#bottom line - don’t attach too much meaning to these ”parties ”

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

How many political parties were there during the revolution?

Because duo to the popularity (I mean by popularity "the most influential" like "Jacobin" and "Girondins" etc. ) I start to forgot that was there more political parties so could you tell us about them and their most notable achievements ?

It is hard to really talk about political parties when it comes to the French Revolution, at least not in the way in which we today think of the term, with worked out ideologies and party programs for each and everyone. Furthermore, some of these ”parties” are not like the others. Jacobin, Cordelier and Feuillant all refer to people belonging to a certain political club, paying money for their membership, whereas girondins, montagnards, thermidorians, enragés, hébertists (and robespirreists that are not mentioned in the chart) all are loose compounds of people that pushed for (or were at least said to push for) the same political changes, and often were personal friends as well. The vagueness of all of this has lead to debates not only regarding what each group really stood for, but even who really belonged to them. My understanding of these groups is honestly not much deeper than what can be read on wikipedia (each group already has its own page) but to shortly summarize:

Jacobins — members of the Jacobin Club (Society of the Friends of the Constitution) which was founded in 1789 and shut down in November of 1794. It’s main quarter was on rue Saint-Honoré in Paris, but unlike the Cordeliers and Feuillants, it also set up sister clubs out in the provinces. This makes the Jacobins the biggest political group throughout the revolution in terms of official members. When it comes to ideology, the club’s first set of official reglutions, passed on February 8 1790, stated that ”the object of the Society of Friends of the Constitution is: 1, to discuss in advance the questions which must be decided in the National Assembly; 2, to work towards the re-establishment and strengthening of the constitution according to the spirit of the preamble above; 3, to correspond with other Societies of the same type which may be formed in the kingdom” as well as that ”loyalty to the constitution, dedication to defending it, respect and submission to the powers it has established, will be the first laws imposed on those who wish to be admitted to these Societies.” However, as the revolution radicalized, so did the Jacobin club.

Cordeliers — members of the Cordelier Club (also known as the Society of the Friends of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen) which existed from 1790 to 1795. Its head quarter was in the Cordeliers Convent (hence the name) in Paris, located on 15 rue de l'École de Médecine. The Cordeliers had lower fees in comparison to the Jacobins, and as a result, counted more working class men and women among its members. Its leaders were however still middle class. The Cordeliers are traditionally described as more radical than the Jacobins.

Feuillant — member of the Feuillants Club (Society of the Friends of the Constitution), founded on July 16 1791. The group held meetings in a former monastery of the Feuillant monks on Rue Saint-Honoré in Paris, hence the name. The club was for upholding the Constitution of 1791, which designated France as a constitutional monarchy.

Girondins (also sometimes known as Brissotins or Rolandins) — political group which existed within the Legislative Assembly and then National Convention, in particular the 29 deputies ordered arrested by said Convention on June 2 1793. Of these, 20 would be guillotined in Paris on October 31 the same year, while many others fled to be executed or commit suicide in order to prevent it across the following months. The name ”girondin” stem from the fact many of the groups alleged members originated from the department of Gironde. In the article The "Girondins" Were Girondins, after All (1988) Frederick A. de Luna concludes that the earliest labeling of girondins as girondins stem from April 1792, after which they grew to be frequently used by their enemies. The girondins themselves did however never use the name, and in the pamphlet J. P. Brissot, député à la Convention nationale, à tous les républicains de France ; sur la société des Jacobins de Paris (October 1792) Brissot even exclaimed ”Will the slanderers now remain silent? Will they stop pretending to believe and wanting to make believe in a faction of Gironde or of Brissot?” The girondins have traditionally been associated with 1, waging a pro-war campaign within the Legislative Assembly and the Jacobin club from December 1791 to April 1792 (as can be seen above, the first recorded labeling of girondins as girondins is from the same month said war was declared), pushing for a more liberal economy as well as seeking more ”moderate/less violent” solutions compared to the Mountain during the time of the Convention. However, there’s no actual safe connections between these goals and all the men tradionally described as girondins for as far as I’m aware. To give the word to Terror: the French Revolution and its Demons (2022) by Michel Biard and Marisa Linton:

Montagnards — member of the Mountain, a group within the Legislative Assembly and then especially the National Convention, so dubbed because its members occupied the highest benches of the hall of the assembly. I honestly don’t really know what defines this ”party” more than being opponents of the girondins. So while the latter are associated with being pro-war, for a more liberal economy and reluctant to ”violent/exceptional measures”, the Montagnards are instead described as anti-war, for a more planned economy and welcoming of more ”violent/exceptional measures.” However, like in the case with the girondins, were we to line up every person tradionally described as a montagnard and check up his stance on each of these three topics, I’m unsure if we would actually get a very unified result. 

Unlike in the case of the girondins, indulgents and exagères, we have proof of the montagnards describing themselves as just that. Here is Robespierre, who might as well be called the leader/heart of the ”party,” defining what a montagnard is on June 12 1794. More than anything, it may however rather illustrate how this wasn’t a properly defined group either, as I’m sure the members of every other ”party” discussed here would be willing to describe themselves in the exact same way:

Yes, Montagnards, you will always be the boulevard of public liberty; but you have nothing in common with intriguers and perverts, whoever they may be. If they try to deceive you, if they claim to identify with you, they are no less foreign to your principles. The Mountain is nothing other than the heights of patriotism; a Montagnard is nothing other than a pure, reasonable and sublime patriot.

The fall of Robespierre marks the beginning of the end for the Mountain, many of who’s members would be expulsed, executed and exiled during the thermidorian convention.

Thermidorians — the name has its origin in the journée of 9 thermidor (July 27 1794), the day Robespierre and his allies fell from power, but it is not fully clear if it is active participation in/support of said journée, or holding power during the period that followed it, which is distinguished by its step back, for better or worse, from the more ”revolutionary measures” taken during 1793-1794 that makes someone a thermidorian. In the article ”Robbers, Muddlers, Bastards, and Bankrupts?” A Collective Look at the Thermidorians (2019) Mette Harder writes that this too is a very poorly defined group — ”Beyond their individual names, there is, however, no clear sense of who the Thermidorians were collectively, how cohesive a group they became, and what exactly they hoped to achieve while in power. Their name itself adds to this uncertainty, as it is used interchangeably to describe a specific group of reactionaries and the entire Convention post-thermidor.”

Indulgents (also sometimes known as dantonists) — group associated around Convention deputy Georges-Jacques Danton, and in particular those executed alongside him on April 5 1794. Traditionally described as driving a campaign that was about softening ”the terror” as well as pushing back from dechristianization from late 1793 up until their execution. This idea is however something that has been heavily contested in more recent years, some historians concluding the Indulgents never were a coherent group with a common goal to begin with but that this was rather something contructed by their enemies in time for their trial (see for example chapter 8 — Le chef d’un groupe indulgent ? — of Danton: le mythe et l’histoire (2016) or Camille et Lucile Desmoulins: un rêve de république (2018).

Hébertists (also known as exagères) — group associated around the journalist Jacques René Hébert, and in particular those that were executed alongside him on March 24 1794. Drove a campaign for a hardening of ”the terror” and dechristianization from late 1793 up until the execution. Like with the indulgents, it’s however hard for me to say if the members themselves identified themselves as a group or if this is a post-construction.

Enragés — just read this. I honestly had trouble finding much more.

#bottom line - don’t attach too much meaning to these ”parties ” #frev #french revolution #ask #it would be interesting with a study that actually checks up on how many people actually lined up with their ”party” in thoughts and action

[morningberriesao3]

MWMD - Kiss My Lips

Steve Harrington X Virgin!Eddie Munson

Summary: It's the Fourth of July -- Steve and Eddie have a bit too much to drink, and have some fun playing party games.

Word Count: 4.4K

Chapter: 4 of 6 CHAPTER LIST

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Content Warnings: Explicit m/m sexual content including… Virgin Eddie Munson, Dry Humping, Coming Untouched, Coming in Pants, Minor Crossdressing (ahem, EDDIE WEARS A G-STRING), Oh no they’re both tops?! what will they do!!?!, Top Steve Harrington, Power Bottom Eddie Munson, Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Nipple Clamps, Under-Negotiated Kink, Unsafe Sex, Creampie. Underage Drinking and Recreational Drug Use.

Tags: Eddie Munson lives, 5 + 1 Things, slow burn, POV Eddie Munson, Gay Eddie Munson, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Slow Burn, Sexual Tension, Caretaking, Massages, Sharing a Bed, House Party, Play Flighting, Bros Being Bros (JK it’s very homoerotic), Halloween, Boys in Makeup, Independence Day, New Years Eve, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending

Many Ways, Many Days, to Say ‘I Love You’

July 4th, 1986

Everyone’s a little drunk already.

By everyone, Eddie means the only adults the gang really knows. He’s brought along Gareth and Jeff, who are absolutely beside themselves that they get to hang out at King Steve’s house. Robin has brought Vickie as her definitely not date. Jonathan has brought Argyle who Eddie already considers one of his new favourite people. Or maybe his mortal enemy. He’s not sure.

Eddie half expects Steve to have some girl attached to his hip since he hasn’t exactly been getting lucky since all but moving into his trailer. It would be one of Steve’s only chances, seeing as his parents have gone on some fancy business trip for Fourth of July weekend and he’s offered his house as tribute for a (kind of sad) rager.

But there is no girl that Steve has invited, at least not yet, and Eddie is more than okay with that. This way, he won’t have to pretend not to be jealous. And he won’t have to think about Steve’s dick being inside whoever’s pussy the next time it’s pressed against his own in the middle of the night.

It’s the first time Eddie has been invited to one of Harrington’s parties, and he’d be lying if he said he isn’t a little bit excited about it. Maybe King Steve is falling from his throne, but Eddie seems to be climbing the ranks. Maybe they’ll eventually meet somewhere in the middle.

Steve is currently lining up shots on the edge of his fancy, built-in kitchen island while Robin watches over his shoulder.

“Ugh, I hate tequila,” Robin says, scrunching her nose while Steve gets the saltshaker.

“Then don’t drink any.” Steve slices a lime into halves, and then into quarters, and then into eighths. He scans a few faces, and then his gaze lands on none other than Eddie’s. “You’ll do some shots with me, won’t you, Eds?”

Eds. Eds.

He barks out a startled laugh that Gareth raises an eyebrow at. Eddie smacks him in the arm before joining Steve by the island. Drinking had never been Eddie’s thing, mostly because he can’t afford that and weed. But he’s at a Harrington house party. When in Rome and all that.

“How’s this work then?”

“You’ve never done a tequila shot before?”

“Of course I have, Harrington. I’m not fucking twelve.” Eddie scoffs. He’s lying. “I just can’t remember the order.”

“Lick, shoot, suck,” says Steve, pointing first to the salt, then to the shot glasses, then to the lime slices. “Lick the salt, shoot the tequila, suck the lime.”

“What do I lick the salt off of?” Eddie asks.

“That’s the fun part.” Steve takes the saltshaker in his hands. “You can be boring and lick it off your own hand. Or –” he peels his dumb, striped polo off from his shoulders. This time Eddie doesn’t even pretend to look away. He’s already had a few beers, “– you can do a body shot.”

Eddie stares at Steve’s bare chest, made of all muscle and hair and sun-kissed skin. He lets his gaze fall to Steve’s navel where – rhetorically – he’d be taking the shot from.

“I…” he makes a kind of choking sound, then clears his throat, “I never back down from a challenge?” It comes out as more of a question, but honestly, Eddie is just glad he’s able to form words.

Steve’s face splits into a crooked smirk. He cups his hand over his mouth and swiftly turns to face the living room where most people are loitering around. “BODY SHOTS!”

There are a few whoops that come from probably Argyle and Jeff (who’s clearly gotten comfortable with the other guests). And suddenly, they have an audience.

“Alright, Eds and I are going first, because I want to be the one to pop his tequila cherry –”

“I’ve had tequila before!”

“Yeah, okay, whatever, man. We’re going first because Eddie is an expert at tequila body shots –”

“You’re such a prick.”

“–  and we have to teach all you losers how to do it properly. Capiche?”

Everyone is gathered around the kitchen now. And to Eddie’s surprise, Steve heads for the giant oak table in the dining room. He steps onto one of the matching chairs, and then plunks his ass down on the tabletop. Steve twists to his back, his head propped up with his hands, and a shit-eating grin plastered to his features like it’s now a permanent fixture of his face.

