the couch and they began passing the whiskey bottle between them. Reagan had taken off her boots and was in her socks and Negan had taken his boots off. They began talking about their lives before “what was your job?” Reagan asked after taking a swing of whiskey and handing the bottle to Negan. “I was a coach at a high school what about you?.” “I had three jobs i was a waitress, a bartender and to get extra money i was a stripper. But i quit that job after i met my husband but i will save my sad story for when i trust you more.” He took a swing from the whiskey bottle “I won’t tell you my sad story for the same reasons we have a deal?.”
Reagan rolled her eyes at him and smiled “ok deal” he handed her the bottle. “If anyone fucking harasses you you fucking tell me” Reagan laughed lightly. “I can handle myself i don’t need anyone protecting me especially you.” He looked at her with a serious expression “i know you can handle your fucking self but sometimes a man may be stronger than you think.”
“Ok, but Negan why would you want to protect me i only met you yesterday” he chuckled lightly. “Because i like ya i think you are cool as fucking shit at least you aren’t like my wives who complain all the fucking time.” Reagan didn’t think this man to be so sweet she expected him to take what he wanted from her or make her a wife. She thought a man like him would kill her or lock her in a cell like Daryl and she was having second thoughts about using him. What could’ve driven a man to kill her friends and be the man he was.
Then she remembered his bat, Lucille was his wife perhaps the pain of her death caused him to become what he was. Negan put the whiskey bottle down on the glass coffee table and got up from the couch. “Come on Darlin i‘ll take you to your room because you look fucking tired as shit.” Reagan got up from the couch and walked past him and took her sword off of the back of the chair and put it on her back. She also picked up her boots from the carpet.
LIKE AND REBLOG FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER!
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I Don’t Like Girls
Summary: I fixed the “It’s not my fault you don’t like girls”/Castle Byers scene. I hope you all enjoy!
Word Count: 2508
Pairing: Mike Wheeler x Will Byers
Warnings: SEASON 3 SPOILERS
This helped cure my post Season 3 depression and I hope it does the same for you!
Will’s heart was thundering so loudly in his ears that he couldn’t hear anything else Mike was saying. His lips were moving and he was looking at him intently but Will’s breath was caught in his throat, trying to find a way out. Will began to feel lightheaded before Mike even noticed that he hadn’t made a sound in quite some time. Suddenly a hand was on his shoulder, which made him jump back.
“Hey, are you okay?” Mike asked, like he always did, with concern in his eyes. His hand dropped away from Will’s shoulder. Will tried to convince himself that he was getting worked up for nothing, that the churning in his gut was ridiculous, that opening his mouth would only make the situation worse. But there was this gnawing feeling in his chest, like a secret trying to crawl its way out with its imaginary claws tearing at his ribs, pushing back against his lungs, knocking out any air he tried to breathe in.
“What did you mean by that?” The words tumbled out even though he fought against them. He felt his body shake, not from the rain and the breeze, but from fear.
“By what?” Mike was dense, always had been, but right now Will wanted to yell at him for being so dumb and making him have to do all the talking.
“You said I don’t like girls.”
Mike’s brows knitted together out of confusion which, Will fondly thought, is how he looked nearly all of the time. The warm feeling this thought sparked in his stomach was quashed immediately by a clap of thunder. Will’s eyes turned towards the sky briefly.
“I don’t know-” he paused, looking like he was trying to figure out why Will even cared, “I just meant that you don’t seem to have any crushes on girls like the rest of us.”
He shrugged, using a hand to wipe away the droplets of rain that had fallen on his left arm.
“So?” Will questioned defensively, immediately regretting his tone of voice.
This time Mike squinted at him and Will felt like a little kid trying to get away with something while his parents interrogated him. He shifted his weight back and forth between each foot, and opened his mouth to talk again, but Mike beat him to it.
“I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean you’re gay or anything like that. I just meant you don’t have a crush at the moment.”
Mike’s lips turned down in disgust when he spoke the word “gay”, and Will had to look away to hide that his lips were trembling.
“Right,” He said quietly, then added, “Okay.”
He turned to look out at the pouring rain, the tall green trees, the old station wagon in the driveway. It all reminded him that he lived in Hawkins, a small town where everyone knew nearly everyone else's name, where the large majority of the people had voted for Ronald Reagan. He had seen the magazine articles about how the President was refusing to comment on the AIDS epidemic, aside from a few horrible jokes that made his eyes and nose sting with tears. He couldn’t have expected Mike to react any other way, and yet, he did.
“Are you okay?” Mike inquired again. The rain poured down even more, and Will had to raise his voice to respond.
“No,” he gripped onto the front of his bike, “I’m going home.”
The whirring of his bike as he zipped down the road helped drown out whatever Mike was yelling after him. He didn’t want to talk anymore, he felt more like an outcast now than he ever had throughout middle school, even after “returning from the dead”. He knew Jonathan had said being an outcast was a good thing, that it made him unique, but he wondered if he would say the same thing if he knew that he liked boys. Part of him defiantly thought “it doesn’t matter if they approve, you should be allowed to love who you want” but another, much more deep-rooted part of him cried out desperately for approval and love.
He found himself in Castle Byers, sobbing and tearing apart drawings and pictures and so many memories he knew he should keep but couldn’t be bothered to care about. He had felt a lot in those past few years- sadness and heartbreak and terror- but not until now had he felt this all-consuming rage that was seeping down his spine to his shaking fists. His mind was so blindly angry that he was not even sure if he was mad at Mike or Lucas or Eleven or the mindflayer or his dad or...himself. Maybe he was just mad at himself. If he could just be normal, even though Jonathan hated it, his life would be so much easier. He could like girls and talk about how good they looked in shorts and he wouldn’t stutter whenever he was scared and maybe he wouldn’t even be scared if he was just...normal. His body moved on its own as another noiseless sob came out, his breath shuddering. He climbed out of Castle Byers with a bat in hand, shook it around to feel its weight, then lifted it up over his head. He screamed as he brought it down, and WHAM!- it came down on a hand outreached to stop it. He scrambled back, chest heaving and tears pouring down his face. He felt fear wrap around his heart like an old friend before he recognized that the hand was attached to Mike who was now shaking his hand wildly and shouting various curse words.
“Oh god!” he groaned, rubbing it with his other hand, “I don’t know why I thought that was a good idea.”
Will felt horrible instantly, lunging forward to inspect the injury to the best of his ability with tears still streaming out of his eyes.
“Are you- are you okay?” He stumbled over his words as he winced at the bruising already evident on his hand, but Mike pushed Will away to get a good look at his face.
“Seriously?” He asked incredulously, looking equally amused and upset, “You’re having a full on meltdown out here and you’re asking if I’m okay?” Will closed his eyes against the new tears flooding to the surface, finding comfort in the knowledge that Mike was there because he wanted to make sure he was okay. He thought about the pictures he tore up moments ago and whimpered quietly, his head hanging low.
“I’m so sorry.” The words came out as a hoarse whisper and the bat dropped to the ground with a loud thump. He felt Mike’s hands come to his shoulders. He wanted nothing more than to reach forward and hug him, but he stayed perfectly still.
“What are you sorry for? I’m…I’ve been a terrible friend. This whole summer, I’ve been terrible. Lucas and I were talking on the way here and I-” He swallowed nervously and dropped his hands down to his sides, “I’ve been so involved with El that I haven’t been making any time for you.”
Will knew he was right, that he should be apologizing for constantly blowing him off. But he also knew that his jealousy was abnormal, that it stemmed from something other than being a hurt friend. He looked back up at Mike, ready to apologize again.
“I’m also sorry for implying that you were gay.” Mike said, so quickly that Will almost didn’t hear it. He took a step back like Mike had slapped him. He could feel hot tears spilling over onto his cheeks again, and he started wiping at them angrily, “Will?” Mike’s hesitant voice called over the rain.
Will looked at him again and took all of him in. His frizzy hair, his soft brown eyes, his sharp nose and jaw, his stupid yellow button up. He wanted to remember him this way: doused in rain, one hand appearing to reach out to him, eyes narrowed with care and concern. He wanted to be able to think about this moment years from now, not the one that was sure to unfold: the look of disgust, the way his hands and body recoiled, the way he turned on his heel to stalk back to his bike.
“I am gay, Mike.”
He tried to say it with as little emotion as he could, but he could hear his voice waver nonetheless. Mike’s eyes fluttered, he looked confused again. Will desperately wanted to believe that he wouldn’t pull away, that he wouldn’t laugh about it with Lucas on the way home. But he watched as his fingers twitched and his mouth moved around soundless words in bewilderment.
“You’re...gay?” Will squeezed his eyes shut tightly, only nodding his head in response. He could hear the fluttering of the blanket on Castle Byers, the booming of thunder miles away. He could feel the droplets soaking through his hair, running down his scalp, and warm, skinny arms pulling him into a tight, bone-crushing hug.
His eyes opened like a bolt of lightning struck him and he threw his arms around Mike like it was second-nature. His lungs were filling with air like he hadn’t been breathing for years. He felt like he was floating on a cloud on a warm summer day, not sobbing in the rain. It took him longer than it should’ve to realize that Mike was also crying into his shoulder. He stepped back from the hug to stare up at his face. When was the last time he had seen Mike cry? Had he ever?
“Why are you crying?” Mike’s smile was small and sad, and Will suddenly remembered the last and only time he had seen Mike crying. ‘You said yes” echoed around in his head, Mike smiling down at him with tear-coated lashes.
“Because I’m gay too!” Mike’s voice was rough with tears but his eyes were beaming with joy, “I mean, I’m not entirely gay, I’m like...half? I think? I like girls but I like guys too and-” As he chattered at a hundred miles a minute, Will’s heart rate sky-rocketed, “-oh my god, I never thought I would be able to say that out loud.” He choked out the last sentence, a strangled sob caught in his throat.
Will had no words, and yet so, so many. His chest moved up and down but the rest of him was completely still.
“You…like...guys?” Was all he managed to get out before his bottom lip started to tremble. He didn’t know why he was shaking- maybe from relief, or excitement, or fear. Everything he’d been telling himself from the first terrifying moment that he’d caught himself lingering on Mike’s lips- that he was insane, and gross, and wrong- was being debunked right before his eyes. Because this was Mike, and he was saying he felt that way too.
“Yes!” Mike answered, giggling, “And, more importantly, I like you.”
“What?” Will spluttered, “Me? I- you like me? What about...what about El?”
Mike’s face had gone from overjoyed to nervous as Will spoke, “El and I just broke up, I know. But, I...I don’t know. It didn’t sting. Is that a horrible thing to say? I just, I didn’t feel anything anymore. But everytime I look at you, wow, I feel everything,” His voice trembled while he spoke, and he looked at the ground in embarrassment, “But I understand if you don’t feel the same way. I won’t stop being friends with you and I won’t tell anyone about this. Just, please don’t stop talking to me if you don’t like me back. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Will rarely saw Mike this vulnerable. His eyes were bloodshot and his nose was running, he was wringing his hands and his shoulders were shaking. He couldn’t believe what he was saying. That he, Mike Wheeler, who so fiercely loved and protected and cared about Eleven, felt more strongly about him.
When he started to laugh, he knew he fully deserved the bizarre look Mike gave him, “You can’t...like me. Nothing ever goes right for me! Seriously! I was stuck in the Upside Down for a week. I was possessed by an evil mind flayer. I have been hopelessly in love with you- a boy- for longer than I can remember and you’re telling me you actually like me? This has to be a joke!” He was laughing so hard his stomach hurt, and Mike quickly joined in. He felt like a little kid for the first time in nearly two years. He dropped the weight on his shoulders and let himself laugh so hard he was crying again with his best friend.
“I may love pulling pranks on you, but I promise this is not a joke.” Mike finally said through giggles stepping closer to Will and wrapping his hand around the smaller boy’s.
“Friends don’t lie.” Will quipped. His cheeks were aching from the dumb smile on his face.
“I’m not lying!” He gently pushed Will and their giggles fell silent, leaving nothing but the sound of the rain. Mike’s eyes were intensely focused on his, and Will suddenly realized that he was soaked to the bone, had been ugly-crying for nearly an hour, and probably had snot on his face, “Um, should I kiss you now or…?”
“No.” Will answered quickly, immediately regretting it, “I’m just...scared. I’ve never kissed anyone before.”