“Go ahead, Munson. Show them how it’s done.” Steve finally shuts up when he clamps down on the peel side of a slice of lime.

Fuck.

Eddie is making a fool of himself already, and he hasn’t even started… whatever this is.

Robin saves his ass. She grabs the tequila bottle and flings the cap into the unknown. “I hope you washed your belly button, dude,” she says before pouring the liquor into Steve’s navel. It overflows a bit, dripping down his ridiculously pronounced obliques. “Where do you want to lick the salt from?”

It takes a second for Eddie to realise that Robin is talking to him. “Is his cock an okay answer?”

Just kidding. Eddie doesn’t say that.

Instead, he says, “I don’t know. Wherever is the least hairy. It’s hard enough not to gag on tequila as it is,” like he hasn’t fantasized a million times about pressing his face, his nose, his tongue, into every enticing patch of Steve’s hair, from his head down to his fuzzy calves.

Steve rolls his eyes and points to the dip under his ribcage where the skin is relatively smooth, compared. Robin wastes no time sprinkling salt onto that area. And then Steve is prepped, and all eyes are on Eddie. He kind of wants to die, but if he was dead he wouldn’t be five seconds away from getting his tongue onto Steve fucking Harrington. So in conclusion, he’s actually very, very thankful to be alive.

Eddie eyes up Steve’s body, plotting the easiest plan of attack. He decides he might as well commit since he’s already entirely mortified, so he hikes himself up on the table so he’s straddling Harrington’s thighs. Everyone starts hooting and hollering. Nancy is giggling behind her palm while Argyle is slowly nodding with a joint tucked behind his ear. Robin’s hands smack over her eyes but she peeks out from between her fingers. Gareth nudges Jeff’s shoulder like they know something, so Eddie throws them daggers with his gaze.

It takes Eddie a second to steel himself, but soon he musters enough courage to bend himself over Steve, who immediately starts giggling when Eddie licks a fat stripe over his salty skin. As Steve laughs, tequila sloshes around on his abdomen. So Eddie presses his palms into Steve’s hips to still them. He might be imagining it, but it sounds like Steve sucks in a sharp breath.

Which really just encourages Eddie.

He buries his fingers into the flesh of Steve’s hips (because he might as well while he’s here) and tucks his head low to suck the bitter liquid from Steve’s navel. He dips his tongue in there, too – he just can’t help himself – which makes Steve squirm under his body. The button of his jeans rub against Eddie’s chin and it takes everything inside of himself not to nip at Steve’s skin and trail his mouth lower.

He knows that’s not really body shot etiquette even though this is the first ever body shot he’s ever done.

Finally, Eddie crawls up the length of Steve’s body and hovers his mouth over the slice of lime that’s still being held between Steve’s teeth. But he pauses, because Steve is staring straight into Eddie’s soul, with lidded eyes and pupils blown. Maybe it’s in Eddie’s head but it really looks like Steve is turned on, but no, that doesn’t make sense because Steve is straight, and Eddie is pretty sure he’s not a girl.

Well, he does have feminine features, like his long hair and his big eyes, and his full lips which are actually kind of an insecurity because his upper lip is bigger than his lower lip, and he always thought that was weird. But maybe that’s why Steve looks like this – like he’s about to drag Eddie up to his abandoned bedroom – because he’s drunk and Eddie kinda sorta looks like a girl.

Whatever. Eddie will take it.

He brackets his arms around Steve’s shoulders as he bends down to bite the wedge of lime from between Steve’s teeth. It’s really lodged in there, and Steve isn’t exactly making it easy to pry it from his mouth, so Eddie seals his lips into the pulp, trying to suck the juice back from right there, in Steve’s mouth. The lime bursts sour liquid that squirts into Eddie’s mouth and dribbles down Steve’s chin, and Eddie nearly chases that with his tongue too, but ultimately decides against it since he’s already pushed the limits enough.

“It’s so wrong, but I can’t look away.” Robin’s voice pries Eddie from his revery. He sits back up, spine rod straight, to shoot her a look and point a finger into her face.

“Can it, Buckley.”

“Yeah, Eddie, how come you’ve never sucked tequila from my stomach?” Gareth barks a laugh, but then the girl that Nancy brought with her – Eddie forgets her name, but it’s some chick that ran the school paper – turns to Eddie’s friend.

“I’ll do it.”

That wipes the grin straight from Gareth’s face, replaced by a healthy flush beneath his cheeks. The whole group is then in an uproar, pointing to each other, and laughing, and separating into pairs to do body shots of their own. Only then does Eddie remember that he’s straddling Steve when he feels him wiggle beneath his thighs.

“Um, Eddie?”

“Oh, shit.” Eddie clambers from the table ungracefully as ever, lucky to land on his feet. “Sorry. Sorry, Harrington.”

Steve sits up, wiping his mouth of lime juice with the back of his hand before giving Eddie a mischievous look. “All good, man. Let’s get some more drinks.”

Steve grabs Eddie’s hand (like, he actually holds it for a minute, like he did in the hospital all those months ago) as he drags him to the counter with all the liquor. And there they do shot after shot until Eddie can’t down anymore without gagging it back up. But he does crack open a beer, and so does Steve, and they head to the living room while everyone else is screaming when Nancy sucks a shot of tequila from Robin’s navel.

Vickie looks a bit jealous, but Eddie averts his gaze before he can read too much into it.

“Holy shit,” Steve says, falling into the plush cushions of his parents’ couch. “I’m so drunk. I haven’t been this drunk in… forever.”

It’s not hard to believe, because Steve is slurring his words and each time he blinks his eyes it seems like it takes all of his energy to open them again. The room is spinning a bit, and Eddie realizes that he, too, is way more drunk than he’d been in a while.

“Same. But you know what would make it even better?” He pulls a joint from his crumby pocket and waggles his brows at Steve.

“Oh, man.” Steve slings his arm around Eddie’s shoulders. “I knew there was a reason I love you.”

Eddie tries not to think too hard about that, and instead drags Steve up off the couch and out the door that leads to his pool. He digs around in his pocket until he finds a fluorescent orange lighter, and then he sparks it up.

The first drag burns deep, calming the excited, jittery nerves that he’s had all evening for some reason (his crush on Steve). He takes one more, then hands the spliff off. Steve takes a hit and lets his head loll backwards on his shoulders as he hums a noise of approval.

“Fuucckk,” he moans, making the little hairs on the back of Eddie’s neck stand on end. It shouldn’t sound so damn pornographic, but it does. Eddie’s been fighting off a boner all evening and the noises that Harrington makes is what finally takes the cake. He wishes he could readjust his dick in his too-tight jeans without being obvious about it but alas, he cannot. So he just lets his cock fill out as he breathes through it, and hopes that Steve doesn’t let his gaze fall below Eddie’s belt.

“You make it sound like that joint is better than sex, Harrington.”

“Yeah, well it might be.” Steve opens his eyes as he takes another puff and then hands it over to Eddie. “Not that I can remember, it’s been so long since I’ve gotten any.”

Eddie snorts and averts his gaze, sucking back on the roach in his fingers.

“What about you?”

Eddie looks back at Steve. “What about me?”

“When’s the last time you fucked someone?” Steve asks, unabashed. “Or, I don’t know. Got fucked by someone.”

Blood rushes around Eddie’s body, not sure if it wants to settle in his ears, or his cheeks, or his dick. But there seems to be plenty of it, because all three are getting a fresh supply. “Oh. I – uh. It’s been – you know. A while.”

Ever?

“Uhuh.” Steve nods. “So, when was it?”

“C’mon, man.” Eddie laughs nervously, snubbing out the joint on Harrington’s parents’ landing. “I haven’t – I mean. It’s been, a reeeaally long time for me.”

Twenty years.

Steve narrows his eyes, catching onto something Eddie isn’t sure he really wants him to. “Are you saying you’re like… a virgin?”

“No!” Eddie lies, crossing his arms defensively. He huffs out an embarrassed breath. “Well, maybe? When you’re gay, virginity isn’t exactly as black and white –”

He cuts himself off.

He just said that, in real words, out loud, in English. He just said he’s gay. And he also kind of admitted he’s a virgin, and Eddie doesn’t know which is worse. Maybe Steve is too drunk to realise? But no, he’s not, Steve still has his general wits about him and he’s looking at Eddie with such an intensity that Eddie feels like he’s about to get punched. Or maybe kissed?

Probably the former.

Steve doesn’t do either. He doesn’t even dwell on the elephant in the room. He just says, “Huh. So what have you done?”

Eddie feels the tension in his shoulders relax a bit. Maybe he’s okay, but it’s better safe than sorry. He tells himself that he’ll keep his words genderless, so he doesn’t out himself by accident a second time.

“I don’t know. A handjob here, a blowjob there.” The second thing is another lie, but admitting he’s only had one handjob seems more embarrassing than just being a virgin, period. He shrugs. “Believe it or not, when you’re a threepeat senior, and the Dungeon Master of a D&D club, you’re not exactly swimming in opportunities, Steve.”

Steve takes a step towards Eddie, which just makes Eddie believe that he really mustn’t have heard the gay thing. Because why would he be crowding his face into Eddie’s like this? Why would he be getting so damn close if he knew Eddie was into dudes?

“You’re a good-looking guy,” Steve says, cocking his head to one side and letting his gaze slowly trail down Eddie’s body like he’s appraising him for value. “Maybe you’re just not searching hard enough?”

Eddie makes a noise, something like a squeak, or a hiccup. He’s about to say something – anything – but before he can form words, Robin comes rushing out from the sliding doors. “We’re playing spin the bottle! Come on, it’s gonna be so fun.”

“Yeah, coming, Rob.” Steve takes a step away from Eddie. Smiles. “Maybe we’ll be able to get some action now. Let’s go.”

Eddie hopes that his blush isn’t all that visible, but he knows with his white-ass skin he’ll be stained up with splashes of pink watercolour. He kind of wants to sit this one out, because he’s sure that nobody wants to kiss The Freak of Hawkins High (even if they are all friends now).

He’s never once wished in his life to kiss Gareth or Jeff, but here he is, hoping that when he spins, the bottle will at least land on one of them to spare himself having to see the disgust in someone else’s face.

Everyone inside is already forming themselves into a loose circle. There’s enough space for Eddie and Steve to cram themselves between Argyle and Nancy. There’s an empty brown bottle in the middle that Robin is immediately taking hold of. “It was my idea, so I get to go first! And no copouts. Whoever it lands on, it lands on.”

She gives the bottle a good crank, and it ominously spins and spins, and eventually slows. The neck is pointing towards Jeff, who blushes, and Eddie feels a little bad for him because he definitely doesn’t know Robin is queerer than a three-dollar bill. He has a feeling he’ll be hearing Jeff talk about the pretty girl from the party for the next couple of months until he realises for himself that nothing is going to happen.

Robin grins and leans forward on her knees. Jeff meets her halfway. They smack a quick but playful kiss against each other’s lips right in the centre of the circle, and everyone cheers. Eddie catches himself grinning, too.

Jeff smiles his dopey little smile that Eddie kind of loves (but he’d never admit to it), and he grabs hold of the bottle next. It spins, and lands on Gareth. Eddie finds himself laughing aloud, clapping his hands together and chanting some sarcastically encouraging words.

Gareth grabs Jeffs cheeks and smooshes them together, and then plants a fat kiss to his forcefully puckered lips. Everyone in the circle laughs. “I know, I know,” says Gareth. “Here to rock everyone’s world.”

Eddie is still very much drunk, so he says, “Yeah? Make sure it lands on me and share some of that sugar.” He’s never said anything like that in his life, and as soon as he hears himself, he cringes. Beside him, Steve kind of furrows his brows and shifts around.

Maybe he is a little bit uncomfortable with gay things.

The whole circle is giggling when Gareth spins the bottle. It doesn’t land on Eddie, but the girl from earlier. Gareth looks all flustered again, and Eddie feels soft for a minute. He hopes that maybe something could come out of all this. It’s about time that one of them gets to start having sex.

The girl leans forward first. Gareth crawls on his knees and lets her press her lips into his. It’s a softer kiss than all the others – Robin and Nance coo while Eddie makes a dramatic gagging sound.

“Shut up, man!” Gareth tosses his empty beer can at Eddie’s head. The girl laughs and spins the bottle. It lands back on Gareth. The room erupts in cheers when they go in for their second kiss. It’s more confident that the first and Eddie feels like he’s witnessing something a little bit too personal. Gareth goes next, and it lands on Steve. “Pucker up, your highness.”

Eddie isn’t sure what he expects. Maybe for Steve to cringe or look mildly horrified. But he’s grinning a genuine grin, all crooked and happy like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Eddie is also ferociously jealous. Even though he knows both Gareth and Steve are straight.

Steve grabs Gareth’s head and smacks an aggressive but quick kiss to his lips. Gareth fakes a shudder. “C’mon, man,” Steve says. “Tell me that didn’t make you want to cream your pants.”

“That didn’t make me want to cream my pants.” Gareth rolls his eyes. “Guess I’m immune to the Harrington charm.”

“What a shame. Hopefully whoever it lands on actually wants a piece of this.”

“I’m pretty sure nobody here wants you, Steve,” says Robin. Steve sticks his tongue out at her, and she does it right back.

Eddie almost says that she couldn’t be more wrong, but he’s sober enough to keep his lips sealed.

Steve reaches down, grabs the neck of the bottle, cranks it to the side. It spins and it spins, and by some divine intervention or maybe some cosmic joke, it lands on Eddie.

His ears are ringing, but it’s not quite enough to drown out Robin’s laughing. “Part two to the show we got earlier!”

“Yeah, come on! Lay one on him!” says Gareth. Eddie whips his head to the side, hopefully looking at him with a menacing warning, but something tells him the only thing in his eyes is fear and want.

Eddie barely has time to think, let alone form a witty response, before Steve is grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and yanking him towards him. “Pucker up, baby.”

There are a few things that go through Eddie’s head in that moment.

First: Steve just called Eddie baby, and as one might guess, it definitely makes his dick jump in his pants. He’s embarrassed by how often that happens now, but there’s only so much he can do about it. And if Steve insists on always being so frustratingly sexy, it’s just something Eddie is going to have to get used to.

Second: That look is back in Steve’s eyes. The one that makes Eddie think he might actually want to be kissing him, like Steve’s glad that the bottle pointed towards him. Half-lidded gaze focused on Eddie’s lips, meanwhile his own tongue is wetting his, and fuck –

Third: Steve is kissing him. But it’s not like all of the other kisses of the evening, Eddie would like to point out. No, this one is very different. Because it’s lasting a lot longer than a second or two. It’s lasting – God – it’s lasting forever, and Eddie is vaguely aware that people are cheering. And then – Eddie shits you not – Steve’s lips part and Eddie just follows along, because what else is he supposed to do? So now their lips are slotted and moving together and Steve’s tongue fucking rubs against Eddie’s lower lip.

This is when Eddie realises he’s been holding his breath, so he pulls away from Steve out of instinct for air, not because he wants it to stop, and then everything kind of zeros back into reality that he’s at a party and he’s definitely trying to turn what’s supposed to be an innocent game of spin the bottle into a full-on make out session with Steve fucking Harrington. So instead of leaning back in to continue like he wants to, he just shakes his head and clears his throat, and says, “Jesus,” because it seems like an appropriate response.

“Wow.” Robin’s eyes are big, staring at Eddie and Steve with a sidelong gaze like she’s embarrassed for them. “That definitely bumped up this game from general audience.”

The whole circle laughs, and Eddie blushes, and he very pointedly does not look at Steve before he takes his turn. It lands on Nancy, and it’s a little weird to kiss her but it’s definitely not like the kiss he and Steve just shared. But he can see Steve staring from his peripheral vision and he battles everything in himself to look back because he knows he won’t be able to look Steve in the eye and not at his mouth.

The game continues for another fifteen minutes before people start getting up to refresh their drinks, and others get bored, and it just naturally fizzles out.

Eddie keeps sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Steve, who’s in some heated discussion with Jeff about six versus eight cylinder motors that Eddie knows absolutely nothing about. He toys with his empty can of beer, until there’s a hand on his knee.

It’s Steve’s.

“Can I get you another drink, man?” he asks, and Eddie just nods. Steve takes his empty can and brings him a fresh one, and Eddie decides that it’ll be the last drink of the night because his mind has been plotting about how to get Steve to kiss him again, which is a pretty good sign that he needs to stop.

The party wraps up at about one in the morning. Some people take cabs, others ride their bikes, some parents even come to pick up their children.

Eddie stays, because why wouldn’t he?

He and Steve half clean up, throwing the empty cans and bottles into bags, tossing the cardboard pizza boxes into the recycling after wrapping the leftovers and putting them in the fridge.

When it’s time for bed, Eddie eyes the spare rooms in the hall and wonders if that’s where he’s supposed to go, but Steve speaks up before he has a chance to dwell too long. “C’mon, man. My room is this one.”

Eddie follows Steve into his room, and watches as Steve strips down to his boxers. It shouldn’t be weirder than it normally is, but Eddie is very aware that this is an entirely different situation because at his trailer, his bed is the only option. Here, though, there are several, and Steve is still inviting Eddie to sleep next to him like it’s the only thing that makes sense, when really he’s having a whole internal crisis about it.

But Eddie tries not to think about it too hard, even though it’s kind of too late, and he undressed and follows Steve into his giant bed. Steve scootches closer and slots their legs together while they’re still awake. And fuck, they both have semis. Eddie feels like he wants to unpack that a bit, but instead he tells himself not to overthink it.

By the time Steve is sleeping, Eddie is leaking in his boxers, and he condemns himself for doing this but he really has no choice. He goes to Steve’s attached bathroom and he rubs one out, he comes to the thought of Steve’s lips and his tongue and his half-hard cock that he felt on his thigh. He comes hard, and he tries to aim it for the toilet, but it flies everywhere. So he spends a few minutes cleaning up after himself, ashamed. Satiated.

He crawls back into bed with Steve and hisses a bit when Steve’s thigh slots between his and rubs against his over-sensitive dick.

And maybe Eddie’s imagining it, he probably is, but it sounds like Steve huffs out a small laugh.

He really hopes he’s imagining it.

NEXT CHAPTER

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#eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington fanfic #eddie munson smut #steve harrington smut #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie x steve #steve x eddie #steddie blurb #steddie fic #steddie fandom #steddie fanfiction #steddie brainrot #steddie fanfic #steddie smut #steddie thots #steve stranger things #bisexual steve harrington #gay eddie munson #eddie stranger things #virgin eddie munson #eddie munson loves steve harrington #bottom eddie munson #top steve harrington #mlm #smut

[winter-soldier-vibes]

Hey darling ❤️ love your writing 3000 :) can u do one with Bucky x reader (they’re together) where he overhears the reader on the phone with her parents that are emotionally & verbally abusive towards her (they always have been) and the reader has to explain it all to him afterwards even tho she’s having a panic attack (bc she’s afraid bucky will leave her since she has no one else to go to ??) and bucky comforts her and reassures her that he’s gonna be there for her and like comfort fluff? I live in an emotionally abusive and manipulative household rn and I tell you your fics are like an escape for me. Even if u don’t do this thank you from the bottom of my heart :)

Hey there, I love you 3000 ❤ I am so so sorry to hear about your situation, and while I'm glad to hear that my writing is an escape for you, I want you to know that I'm here for you. No one should have to go through what you described. I hope that this can bring you some comfort but please, I encourage you to reach out to someone who can help you. My DM's are open as well, you shouldn't face this alone. I'm here for you!!!

You owe them nothing

Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 3200 (ish)

Warnings: emotional abuse/gaslighting, manipulation, parent issues, tears, angst, breakdown, fluff.

---------

You really tried to keep it hidden. It wasn’t something that everyone needed to know about.

Your parents loved you, at least that’s what they had said. But it was one of those things where you felt like it was for show - the kindness that they showed when you were around others faded away once you were alone with them.

You remember once they had said “of course I love you, I’m your parent!”

But that made you wonder how they would treat you if you weren’t theirs.

They were horrible to you for as long as you could remember. Gaslighting you and making you feel like you owed them something even though they were the ones who should have taken care of you.

They were around but never…there. They would be there for family dinners but they were always riddled with criticisms of grades and who you were talking to and how you dressed. All of your hobbies were seen as a waste of time, something you should only do when you had nothing else to do. School came first, naturally, but there was always something they told you you had to do before you could do anything for yourself.

Yet when you would complain about being depressed, they told you to get a hobby because you never do anything.

Tired meant lazy, energetic and passionate meant loud and annoying. When you were quiet they thought you had nothing to say, yet when you expressed your opinions you were told to shut up.

You couldn’t win.

You could never make them happy, there was always something you were doing wrong.

They thought it was their right to monitor who you talked to and saw, what you did outside of school, what sports you could join. When you would say no to the school dances or parties you would make up an excuse about not wanting to go or having work to do. Your friends would call you a buzz kill. Little did they know you would give anything to go.

Whenever you would do something wrong (or anything, period,), your parents would yell at you. They would curse you out, make you cry, only to yell at you for crying like a little bitch.

The older you got, the worse it was.

You thought when you moved out it would be better. But you had all these years of being told you were worthless and having them be your providers. When you got your own place you didn’t really have any friends, nor did you really know how to make friends. You had a job to help you get by, you could support yourself. That wasn’t the issue. You could support yourself, you always had to.

It was that you were so lonely.

You wanted friends but you were so afraid of the criticism you would get. You were afraid to make yourself known, because you were always taught that being told what to do and taught what to think was much more appealing than having your opinion.

But this was an opinionated world.

You were good at what you did, so good that you had gotten a job at S.H.I.E.L.D. You thought that would make you happy, more importantly that it would make your parents happy, but no such luck.

“I got a really great job, guys.”

“Fantastic. I guess you’re just doing so great without us,” they had snapped.

“What? I mean… this is what you wanted right? For me to get a good job?” you had said, confused.

You heard a loud sigh on the other end of the line. “Of course we do, what are you crazy about? Of course we wanted you to get a good job but you just deserted us like we were trash. Have we done nothing for you?”

You felt your heart sink in your stomach. ‘Of course you guys have, I love -”

“Don’t say what you don’t mean. If you really cared about us you’d be helping us out. You got a great job and probably have a huge paycheck that you hoard and you left us here to struggle to make ends meet.”

You took the phone away from your face temporarily to take a shaky breath. Of course they would go there with the salary, why wouldn’t they? All of your paychecks had gone to them, since it was their house and they were feeding you, leaving you with barely enough money for your car and gas and phone bills, only for them to suggest longer hours when you complained.

“I can help you guys out if you need,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

You heard an exasperated sigh on the other line again. “You really should be more grateful, you know? We raised you your entire life and then you leave us alone? You never even call us? You’re so fucking selfish.”

Then the line went dead.

You shook your head and felt tears in your eyes as you spoke to yourself. “Well maybe I would call you if it didn’t always yell at me.”

Of course, you would never say that.

See, it wasn’t so bad. You never said anything because they were only ever mean to you, which would make you uncomfortable. There were people out there that would get hit or who would have to raise themselves from a young age. Once you grew thick skin it wasn’t so bad, you were just being dramatic.

Right?

Your new job was fairly successful, you were fantastic at what you did. You did a lot of behind the scenes work, weapon repair and plans of action with missions. Not that they needed much help with that. Still, they took you in as their friends.

Well, as close as you would let them get to as friends.

It took a while before you warmed up to them. Everyone tended to keep to themselves, but not as much as you. You kept the parts of you hidden away - you were there for a job, you did it, and you did it well. You knew how to do your job but interacting with the team, making friends - you didn’t want to get emotionally attached.

Not like you knew how to make friends to begin with.

Naturally you were drawn to the quieter side of the team, once you were able to open up. They were all nice but sometimes the parties and the jokes were a bit much. You just didn’t want to say or do the wrong thing that would make you the punchline.

No one needed to know about you, or how you would spend your free time being yelled at through a phone with you trying to make it better. That wasn’t part of the job, so you shouldn’t bring it up.

It wasn’t like anyone would want to help. You were just a nuisance to everyone around you.

Right?

No one talked about their life before the team much. Not many people on the team had a great life before the Avengers first came together. Natasha or Wanda had once spoken about how this team was a family. And as much as you wanted to believe it, you helped the team. You weren’t a part of the team. So even if that were true, it didn’t include you.

At least, that was your point of view.

The team viewed you as a part of the team as much as any of them. You didn’t fight with them but you made sure everything would go as smoothly. You were kind and great at what you did, but they wished you would open up more. Of course, being a team of people who had trouble opening up, they understood.