He thought maybe that could be a deal breaker, that Mike would be annoyed because he’d been making out with Eleven all summer and probably knew exactly what he was doing. The gentle smile that spread across Mike’s face let him relax a bit, though. “That’s fine. Why don’t you just...tell me when you’re ready? You can take as long as you want.”
Will inched closer to him, squeezing Mike’s hand, “Really? You’re okay with that?”
Mike pressed a tender kiss to his temple, causing his stomach to perform an Olympic gymnastics routine, “Of course I’m okay with that. Now let’s go inside before we get electrocuted out here.”
Will remembered exactly what it felt like when he woke up after Hopper saved his life in the Upside Down. His nerves were on fire, his lungs hurt when he took a breath, but he felt like was coming home. He felt like he had been given a second chance. He felt the same way right in this moment, with Mike’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, leading him into the house where they would spend the night laughing and playing games and dressing up in dumb costumes because they were best friends, and nothing in the world could change that. Not even them fighting for their lives against the mind flayer, or Will moving away, or their awful, spitty first kiss that they would have months later because that’s just how first kisses go. No matter what, they would always have each other.
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 lucky strike
Natalie’s car bottomed out on the concrete as she sped into the parking lot of the clubhouse, causing sparks to fly out behind her momentarily. The term ‘bat outta hell’ came to mind for her, sure, but she found it hard to care. Michonne groaned quietly from the backseat, but otherwise remained asleep. She’d only just closed her eyes and started snoring a few minutes ago, but what Natalie was going to do wouldn’t take long enough for Michonne to even notice, so it wasn’t like she needed to wake her up fully for it either.
She parked sideways in one of the unmarked spaces and left her car running as she started inside quickly, barely looking back to make sure Michonne was blissfully unaware of the brewing drama.
She didn’t stop to ask permission of the guys outside the door as she strode inside without a word. Natalie could hear them asking her something, but she didn’t care enough to stop. She was on a mission now.
She was pissed. Someone had upset Reagan. Sweet, innocent, and way too hot for her own good Reagan.
And they were going to pay.
There was no discussion to be had anymore. And she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Negan would take care of it. Honestly, she felt silly for not approaching him sooner. Even though he was the President, and what she was doing was a bit unorthodox based on what she knew of MCs and their hierarchy, he was clearly in love with Reagan.
He should be told.
“Where’s Negan?” she asked the bartender quickly, not wanting to lose her nerve.
He smirked as he took in her tiny form, hands on her hips, and a wild look in her eyes. He didn’t seem to find her a threat because he silently pointed her in the right direction. Even without having been here before, she could tell the room where Negan was now would be their version of chapel, or whatever they called it, and she was expressly forbidden from going inside.
She wished she’d thought far enough ahead to bring Michonne after all. Natalie wasn’t sure where she expected him to be, but it hadn’t been behind a wall, metaphorically and literally. At least not this one.
She bit her lip as she hovered near the door and then looked back to the bartender. He had the same smirk, basically daring her to do what she knew was off-limits, but even she wasn’t brave enough to break those rules.
When she did finally turn back to the door, she did the only thing she could think of to do. She knocked.
She could hear the bartender chuckling low, but she didn’t turn around. Instead, she rolled her eyes and waited for Negan to appear. He didn’t keep her waiting long, thankfully, because the women that always hovered in a place like this were starting to descend and she was getting super uncomfortable. They could probably sense her fear, which wasn’t a cute look on a good day, but definitely not in a place like this.
“Who the fuck…”
He started to bellow, but was cut off when he looked down a whole foot and noticed Natalie standing there bathed in a very impatient demeanor. She was seconds from tapping her foot, but she stopped herself.
“You’re Negan, right?”
Negan nodded and smirked.
“Good, listen. Some douchebag came to the club we were at tonight––I don’t know the name, sorry––and he was being awful to Reagan and I thought…”
Negan’s facial expression shifted rapidly when Natalie mentioned Reagan, and he ushered into the room gently and shut the door behind them.
“What happened? Tell me everything.”
Natalie was immediately jarred by the fact that she was even in the room for a second, but when she noticed Daryl sitting there, she almost forgot what she came there to say. In this space, he felt like a whole other person. One she didn’t recognize. One she was having problems tearing her eyes from. One she suddenly had the urge to kiss.
“Natalie, right?” Negan said, shaking her from her internal dialogue harshly. “What’d this guy look like?”
“Yeah, uh, yeah,” she started, shaking her head to get rid of those not-at-all-helpful thoughts. “Sorry. I work at Cara Cara with Daryl,” she explained, stuttering slightly, managing to look back to Negan finally. “And yeah, he was super tall. Looked like a hippie that was trying too hard. Which, I guess, is all of them, but, like, he was trying extra hard. I don’t know.” She shrugged and ducked her head. “And he just came right up to us and I almost karate chopped him in the fucking dick, but I wasn’t sure what I was allowed to do. Sorry for, um, coming here. Seriously. But I couldn’t just let that go. Reagan was hella uncomfortable.”
“No, normally you’re not allowed in here,” Negan agreed. “But this is different. You always come here if something is going on with that huge asshole. You hear me?”
Natalie nodded and swallowed hard. The gravity of the situation was finally catching up with her now that her anger had waned significantly. It was as if her body knew Negan was really going to handle it and she didn’t need to do anything else. Her friend would be just fine and she could rest easy tonight with Negan in charge.
She could feel his eyes on her as she sat back down, obviously in the place where he’d been before she so rudely interrupted with her teenage drama bullshit. Natalie couldn’t stop the shame from taking over. Sure, she should’ve told Negan. That wasn’t in question, but she could’ve handled it way differently. This felt childish somehow.
Not that Negan was making her feel that way. If anything, he was validating everything, but somehow that made it worse.
“Well, let Daryl take ya home, okay, darlin’?” Negan offered, motioning for Daryl to follow her out. “And let me know if he pulls anymore bullshit, okay? Daryl will give you my direct number.”
“Thank you, Negan,” she said as sincerely as possible.
“No problem,” he replied, smiling sweetly.
She turned on her heel right for the door, but before she shut it, and before Daryl rejoined her, she heard Negan chuckle low and tell him to keep an eye on her, which was probably warranted at this point.
She definitely had to keep her emotions more in check than that. She just hadn’t had a lot of girlfriends over the years, and something about Beta made her feel helpless. He could have, at any point, literally overpowered them and there wasn’t anything they could’ve done.
And being helpless made Natalie Sutter angry.
When she finally got back out to the driveway area again, Daryl hot on her heels, all the guys huddled around the door parted quickly when they noticed him.
“Sorry,” she mumbled quietly.
“For what?” he asked.
His hands were in his pockets as he walked her back to her car, still running with Michonne obviously still sleeping in the backseat.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just… I know I wasn’t supposed to go in there and…”
“Nah, cut it out,” Daryl interrupted firmly. “You didn’t storm in there. You knocked. Negan let you in,” he explained. “You didn’t do nothin’ wrong. Hear me? Someone came up to you in a bar and you handled it perfectly.”
She nodded and swallowed hard, her hand on her door handle. She wasn’t sure she trusted his judgment completely, but she appreciated him trying to make her feel better.
“I heard Negan,” she admitted.
She opened her door and went to slide into the driver’s seat when Daryl put his hand over the top of hers and stopped her.
“Heard him what?”
“He said to watch me.”
Daryl chuckled low, the same way Negan had inside. “Not for your safety. For everybody else’s.”
She could only furrow her eyebrows at his explanation. That didn’t make sense to her. Why would anybody else need protection from her?
“He didn’t want you haulin’ off and smackin’ someone in the dick,” Daryl said, a wicked grin on his face. “Not that I wouldn’t kill to see that.”
“I said karate chop,” she mumbled, making him laugh harder.
He even threw his head back as he did that time, making her smile despite her embarrassment at her earlier actions. She couldn’t help it since Daryl expressing any extreme emotion, happy or sad, was incredibly rare. At least around her.
“You did everything fine,” he repeated. “I’m just gonna ride behind you, make sure you get home, okay? Nothin’ big. Then I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”
Daryl stared at her hard for a few more seconds before he finally removed his hand, nodded curtly, and let her get into the car. He walked quickly over to his bike as she reversed out of her spot and did exactly as he said.
She wouldn’t deny that she felt better knowing he was back there, but she didn’t want to think about why that might be. She couldn’t count on it, so she knew better than to let herself go there. Even with Reagan and Michonne, she knew it was temporary.
She moved her rearview mirror to check on Michonne as she made her way through the quiet streets of Charming and was shocked to see her staring back.
“That wasn’t awkward or anything,” Michonne croaked, her voice rough with sleep.
“Sorry,” Natalie repeated.
“Stop apologizing,” Michonne commanded. “Daryl’s right. You didn’t do anything wrong. I woulda come over here myself if you guys hadn’t let me get so wasted.”
Natalie smiled at her reasoning as she pulled down Michonne’s street. Despite knowing it wasn’t permanent, she couldn’t help how nice it made her feel. And instead of swatting away the good feelings, she let them sit for a minute.
It wouldn’t kill her to enjoy herself either.
tagging: @harrysthiccthighss, @effyeahme,
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A/N: My dudes, I’m so sorry that I have been kinda MIA. I finally got the Steven Tyler fic out that I had been working on for ages. Well, I’ve been working on this one for a lot longer and it’s finally finished. I hope to get all my current requests done soon. Let’s hope in a timely manner. I just need to get my butt in gear and sit down and write this shit. I also hope to have the second part to songs for any occasion done soon. But, time flies when you’re doing just about anything, so we’ll see. Requests are open and I hope you enjoy. Love you guys!!!
Slash x Reader
Summary: Y/n’s parents are like every uptight Christian parents of the 80s. So, thinking Footloose would be the right direction. They want nothing to do with rock music and want to keep their daughter far from it. That is until she starts dating a man in a rock band. Now, Y/n’s afraid that they may never see him the same way she does.
Word Count: 1.5k
Warnings: None??? (Slash is referred to by his actual name because Y/n’s parents definitely wouldn’t approve if they had to call him Slash).
Y/n sighed, bored with the conversation that had been going on for what felt like hours even though it had been mere minutes. It wasn’t like it was the first time she’d had to have the conversation - it seemed that every time she’d mention or alluded to rock this conversation would start.
“I’m not saying you can’t date him, Y/n,” her father told her while he flipped through a stack of bills. “All I’m saying is that he isn’t good enough for you. Will he be able to support you once his music career fails? Will he even want to marry you or just discard you once he gets bored?”
Y/n rolled her eyes, leaning against the kitchen counter, wishing nuclear fall out were an option.
Her mother nodded from her place in front of the stove. “Your father has a point, dear. Stability is key to a happy life and he may not be able to offer you that,” she told her daughter while she stirred the pot in front of her. “So, why waste your time with him if you may never get married?”
Like always, she just shrugged. There was no use in arguing as her parents weren’t going to listen to reason. They were those good Christians that the 80s were known for. And like good Christians of the time, rock music was what the devil listened to and Ronald Reagan was the ideal president. Why not? Y/n didn’t care much for politics, so she never cared to understand what was so great about the president. Rock, on the other hand, was something she cared about but her parents never wanted to hear about.
They had been sucked in on the propaganda about the musical genre that had spread around the neighborhood. Anything of the genre was outlawed in her house, which was alright with her. She was limited when around them and anyone else her parents associated with, but she still had freedom outside of the house. As much as her parents wanted to create a safe enviorment like the pastor in Footloose, it wasn’t going to happen. Whether they liked it or not, she listened to the Devil’s music more than she listened to God’s words.
But what really hurt wasn’t that she couldn’t enjoy herself at home and do as she pleased, it was that anything remotely related to that dreadful music wasn’t good enough for her parents. Y/n didn’t care if they liked the same music she did or called her favorite artists and bands Satanist, what she cared about was that they wouldn’t even given the man she loved a chance.
Y/n groaned, sucking in a deep breath. “Who said I want to get married? And that’s not even close to what I was talking about.”
“Than what were you talking about, dear?” her father asked, hiding behind a newspaper.
“I just wanted to know if Saul could come over for dinner or something like that. You know, so I don’t have to hear any more about how he’s not good enough for me from the two of you when you haven’t even met him.”
“I’ll think about.”
She rolled her eyes, pushing herself off the counter. “You do that, dad, you do that.”
Saul rocked on his heels nervously, waiting for the door to open. He had been excited to meet Y/n’s parents, after all, his parents were head over heels in love with her. They wanted to be around her more than him, which stung a little. But, damn, it was better than them hating her. After a few seconds, the door opened, exposing an older woman that Saul assumed to be Y/n’s mother.
Opening the door all the way, the woman smiled, “You must be Saul.”
“Do come it.” She moved out of the way to let him in. “Y/n will be out in a minute. Why don’t we take a seat in the living room.”
It was odd how formal the woman was, but at least she was kind. Her smile didn’t meet her eyes, but how many smiles really did? Y/n didn’t talk about her parents often, but when she did nothing good was said. From what he’d gathered, they were people pleasers and one with the crowd. But, some people were like that, society bred people that way and it took too much strength for some to break away from the crowd.
Stepping into the living, the guitarist glanced over the photos and paintings that dawned the wall. Pictures of Y/n as a small child among her family on vacations, Christmas, and school events. Even if she complained, at least her parents were present. Saul let out a small sigh as he made his way over to the couch, pillows and a blanket strategically placed. He could hear what he thought sounded like a knife hitting a cutting board and feet hitting stairs. Not even a few seconds pasted before Y/n walked into the living room, a huge smile upon her face.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said with a smile, embracing him before looking over his apparel. “And I’m so glad you finally figured out how to dress nicely.”
He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “My mother happened to teach me how to do that, I’ll have you know.”
Y/n glanced behind her to see her mom walk off to the kitchen. Turning to her boyfriend, she let her shoulders relax. Around Saul, she didn’t have to be the good girl her parents wanted her to be. Around him, it seemed that anything and everything was possible. There were no cookie cutters or boxes that she couldn’t think outside of. The world was her’s to conquer with him by her side and she hoped, she prayed to god, that her parents would see that he was more than just some drugged-up rock star.
“She didn’t give you a hard time, did she?”
Saul shook his head, giving her a small smile. “She was actually really polite. You made her out to sound like she tears heads off of children.”
Y/n laughed, shaking her head. Her mother, tear of heads, not a chance. “She would never do such a thing, not with god watching. And I don’t know why I expected less from her. She’s a saint, I’ll have you know.”
“Then I’m sure my mother will love her. They can discuss saintly things over tea,” he joked, running a hand through his hair, which he through into a neat ponytail.
“My mom doesn’t like tea.”
Before any more could be discussed on what the potential meeting of their mothers, Y/n’s mom poked her head into the room, her presence silencing their conversation.
“Dinner’s ready if you two will head to the table.”
With food piled on their plates, everyone was silent. Y/n munched on her green beans, trying to pretend she couldn’t feel the tension that filled the air. Saul seemed unfazed, but Y/n knew better than to believe that. He played cool whether he was internally or not. That was how he went through life. He’s acting skills were amazing whether he knew he possed them or not.
“Y/n tells me your a musician,” her father stated, picking through his salad.
“Yeah, I am,” he confirmed.
Her father shook his head, disappointment written all over it. She knew he was hoping for a different answer. “I hear there isn’t much money in that. Have you considered any other career options?”
Y/n let out a sigh, wishing the world would just swallow her whole. It was no surprise to her that this conversation would come up, but she wished it didn’t matter. The average blue-collar job isn’t for everyone, her father should have known that. Her grandfather was a member of the circus for years. Of course, no one talked about it because it wasn’t an acceptable job in their minds, it still paid the bills.
Placing his silverware on the table, Saul thought for a moment before looking the man in the eye. “Well, I have thought of other career options but I have no passion for them. I know, without a doubt, that music will never be boring to me. Plumbing or accounting or anything else, sure I may make more money doing that, but how long until I get bored? And to be honest, sir, money means nothing to me. It may buy you fancy things, but it really can’t buy happiness, that’s found in the heart.”
Y/n’s father was speechless, but not angry like Y/n and her mother thought he would be. His eyes seemed to light up right before his lips tugged into a smile. “That is a better answer than I gave your father,” he turned to his wife, shaking his head. If only he was smart enough to think of an answer like that.
Y/n couldn’t help but smile with him as she realized that Saul was at least acceptable in her father’s eyes. Her mother, well… she would eventually see the same thing Y/n did. But at least there was no fear of them not approving of him.
(Let me know if you want to be added to the permanent taglist and feedback would be appreciated.)
Permanent Taglist: @rexorangecouny @jennyggggrrr @zestygingergirl @slash-me-up @tommyleeownsme @sheldonsherlocktony @teller258316 @fandomshit6000 @lucyboytom
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maybe a investigator!shawn oneshot where he's involved with criminal!reader and like.. unable to resist her??
trapped up on a tightrope | s.m (oneshot)
a/n: sorry this took so long. i was out of inspiration to this one but luckily something popped up into my mind today. by the way, not that anyone cares, my requests are closed and i’m writing the ones i already have. a special thanks to my babey @mbappekylians for giving me a little feedback about this. volim te.
warnings: kinky stuff, dirty talk, kinda smutty, kinda angsty, use of guns, mentions of crimes and swearing. words: 3,297k.
masterlist | previous work
“Why have you dragged me all the way to this place again?” She asks him, her long dress swaying shyly as he comes straight to where she is after closing the door to his hotel room. Shawn must’ve lost count of how many times he failed on gathering proofs against Y/N to finally trap her somewhere else rather than his bed. And this time wasn’t different since he was already cornering her, pinning her to the beige wall of his enormous bedroom on a building that she’s been in before. It sucks so much to get defeated by her silhouette wandering around the hall so delightfully embraced by an expensive red dress that clung to her body so tightly — and sure that cloth wasn’t properly purchased. Neither were the jewelries. As per usual.
“Thought it would bring you some sweet memories,” He says almost whispering, stretching his tattooed arm to limit her space even more. Her makeup is breathtakingly perfect, with sharp and well-defined eyeliner under her long and curved lashes. The unforgettable tone of red colouring her lips matching with the dress — this one disappearing at the middle of her chest where the cleavage showed him all the beginning of his insanity. God, and she wasn’t even trying. “Am I right?” “What a stupid way to remind me about the Carlson case,” She rolls her eyes, letting out a breathy chuckle. “See, Mendes, for an investigator — that’s sure a fool for me, by the way — you should act smoother,” Her sarcastic expression lightens in him the most extreme feelings: the love and the hate. As much as he loves her cocky attitude, it sparkles his nerves with anger. Who the hell does she think she is? “A girl hates when the guy comes off too strong, you know? Pay her a drink before; think before you speak; choose the right words—““I’m not kiddin’, honey,” He softly takes her chin in his thumb and forefinger, tilting her head up a little bit more to look her deep in the eyes. “Let’s not waste our time. I hate this as much as you do,” Shawn can barely see her in the darkness of the room, depending on the moonlight breaking through the balcony’s window to watch her features. It’s poorly, but it’s enough to see the details he admires the most. “But you owe me an explanation, if I’m not mistaken.” “You believed me? When I said I’d give away an information if you helped me sneak out from Edward’s office without making a scene?” At this point, his jaw is clenching and his eyebrows are frowning gradually. “Come on! By now you should know my mind like the back of your hand.”
His mouth threatens to fall open in surprise but he doesn’t let it happen. Instead, he presses his lips together forming a thin line while she smiles devilishly, taking the desire out of him for a moment. Shawn’s hand travels from her chin to her neck and he adds a light pressure, making her close her eyes and bite on her lower lip. Fuckin’ bitch. Nothing seems to ever scare her, she manages to turn it all into a joke and this might be the thing that pisses him off the most.
“You promised me,” Shawn groans lowly, ignoring the sensation of his dress pants getting tighter and the tie around his throat going uncomfortably taut. “And you’re not leaving this building until you spill the tea. Heard me?” “Mm, I like that,” Y/N makes sure to say this as sexy as possible and she knows it worked because he’s now breathing harder, chest moving heavily as he inhales and exhales. “What’s the downside, again?” “You think this is a fuckery, don’t you?” “Is there anything else but that between us?”
Yes, he thinks. An incomprehensible passion for a woman that can pull up the most beautiful lies and make a fool out of anyone she wants effortlessly. He feels handcuffed, ironically. In a prison where he’s locked by mistake, by his mistake of letting Y/N take over his mind like he’s a puppet. Fuckery it is.
“Could you start already and save me some hours?” “Without a kiss first?” She fakes puppy eyes, jutting out her lower lip dramatically in a childish pout. Her hands are coming up his chest, grabbing the collar of his white dress shirt and eventually sliding to play with his tie. “You know how long has it been since I last saw you in a black tie?” Y/N tries to distract him.Shawn stays silent, shoving a punch on the wall with the hand that was giving him support before. “Oh, I see,” Y/N says, jumping lightly in revelation and faking a comprehensive expression exaggeratedly. “You’re mad at me because I wasn’t a good girl. Am I right?” She pulls him closer by the tie, brushing her lips along his jawline as she smells the unforgettable scent of his cologne. Marking him with soft red lines from her lipstick, she watches it nearly mix with the rosy tone adorning his cheeks. “Thinkin’ I don’t deserve a reward for dressing up this good for you today and waste it all by being a brat,” Smirking, she tilts her head to bite at the lobe of his ear and fan her breath against it purposely, earning goosebumps from him in return. “I love it when you get rough but you know how much I hate when you’re quiet for me.” She shifts her leg up his side in order to bring him nearer, forcing his hip towards her with her shin pressed to his ass.In a swift motion, he lifts his thumb from her throat and puts it under her chinbone, still holding her neck by the nape. Inching her head back quickly, he hears it banging weakly against the wall and it makes her hair fall partly in front of her eye. She gasps, out of breath but not defeated enough to stop running her hands down his frame, feeling the muscles of his abs under her palms through his shirt. Shawn steps closer, trapping her hands between their bodies and interrupting her teasing. He knows better and hates that he has to stop her so his mind is clear to think straight. “What do you want to tell me how and why have you killed Carlson Reagan?” He asks with no ceremony. It’s an amusement to look at her being dominated by him, face tilted up at his mercy and her intimidating glance only getting more and more intense. It’s always a fight of who rules over whom. She whines like a baby, squinting her eyes and he knows what it is. Pity. “Aw! Still hurt because I didn’t keep my promise?” Y/N pitches her voice, acting like a regretful teenager who couldn’t fulfill her partner’s expectation. “Or hurt because he took me to bed that night?”
The pain on his face is more than noticeable. Shawn can’t control his impatience and moves his hand to her hair, tugging at the locks and pulling her to his own face.
“Go to the point.” He growls and he’s not sure if it’s because he doesn’t want to believe she fucked with someone else, or because he thinks she’s lying. “Funny of you to interrogate me like that when you could be putting my mouth to a better use,” Lifting one eyebrow cockily, she drags her hand up her own thigh where the fabric of her dress opens to reveal her leg. “You wanna save hours that you could be enjoying instead, right in front of me. Exactly how you are. I’d just, you know… Need some space to knee down and bring you clothes with me, investigator,” Shawn doesn’t notice her hand disappearing inside the flat skirt of her dress and uses his fingers that aren’t tangled in her hair to play with the strap of her cloth. “I’ve been thinking about that gagging thing you’re head over heels for. Reagan wasn’t really into raw sex like you are, kinda boring,” She makes a sad face as she finally feels the material of lace belt around her thigh, sliding her fingers to the outer side of her leg where her gun is at, tucked in and held by the drapery. He’s twirling the strap with his finger, bringing it down her arm and letting it rest there. Eyeing her round breast showing up more, he takes his hand off her to place it on top of his belt. “We could try that. ‘M pretty sure you’re crazy to punish your babygirl tonight, aren’t you? Mm?” Their lips are brushing together now that he’s dropped his face next to hers, his irresistible smile pearling in the soft darkness for his jaw to close no longer after, making her wonder if his teeth might even shatter.
Rapidly, she grabs the gun in a handful while Shawn moves his hand to his pocket, finding his gun. He lets go of her hair and, at the same time, they put the guns out as he takes a step back, pointing the object to her just like she points hers to him.
“Very good, investigator,” Her back leaves the wall and she stands on her heels properly, spine perfectly aligned and straight, ready to react. If they weren’t in a moment of tenseness, he would melt in a puddle for her laugh right now. “Brilliant! Someone’s getting better, eh?”