Bucky was one of the ones who took a liking to you, mostly because he saw a lot of himself in you. He could tell there was something that you were trying to get past but weren’t quite able to yet. That there was something bothering but you wouldn’t dare say it for fear of bothering someone. You threw yourself into projects and distractions and from the way you carried yourself, he guessed you were avoiding something that you weren’t ready to work through. At least, not yet.

He knew that feeling too well.

The ex-assassin was one of the easiest for you to open up to because he didn’t expect much from interactions. Both of you were quiet and kept to yourselves that there wasn’t much pressure to share anything or say anything. You knew his past but would never bring it up unless he wanted to. Which eventually, he did. You could tell he felt pressure to be who he was before HYDRA took him, and while Steve was surprised he opened up to you first, you weren’t. Steve knew Bucky before everything, and you didn’t have that bias. He was whoever he was today regardless of who he was yesterday.

And Bucky found comfort in that.

You think you would’ve too, if you thought you deserved it enough to do the same.

See, you were worried that you were making everything worse than it really was. You worried that maybe you were being too sensitive or that what you had grown up with was normal. With everything that everyone on the team went through, a few insults from your parents was hardly anything. You were being dramatic.

There was nothing to be sad or angry about. You just had to get over yourself.

Right?

You were getting by until one night when your parents called, as they did on occasion. You were in the middle of working, so you ignored it. The phone went to voicemail before it started ringing again, and you ignored it, again. The third time you sighed and picked up your phone, turning away from your work.

You took a deep breath before you answered. “Hello?”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

You closed your eyes and brought a hand to rub your head. “Well I’m doing fine, thank you, how are you?”

“Don’t give me that attitude. What the fuck are you doing? You’ve been ignoring our calls.”

You stood up to pace the floor slightly, dreading the conversation that was coming. Is it the ‘family is most important’ or the ‘where’s my money?’ speech today? “I’ve been working.”

“What, so work is more important than family now? Is that what this is? You don’t care about us?”

Family speech it is.

“Dad -”

“What if one of us was dying? Huh? Would that be important?”

“Stop it. No one is dying, and I was working. And I have more work to do, so I really have to go.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, I’m your father.”

Gaining confidence you gritted your teeth and snapped, “You know what? I’m an adult now so you can’t tell me what to do.”

There was silence on the other end of the line and you could practically hear the steam coming out of your father’s ears.

At some point Bucky had come down to your working space to check on you, seeing as it was nearly morning. He stopped in the doorway, and seeing you were busy on the phone he thought he would stop by later to give you some privacy. But he stopped when he heard you snap.

You never snap.

“Who do you think you’re talking to you ungrateful little bitch?”

“I’m talking to the people who treated me like shit my entire life and ask me for money when you wouldn’t give me the time of day for 18 fucking years.”

Even you couldn’t believe the words coming out of your mouth. But god did it feel good to say them.

“Are you fucking serious right now? We did nothing for you? What do you think we’ve been doing your whole life? We’ve done everything we did to help you be the best person you could be. You have that job now because of us and you have no right to speak to me that way.”

You chuckled darkly as you looked up at the ceiling, unaware of Bucky’s presence behind you. “My entire life all I’ve ever wanted to do was make you guys proud of me. But you know what? I’m fucking done. You hated me, gaslighted me, and made me hate myself almost as much if not more than you seemed to hate me.”

“I did no such thing you ungrateful -”

“You were supposed to love me and care for me, and all you did was take advantage of me. I’m not your child, I’m a paycheck. I don’t owe you anything because you gave me nothing. So you know what? FUCK. YOU.”

You hung up the phone and tossed it across the room, adrenaline taking over your body as you tried to stop shaking. Because a small part of you felt bad.

But fuck did that feel amazing.

You heard a throat clear behind you and you turned around to see Bucky, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“You okay?”

You nodded nervously, rubbing the sides of your arms. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you said, unconvincingly. “How much, uh...how much did you -

“Enough,” he said, pushing himself off of the door frame as he crossed over to you. “Who was that?”

“Bucky, don’t, it’s really fine. I just got a little worked up.”

“Y/n,” he started, looking at you with concern. “Who were you talking to?”

“No one.”

“You don’t get upset like that at no one,” he took your hands in his. “Y/n, you're shaking.”

It was then that you realized your hands were still shaking, trying to keep the anxiety of what happened at bay.

It’s going to be so much worse now.

I can never talk to them again.

Is that a good thing? Didn’t I want that?

Bucky could sense you getting lost in your head. “Sweetheart, tell me what happened, please. I want to help you.”

You pulled your hands away from his and crossed your arms. “You can’t help me because there’s nothing wrong, okay? I handled it, it’s over. Done. nothing to worry about.”

“Y/n -”

“No really, there’s nothing you can do, okay?”

“Will you at least let me try?”

You looked at him, adrenaline starting to drain from your system. This was Bucky, your Bucky, who had never done anything but love and support you. He had never done anything to hurt you.

But what if he left you too?

You took in a sharp breath and curled in on yourself, a scared look on your face. Bucky crossed back over to you, seeing a scared look on your face.

“Hey, hey, y/n? Can you look at me?”

You brought your eyes up to meet his, feeling your chest constricting as you tried to keep your breathing even. It wasn’t working.

“I - I’m sorry, you shouldn’t… I’m fine really I’m sorry, I’m so sorry”

“Hey, it’s alright, it’s okay, you have nothing to apologize for,” he pulled you in for a hug and kissed the top of your head. “Let’s go sit down, okay?’

He led you over to your bed and you leaned forward, hands on your knees and head in your hands. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s happening, this - I’m sorry, it’s so stupid, I’m so stupid.”

Bucky rubbed a hand up and down your back, hushing you. “It’s not stupid. If it’s bothering you, it’s not stupid.” Bucky took a small breath. “Do you remember all of those times after nightmares and all those panic attacks you would walk me through? How I thought I was being stupid?”

“You weren’t being stupid”

“And neither are you.”

You took some more shaky breaths as tears kept falling down your face. “You’re okay. It’s alright, I’m right here.”

Bucky let you calm down, knowing you would talk about it if you wanted to. He wanted you to talk about it so he could help you (and hurt whoever upset you) but he wouldn’t force you into telling him anything you didn’t want to.

The two of you sat in the silence, Bucky looking at you with soft eyes as you kept your face hidden.

“I haven’t told you a goddamn thing about me. You ever wonder why?”

You looked over at Bucky, eyebrows creased with slight confusion.

“They said blood was supposed to be thicker than water. That family comes first, right? I spent my whole life listening to them and following them and being the perfect kid. I made myself into everything they wanted me to be. And it still wasn’t enough for them.”

Bucky tilted his head slightly. He hadn’t known his parents much before they died but he had always wanted to have more time. But he wasn’t oblivious to the fact that not everyone had good parents.

“You know, I remember thinking that once I made it they would be happy. That if I worked hard enough or went onto do great things that they would be proud of me. That’s all I ever wanted, you know?” you said, voice wavering as you let out a bitter laugh. “But it’s not, you know? Never is, never was, never will be. All they do is take and take and no matter how good I am they’re always gonna hate me because I can’t be perfect.”

“No one’s perfect, y/n.”

“Well that’s what they want me to be. I know I can’t be perfect so I know they’ll never be happy. That they’ll call me ungrateful and selfish for succeeding and for leaving them when they never wanted me to be there to begin with.” You felt tears spill over as you wiped them away. “And I’m ust so fucking done with being a disappointment to them and to everyone else.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“I don’t know,” you said softly, not really wanting to be more vulnerable.

Bucky, sensing this was a time he could push you, challenged you. “I think you do.”

You shook your head. “I didn’t want anyone to see me the way they did. I thought what they said wasn’t true but...I just thought that maybe I was overreacting. Other people have it worse you know - some people have no parents or some have it so much worse. Mine just yell at me you know? Tell me everything’s my fault and that they wish they’d never had me. That I’m ungrateful for not being with them and that I owe them. I just...I heard that for the first 18 years of my life. I didn’t need any more of it.”

“y/n, that’s…” he swallowed, trying to contain his anger. “That’s not normal. No one should have to go through that. You can’t possibly think you're a bad person.”

Your shrug was enough to tell him that you did.

“Y/n, I don’t know who your parents think they are but you don’t owe them a damn thing. You may be related to them but you have no obligation to love your parents if they treat you like that. You have every right to be angry or to hate them. It doesn’t make you a bad person to be angry with someone who hurt you.”

“But they’re my family.”

“Well they didn’t treat you like it. You have us now, you don’t need them anymore. We’re your family. And we’re not gonna leave you.”

“They didn’t leave me Bucky, I left them.”

“You can’t leave someone who was never there for you.”

----------

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[adelheidvonschicksal]

Gosh, the Hawks x intern! Reader sure made me tear up :(

Like imagine him regretting not being there for her and his baby girl from the start and trying to make up for it now 😭😭💖

I was going to imagine this, but I couldn't because I ended up writing 3000 words. 😭 I just love fictional babies so much and want them to be happy, okay? I left it open-ended, so I wouldn't betray the "kick his ass" gang. I'm a weak woman 🥺 I still don't know much about him other than what Wikipedia and memes tell me but here we go!

Part One | Part Two

Hawks doesn’t think you’ll ever let him in, not that he could blame you. Every time you see him, your expression hardens, pretty eyes narrow into a glare, nostrils flare, breathing heavy. His only bright light during your last exchange is that you wait three seconds before slamming the door in his face rather than the usual zero.

Oh, he’s definitely softening you up. Not.

It’s been a month now that he’s been at this, and he is starting to wonder if this entire thing is worth the headache. All he’s accomplished so far is bothering you with his requests to talk. Then, he remembers the little angel that you have with you and thinks it’s worth the headache.

At first, he had ignored your previous exchange that day at the park and the nagging feeling in the corner of his mind upon seeing the two of you. Until that same feeling started to weigh on his heart. He quickly realizes what those feelings were. Guilt and regret at not taking another path with the high schooler he so carelessly took advantage of and impregnated.

If he had, he could be annoying Endeavor about his cute little wife right about now.

Hawks feels a bit like Icarus flying too close to the sun and now sinking in a turbulent ocean of his own making. Instead of drowning, the world decides to throw him a lifeline as the receptionist patches a call through to him.

His heart jumps when he hears you on the other side, resistant but succumbed in your plea, “I need your help.”

The very next day you arrive at the agency, a small hand latched in your own as you stand in the middle of his office. You didn’t want to be here. The thought of being in the same place where your daughter was conceived with the same man who left you makes you antsy. You can’t believe you actually let Fumikage talk you into this.

You remember that phone conversation.

Your daughter’s quirk had been coming in full force, so fast you didn’t know how to handle it. You hoped that Tokoyami would have been able to help her control it since he trained with the very person she received her quirk from much longer than you had and that he was part avian himself.

“Please, Fumi. It’s getting worse,” you begged over the phone. “She accidentally hurt a few of the kids at school. No. No. They’re fine, some cuts and a little shook up, but fine. They won’t let her back in until she gets it under control though, so please.”

“I told you there’s not much else I can do. The best solution would be to go to the person with the same quirk.”

He’s right. He’s absolutely right, but you don’t want to rely on someone like that man especially now. What if he ended up hurting her?

“I don’t want to do that.”

“I know you don’t, but he’s been trying to contact you, right? So I'm sure he'd do it if you asked.”

“Yeah…” You growled. “I swear if he makes one smart-ass remark, I might kill him in front of her.”

“Remember it’s not for you. Although, I don’t think you could kill him even if you tried.”

“If we combined our strength…”

“No,” Tokoyami immediately shot down.

You sighed. “I’m only joking. Do you have the number to the agency still?”

Now you’re here, watching the very man who abandoned you kneel down to your daughter’s eye level. Hawks couldn’t believe he’s actually seeing her. It’s a bit exciting to see how much bigger she’s gotten in such a short time with big fat wings at her back holding way more feathers than she can probably deal with.

“So, this is the special girl,” he says. She shies away from him, hiding behind your leg for protection. “Come on out, Baby Bird, you don’t have to be scared of me.”

Slowly, she peeks from behind you, fingers still clutched in your pants leg, and Hawks smiles.

“There you are. Did your mommy tell you who I am?”

“You’re her and uncle Toko’s old teacher, and you’re going to help me control my quirk.”

“That’s right. You just turned five, right? That’s when a lot of quirks can get kind of hectic.”

“Yeah. I had a birthday party with Elsa last month.”