Y/N loads a bullet, making Shawn do the same and the clicking of the guns sound deafening as it echoes throughout the room. She’s smiling and giggling like this is a moment of joy, walking slowly to him as he keeps on walking backwards. The barrel of her silver gun shines through the nightfall and so do her eyes, standing behind the pipe attentive on him.
“What, Mendes? Cat got your tongue?” Questioning, the noise of her high-heels hitting the wooden floor reverberate as she steps carefully. “You wanted me to talk but I’ve been such a big mouth for most part of the night already,” Shawn’s left arm is supporting his right hand — that’s holding the weapon — and he’s more than observant, fearing any impulsive actions that he knows she’s capable of. He’s seen her fight with guns, without guns and all of these moments made him learn that she’ll definitely not falter. More than pretty, she’s smart. She’s clever. She’s fast. No wonder why she’s been escaping for so long, making his career look like a trash can. “If you were good at investigating, as good as you are at shooting or in bed, you’d find out by yourself that Reagan wasn’t murdered by these hands.” Y/N shakes her hands playfully and his heart miss a beat. Shit, she’s not here to fuck around. “If you’re so innocent, then why do you keep on running from my questions?” With that, Shawn makes her smile fade away gradually and she wears a frightening face, trying to be the winner of this endless battle again. This time, he’s the one who smiles as his back reaches the power switch on the wall behind him, lightening up the room and seeing her face concentrated, brain working hard to build up a way to beat him on arguments. “Not so talkative now, are we?” “What makes you think you can put me down with your pitiable pressure?” “Can see your legs shaking from here.” “Don’t lie to yourself—“ “From all of the times I felt them shivering around my head, let’s say I’m a pro by now. Been making them tremble to me for so many nights, very bold of you to assume I wouldn’t notice so easily.”
Y/N drops her head back and laughs loudly, putting her guard down but totally okay with this, because she knows he won’t do a single thing, too fucked for her to even think about pushing a bullet towards her body. His words surely made her heat wet in anticipation and it’s getting harder for Shawn not to give up and finish what he started, her dress falling more and more as she moves her silhouette next to his between chuckles. As he wants, she’s in front of him and he shifts his gun down below a little bit, hand resting on his own front as he holds the object still. The arm that gave him support before is now going up so he can run his fingers through his brown curls, soon falling to his pocket. Y/N surprisingly fixes her weapon back to its previous state, completely locked and saving the bullets from coming through the metal tube and she tosses it on top of the bed.
“You were right,” She says, getting rid of the remaining strap of her dress and Shawn is more than confused, never putting his weapon down though. “This place brings me sweet memories.” He knows she’s not talking about the crime that’s happened in here. She’s talking about the first night they’ve met right on this same building. She was planning smaller things, like stealing a wonderful diamond necklace she’s been dying for and get some money out of unknown rich people’s wallets. Discreet and charming as only Y/N is, she obviously did it perfectly and as a bonus, she made out with the hottest man of the party in her eyes: Shawn Mendes himself. Since then and since he found out who she really is, it’s been a running back and forth like they’re stuck together by chains. She would never admit, but a few crimes here and there are just to catch his attention and make him come crawling back to her. The only thing he regrets about all of this is falling in love with her before knowing that she carries thousands of accusations, giving his work team a big headache. “What are you doing, Y/N?” Shawn asks, frowning as he watches her unzip her dress and pull it down her frame. She’s wearing a black strapless bra, matching with the belt hugging her right thigh and the lace underwear that he loves so much. Stepping out of her cloth pooled around her feet, she easily removes her heels with her feet and kicks them aside right after. “I’m doing what you really want me to do,” She calls him out unconsciously, looking him in the eyes seriously. “Or do you want to carry on with this little game?” “I told you I’m not kidding,” He prompts, forcing himself to ignore how stunning she looks in that lace set that gets him drooling. Gulping, he loosens the tie around his neck a little as he feels himself hardening to the sight of her. “Stop dissuading.” “You stop dissuading,” Y/N responds faking indignation, closing the space between them but being stopped by the cold metal of his gun. “Making me wait way too much, I’m getting impatient.” “Shut up and tell me what the fuck happened to Reagan.” “I can’t do both, love. I can either have you shutting me up or—“ “I swear to God I’ll—““You’ll what?” There’s a moment of silence after her question, making Shawn decide to put his career and rationality in front of his feelings. They’re glancing at each other, expressions falling flat and Shawn is huffing, puffing his chest and it makes the dress shirt get more constricted to his muscular middle. The anger is clear by the way they’re furrowing their brows, and Y/N makes the first move. Unbuckling his belt and keeping eye-contact, she releases the leather and pulls it away nonchalantly. The material goes behind her head and she lets it rest on her neck, sure that he’s wondering how hot she would look under him with that belt around her throat while her mouth opens for her to moan his name. She tucks the strap into the belt loop and, instead of inserting the pin into the hole, she takes his hand out of his pocket and makes him hold the belt. “You know why I’m not afraid of you, Shawn?” Y/N asks indifferently, undoing the buttons of his shirt and watching his skin being uncovered. Noticing more chest hair than he had last time they were together, she licks her lips and finishes the last buttons calmly. He’s holding the belt without a single dose of strength, too compelled by her body and skilled hand undressing him. “Because I’ve been giving you lots of chances to make your move and you’re letting them pass, as always,” She’s right, though. She let her guard down when she relaxed her body to laugh, as when she threw her gun away and kept on coming closer without a proper weapon to defend herself and, as if it isn’t enough, he’s got his belt decently arranged and ready to choke her at any second. Poor Shawn, too weak and too fucked. “But if you wanna do your thing like you say you want to…” Y/N starts, taking his wrist and closing the space between her and the gun — this one glued to her chest and he feels her heartbeat vibrate through the object, sending motions to his shaking hand. “Then go ahead. You know I’ve got nothing to lose.” “Y/N, what the f—““Go,” She assures, gulping and her eyes are starting to burn but she’s not planning on welcoming any tears. “Pull. The. Trigger.” Shawn squints his nose and his lips part, eyes widening while his fist shivers. She’s never played this far and although his reputation is slowly getting ruined, he’s thinking twice. Her look cuts his heart in half, making his chest ache and blood boil through his veins. “You can’t? Need help?” Her thumb descends and touches the trigger. She tilts her head to the side, making her hair cascade to her shoulder as she waits for his answer. Analysing his face tenderly, she notices the tears pooling in his eyes and they both ask quietly to themselves what the fuck are they doing to their lives? “I—““Again: You know why I don’t fear you?” Imperturbably, Y/N says in a sweet tone as her hands release the grip on his and go to cup his face, digits rubbing lovingly along his cheeks. “Because I know you’d never hurt me. You’re way too much in love with me to rip me apart with your bullets, investigator.” That burning sensation takes over his face and he’s sure he’s blushing, still shocked by this entire situation. As if nothing happened, she walks back and finds her dress long gone on the floor. Before, she catches her gun and puckers it back under the lace adorning her leg and tucks her feet inside the golden shoes. Soon, Y/N throws the dress above her head and covers her body while Shawn is frozen in his place, facepalming and massaging his temples. Why is she so hard to let go? Why can’t she prove him wrong and make him feel less guilty about loving her so much? He’s nothing but a joke when it comes to stalk and inspect her because the end is predictable: he’ll be on top of her, tangled into her legs surrounding his hips as he pounds forcefully inside of her core, making her scream as she praises him and begs for more. That’s all he wanted for tonight, if he’s honest. Shawn hears Y/N zipping up her cloth again and the footsteps back to his direction. She places a hand on his cheek and the other one on the doorknob beside him. “Promise me next time will be funnier than this and I’ll drop the name you’re dying to know,” She finishes and opens the door. “After an orgasm or two, of course.”
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the summers we saw - epilogue
and that’s a wrap! thanks so much for the love and support on this au, it means the world! thanks for reading!
catch up here
Summary: A year ago, the reader almost died in Starcourt mall, and left Hawkins, and Steve Harrington, behind. But now Hopper is alive, and they end up back in Hawkins (aka a rescue mission, old feelings, and plenty of angst)
Word Count: 1.1k
The frustrated voice echoes down the halls of the apartment, followed by stomps and the slow patter of footsteps behind them. The door to your bedroom pops open and Reagan marches in, planting her hands on her hips and fixing Steve with a cold stare.
Steve, laying sideways across your bed with his head in your lap as you read, frowns, sitting up and shoving the half eaten bag of chips beneath the covers. He leans back down, using your thigh to prop his arm on, and giving Reagan an innocent smile.
“Don’t think that just because you’re dating my best friend I won’t murder you for eating my food,” Reagan warns. Robin, close on Reagan’s heels, joins her girlfriend in the doorway, wrapping her arms around her from behind and rest her chin on Reagan’s shoulder.
“Technically,” Steve points out, “you’re dating my best friend, too.”
“Did I ask for your technicalities, Harrington?”
“You agreed to his bullshit when you let them move in,” you remind her, laughing.
“I was tricked,” she says. Robin grins.
“I swear, I didn’t touch your chips,” Steve says. You roll your eyes, shoving him off your leg. He grumbles, pushing himself up and moving to sit against you.
“Try again,” Reagan says. A sheepish grin tugs on Steve’s lips.
“I swear, I will pay you back for the chips.”
Steve rolls his eyes and tugs the near-empty bag out from behind him, shaking it. Reagan’s expression turns murderous, which only amuses Robin, who ducks around her girlfriend to cross the room and take a handful of chips from the bag.
“I’ll buy you another?” Steve asks, cocking a brow. Reagan smiles, satisfied.
“Why, thank you, Steve, you’re so nice for buying me two bags of chips to replace the one’s you so disrespectfully stole.”
Steve climbs off the bed, wrapping up the empty bag and chucking it into the bin by the desk, waggling his brows at Reagan as he slips past her and into the doorway.
“I’m guessing Robin didn’t tell you about the ice cream we ate last night?”
Reagan turns to Robin, eyes narrowing.
“Dude!” Robin exclaims. “Not cool.”
Steve winks at her, heading down the hall, calling, “Or the taquitos!” Behind him as he runs for the kitchen, presumably to take stock of the damage a drunk Robin and Steve wreaked last night after a bottle of wine. Reagan ducks after him, cursing his name, but both their laughter wafts down the hallway quickly after.
Robin flops across your bed, rolling to face you, lips curling up in a smile.
“I heard from Nancy,” she says. “Everyone’s good. Hopper and Joyce are finally getting a place together. Kids aren’t raising too much hell.”
“Good,” you say. “They deserve to be happy. God knows they’ve earned it.”
“So have we.”
You smile, looking around you and Steve’s bedroom and the hallway beyond it, leading to Robin and Reagan’s room and your tiny kitchen and even tinier living room. It’s tight, but at nights, the city wakes up and the smell of the ocean sticks to every brick and tree.
There are no monsters, here, not any real ones. There are skeletons in closets, rattling behind you, and one day, each one of you will have to open the door and shake their hands. On that day, you hope to find them dissolved to dust, incapable of causing any more harm.
“Are you happy?” Robin asks.
You think of Robin and Reagan, giggling together as they cook or press kisses to each other’s cheeks and noses, of their infectious joy. You think of the kids, heading into a world with no monsters. You think of Joyce and Hopper, finding peace after so much chaos.
You think of Steve, and the battles you fought to get here.
“I am,” you say. “I think I really am.”
“Wake up.” The soft voice pulls you out of sleep, and you blink awake to find Steve sitting up above you, a tiny smile on his face.
“What time is it?” You ask groggily, pushing up and wiping your eyes.
“1:30,” Steve says. “Come on. Up and at em.”
“Steve, what on god’s green earth-”
“Oh, hush up, and come with me,” he says. You frown, but climb out of bed, slipping your feet into slippers and padding out into the hallway after Steve, following him through the living room to the balcony door. He pushes it open, stepping out into the dark, and you follow, nudging the door shut behind you.
In the night sky above you, stars dance across the sky, seemingly falling into the abyss.
Steve wraps his arms around you from behind, lips grazing your ear when he whispers, “Meteor shower.”
You lean back against him, his shirt soft and his hold steady, breathing in the smell of the ocean and the sharp, clean scent of Steve’s aftershave.
“It’s incredible,” you whisper.
“Pretty sure that means we get, like, a thousand wishes,” he says. You laugh, twisting in his arms to face him, winding your arms around his neck.
“Yeah? And what’s your first wish?”
He smiles, ducking his head to press a careful kiss to your lips.
“Already got it,” he says. You smile and roll your eyes.
“Okay, Romeo. We get it. You’re romantic.”
“Glad you noticed,” Steve says. His expression turns serious. “I’m serious, though. Last year…when you were gone…this was what I wished for. To have more time with you. To fix things.”
“We’ve got time, now,” you say. Steve smiles, ducking his chin and pressing his face into your neck, arms tightening around you. You bury your face in his chest and grip the fabric of his shirt tightly, etching the lines of this moment into your memory, begging it to stay forever.
“Everyone does,” Steve says. He pulls away, lips curled up in a smile. “All of us have all the time in the world, because of you.”
“Not all me.”
You roll your eyes, turning around in Steve’s arms to look up at the stars, again. The shower is over, but there are still a million worlds up there, a million miles away.
“I love you, you know,” Steve murmurs. “And not just because you saved my ass.”
“Oh, of course. Just a bit.”
You laugh, and Steve’s chest shakes against your back as he laughs, too.
“I love you, too.”
“I know,” Steve says. You snort, and tip your head back against his chest, letting out a breath.
You’ve made a lot of mistakes, and running away was the biggest of them. Sometimes, we don’t get to fix things. Sometimes, we just have to move forward and try to forget.
You got lucky. You got a second chance. And you’ll be damned if you waste it.
Taglist: @with-a-little-bit-of-light @mochminnie @izzylizzybizzy @harrington-ofhawkins @sassisaluxury @used-avocado @prettyathenarising @pies-ducks-and-mangoes @sourapplebaby @lyka-k @mightstudysoon @m-blasterrr @random-thoughts-003 @comedy-witch
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I’m sorry, we’ve never spoken, I just saw the tags “next you’ll tell me the vampire cycle is superhero pushback/everything old is new” on a recent post and I was just very struck by that comment. I’ve heard of the 30 year cycle for fashion but I’ve never thought about it in relation to genre, but I can see the truth in what you’re saying. If you had anyone more thoughts on this subject I would love to heard them—or even reading recommendations on this phenomenon. It seems right up my alley.
Your choice to use social media for a social purpose warms my frosted over soul. Thanks. I gave it half a day to see if an answer worthy of a good ask came to me, but it didn’t happen so I’m just going to babble. :)
Yes, media themes are definitely cyclical. Through a series of strange turns I have several friends who’ve been trad pubbed off and on for 20 plus years. They all complain about being encouraged as authors to brand themselves and then finding themselves branded on the wrong side of a trend at various points. One in particular writes historicals, but I’ve heard the same story for western, spiritual, and “chick lit”. She did wonderfully (according to her) for about six years. (I don’t know. I was in elementary school then.) Then historicals went out of fashion and her publisher dropped her. This was before the era of self-pub, so when your publisher dropped you the only thing you could do was hunt for another publisher. None of the publishers wanted historicals, at least not in sufficient bulk to support all the authors who had come into the genre when it was booming. She ignored her agent’s advice to write something else and instead built up a stack of material that would be ready to go when historicals came back around again. They did. Her agent sent out her whole stack of manuscripts that no one had wanted the years before and she sold so many of them she needed a second pen name. (They used to only let an author publish one book on a name per year.) Then historicals went out of fashion again and she couldn’t sell again. Her skill hadn’t changed. The defining characteristics of her area of fiction hadn’t change. The desire of major corporations to bet on the profitability of that area of fiction had changed.
The superhero movies I mentioned in the tags you saw have always been burning along in the background. X-Men existed. Fantastic Four. Some Batmans. A few others. And then in 2008 Iron Man really kicked off the age of the Superhero movie. IMO, it’s not coincidental that all those actor contracts burned out more or less at the same time and Marvel/Disney is moving those characters into TV shows instead of blockbusters. It’s been almost 12 years. The superhero cycle is about over. Whether it’s declining quality as that cash cow theme is milked to death and adulterated so it seems fresh or if people just have limited attention spans for a particular genre of entertainment I can’t say.
I don’t really know if Vampires and Superheroes are in an alternating cycle or not. I was just feeling kind of sarcastic. I do know vampires cycle in and out of pop culture. I’m old enough to remember the age of Anne Rice (first book in 1976, hottest as a book in the late 80s, not a movie until 1994 which was a little late in the vamp trend), Twilight (books 2005-2008, movie 2008.) Interestingly (at least to me) The Vampire Diaries original books were 1991-1992 and the TV show started in 2008. It hit both waves.
So what causes the trends? One theory is that vampire popularity represents fear of Republicans (or at least the pop culture stereotype of who Republicans are). Vampires are invariably rich and powerful, they dominate and manipulate the population for their own needs regardless of the damage it does to the common man. They can turn the narrative. Mind control / cultural control. Low key and high key threats to personal safety and body control. They convince people to work against their own interests. The threat is clear if you’re looking for it, but it’s wrapped in velvety code words. Sound like modern descriptions of Republicans? Note that Anne Rice surged at the end of the Reagan era and Twilight came on the heels of Bush 2.
(And werewolf popularity cycles used to be claimed as fear of Democrats who empowered the base instincts of man and worked to destroy societal norms. Werewolves used to be held up as man’s inherent evil unrestrained by his rationality and morality. That’s not how we generally see them used in media these days and instead we get a lot of found family and pack dynamics. Werewolf of London and traditional Van Helsing stories saw them differently.There’s a lot of commentary out there on racism and werewolf fiction but this post is already long enough and that’s more about cultural and media evolution than genre cycles.)
To wrap up a rather long ramble, I don’t know if there really is a vampire - superhero cycle or what causes it. I do think we’re headed out of a long stretch of superhero as the top of the pop culture heap. Thanks for a good ask!
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Member: Eventual Hyungwon/OC, mentions of Wonho/OC, OC/ OC
Warning(s): Language, domestic violence, discrimination, dark themes
August 15th, 2019
Seoul, South Korea
Every step that I took sent a pang of dread up and down my spine where it nestled in my brain and reminded me how much I didn’t want to be here. Maybe it was the pinch of my heels or the fact that it was 11 in the morning and I still hadn’t had my morning coffee. Maybe it was the fact that I was dreading dealing with my boss, a man of admirable skills but very old-fashioned ideals. But in the end, as I stared at the door to the meeting room I decided that it was because I didn’t want to deal with the topic at hand.
There was another damned dating scandal and the whole building was buzzing because of it.
Rolling my eyes, I did everything I could to steel myself at the knowledge I would be sitting through another round of ‘who is wrong because I’m never wrong’ with the company’s legal team. It was a chore itself just to open the door and take my spot near the head of the table. Soon the room was filled to the brim with men that all had sour looks on their faces.
Doing a quick tally, I counted practically the entire Starship Legal Team ranging from the corporate stooges to the entire Monsta X team, to even a few members of the other artist’s teams. Almost everyone was here because the scandal, despite not being public knowledge yet, was extremely high-profile. It wasn’t often that an idol decided to shack up with an international pop star.
The meeting began with honorifics and a brief on the situation at hand. The senior partner on the team, Mr. Park, spat out all the details as if they personally offended him and his family. Lee Hoseok, also known as Wonho, was currently in a long-distance relationship with singer Reagan Brooks after he met her on the Jingle Ball circuit. They were friends first and foremost, doing public events together when she came to Korea in March and somehow, they were able to keep the relationship quiet until a nosy intern came crying to the company. Shidae called for an inquiry into his contract by the legal team, thus culminating into the cesspool of old-school testosterone that was brewing in the conference room.
“After overlooking his contract,” droned Mr. Park, “It can be argued that Hoseok-goon did not formally violate his dating agreement. However, I’d like to recommend sanctions against him and a formal remand to end the relationship.” I cringed at a mix of the condescending honorific as well as the collective murmur of agreement from the other men in the room.
“This relationship is unacceptable for an idol in his standing, and it should never have begun in the first place,” cried one of the members of the WJSN legal team. If I didn’t have a sour taste in my mouth before, I did now.
‘Those poor girls,’ I thought as he continued to argue in favor of sanctions.
“All in favor?”
Every person in the room, save for me, raised a hand. This did not go unnoticed by Mr. Park, and the glare that he sent my way was intense. He did not like me in the slightest, often citing my connections as the only reason as to how I got this job. He was against me from the beginning— be it because of my last name or my sex— and there was always a tension between us.
“Mrs. Hamlin?” he seethed, eyes flitting up and down with distaste.
“Well, Mr. Park,” I said as I cleared my throat, ready to give my take on it despite the multiple pairs of angry eyes looking at me. “Despite the call for sanctions against Lee Hoseok, we legally cannot file them against him.”
“And why not?” He looked at me like I spat in his face, but after a year of his abuse, I was far from scared of his perpetually angry look.
“His contract states that he isn’t allowed to date until three years after the band’s debut date or until they have two wins, whichever comes first,” I tell him pointedly, looking down at my copy of the contract where I highlighted and marked prevalent points in it. “It has been four years since their debut and multiple wins, therefor he fulfilled that aspect of the contract.”
“We understand that—”
“Furthermore,” I said, forgetting hierarchy and not letting him finish, “Beyond the parameters of the dating restriction, his contract does not outline what will happen to him or the band should he choose to date after the prerequisites have been met. The contract simply moves on to his allowances and expenditures in the dorm. Legally,” putting a lot of emphasis on the word, “we cannot change or amend his contract to fit your moral ideals.”
The last sentence caused an uproar. It was like a bomb went off in the room as many of the lawyers cried out in anger. I understood that it wasn’t the best choice of words, but the law is the law. Despite being educated in America, Contract Law in Korea was virtually the same. Contracts cannot be amended at a whim and this was a case example of adherence over adaption.
“Mr. Park,” I hissed over the uproar, “You know that we cannot amend his contract without having a summit, drafting a new one, and forcing him and all the other members to renew their contracts prematurely. It would cost a lot of time and money to do so.”
The anger in his eyes told me that he was pissed off, but the slouch in his shoulders told me that he knew I was correct. “Enough,” he shouted over the voices of the other lawyers. They silenced instantly, but there was still a palpable tension in the room. “What do you suggest then Mrs. Hamlin.”
Clearing my throat, I flipped to the last page of my brief. I had outlined a plan of attack that would maintain the Starship ideals but keep from breaching his contract. “I suggest that we work with Ms. Brooks’ team. We keep the media out of it and work collectively to keep the whole thing quiet. They can meet on their own dimes, but the terms will be set by both managements. Everything must be quiet, discrete, and maintain a zero-tolerance for social media.”
Mr. Park leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face as he stewed over my plan of attack. I knew I was right, and he knew I was right even though he didn’t want to admit it. “Alright,” he said with a groan, “We will work with the American team to connect with Ms. Brooks’ management. But in the meantime, you,” he said pointing to me, “will be the one to tell him and Hongsik to stay home. No unexplained trips or outings with her until this is settled.”
“That is all. I want the Monsta X team notified today.” With that, he stood up and began to gather the papers scattered in front of him. I felt the fury within me begin to bubble, but I bit my tongue because I knew there was no getting out of what Mr. Park said. The command held the weight of a ton of bricks, and I felt the beginnings of a headache start to pound behind my eyes.
Gathering my things, I practically ran out of the room, ignoring all the nasty looks of my coworkers and team members. My heels clicked as I made my way into my office, and I could only guess that I had a sour look on my face because Seyoung was standing by my desk with a cup of coffee and a bottle of painkillers in hand.
“You’re an angel,” I groaned taking both eagerly. I popped a few and washed them down with the coffee before kicking my heels off and leaning back in my chair with an overexaggerated groan. “Can you find me an intern please?” Grabbing a notepad, I began to work on the task that was draining all my energy.
“Be right back,” he said before dutifully filing out of the room and returning a few moments later with a bright-eyed young woman.
“Take this memo to Hongsik on the fourth floor. Tell him that it is imperative that he, his staff, and the members arrive promptly.” I handed her a folder with the handwritten note. She nodded eagerly and pranced out of my office like a chipper doe. Normally I’d be amused by her enthusiasm, but the pounding behind my eyes was growing stronger and stronger.
“Rough morning so far?” Seyoung asked as he leaned against the doorway.
“You have no idea.” I slipped on a comfortable pair of flats and chugged on my coffee as I thought about a plan of attack for the meeting I was dreading. “I’m just good at my job and that means that I get the bitch work. It’s fine.”