Hawks’ smile falters for a second as he thinks he doesn’t know exactly what day her birthday is. At least now he knows the month. Quickly, he’s back to normal to keep an air of happiness in the situation. “You know I know a lady that looks a bit like Elsa. She has ice powers like her too,” Hawks says, having grown a little closer to the number one hero's family as he tried to figure out what to do about his own family situation.

When her eyes widen, Hawks knows he has her hook, line, and sinker. She throws her initial shyness to the wind in exchange for excitement. “She does? Can I meet her?”

“I’m sure we could make that happen. If not, her son has an ice quirk, too. I’m sure he’d show you.”

The young girl smiles at him, but Hawks notices her vision drifting to something else. Cautiously, her tiny hand stretches out to him, making him nervous as to what she’s doing, before chubby fingers clutch around the edge of his wing, squeezing into his feathers. “They’re pretty,” she mumbles.

“Want one?” he asks, and she nods.

“This is my birthday present for you, don’t lose it,” he says, offering her a single long feather from the back of his wings. She clutches it to her chest tightly, a happy smile plastered on her face.

Then, you interrupt.

“Baby, mama has to run some errands, but she’ll come right back to pick you up when the clock says twelve. You remember how that looks like, right?”

“It’s a 1 and a 2,” she says, bringing up her hands to show you.

Hawks decides to walk you out as your daughter sits in his office chair, twirling around his feather in her hand. He isn’t sure what to say to you now that he has you near him. Should he thank you for bringing her? Or would that only serve to piss you off since it’s not like you wanted to do this by choice?

“Hawks,” you say, bringing him out his thoughts. “There’s one more thing before I go.”

“What is it?”

“Don’t tell her,” you order. “Don’t you dare tell her.”

His chest squeezes at that but he can understand why you wouldn’t want her to know that information when the two of you aren’t even on speaking terms outside this issue. He didn’t want to do anything to make the situation worse either, so he brings his fingers to his mouth and zips his pinched thumb and index finger across his lips. “I’ll make sure mine and anyone else’s lips are sealed if they want to keep their job,” he calmly reassures you, always calm and carefree so you wouldn’t think that your rejection is successfully deterring him.

From then on, you drop your daughter off at his office twice a week to get a better handle on her powers. You didn’t stay long aside from that, but Hawks likes the small moments when all three of you are in the same room together.

The hero can be thankful that at least one of his girls likes him. His Baby Bird quickly attached herself to him, always pattering after his footsteps like a shadow, and always asking if he’d hold her hand, a smile forming whenever he engulfed her smaller one. He even keeps his promise to let her see Rei, or Elsa as Baby Bird so passionately refers to her, now that the woman is out of the hospital.

He thinks that if that family can recover from what happened then his shouldn’t be much different as long as he keeps trying to put in the effort and not step on your toes too much.

It isn’t long before Baby Bird begins to get a hang of her powers. At least enough that she wouldn’t be hurting anyone at school. Hawks had hoped you would still allow him to train her past that point though, but you quickly told him that she wouldn’t be returning to the agency when she reached that point.

He was sad to hear it of course, but he didn’t want to cause what little progress he made to be broken even if he really wanted to see her fly at least a few inches before she left. She’s been getting into the habit of jumping instead of walking to practice like he used to do. Although, she resembles more of a bouncy frog than a bird, to be honest.

He watches, amused, as she bounces along next to him in the hallway.

“You’ve gotten good at that,” he compliments, drawing her attention upwards.

“I’ve been practicing lots at home, but I’m not that good yet. Will you teach me how to fly like you do tomorrow?” she asks.

“No, Baby Bird. Didn’t your mommy tell you that we’re done with training after today?”

She hangs her head down, her bouncing stopping as she drags her feet. “…Yes,” she answers, letting his arm go lax as she releases his hand. Hawks pauses, watching as she draws her hands to her waist and anxiously bunches and twists the bottom of her shirt, and Hawks throat goes dry as she asks with glossy eyes, “Daddy, why doesn’t mommy like you?”

He’s completely silent, wondering exactly when she figured it out or if someone in the office had told her, let alone told her the fact that you didn’t like him. Well, he guesses it doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. “How do you know to call me that?"

“Yesterday, my teacher told us that we inhe-inhe-inherent our quirk from our parents. I remember you said Elsa and her son had the same quirk, and you have big wings like mine and can make your feathers move.”

Hawks smiles. She’s a sharp one to piece it together in a day. “Your teacher is right. I bet you’ve never seen anyone else that looks quite like us.”

“No,” she answers, sniffling. “I don’t want to go home. I want to stay and play with you. Mommy is so mean to you. I hate her!”

Hawks cups her chin in his hand, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Look at me. Don’t talk about your mommy like that. It’s my fault she always gets upset when I’m around. I was mean and bullied her a lot, so if you’re mad, be mad at me. I’m the reason we can’t play together more.”

She sniffs again but it isn’t enough to stop the globs of tears running down her cheeks. “When we saw you at the park, mommy started crying when we went home. I didn’t know why she did.”

Hawks knows why. The reason you’re always so angry at him is because of the hurt you still hold inside for what he did to you. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have cried. The opposite of love is indifference as they say, and he knows it’s true because he had been indifferent to the pain he caused ever since the day you came to him with weepy eyes and shaking arms as you told him you were pregnant. You had been scared, and he told you to deal with it.

Hawks scowls. He’s starting to feel sick.

"If you make someone cry, you should say sorry."

Hawks smiles. “I know, baby. I'll apologize to your mama, and I’m going to try my best to make it up to her, and you, too. I’m not going to make either of you cry anymore. Then, when she forgives me, we’ll play together again.”

She looks to him, a small glimmer of hope. “You promise?”

Hawks chuckles and grins at her, the same charming expression that made you fall for him in the first place. He holds out his hand. “Even better. I pinky promise,” he says and confidently hooks her finger with his. “Repeat after me: birds of a feather stick together.”

“Birds of a feather stick together.”

“That’s my girl,” he praises before dropping her hand to pet her head. “I think we might have a little time for me to teach you something before your mommy gets here.”

At the end of the day, Hawks is already waiting for you at the front steps of the agency as your call pulls into parallel park at the sidewalk. You step out and walk towards the steps, but your daughter meets you halfway by hopping over them, her wings flapping to hover before she falls back down onto her feet.

You smile at her. You can’t believe she’s actually flying, at least a little that is, but your surprise is ruined when she cheers. “Mommy, look at what daddy taught me,” she says, bouncing to show you her new hovering skills. “Are you looking? Are you looking?”

“Yes, I’m looking. You’re so good at that. You need to show me more when we get home,” you say but to be honest it’s the last thing on your mind as you glance over to Hawks. “Baby, why don’t you go sit in the car, and I’ll be right there.”

Hawks watches as she obediently follows your instructions, turning her back and happily hopping towards the vehicle.

“(Name), I-” Hawks says, unsure what to expect when your angry glare turns back on him. It isn’t until his yellow visors are already clicking against the pavement that he realizes you hit him. He hisses at the sting on his cheek. “That actually kind of hurt. I guess I had it coming, but I’m not really sure what I did at least recently,” he tries to play off, but you aren’t having it.

“You told her, you told her,” you keep repeating, and he’s backing away in case you decide to strike him again. “Are you trying to get her on your side?”

“Not in the way you’re thinking, and I didn’t tell her,” Hawks explains. “She pieced it together on her own. She’s sharper than you think, she can see that we look alike when she looks in a mirror, and she knows how quirks work. That’s more than enough for her to tell.”

His explanation is enough for you to halt in your assault, and you angrily huff under your breath. You don’t shift to leave, and there’s no door for you to slam away. He finally has you available. “So, what do you want to do now?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean she knows; and honestly, I’m glad she does,” he confesses. “I wouldn’t mind seeing her again if you’d let me.”

Hawks swallows his anxiety as he waits for you to answer. Your eyes shift from him back to where she sits in your car, fiddling with the toys obviously left to clutter in the back before you look back at him, thinking.

“She does seem to like you…for some reason,” you add distastefully, but you know full well how happy training makes her. How her little smile beamed when she fluttered over those steps. How the word daddy came from her so sweetly. “She always likes talking about you after she spends the day here. You make her happy. But that’ll just make it harder for her when you leave ag-“

“I won’t,” he cuts off.

“How do I know that?”

“You don’t but I promise not again. (Name), I’m sorry. I’m sorry for telling you to go away like a burden and for not being there. You must’ve been scared, but I won’t leave either of you alone from now on even if you don’t want me there. I’ll be there if you need me.”

“Drop it. I’m not a part of this,” you tell him.

He knows that you’re rejecting his apology, but his ears can pick up what others can’t. He can hear those soft inflections in your voice right before you harden it into aggression, the slight stutter that you so cleverly thought you hid from him as you nearly fumbled your words, a little glimpse of a teenage girl with a crush on her sensei. “Not yet but do know I plan on trying until I make you fall for me all over again. I miss your cute little face when I'd smile at you.”

You glare. “Say that again, and I will smack you in your "cute little" face.”

"You already did that, but if it makes you feel better go ahead, I can take it if it helps you forgive me.”

He just didn’t expect you to actually take him up on the offer. This time, it’s the other cheek that burns.

“You’re right. That did make me feel better,” you say, smirking as you shake the sting from your hand. Hawks grunts, rubbing his jaw as you begin to walk towards your car. He bends down to pick up his shades before following close behind. You open the driver’s door, and say, “I expect you to pick her up at 9 tomorrow. If you’re late, don’t bother showing up ever again.”

Hawks smirks. You certainly became aggressive these past few years, but he thinks he kind of likes it. As you get in your car, he notices Baby Bird smiling at him from the window, her hand up and clutched around that birthday feather he gifted to her as she waves him off.

He’ll definitely be there on time.

#hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #hawks x y/n #bnha hawks

[soulmate-game]

New fic *test*

New Bio!dad Bruce story? I’m testing out this first chapter, and if I like where it’s going I might add it to my growing pile of WIPs. If I have inspiration, I might as well use it. Because of life events stressing me the hell out, I’m throwing any writing plans out the window and I’m purely gonna write to destress right now. Whether that means updating THG or not, or continuing Maribat March, we’ll just have to see how this all pans out. Things are subject to day-to-day change.

I got inspiration from this from rereading my day 1 story for Bio!dad Bruce Wayne month from last year. I’m just gonna change a few things.

—*—*—*—*—*

For once, an unfamiliar face attracted the attention of everyone who caught even a glimpse of them. It wasn’t even because of the person themselves at first, but their dress. The skirt like the most fantastical of storybook ball gowns, fluffy layers of satin over a luxurious petticoat, with a stunning pink floral pattern whose busy appearance was tastefully offset by a shorter, sheer layer of leaf green tulle artistically weaved and somehow sculpted over the floral in order to tame it. The effect turned what should be a grandmotherly pattern into something softer, sophisticated and youthful and yet also reminiscent of fairytale princesses. Over top the short layer of green tulle was an even shorter later of white tulle, almost invisible except for the elegant embroidery of crystal-white vines that twined all over it, connecting the green below it to the bottom-most floral pattern and oddly adding a layer of childishness instead of maturity. At the waist of the dress was a dark plum pink satin ribbon, to separate the elaborate ballgown skirt from the bodice. Attached to the simple ribbon was a large brooch of fabric flowers, with a single plastic ladybug in the center.

The bodice of the dress came up into a cheongsam neckline, but was sleeveless. It was a simple design, of half green and half dark pink, with a white border separating the two. The white border had expertly done embroideries in a soft silver thread that would only be visible close up, the images the thread made being that of fairies and ladybugs dancing around one another.

It was, all in all, a stunning display that made the small eurasian woman wearing them look like absolute royalty. Perhaps a long lost fairy princess. Her black-blue hair was even done up in elaborate looping braids and a braided bun, with silver and green pins that further completed the regal ensemble. And yes, while the expertly done dress was what initially captivated her current audience, it was not what kept them from leaving her alone. That was all her personality, bubbly and bright as her blinding smile. It was a sunny disposition that very few people present had any exposure to at all, and it drew them like a sunflower to the daylight. They could not help but flock closer, or even just stand back and keep themselves turned to her presence. Already she had been at the gala for two hours, but there was no issue. She just kept proving her generosity, admitting she had donated both a dress and a suit of her own making to the charity auction that would begin soon, one of the main attractions of the gala. She skillfully charmed the more snooty of the attendants, and artfully twisted her words so that they felt compelled to donate more money that they truly had no use for. Later, they would remember their donation and wonder what compelled it, but come up with no satisfying answer.