“Well if it will help, do you want me to get you more coffee and some refreshments for the meeting I’m guessing you’re going to be hosting?”
I only gave him a pathetic pout and nod, finishing off the hot, bitter lifeblood in the cup. I tossed it and began to outline a brief for the meeting. I was meticulous when it came to the do’s and do not’s on the list that it was almost painful with the amount of effort I was putting in. Here I was, a partner under Starship, doing the work of an associate. I was thankful for my position and the opportunities I had been afforded the last year, but the blatant prejudice against me was really beginning to wear me down.
Granted, I came into the position with marks against me. I’d only been out of law school for a year before I was “offered” the partner position at Starship. It was a mix of nepotism, bribery, and threats that made me physically ill when I thought about them. However, for the last two years, I had become an expert at burying the darkest aspects of my life. It was like taking a layer of clothing off and throwing it into a bin. Shedding those parts of me became second nature. From the circumstances of my job to my marriage, everything worked against me in an effort to make me crumble. But I worked too damn hard to get to where I was.
Running my hands through my dark hair, I ticked down the minutes with busy work. Making sure everything was set for the meeting, I put my heels back on and began to pour cups of water from a pitcher that Seyoung graciously brought me. Everything was perfect for the awkward, and hopefully short, conversation that I would have to have with the group and their team.
The meeting was set to start at 3 PM sharp, but by 3:05 I was clicking my pen with nerves. By 3:15 the nerves began to die down and unadulterated annoyance began to take their place. By 3:35 I was pacing in my uncomfortable heels as I worked to calm my stewing mind. It didn’t help, rather the pacing just made me angrier.
“Seyoung!” My assistant scrambled through the door, surprised at my sharp tone. His wide eyes were fixated on my hands which were currently clenched so hard that my nails were cutting little crescent moons into my palms. “Find the schedule for Monsta X. If they are in the building I want to know where they are.”
With a nod, he dutifully returned to his desk and within seconds I had the exact location of the sources of my anger. Taking the elevator down to the third-floor practice rooms I stomped my way through the Starship building, scaring associates and interns alike with my angry eyes and gently bleeding palms.
I could hear the music coming from the biggest room the moment I stepped off the elevator. The deep vocals and house beats vibrated through the halls, beckoning me on my way as I rehearsed a scolding in my mind. By the time I reached the door the music was blaring, and I just wanted the thumping to stop. It aggravated the pounding that had returned to behind my eyes, and it only made me that much angrier.
Opening the door, I walked in to see the seven idols rehearsing their choreography with their team standing around watching them like hawks. No one even seemed to notice me come in and somehow that only added to my frustration.
“Pardon!” I yelled, my native language coming out though my reddening vision as I honed in on their manager. No one heard me, which prompted me to stomp over to the in-house sound system and pull the aux chord out of the speaker. A shrill pitch rang out, startling everyone and causing them to finally notice my appearance. The Monsta X members were in mid-position, some falling as the music cut out and they were awkwardly pulled out of their concentration. The team was scrambling to find out what cut the music, only to give me shocked looks at the anger on my face and the chord dangling from my fingers.
“Mrs. Hamlin what—” their manager, Hongsik, asked stepping forward. But I wasn’t in the mood to hear what he had to say. I quickly cut him off, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at him with rage.
“Ta gueule,” I shouted in French, quickly switching back to Korean. “You were supposed to be in my office forty-five minutes ago!”
“For what?” Hongsik looked at me with wide eyes at my harsh demeanor. He and I had met in passing multiple times and he was a pleasant man who I had always gotten along with, but right now that established acquaintanceship was out the window.
“I sent a messenger down here to tell you and your team to be in my office at 3 PM sharp.” I hissed the last word venomously, glaring at the older man fearlessly. “We have come to a decision about Hoseok’s relationship.” The blonde-haired boy in question looked down at his feet in shame at the mention of his name.
I gave the idol a once over, before looking at the rest of the Monsta X team with fury in my eyes. I dropped the chord on the floor and moved to walk out the door. “My office, now.” My voice was a dark whisper, offering no room for protest. I turned the handle to the door and slammed it, not looking back to see if anyone was following.
The meeting itself went well once the team and Hoseok finally made their way in. All of them were understanding of the terms, and surprisingly the idol was very complacent. Despite the relatively acrimonious first impression, Hoseok seemed like a nice guy who had genuine concerns for both the happiness of his fans and his girlfriend.
It only took an hour before I dismissed them, handing over my card to Hoseok just in case some of the other partners tried to change the terms of his contract again. He seemed appreciative, bowing deeply and giving me a beautiful dimpled smile that would have made any other woman swoon.
The rest of the day went on as usual, with the typical snide remarks from my colleagues and the copious amounts of busywork. I left the building at my average time with a wave to Seyoung before going outside and sliding into the car that my husband sent for me. The ride with his driver was silent, something that I had grown accustomed to after two years of marriage. It only took approximately five minutes to arrive at the lavish apartment complex, but he always insisted that I take the car rather than walk.
My feet ached painfully by the time I took the elevator to the top floor of the building and stepped out into the spacious penthouse. Every bone was screaming for release from the Louboutin pumps, and I finally gave them a respite as I walked through the threshold.
Damien was sprawled on the couch, intently starting at a news broadcast playing over his massive TV. Nothing was said, and he didn’t even acknowledge my presence as I made my way over to him and pressed a chaste kiss to his head.
“Hi baby,” I cooed against his soft dark hair, touching his cheek gently. He only grunted in response, and I took that as permission to leave him alone for the time being. I padded over into the master bedroom, quickly stripping out of my suffocating tights and pencil skirt in favor of a pair of leggings and a faded Georgetown t-shirt.
After a quick wash up, I made my way out to begin preparing dinner. Every move I made was quick and silent, the only noise in our expansive house was the droning of the TV and the sizzle of the chicken breasts in the pan. By the time dinner was ready, Damien had made himself comfortable at the dining table with his phone in hand. Like a good little wife, I plated everything and set it down in front of him with a glass of his favorite wine. Placing another kiss to his head, I got my own dinner ready and joined him at the table. The monotonous evening was something I was used to, the silence a lovely companion in comparison to the times when one or both of our tempers got the best of us.
Damien was clicking away on his phone in between bites of food. There would be no show of thanks or any words of appreciation, but I’d more than likely find some expensive piece of jewelry or perfume sitting on my vanity by the end of the week.
The rest of the evening was silent as the grave, save for the clicking of Damien’s iPhone and my fingers hitting the keys on my laptop. We both worked after dinner for a few hours, practically ignoring each other. I didn’t show it outwardly, but every second of silence felt like a knife was being pushed deeper and deeper into my chest. At one point in time, we were so passionately and intensely in love, neck-deep in a honeymoon phase that seemed endless. We would worship each other and whisper affirmations of love until the sun came up during a time where I was so blissfully happy that I didn’t see the red flags.
I don’t know when it all changed, but somehow everything fell through my fingers like grains of sand.
Eventually, Damien and I retired into our bedroom. He was laying on the bed, phone still in hand with his body shining in the dim lamplight. I was finishing up my routine at the vanity, watching him from the corner of my eye. He was so beautiful as he relaxed at the end of the day, and I felt like I could potentially pretend we were how we used to be.
“Damien,” I cooed as I ran a brush through my hair. “Your birthday is in two days and I was planning on making reservations at—.”
“I’m leaving for London in two days. Raincheck.” He grumbled, not even giving me an opportunity to finish my thought.
I set the brush down hard, shaking my vanity but barely phasing my lounging husband. “You just got back from Singapore and now you are leaving again?” My frustration that accumulated throughout the entirety of the day came raging back in a tidal wave of emotions. I watched him through the mirror, angry at how he didn’t even look up from his phone at the obvious distress in my voice.
“Did you have another way for me to spend my day?” He was completely monotone, never looking up from the illuminated screen.
“Yes actually,” I said, my voice coming out as a broken cry. “I wanted to take you to this restaurant. Seyoung said it was wonderful and—.”
For the second time that night he interrupted me. However, this time around his attention was no longer focused on the device in his hand. Rather he was completely honed in on me, eyes alight with familiar fury. “Seyoung?” he hissed cynically, quickly switching from nonchalant to suspicious within a second’s notice.
It was one of his major flaws: he was insanely jealous. That dark part of him used to turn me on in a way that was unique to us, but after the wedding, the envy within him took a much more sinister turn. There were some things that makeup couldn’t completely cover-up.
I regretted saying Seyoung’s name instantly. I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath, awaiting the cold touch of his hands on my body. I held in my jumping heart when I felt soft, yet firm fingers wrap around the column of my throat. They squeezed gently, forcing my head up as he hovered over me with a menacing snarl on his rugged face. “You and your assistant made plans together? Did you get cozy with him while discussing my birthday dinner?” Every word made him squeeze harder until my breathing was completely cut off.
Gasping as the sensation, I felt tears begin to gather in the corner of my eyes. The lack of oxygen mixed with pure fear had me cowering under his hands. His other hand came around and began to pop open the buttons of my sleep shirt. I began to see black spots in the corner of my eyes as the absence of air began to overtake my body. My hands tried to claw his away, but he just gave me an evil smirk at my struggle.
When he finally let go of my neck I fell forward onto my vanity, knocking products off the table in my effort to soothe my burning lungs. I didn’t have a single opportunity for respite before his hands came down to grasp my waist in a vice grip. He pulled me up roughly and pushed me forward onto the vanity. The edge of the table cut into my hips as he leaned into my body with bruising hands that groped and grabbed anywhere they could find purchase.
Damien bit the skin at the juncture of my neck, causing me to cry out in pain as the tears finally fell over my lashes. “I don’t like other men touching my things,” he whispered harshly into my neck before taking the lapels of my shirt and completely ripping it in half and bending me over the vanity.
A/N: I UPLOADED THE WRONG VERSION I’M SO SORRY! Here is the prologue of Viva! Next chapter will feature Hyungwon. Let me know what you think! Gif is not mine.
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Batwoman Episode Three Talk *Spoilers*
Are we not doing the normal Arrowverse monologue? I miss it. The diary narration is cool but... I miss the opening monologue.
Nightmare flashbacks, I wonder who the fuck Beth was living with? Who turned her into Alice? Did Alice live with a serial killer?
Who the fuck is running Wayne Enterprises besides Luke & Kate??
Hand puppets to get Batwoman's attention, childish.
Alice is blunt as fuck, Horny for Batman, did she take notes from Bo from Lost Girl.
Why does Alice have a boyfriend in the first place?
Negotiations? Innocent peoples lives for a boyfriend? Sounds weird but nice try.
Is Kate the Younger Twin?
Does Beth have split personality? Alice is the girl she became to protect herself from her hellish post-accident life but Beth is buried somewhere inside her mind??
Fucking commercials always indicate someone dying. Poor fellow.
Elliot Estates? Dumb name.
Training with your husband while thinking of your ex-girlfriend you never told him about? Go. To. Therapy. Sophie boxing? With her husband? I guess that's healthy? I mean, if they were working on their own personal issues instead of Sophie's issues with Kate... maybe.
Commander must adore Soph to be that much of a considerate shade of Asshole. Also because Soph is too blunt for them to not be close in some way.
Why is Soph wanting to protect Mary? Its not going to get her closer to Kate.
Vesper, you beautifully voices woman!
Mary is a sweetheart, and decent at acting drunk/hungover to safe face for her clinic.
Mary is so fucking sassy to her sister's ex-girlfriend.
Why blame Commander Kane for your idea Soph?!
Kate getting defensive over the desk, aww.
Tommy Elliot is already a cunt before he showed up at that desk.
'Candy Kane' would be a cute nickname, if this guy didn't immediately give me a bad feeling.
Fuck Tommy for bringing that shit up to Kate like it doesn't already fuck her up. How the fuck does Tommy Elliot know Bruce is Batman?
Tommy Elliot wants to prove he's the most damaged, bigger ego-ed, richer, jerkwad of Gotham. And instead he goes psycho. Kate was right, Bruce's is bigger - He didn't go psycho. Even though, that comment was inappropriate but also forgivable given how she was attacking his ego not the physical aspects of Tommy vs Bruce. Metaphorical not realistical.
Wayne Tech, how the fuck is it still up and running?
I like how they reference weapons and explain them in a slightly normal way before Kate uses them later.
Pretty sure the dummy and faux blood and spray paint was Tommy Elliot, not anyone else.
Is there a Tommy Elliot Comic Counterpart that becomes a villain?
Vesper sassing Batman is fucking hilarious.
Mary checking out that guy and Soph interrupting it, cockblock.
Soph grilling Mary for information about Kate is fucked
Luke yelling while wearing the noise cancelling headset is cliche but funny. I wonder if they had to have Ruby say screaming because her accent came out too much when she said Yelling.
A gun that can penetrate the Batsuit? Why in the fuck would that exist without a fail safe?
Kate feeling the sting of being hit with a bullet while not actually being in the suit, she's already formed a relationship with the suit even though she refused to take up the mantle.
Kate sassily decides to go ask Tommy about knowing about Bruce and Batman only to be shocked about Luke telling her to put on the suit.
I still wanna know how Alice broke into the Kane house.
She messily puts in the lipstick, finds the perfume gross smelling, wears a crow uniform, Licks a cupcake and puts it back, downs a martini, reads the invite, smashes the family picture, kills a crow that knows her name with no hesitation but mocks Kate's disappointment. All of these acts seem to mean something to her, and I wonder what that is.
I still wanna know how Alice broke into the Kane house.
Why is Alice dicking around in a crows house??
Why did Alice kill him? and How did he know her name??
She messily puts in the lipstick, finds the perfume gross smelling, wears a crow uniform, Licks a cupcake and puts it back, downs a martini, reads the invite, smashes the family picture, kills a crow that knows her name with no hesitation but mocks Kate's disappointment. All of these acts seem to mean something to her, and I wonder what that is.
Kate looks hot as fuck - Hair a little less upwards, one singular dangle earring, p/leather leggings or jeggings, black over-sized suit jacket, a lacy shirt, heeled boots (that i'm pretty sure are from Hot topic? with the metal backing on the heels), Minimal dark make up, one singular shiny bracelet/watch, and her tattoos peaking out. Why did Sophie marry a man again?
The fucking shock, confusion, and pure "what the fuck" that crossed Kate's mind when she stepped into the elevator lmfao. Great acting on Ruby's part.
Mary's facial expression then Kate's "I’m sorry" makes me aww. Did anyone else think the conversation about "Go radio silent on socials" was actually code about the Clinic in a way?
Awkward fucking elevator ride, Love the broke tension Mary.
The blond is pretty. I think I have a similar, longer version of her dress. I'd definitely let Ruby Rose check me out like Kate did Reagan.
Tyler you poor unsuspecting fool.
I'd love it if Reagan is telepathic, like a meta human, and that's how she knew that stuff. Bartenders can be good but, she was a little too spot on with Kate.
I love how Kate was impressed by Reagan pouring herself a shot, like she didn't expect it.
Tyler and Kate talking makes me feel... sad for Tyler. Soph never told her husband she secretly fucked Kate Kane at the academy.
Reagan is hot, and if Kate doesn't fuck around with her - I will.
Daddy Kane and Kate Kane have similar taste in people, they both hate Tommy.
I love how Kate brings up twin intuition even though she made a deal, and her father walked a way uncomfortable because he can't bear the idea of Alice being Beth.
Kate setting her sights on Tommy, she looked hot albeit out of place.
Mary trying to convince her mom to let her have more elbow room, just so she can sneak out to her clinic.
Tommy is a fucking dickbag "took five years but I'm finally looking down on Bruce Wayne", You are competing with someone who you already won against - you have your parents, family, the weight taken off your shoulders, a fuck ton of money, and could have any girl you want. Fuck the fuck off.
Kate's "Here I thought I was his favorite cousin, not even a phone call" was so well said as to point out she knows Bruce better than Tommy thinks he does. It was subtle, sarcastic, but right on the money.
Nice lie Kate, make him find the gun even though your bullshitting. Nice, very 'Oliver Queen' of you. I'm proud, sure he would be too.
Fucking Bach. Can people pick another one of his songs, its the same fucking one in ever fucking movie and show. Pick something different, or fuck just pick a different artist all together.
Alice tormenting Commander with the instrument, the song, and just toying with the idea that she might really be his daughter makes me laugh for some reason, its oddly well thought out. She will get in his head though, eventually.
Alice bearing the disappointment and heartbreak Beth felt being left behind... heart shattering.
King of the Crows... he should become scarecrow... maybe.
Alice just casually waltzed away from the window, sifted through the box, and the likely promptly ditched the fuck outta there.
That box is all of Beth's life, and Alice still feels the pain of it.
Maybe Alice is to Beth what Frost is to Caitlin? At least she saw the search Map.
Aww poor Mary basically getting dragged away by her guards.
Kate... you smart girl, following him right to the gun. That conversation about Tommy being less than. Tommy is psychotic in every aspect.
Tommy talked to the fucking Riddler?! The Riddler knows Bruce's identity? [If they follow the Gotham story line that kinda makes sense]
Tommy hates his mom that much? The fuck
Kate didn't expect him to have a contingency plan to draw Batman out... not smart sweets.
Kate immediately going to help the victims is why she's a good hero.
I wonder how many people actually did in that fall, we only saw a handful still moving during Kate and Mary's scenes with them.
Kate's concern for people is what makes her a hero, she even apologizes to the man she pulls attention too. Her obsession with Alice/Beth, her dedication to Bruce, her hatred towards Batman then forgiveness towards him, her affection of Sophie, all of that doesn't matter. Her heart does.
Tyler had the worst fucking timing, you are stuck in an elevator, have this martial spat in private in your home. Shut the fuck up.
Step Mom Kane doesn't seem as maternal as she acts, she also seems to be rooting for someone's death... get a divorce.
Mary and Soph would be cute friendship - if Soph wasn't in a triangle.
Luke and Kate having a heart to heart with honesty towards Bruce ever coming back.
Mary saves a life like a bawse!!
Where did they get the spray paint from? Did Luke spray it or did Kate? Where did they get a wig? Did they go shopping while this time limit is happening.
Dicking with Tommy by 'flying' around him, how "Flash/Firestorm vs Tokamak" of you. I fucking 🎶Love🎶 it.
Did she seriously Now get a voice changer? Her voice seems edited whereas with Dodgson it wasn't.
[[I keep getting Ads for The Tomorrow People, should I watch it? Is it any good??]]
Batman's side piece? Gross.
She forgot to charge the glove... cute. She's still learning.
She just stabbed him in the leg... I think they cut Luke's question of "What are you doing?" because her "Stalling" sounded like an answer not a confirmation.
She saves her Dad and Stepmom, without knowing whose in the elevator, but lets the other elevator drop... she didn't know it was empty??
She forgot to charge the glove?! LMFAO I'd do that!
Kick his ass Kate!!!!!
She saves her dad, but let the other elevator drop not knowing if there were other people in it???
He's so psychotic that he literally steps on her hand.
Alice to the rescue!!!
"and im the crazy one" I love that. She's literally insane yet the red wig is the drawn line lmfao.
Alice saving Kate makes me happy.
She took off the cowl yet has almost perfect hair... woman. really mess up you hair!! You'd probs looks hot as fuck.
Kate's appreciation of Alice saving her life only for Alice to crash the moment. Kate wants her to leave to keep her safe yet Alice is annoyed.
The red being the color of the birthstone is a nice poetic touch.
Alice ruined the moment again, jerk.
Alice touching Kate's face is probably because she hasn't seen her in so fucking long its a wonderment for her to feel her sister again when their Twins and have been connected their whole lives.
The laugh about the wig having roots, nice joke Alice.
Kate trying to talk Alice back into Beth.
So Alice wants Kate to stop thinking of her as Beth? But she was willing to prove she is actually Beth by cutting her palm? Alice really does seem like Season Four Killer Frost "Beth is gone"/"I'm not Caitlin"
Sending Tommy to Arkaham... Smart.
Reagan is cute, I love how she was worried for Kate whom she just met and Kate checked in on her. I love the bluntness between the two!! Please tell me she isn't a bad guy!
Is Soph really jealous?? She's fucking married?! Soph, don't be jealous, your married. Mary slap her for us.
Two of Hearts, Eight of Cloves, and Three of Diamonds?? What does Alice, Catherine, and those numbers/cards have in common?
Commander Kane is finally starting to believe!!! Yes! Catherine, you do not live up to the legacy of your name you dick.
Batlady? Batchick? Really?! Did Sophie call that name in? otherwise it won't stick...
I hope Soph phoned in that name, otherwise we'll end up with something stupid.
Sophie definitely knows that Kate is Batwoman.
When is the reference episode to the Arrowverse cross over going to happen? I need to know and understand the fucking timeline.
I kinda think that Alice is Beth's alter, like she had disassociative identity disorder and Alice is her protector. That's why Alice remembers being Beth but "Beth is gone" because Younger Beth is 'asleep' in their shared mind or too afraid to come out yet Alice is acting out with anger now because she had to go through the hell that she was made to protect Beth, Maybe as an alter she's resentful towards the host? Is that possible? Maybe she blames Beth but because she can't hurt her, she hurts her family via payback and revenge.
☆Side Note:: I watched this episode only twice instead of my normal three, I've been a bit busy -Which is also why this is a day later than it has been-, so excuse me if anything is wrong or they explained something in the episode☆
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New Blurb! (Excerpt)
Author’s note: Well.. not new. Just new to any viewers besides the two people that I’ve bothered for their opinions long enough. I know they’re sick of me 😭.... anyways it’s been a while since I posted any writing. I miss it and I’ve been feeling off. And that ask I got a while ago inspired me. So. Yeah. Here it is. Another random scene “blurb” from my story which has been newly titled, “The Chosen.”
It’s funny cause I’m posting this and you guys have zero context or any understanding of who these characters are and how they relate to each other. And why they’re normal but magical and .... It’s just so much. I hope I get the time... and a break after this surgery I have to have to get back in it and start over. But Idk it’s the end of the semester after all.
Cayla [Cameron + Nyla] Scene - “Being Different”
Nyla let out a small breath of air and opened glassy eyes. She was alone in her room, back against the wall beside her bed frame. With trembling legs dangling off the edge of her bed, as she glares at the empty bed the opposite side of the room. Her fingers dig into the covers under her legs, palming desperately at the sheets for something grounding in the quiet room. Nyla tries desperately, to stop her body from shaking.
She couldn’t believe that they left her alone.
Upon feeling a whimper threatening to rise, the brunette growls at the air, masking it. Her wolf was jittery and on edge under her skin, mimicking her own distress. The sound of tapping along her window startle her and she glances quickly at the window, stance defensive, then slowly relaxed as she realizes a scrapping tree is making the sound. Goosebumps begin bubbling in her skin as she becomes aware of the cool air streaming through the window.
Nyla plants her feet along the ground and dashes to the window closing it swiftly. And then immediately regrets her decision, as she turns to find the empty room feels more confined than it did before. Nyla closes her eyes, leaving against the windowsill and forces herself to breathe, again.
She was fine. She had to be. She couldn’t not be fine.
Because if she wasn’t… Flashes of punctured flesh and torn clothing appear behind her eyelids. The ringing sound of a gunshot loud, deafening, thrumming against her temple. Then beats of silence follow, And then, screaming. And blood. So much blood. And trembling hands.
Nyla snaps her eyes back open and sits up. And presses the back of her hand to her mouth to hold back a wave of nausea.
The same hands that- Fuck!
She begins pacing at human speed across her floor, growling into the air. Her thoughts were running frantic as she paced quick enough across the carpet of her dorm to wear a hole in the space.
She cursed herself immediately for her train-of-thought and walked towards the door. She couldn’t stay here alone.
But as her hand curled around the door knob to open it she paused. Where would she go?
She thought back to Deigo. Her fingers tightened around the door knob. It was just so ...complicated. She just wanted it to not be...
Nyla’s stance straightened as her head raised and eyes widened with her realization. And she yanked her door open and she headed out of the room with a newfound determination.
She knew exactly what she needed.
Cameron raises his hands over his miniature paper craft creatures. Watched with narrowed eyes as the paper models of a dragon began to shift and his fingers began to tingle.
The tingling increased and swirls of blue swam down his hand in strings. He held his breath and raised up the tip of his index struggling to not break the energy tie, as he puppeteered them.
He desperately tried to contain his excitement as he watches them begin to animate.