And yet she was entirely unaware of her more silent audience, who stood back and observed. Truth be told, every one of them was glad to not be the center of that attention for a change, to have room to breathe for so long at an event where usually that commodity was so scarce that it demanded a fierce competition for. Compared to her garden of color, they were all shadows in shades of blacks and blues and whites, with a touch of red here and there that was entirely too thematic for their home city. The one who sported a royal blue suit tilted his head at the scene they were all calmly witnessing, his bright azure eyes glittering.

“She’s like magic,” he mused, clearly enchanted despite having not said a single word to the woman. “Perfect socialite. She’s kind, generous, she made that dress and the ones she donated to the auction herself so she’s obviously got an intimidating amount of skill for her age. She even tricks those old fuddy-duddies into spending money. It’s like a dream come true!”

“I don't trust it,” the one to his right said, a man just a few inches shorter in a classic black suit with a red dress shirt underneath. He absently swept his bangs away from his face as he narrowed his eyes at the woman. “It seems too perfect. She doesn’t have any identifiable character flaw, except maybe being a little clumsy and too energetic. She does babble a little… but nothing that actually suggests any depth besides her just being— good. That’s impossible, and I don’t trust it.”

“Tt. I agree with Drake for once. She seems entirely too comfortable with this setting, despite her blushes and rambles,” the one who spoke this like was taller, clearly a teen in the middle of his growth spurt. He, too, wore a plain black suit but his had subtle charcoal embroidery and he wore an emerald-green dress shirt under it that made his matching eyes gleam dangerously. “It seems almost playacted. Expertly so, but nonetheless not entirely genuine.”

“Wow, not many pick up on that. I’m gonna give your observations a solid eight out of ten. They’re all perfectly sound, but not quite complete,” a new voice made all of the silent group stiffen— somehow they had been snuck up on. The newcomer smirked at them as if having fully expected their reaction but still being pleased at being able to evoke it. This was yet another stunner; far too much color in her outfit to be a Gotham native, and far too much skill in the construction for it to signify anything less than extreme influence. She had bright golden-blond hair that was coiled into a low bun, with her bangs artfully curled and arranged to display her crystal blue eyes.

In contrast to the garden-themed dress of the Eurasian woman who had garnered their attention at first, this newcomer was wearing a pantsuit. It was all in a dark honey-gold, in a stiff fabric with construction that made it lay entirely in perfect, straight lines and hug her form in the right places. Black embroidery decorated the long, flared sleeves and pant legs and dripped around the square neckline like a faux necklace. A cape made out of the same material as the rest of the pantsuit was draped on one shoulder. It started out as the same honey-gold color, but it became a gradient as it faded to a solid black at the ends. Gold thread embroidery decorated the solid black bottom of the cape in delicate, deceptively simplistic swirls. The top half of the pantsuit was clearly inspired by military garb, simultaneously rigidly constructed yet fitted, with circular onyx buttons going down the center of the chest and a thick metal belt, all in swirling silver and black, sat perfectly clasped around her waist. It was far more solid-colored and simplistic compared to the fairytale dress in the center, but no less show stopping and luxurious. It simply showcased an entirely different attitude, almost as if the two women could never get along if their personalities matched their outfits.

“And who are you?” The man who had been the center of the group of shadow-like adults spoke up, back straightening to milk every speck of his generous six-feet-and-three-inches of height. This was none other than Bruce Wayne, the host of this annual charity gala. And normally, his current stance would either intimidate or utterly charm whoever it was directed at— but not this pantsuit-clad blond warrior. Her smirk merely widened, and her blue eyes took on a slight shade of teal as if trying to mimic the dangerous ocean depths.

“I am Chloe Bourgeois, the daughter of Andre Bourgeois, the mayor of Paris, and Audrey Bourgeois, the Style Queen. It’s nice to meet you again, Monsieur Wayne,” she introduced herself imperiously. “I also happen to be the best friend of the girl you were just staring at.”

Bruce nodded, but had trouble reconciling this clear powerhouse of a woman with the bratty and entitled preteen he had met years ago, at the last gala she had attended with her mother. “Of course, I didn’t recognize you at first Chloe. You’ve grown a lot since the last Gala I saw you at.”

Chloe wrinkled her nose, clearly not appreciating the reminder. “I was a bitch,” she admitted easily, seemingly not at all bothered by the confession. It caused not only Bruce but also the oldest three of his sons, who had all also met her in the past, to blink in silent shock. “Things have changed. Paris is apparently the perfect chaotic environment right now to promote emotional growth and smack spoiled kids over the head with reality,” she shrugged. Part of the reason her and her whole class had even been able to come to the Gala in the first place was the fact that Bruce wanted to offer the most attacked group of Parisians a respite and some support from their crazy lives. The fact that even Gotham seemed sane in comparison to Paris was a bit of a hard hit for both involved parties, but in the end everyone understood that “more sane” didn’t always equate with “less dangerous.” Considering all that, Chloe had no reason to sugarcoat the situation in her home city. “But it wasn’t easy at all, and Marinette was largely responsible for my improvement too.”

“Marinette?” The heathen who somehow got away with attending a gala in a black leather jacket over a dress shirt and suit pants asked, raising a brow. Chloe nodded.

“The girl you were just goggling at. Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the class president and resident workaholic. Does she ever sleep? Nobody knows,” Chloe shrugged.

The blue-suited man, Dick Grayson, shot a suspicious glance at Tim, who was standing to his right, as if he was worried his brother had made a female clone of himself just so he could continue to work hard and never rest. Tim ignored him and sipped from the thermos of coffee he had somehow snuck in.

Bruce cleared his throat to bring the focus back onto himself, and shot his most charming smile at Chloe. “They would have known who she was, if they had read the brief information I gave them about your class. But they never do listen to me,” he complained with good humor. “But back to the original topic, Miss Bourgeois, do you care to correct us on how our observations are lacking?”

Chloe laughed easily, smiling and nodding to indicate Marinette, still stuck in a circle of socialites and not seeming the least bit worn out.

“Of course. First; She is not completely acting. She really is like magic sometimes— disgustingly kind, generous, far too willing to help just about anyone for just about any reason. She’s one of the best people I’ve ever met, as much as it pains me to admit it. But she is exaggerating her personality a bit and hiding the parts she doesn’t want anyone to see, so there is a little acting involved. Just not as much as you seem to think,” Chloe then waved her arm in a flourish as if she were presenting Marinette to them. “In short; behold Mari Dupain-Cheng, the ridiculously likeable, disgustingly cute, extremely philanthropic mask that she shows everyone at public events like this. You don’t see any of the insomnia, or the anxiety, or the self doubt. Just the parts she wants you to see, accompanied with a smile to blind you to everything else,” her all-too-deep blue eyes settled back on Bruce then, a knowing glint shining in them. “Don’t you think that’s ridiculously similar to Brucie Wayne for you, Monsieur? Utterly, ridiculously, similar?”

Bruce grit his teeth. He hadn’t expected anyone else to know about his exceptionally well hidden secret, not even his kids had caught on or found his buried evidence yet. Yet his heiress comes up, nearly flaunting her knowledge in his face with all too many unspoken questions and criticisms.

And her cryptic words had succeeded in making all of his kids look at him with extreme suspicion. Shit.

“What are you saying, Miss Bourgeois?” he cautiously prodded. She hummed noncommittally before dropping the bomb all too casually;

“I’m saying I’ve seen her adoption papers, and you won’t be able to run from her for long Monsieur Wayne. As soon as she gets an opening, she’s going to pounce,” Chloe’s eyes glittered dangerously again. “And nowadays, Marinette doesn’t ever let people escape her. Your problem with adoption has created a rather unique problem, you know. You’re at fault for a large majority of her self confidence issues, and I want you to know that I am not going to forget or forgive that anytime soon.”

“Bruce,” Jason’s voice was dark and threatening. “What is she talking about?”

“Something we don’t want getting in the tabloids,” Yet another new voice popped up, allowing Chloe to smugly sink back into the background.

Somewhere during their discussion, Marinette had ambushed them.

“Chloe and I are very good at locating all the reporters in a room and distracting them, but we’re not infallible and this event has far too much coverage,” Her smile reeked confidence and charm, but this close all the Waynes could see the doubt hiding in her bluebell eyes. “Since I’m about to turn eighteen, I figured this would be as good a time as any to finally confront you. I want to make it clear that I seek nothing from you, except the occasional contact. I would like to keep in touch, if nothing else. But if you are adverse to that… then at least answer my questions after the gala,” her eyes developed a hint of carefully controlled desperation. “Please.”

Bruce met her eyes evenly, trying to read her. But she was difficult, simultaneously too many emotions to sort through in her demeanor and much too little. After an extremely tense moment of silence, his voice came out barely above a whisper:

“You do not want anybody to know?”

And hell, if she didn’t recognize the hidden vulnerability in his voice as the very same she heard in her own far too often. In a much tamer version of her own rambling, he went on:

“I can keep it silent if that is what you want. But I want you to know that I will not be adverse to you admitting it anywhere. I don’t expect you to change your name, but I would not be ashamed of the truth getting out. I am not ashamed of it, of you.”

Marinette’s smile grew a little watery. She had to clear her throat to keep herself from tearing up. “Maybe eventually, but not yet. I… I want to stay a little more anonymous for now. It’s one thing to be a well known designer with good connections. It’s an entirely different thing to be…”

“A Wayne?” Bruce finished, ignoring the daggers that were being stared into his back. “I understand completely.

“Father,” Damian’s voice was all sharp edges and rapidly suppressed panic. “What. Is going. On?”

Marinette shot him an apologetic smile. “Apparently, eighteen years ago, his prerogative was to put the child he actually knew about up for adoption when the mother died in childbirth,” her voice was once again only barely loud enough for them to hear, since she didn’t want any eavesdroppers. “Imagine my surprise when I find out he completely flipped sides only months later.”

--*--*--*--*--*

Hey, so please share your feedback on this. This is just to test out a possible new bio dad, multichapter fic and this is the opening scene I'm trying out. If you like it, please tell me what you like about it and please suggest titles for the story! I love you guys' feedback so much!

#maribat #bio!dad au #bio!dad bruce wayne #platonic daminette #platonic jasonette #platonic dickinette #platonic timinette #platonic timari #mlb x dc #ml x dc #maribat fic #platonic brucinette #older sister Marinette

[hangovercurse]

Falling Like the Stars

Pete and you had gotten in a fight the night before he left for filming, leaving you to pick up the pieces of your relationship.

Request: “pete and you take it to another room at a party 😉”

Pete Davidson x Reader

Warnings: Smut (18+), cursing, angst

A/N: This is (loosely) based off Falling Like the Stars by James Arthur

Word Count: 3038

In all eight months of your relationship with Pete, you’d never gone this long without talking. Your phone was right in front of you, his contact in your favorites. But you couldn’t be the first to fold.

It had been 3 and a half weeks, 25 days, since he left for filming. Since that stupid fight.

Maybe you pushed him too far, maybe you expected too much of him, but you’d been together for eight months. And you knew you loved him. The night before he left, he’d taken you out on the most romantic date you’d ever been on, and when you guys got back to your place, you told him you loved him. And he didn’t say it back.

He didn’t say anything, he just shut down. After you begged him to say something, anything, he just gave you a frustrated, “what do you want me to say?”

And thus, the fight ensued, you accusing him of not caring about your relationship and him yelling at you for pressuring him into something he wasn’t ready for.

And maybe you were in the wrong, but you were hurt. You had put everything on the line for him, every inch of your soul was bare to him. And he crushed it. So, you fought. And he left. And you hadn’t talked since except a text from him saying he landed safely.

It was killing you inside. But you couldn’t keep this going if he wasn’t as invested as you were. So, you left it up to him to make the first move.

In the meantime, you occupied your mind with work, television, and mindless scrolling through social media. Your timeline was filled with pictures of your fans, activism posts, and fan accounts of Pete that you followed. One post in particular caught your eye, a picture you didn’t even know the fans had.

It was a picture you had taken of Pete on your first date, the morning after the two of you had met. The memory made you smile.

You were outside on Colson’s balcony, taking hits of the cigarette in your hand and watching the crowd of drunken partygoers below you.

Suddenly the sliding glass door opened behind you, and the most beautiful man you’d ever seen walked out. His hair was dark, his eyes even darker. He seemed gentle, kind, but also like he could rip you to shreds without hesitation. It was intoxicating.

“Oh,” he said upon seeing you, “sorry I didn’t think anyone would be out here.”

You smiled, “you’re good. I don’t mind the company.” He nodded, coming to lean against the railing next to you. You offered him the cigarette, which he graciously took.

“What’s a girl like you doing up here all by herself?” He asked.

You raised an eyebrow, “a girl like me?” A smirk made its way to your face when he looked over at you, eyes raking over your figure.

“I mean, someone as stunning as you shouldn’t be up here all alone. You should be down there, stealing everyone’s breath.”

His comment made you blush slightly. “It’s a bit too much down there for me. I don’t mind all the people but none of them are gonna remember anything in the morning. I don’t want to be that person. I want to remember tonight.”

This time, his eyebrow raised. “Is tonight a special night for you?” He asked.

You bit your lip, turning to face him fully. “I’m not sure yet. You tell me.”

He moved closer to you, hand delicately touching your waist. You took his hesitancy as a question of permission, to which you responded by reaching a hand to run up his arm, stopping on his shoulder. The man smirked, moving even closer to you.

“I’m Y/N.” You told him quietly.

His head dipped down, lips meeting yours, and you closed your eyes, taking in the sensation. Your mouths moved together in sync as his grip on your waist got tighter, pulling you closer to him. You brought your second hand up to wrap around his neck, lifting yourself up on your toes to get better access to his plush lips.

He pulled away from you slowly as your eyes opened, finding his brown ones exploring your face. “I’m Pete.” He whispered, before connecting your lips again.

His hands squeezed your waist, lifting you up slightly. You took the hint and jumped up, wrapping your legs around his waist as one hand moved up to support your back. He carried you back inside to the bedroom the balcony was attached to.

His mouth never left yours, his tongue lightly swiping against your lip. You granted him access, the feeling of your tongues colliding a pleasurable one, it made you feel even closer to him.

He set you onto the bed, finally detaching your lips. You whined as he stepped towards the door but stopped when his hand turned the lock. He chuckled at your neediness, rushing back to the bed, and climbing on top of you, forcing you to lay back onto the bed.

Your hands went to his hair, tangling your fingers in the strands. His hands traveled your middle, reaching the bottom of your shirt. He paused before pulling it up, making sure it was okay with you that he did so.

Once the fabric was removed to reveal your bra-clad chest, he smirked down at you, taking in your body. Pete let out a soft “wow,” that you probably weren’t supposed to hear.

It made you smirk, your hands removing the jacket from him before pulling his shirt over his head. The tattoos on his chest and arms revealed themselves, and you took a moment to admire them. Absentmindedly, you reached out to trace one on his arm, making him grin. Instead of saying anything, he reconnected your lips.

His bare skin on yours made heat run from every part of your body straight to your core. You could feel him hardening through his jeans, and you wanted nothing more than to rip them off. Pete had a similar idea, hands moving to unclasp your bra and he pulled the fabric from your skin. His hands remained there, massaging the tissue, and occasionally squeezing your hardening nipples with his fingers.

“Fuck you’re so pretty.” He mumbled against your mouth, moving his head down to press a soft kiss to your neck. One kiss turned into two, then three, and suddenly Pete was kissing a path to your breasts.

Once his lips connected with your nipples, you let out a sigh of pleasure. His teeth grazed the bud lightly, switching between each breast to give them both the attention they deserved.

The hands that you had tangled in his hair pulled lightly, nails scratching his skull in a way that drove him crazy. He finally left your chest, pressing sloppy kisses down your stomach until he reached the top of your jeans.

Pausing, he looked up at you. “Do you want this?” He asked, sweetly.

You bit your lip, looking down at him and taking in his slightly disheveled appearance. “Yes, Pete. Please.” You asked, earning a smile from him. His hands unbuttoned your pants, pulling them down your legs slowly before tossing them across the room. He stood up and removed his own pants, leaving only two sets of thin cloth in between your heat and his member.

His face returned to its position at the top of your panties. He lightly nipped at the skin there, causing a small groan to escape your lips. He smirked, grabbing the top of your panties in his teeth, and dragging them downwards, exposing your pussy. He used his hands to help his mouth pull the material all the way down your legs, your panties soon joining the rest of your clothes on the floor somewhere.

You took in a breath when his hands grabbed your thighs, spreading them apart. His breath hit your heat as he looked up at you, basking in the beauty of your expression. He’d barely touched you and you were already putty in his hands.

At this thought he brought his lips to your clit, sucking on the small bundle. At the contact you moaned out softly, hands gripping the sheets below you. His tongue peaked out to lick at your slit, slowly dipping into your heat.

He switched his focus from your slit to your clit and back intermediately, one hand eventually dancing up your thigh to join him. As his lips sucked on your clit his middle finger pressed into your wet hole. Another moan came from you as his long finger stretched you out.

He smiled against you when he heard your sounds as he pumped the digit in and out of you. When he felt you were ready, he added a second finger. Picking up his pace, he started curling his fingers as he pumped, hitting your walls.

You could feel your climax building, but he pulled out before you could get too close. He sat up on his knees, eyes finding yours. You watched as he slowly licked his fingers clean, climbing off the bed and finding his jeans. He grabbed a foil wrapper from one of the pockets and brought it back to the bed. He pulled his underwear down, exposing his long, hard dick.

You moaned at the sight, excited at the thought of him filling you up. He rolled the condom onto his member, pumping himself a few times. He lined himself up with your entrance, watching your face.

“You still want this?” He asked.

You loved how he kept asking, kept making sure this was okay with you. “Yes.” You let out, softly, the anticipation killing you.

At your consent, he pushed into you, slowly. His large cock filled you up, stretching your pussy out. Pete let out a quiet groan as you adjusted to him. His lips found their way to your neck again, hot breath hitting your skin.

He pulled out slowly, pushing back in as he pressed a kiss to your neck. “Fuck you feel so good.” He mumbled into your skin. He thrusted into you again, harder this time. Your hands went to his back, gripping onto him.

Pete started picking up his pace, dick thrusting in and out of you harder every time. Your nails began to dig into his skin, definitely leaving marks. You let out small whimpers every time he hit the perfect spot in your tight pussy.

More kisses were placed on your neck as Pete pounded into you, your hips rolling up to meet his. The vibrations from his moans against your skin made everything feel so much better, and you knew you were getting close.

The feeling of his cock twitching alerted you to the fact that he was close, too. So, you let out a whine, “I’m close, Pete.”

He hummed against your neck, “me too, baby.” He continued to push you closer and closer to your climax, “mmm, feel so good around me princess.”

His lips came up to meet yours, tongue establishing dominance in your mouth. One hand found your breast, rubbing the bud between his fingers. The stimulations sent you closer and closer to the edge, until you could feel yourself at the tipping point.

The only sound in the room was your lips against his and the slapping of your skin as Pete’s cock filled you up more and more. His thrusts got sloppier and sloppier until he moaned against your lips, his hot seed filling the condom inside of you. The sensation sent you into an abyss of bliss, your orgasm crashing over you.

Your hips bucked into his as you came undone, his cock still thrusting into you but much lazier now. The feeling of a thousand pins spread through your body, creating a warm and fuzzy feeling.

Once you had both come down from your highs, he pulled out of you. He disposed of the condom and grabbed his underwear, pulling it on. He then tossed your panties and his shirt over to you, which you gladly put on.

Pete crashed onto the bed beside you, pulling you into his side. You nuzzled into him, taking in his scent of cigarettes, sex, and chocolate. You pressed a kiss to the side of his chest, the closest place your lips could get to. He chuckled, pressing his lips to the side of your head.

“I figured instead of joining the lame ass party downstairs, we could steal this room for the night. Then maybe I can take you to breakfast in the morning?” He asked, watching for your reaction.

You looked up at him, a smile on his face, “I would really, really like that.”

Breakfast was, obviously, successful, as you and Pete went out for dinner the next day, and then two days after that. Eventually he was bringing you to meet his family and you introduced him to your co-workers. It wasn’t until he took you backstage to Saturday Night Live that he officially called you his girlfriend whilst introducing you to Colin Jost and Michael Che, but you had both been exclusively with each other since you’d met.

You frowned, thinking about those memories. God, you missed Pete. You should have never said anything, you should have just let it go. Now you might never get him back.

But every part of you craved him. You wanted him here to hold you and kiss you. You wanted him to buy you stupid gifts like he did sometimes. You wanted to talk about literally nothing but that be enough for you two.

You couldn’t help but let your mind drift to where it would often go to. You and Pete in a few years, buying a house together. Your kids playing in the backyard. Going to sports games and recitals with them, taking them to see Pete at work. Getting married in front of all of your friends and family.

You wanted all of it. You had never wanted that life before you met Pete, but now it was all you could think about. You didn’t know what your future would look like without Pete, and you didn’t want to know.

So, against your vow to yourself, you called him.

“Y/N?” He asked. He sounded tired, sad. Hearing him made you freeze; you’d missed his voice. “Is everything okay?”

You bit your lip before answering, your voice coming out as a whisper, “yeah I just, I just miss you, is all.”

Pete let out a sad sigh on the other end of the phone. “I miss you, too.” He said. “I should’ve called you, I just wanted to give you space. I know we didn’t leave off in a good place.”

You stayed quiet, tears coming to your eyes as you recalled the night again. “It’s okay, Pete. I shouldn’t have thrown that on you and I shouldn’t have pushed you to say… that.” You whispered. “I’m sorry.”

You could tell Pete was thinking because he didn’t answer right away. “No, I- I shouldn’t have left you like that. We should’ve talked about it more.”

You shook your head even though he couldn’t see you, sniffling. “Pete it’s okay, really. I was in the wrong and I pushed you away. I made you leave.”

“Yeah, but I should’ve stayed.” You could hear the sadness in his voice and it broke your heart. He sighed, “princess, give me like five minutes and then we can talk about this more, okay?” You hummed into the receiver and the line went dead.

You sunk further into the couch, tears pouring from your eyes. You felt like you were crumbling into little pieces without him. And now he was avoiding important conversations with you.

You came to the realization that you should’ve made the night he left; he doesn’t want you anymore. The thought made you breakdown even more, your breathing quickening and sobs escaping you as you buried your face into your hands that were covered in the sleeves of Pete’s sweater.

A few minutes later you heard a knock on your door. Even though you were in no state to answer it, you did so anyways. You found your person standing there, shoulders hunched and eyes red. Pete held a teddy bear in one hand and a heart shaped box of chocolates in the other. He looked as good as ever, but also like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

“I was literally pulling onto your street when you called me.” He chuckled as you led him inside. He set the teddy bear and chocolates on your coffee table, pulling you onto the couch next to him. “I couldn’t stand how we left things so I asked for the next few days off so that I could come see you.” He grabbed your hand lacing your fingers together.

“I mean seriously, Y/N. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t even focus on the movie because I was just always thinking about you. It was terrifying.”

You smiled a little bit, scooting closer to him. When you spoke, your voice came out hoarse, “I missed you so much.” You couldn’t believe that he was actually here. That he had flown back to New York just to see you. “I’m sorry I made you leave and didn’t say goodbye.”

He grabbed your chin, pulling your eyes up to meet his. “I’m sorry that I was too scared to tell you how I feel.” You gave him a quizzical look. “I was so fucking scared of admitting it to myself, much less to you. But I know now, I’m sure now.”

“What are you talking about?” You whispered.

He leaned in close to you, breath hitting your lips, “I’m not scared anymore.” He said, pressing his lips to yours in a soft, short kiss. “I’m in love with you, princess.”

Your breath got caught in your throats as the words you’d been aching to hear fell from his lips. You leaned forward, kissing him again. “So fuckin in love with you.” He mumbled.

You rested your forehead against his, breaths intertwining. “I love you, Pete.”

#pete davidson #pete davidson x reader #pete davidson imagine #pete davidson angst #pete davidson fluff #pete davidson smut

[stupid-sloot-headcanons]

Hello! Could I request nsfw yandere headcanon/pet play kink for “Please just stop! I’ll do whatever you want me to. Anything but this.” and “I’ll fuck you over and over until you spread your legs when you see me.” with Grand Duke Leuvis?

Leuvis/F!Darling: "I'll fuck you over and over until you spread your legs when you see me."