Cameron’s jaw clenched as he forced the energy down his arm. He tried to concentrate, but as the blue wings began to flap and the green scales of his mini mermaid began to glimmer, his mind drifted to the thought of another pretty green thing. And before long flashes of vivid fiery emerald orbs glittered in his memory and he couldn’t help but sigh.
And, then yelp as pain took over.
He cursed as his tingling fingers began to burn and lit in blue hued flames and he shook his hand furiously to put out the magical fire. Fuck. Dammit.
Everytime he thought of her. Her dark brown curly hair. Her sexy little smirk. Her eyes that seemed to peel him open by just glancing him...
He closed his eyes and shook his head. He raised his hands again and started again with the energy transfer, watching as his blue strings of magic brought the creatures to life. Even then as they animated, he couldn’t stop thinking of Nyla.
After all that had happened the fact that he couldn’t get his mind off her was insane. He couldn’t even focus on his main Energy Control project.
Surely she didn’t want to be alone right now. Not after everything. Seeing her face after it happened. He didn’t want her ever looking that scared every again. He knew that with all his heart. He wanted to keep her safe. Protect her.
But they were so damn different. Where his idea of breaking the rules was practical jokes and fucking around in class, she was... all in. All the time, all she ever did was run head first into trouble and it killed him all of time. Wondering how the hell he’d live up to the life style she was use to. How he’d protect her. So aggressive and brutish in their animalistic nature. Fucking Martyrs. Wolves were so different. They were so different.
‘But so were his creatures.’
He stared down at the paper crafts on his desk and watched as the mermaid ran her fingers across the new glimmering spikes on the dragon. Watched as the baby creature practically purred and butted his head into sea creatures webbed tiny fingers cause her to titter.
If he could get them to co-exist, then he could win Nyla over. No matter what she said.
He straighten his spine, taking several calming anxious breaths in the mirror and prepared himself.
He could do this. He could convince her they could be together. Sure he could.
Before he could let his anxiety over take his will to try, he headed for the door ripping it open and slamming straight into a haze of frizzy dark brown almost-black hair and big green eyes. Nyla.
He stumbled to a stop and took a large step back in time to see the flustered cheeks and raised knuckle to knock of a Miss Nyla Romero. He couldn’t help the large smile that began to bloom on his face and he opens his mouth to speak,
“Nyla-!” “I was just-“
They spoke at the same time and they both fell silent, with rosy cheeks. The only difference between the two was Cameron’s shy grin that was only growing and the brunette embarrassed scowl that was also growing.
“You.. you were coming to see me?” Cameron finally said after seconds that felt like hours of silence.
“No.” Nyla answered quickly her nose scrunching revealing her obvious lie. She cursed herself as she felt the blush darkening and her face heating as the look on Cameron’s face turned amused.
“Nyla, if you wanted to see me-“ Cameron began smirking. Which quickly fell as he watched Nyla turning on her heels, “I’m leaving!”
“Shit shit shit.” Cameron panicked as he watched her begin to leave and he snapped his finger holding her in place. Realizing his mistake the moment he heard her threatening growl.
He let her go immediately and flinched when she turned back to look at him, the look on her face murderous.
“Did you just bewitch me in place? Me? You did that to me?” Nyla walked toward him menacingly and he stepped back into the door of his room. “Do I look like Reagan?”
“No!” Cameron wanted to punch himself in face. He couldn’t just pull that shit with Nyla. Him and Reagan had the type of relationship. The type where he could just pull her headfirst into trouble and he just knew she’d forgive him cause he knew she really wanted to actually live on the edge a bit and just needed a friendly shove.
But Nyla wasn’t Reagan. He couldn’t just ... force his hand on Nyla. He knew that. She’d jump right in all on her own.
“No, I don’t think you’re Reagan. I’m sorry I fucked up.” He stumbled in his room and gestured her inside, “Please just stay.”
He held his breathe preparing for her to tell him to fuck himself and letting out a heavy breath of relief when she nodded tersely and stepped inside, as he slowly closed the door beside her.
He stared at the door unable to turn around and fully acknowledge that the one of the most beautiful girls he’s ever seen was just standing in his room. His mind ran wild thinking of the possibility and he absolutely wanted to smash his skull against the wall.
“What’s this?” He heard Nyla say behind him and he turned to find Nyla leaning over his desk peering closely over his creatures. He pulled her back just fast enough to stop the dragon from blowing a baby bursting air of fire in her face.
Her eyes widened in shock.
The dragon was real?! She watched the small mermaid purse her lips at her and wave her little tail clearly frustrated with Nyla having set off the dragon. She turned back to look at the boy who’s hands still hadn’t removed themselves from her hips.
Just how powerful was this witch?
Cameron laughed sheepishly and pulled back when he realized he was awkwardly feeling up her sides. He rubbed his neck embarrassed and look to side, “Sorry those were just some paper crafts I made in my energy transfer class.”
Nyla’s eyes furrowed as she looked back the creatures on the table. “They seem very much alive for paper mâché.”
Cameron smiled nervously, but widely at her, “Yeah that’s the point of the class. To transfer energies from various levels of magic into different vessels. It’s pretty cool actually. It’s like being a puppet master. But with real living thing. Well after you animate them that is. It actually takes a lot of concentration and you have to focus all the energy in through your arms from your energy core? Think of it sort of like axon in your neurons, it appears in a blue light that sort of tickles and-“
He stops when he sees Nyla smirking at him and realize oh he’s doing that thing where he spits facts and information a mile a minute when he’s nervous.
“Sorry I’m rambling,” He whispered stopping. And she smirked whispering back, “Its kinda cute.”
His eyes widened in shock. Did she just-?
She raised a mischievous brow at him that makes his stomach flutter and chest tighten and looks away at another area in the room, not answering his question. He heats up the moment he seems where she’s looking and sees her posturing from one leg to the other.
“Oh! Oh god! I’m a terrible host!” He quickly rushes to the bed, forgetting his own question as he hastily begins straightening it and grabbing the loose clothing still on it. Rolling it into a ball in his hands and shoving in into the hamper in his messy wardrobe which he quickly closes when he seems her watching him. He leans back on it casually ignoring the digging of the metal into his back.
“Nothing to see here! You can sit down actually! I am so sorry.” His lips twist to the side as shuffles embarrassed feeling like a child in front of her, when Nyla has yet to say a word apart from chuckling at him.
He’s surprised when she does walk towards his bed without complaint.
“Cameron relax,” She takes a seat on his now straightened bed and pats the comforter beside her. He rushes to it sitting immediately upon being asked and closed his eyes again think of how much he’s acting like a dog. He opens them to the sound of her giggling and he can’t even be bothered to be embarrassed when he seems the lightening in her jade colored eyes and her soft smile.
“You’re never boring, you know that?” Nyla peers at his for the corner of her eyes still laughing. “Now keep nerding out. Why did you pick a mermaid and dragon? Those are really random choices.”
Cameron laughs finally relaxing as Nyla begins to tease him back, “You want the truth,” he leans forward mysteriously watching as Nyla looks at him head on in anticipation. “I’m really good at Dragon Origami.” He whispered into her ear and doesn’t miss as she rolls her eyes, and tries to force a smile down.
“Cameron!” Nyla laughs in disbelief, “C’mon. You’re a loser, but you’re not that much of a loser.”
“First of all I’m all sorts of loser,” He smiles as he watches her laugh again, wanting the be able to continue to make her look this happy and stressed free forever.
“Second, yeah. I guess you’re sort of right.” He looks at the creatures on the desk. “I don’t know I just, Dragons just represent courage. The chinese think they’re evil creatures but it’s a spiritual magic sense they’re just, strength and balance. People think mermaids are evil too and we don’t know much about them anymore, but there are tales of mermaids promising protection. And mermaids are just messengers for water. And in witch culture, water is... a form of life, and emotions. You know moon and the tides and all that.” He blushes thinking of how much of a nerd he must literally sound like. He continues anyways, cause as he sees her encouraging nod, “I don’t know I guess it’s just sort of cool to bring to life two creatures that are looked at as evil or scary, but really represent such pure things and just.. bring them together. I’m sorry! This is lame, I’m being lame.”
Ignoring him, Nyla stares at the creatures now with newfound eyes, “It is very cool actually.” She tilts her in thought, “But they’re so..” Nyla trails off staring at the creatures.
“Different? Yeah they are. But look at them. Opposites sort of just attract, you know. It’s kinda cool.” He looks at her seeing her already looking at him with unreadable eyes piercing eyes and a line of electricity runs through his core as he continued, “Maybe if we’d stop second guessing relationships cause of their differences, we’d get something really beautiful.”
He pauses for a second before continuing, “Like you.” Cameron smiling as he watches her roll her eyes, “Nice line Casanova.”
He watched her cheeks flush not for the first time that night since she’s come to him and he knows despite her snark what he’s said affected her. He looks as her eyes turn slightly sad and wry soon i. the next moment after a silence lulls the air and he’s reminded that she came looking to his door looking like that. Looking for him. Him.
Not Diego. Not Mackenzie or Reagan. Not even Xavier. She came to him.
He doesn’t want to mess this up.
“Angel,” He stops as she snorts at the pet name. “Why’d your come to see me?” He pauses thinking about his wording and tries again, “Not that I don’t love that you’re here. Is it... Is it what happened? Do you need..? Are you-?“
“I’m fine.” She says cutting him off looking away, but he’s already seen her eyes. Seen the wet vulnerability and his chest aches seeing that. He should’ve never listened to Xavier. Brother or Troop-Leader be damned, Nyla shouldn’t have been alone.
“Tell me the truth Nyla. You can always talk to me you know that.” She continued not to answer looking at her own shaking hands and he just knows. The mission.
He reached his hand out to touch her hesitantly. “Nye?”
“How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?” She whispers standing, crossing her arms as if to protect herself.
She couldn’t fake toughness now. Nothing in the world would’ve made him believe it. Not after seeing the vulnerability in her eyes.
He slid hand along her hips to the empty belt loop of her black jeans. He drummed his fingers on her side while her stared up at her earnestly, and then she least expected it her tugged her down.
“Fuck!” Nyla yelps as she’s unexpectedly in his lap. She looks up shocked at a flustered, yet determined Cameron. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t know, but I’m doing it,” He glares back at her. The look on Cameron’s always smiling face was one so incredibly amusing Nyla could help her shocked bark of laugher. “Okay thats totally fair,” She said staring at his chest. Her small smile slowly died when she looked up to see his still serious mocha eyes peering at her.
She sighed taking his hands off her hips and toying with the tips of his fingers to avoid looking at him. His grip reversed in her palm and seriously grasped her hand to her attention.
“Nyla. What is it? What did you need?”
Her face was unreadable. To him, anyways. He didn’t think he’d ever know her as well as Diego did and the thought of that made his blood boil and pressure rise in his chest. He wanted to. He wanted to learn every inch of her inside and out. He didn’t want to guess what she was feeling, When she was feeling, he wanted to know. He sighed as she continued to stare down at his hand, not responding. He didn’t think he ever would though. Not from the way things were going.
She looked down at his hand and before he could pull away and apologize for being so forceful as of late, she did something that shocked him. She intertwined their fingers. He gasped as her fingers tightened in his and he brought his hand close to her lips. Not kissing them but putting them close enough that he could feel her softness brushing against his knuckles. His knuckles that were frozen in shock.
He continued to watch as ducked her head in a move so unlike her usual ballsy confidence, her hair blocking her eyes and pillowing her tinted cheeks as she mumbled, “I need you.”
She looked up at him this time with eyes swimming determinedly, looking like a shark ready to eat or challenge his prey, either one, if he said the wrong thing. She didn’t have to worry. He couldn’t seem to make himself speak. He couldn’t form anything anything right now his mouth dry and heart in his throat as beautiful, achingly beautiful green eyes stared him naked, yet again.
She spoke against, this time staring him head on and speaking too clearly for him to mistake what she said.
“I need you, Cameron.”
A/N: I know.. I know... CLIFF HANGER. Lmao not that it matters I don’t know how much any of you guys know what’s going on. But yes. One of my story possible couples had a moment. This is sorta... a very mid story scene. But it’s an integral part of the story that came to my mind that I just wrote. Anywhore, please much like the last one ... I wantttt people to tell me if they liked this. Comment to me and stuff. Private message me. Anon me. Or public message me. Just... idk this was a step I think? Lmao. To post this out there. Or atleast I hope it was. So thoughts? Hate? Love? Confused? Questions? I’m here!!!
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