TW: noncon, pet play, tentacles/monsterfucking

____ had already been wary of Leuvis's strange tone when he'd finished bathing her--something she already hated, being stripped and fondled while he washed her. She wasn't a demon, but she was still an adult capable of something so simple. When he'd dried her off and she'd reached for her clothes, Leuvis shook his finger and smiled at her through his mask. "Ah ah," he chided. "I have something else to put on you."

____ clutched the towel wrapped around her and tried in vain to find any sign of emotion behind his mask. What was he planning? She knew better than to refuse or try to get him to change his mind outright, so for now she had to play along and hope she could win his favor later on. "I see...what did you have in mind, my Lord?"

Leuvis rested one bony hand on her shoulder and took what looked like a length of ribbon out of his coat pocket. When he dangled it in front of her, she realized that it was a leash with a silk collar attached to the end. There was a small golden medallion as well on the collar, engraved with Leuvis's crest. When ____'s eyes widened, Leuvis let out a low chuckle. "You look surprised. Don't you think it suits you?" He brushed her cheek with his finger and held the collar up to clasp around her neck before she could react. "A lovely collar for an even lovelier pet."

____ felt the cold metal and soft silk against her skin, and a shiver ran up her spine as Leuvis leered down at her. He'd never had her wear anything like this before. The line of the leash leading from his hand to her throat left a sick, uneasy feeling in her chest. She WASN'T his pet. She wasn't some stupid animal, lower than him and meant to be owned. Even if she was a captive, she still had her dignity, dammit. "It...it's very luxurious," ____ said carefully. She smiled shyly at him. "What nightgown should I wear with it?"

Leuvis moved his free hand and wrapped it around ____'s waist. "You don't have to worry about that," he replied. "Tonight, you won't wear anything. I want to see how adorable you look with just this and nothing else."

____ froze and stared up at him. She had gotten used to being stripped and bathed by him, but she'd never been naked around him aside from that. She couldn't. She couldn't be so exposed like that, with just a collar around her neck like a dog! Before she could open her mouth to object or come up with some excuse, Leuvis tore ____'s towel off of her body; the fluffy terry-cloth that had been keeping her warm and feeling secure fell to the ground, and goosebumps immediately raised on her body. She immediately moved to cover her breasts and cross her legs, but Leuvis tsk-ed and pulled the leash forward to make her stumble forward.

"Don't hide yourself from me," he said sternly. "I'm your master, and you are my pet." He felt her tense and heard her let out a small gasp as he thumbed over one of her pert nipples. "Do pets wear clothes, my dear?"

____ clenched her fists and felt her face heat up as Leuvis touched her. "O-Only if their master dresses them up," she replied tersely, looking away from him.

Leuvis moved his hand to play with her other breast. "And do good pets say 'no' to their master?"

____ bit the inside of her cheek and she remained silent. She couldn't just lie down and take this treatment. Even if she knew it could have painful consequences, she wasnt going to let Leuvis have his way completely. She pointedly kept her mouth shut and pressed her lips together, refusing to give him an answer. Leuvis cocked his head slightly and pressed the edge of one of his sharp fingers against her nipple. "Surely you know the answer, don't you dear?" His voice was dangerously soft.

____ felt tears welling up in her eyes from Leuvis's finger and from her struggle to stand her ground. She could defy him, but that satisfaction would be temporary. And she knew how sadistic Leuvis could be when he wanted to punish someone...was it even worth it to resist him? She glanced back up at Leuvis and tried her best to focus her gaze on the middle of his mask, too scared to meet his eyes directly. "I...I do," she said hesitantly. Her mind raced to try and find a way to avoid provoking his ire. "But I can't say it out loud." Another half-truth that left a lump in her throat.

Leuvis's grip tightened a bit around her and she winced. "And why is that?"

____ swallowed nervously. "Because," she replied quickly. "The answer...it-it's 'no.'" She tried to keep her lips from wobbling as she gave Leuvis a demure smile. "And a good pet never says 'no' to her master."

Leuvis stared silently at her for a few seconds, and her heart raced as she desperately hoped he wouldn't see through her lie. He finally let out a small laugh and pulled her by the leash into his arms, dwarfing her with his draped-over clothing and large frame. He picked her up and pressed his mask up against her cheek. "Very clever, my dear," he replied. "I'm lucky to have such an entertaining little pet." Behind his mask, ____ swore she could see his gaze darken. "Even when you try to misbehave."

He set her back down and gently tugged on the leash to goad her into following him. ____ tried her best to breathe and keep calm as he led her into his bedroom. "I suppose that part of the blame lies with me," Leuvis mused. "I've definitely been spoiling you. But you still need to be properly trained and taught your place--you're not a stray running around in the woods anymore."

____ crossed her arms and dug her fingernails into her bare skin. Surviving out in the wilderness had been difficult, to say the least: hunting and foraging for food, concealing her presence and memorizing all of the best hiding places for miles whenever she heard Demons coming by her camp, and spending countless nights staying awake out of fear of being discovered and eaten while she slept. Every day was a struggle to survive and stay sane. When she'd finally made a mistake by unknowingly scouting for a new camp near Leuvis's estate, she had been ready to die the moment he and a few of his hunting buddies had found her collecting water at the edge of Goldy Pond. The moment she'd heard their footsteps and saw three Demons closing in on her, every part of her body had just shut down all at once. Instead of trying to flee or fight, she had collapsed into a paralyzed heap onto the ground and could do nothing except stare up at her would-be killers with wide fearful eyes. Looking back on it, it had reminded her of whenever she would hunt rabbits in the woods and how some of them had just submitted to their fate as prey and looked up at her the same way as they waited to be eaten. Maybe that was why Leuvis had decided not to throw her into one of his hunting parties; there was no fun in hunting prey that had already given themselves up to you so easily.

____ snapped out of her thoughts after a sharp tug to her leash caused her to stumble and fall to the ground. "See? You're already proving my point," Leuvis scolded. "When I ask you a question, you answer me."

"I-I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I was distracted. I didn't mean to ignore you."

"Distracted?"

"I was thinking about when I was on my own," ____ explained. "When I was a...a stray. Before you gave me a better life." Again, not quite the full truth, but not a lie either. And this time he seemed to actually believe her; he slowly reached down to tilt her chin up to look at him, and she could see the corners of his mouth turned up into a smile behind his mask.

"I see." He brushed his thumb over her cheek and then her bottom lip. "Even if you weren't listening, it seems you answered my question anyway." His smile widened. "You are grateful for everything I've done for you." She looked up at him with that doe-eyed expression on her face that pleased him so much, and he lifted her up again to place her on his bed. Even for a Demon it was massive, and when he set ____ on the bedspread her legs dangled over the edge like a doll on a shelf. "And I want you to show me that you're grateful."

____ whimpered when she felt Leuvis push her down to lay her flat against the bed. He'd never done anything more than fondling her while giving her baths or absentmindedly touching her while she was in his lap as he read a book or enjoyed a glass of wine. When she saw him reach up to unbutton his coat and then remove his shirt, she backed away from him on the mattress and let out a fearful cry when he took her by the waist with one hand. "Stay still," Leuvis ordered. His fingers dug into her skin as he held her in place. "Stay."

____ choked back a sob and complied, going limp and sinking into the silk comforter underneath her. His grip loosened and he traced circles into her upper thigh before he finished undressing himself. "Good girl."

A nude Demon was something ____ had never thought she'd encounter before, and certainly not like this. Leuvis's body was similar to his face and hands in terms of proportion and color. His body seemed to have muscles made of thick white strings of sinew that resembled a human form, but only in the barest sense. His pelvis was similar to that of a skeleton's, with a strange appendage in the middle that almost seemed like a shell composed of two "plates" of hard muscle. Leuvis stroked the seam between the two plates with a few fingers and let out a soft sigh; a thick black braid of tendrils slowly made its way through the crack and eased its way out, and ____ felt an intense wave of panic as it gently writhed its way out and shone with a bit of slick fluid.

Leuvis took the appendage into one of his hands and ____'s back with the other. The tip wriggled between her thighs and she broke down crying, squeezing them together as tightly as possible to keep this...thing...from invading her. "Please, please, don't," ____ begged hysterically. "Please stop! I'll do anything you want me to, anything but this!"

Leuvis held each of her thighs with one hand and firmly held her in place as she squirmed underneath him. "I know you're scared, but that's only because this is your first time being played with," he insisted irritably. His voice strained a bit as her thighs tightly enveloped his cock. "I'm not going to hurt you, I'm training you." He increased the length of his tendrils just a bit and made the braid separate, and soon he felt the tip of one of the tentacles brush against her labia. Her breath hitched at the strange sensation, and soon another tentacle made its way to flick at a sensitive bud of flesh that made her face flush. Her nipples hardened from the stimulation below and a strange mixture of warmth and something entirely new began to build up inside of her.

Eventually ____'s crying subsided a bit and she sniffled as Leuvis gently spread her thighs apart to feel even more of her. Now that she was starting to realize how pleasurable this could be, it seemed she was becoming much more obedient. Leuvis slipped one of the tentacles not playing with her clitoris inside of her tight walls; the two of them moaned in unison and ____ automatically moved her legs a bit further apart to accommodate more of him. The shiny medallion from her collar jingled a bit as he rocked her hips back and forth, and Leuvis smiled. He took her leash and tugged it to turn her head towards him. "See? There's a good girl," he praised in a soothing voice. "You're already doing so well, and this is just the first night of our little 'training.'" He chuckled breathlessly and eased another tentacle inside of her; she let out a delicious little gasp and her eyes rolled back slightly as she finally started to move her hips a bit of her own accord. "I'll fuck you over and over until you spread your legs when you see me."

#.tpn #yandere tpn #yandere leuvis #.leuvis #tw: noncon #tw: pet play #tw: monster fucking #.myshit #fem darling #.prompts #.queue

[markleesthighs]

good 4 u

pairing: guitarist/singer!y/n (fem) x badboy!jeno

genre: angst, fluff (if you squint), smut, strangers to lovers to enemies

song: good 4 u by Olivia Rodrigo

a/n: mentions of cheating, breakup, depression, underaged drinking (please be safe!!) picture/GIF from @pureboyjun​

Everyone told you to watch out, everyone warned you about him, Lee Jeno. You and Jeno weren’t in the same friend group, you were as what society called an “art freak” with streaks of colors in your hair and black eyeliner. You also always kept guitar picks with you, always wanting to sneak into the music room and practice on the electric guitar. The wannabe’s compared you to an Avril Lavigne-type girl. Your best friends were also your bandmates, supportive of you and your dream, unlike your parents. You and your parents had a deal, as long as you kept good grades you could continue to play music as a “hobby.” 

You also worked at a music store, which is how you ran into Lee Jeno. He was looking for vinyl of a specific artist which happened to also be one of your favorites so you knew exactly where it was. He thanked you and you hoped that would be the last you’d see him. But he came in every day to talk to you and eventually had the courage to approach your lunch table. All your bandmates glared at Lee Jeno, knowing his reputation and his motives. Once he left they’d all trash him for trying to talk to you. 

“y/n you shouldn’t really associate with him.”

“Yeah, all of his ‘fangirls’ will tear you to shreds.”

“Jeno hits and runs, you better stop talking to him before it turns into something dangerous. You’ll only get hurt.”

You didn’t think much of their words, since Jeno wasn’t really your type anyway. There’s no way you could ever fall for him. Oh boy, were you wrong. Jeno went out of his way to swoon you in any way he could. He’d walk you home at night, visit you in the music room and at work, he’d even invite you to his lunch table where you’d be met with his other ‘bad boy’ friends. He would get you your favorite coffee, just the way you like it, and get your lunch order so you wouldn’t wait in line. All of this attention grabbed the attention of his fangirls, constantly threatening you about how “Jeno is mine!” and bullshit like that. You honestly didn’t care because you reassured them you and Jeno were not dating. 

That was until he invited you to a party, saying that you could meet his one friend that was also into music and could help you break out into the music industry. You agreed, excited to meet someone in the industry. When you arrived at the party, you met his friend who worked at Columbia Records, you bonded and everything got his contact information in hopes of getting an internship. Jeno met up with you again, asking you to repay him, in a game of fear pong (beer pong with truth or dare elements). You agreed, joining him on his team against Johnny and his girlfriend. One of the dares you guys had to do was make out for one minute or drink. You were about to drink when Jeno grabbed your face and started to make out with you. 

God, did he taste good. His lips were soft brushing against yours the taste of beer and light cigarette smoke made his lips only more addictive. Everyone watching was hooting and hollering at the two of you. Jeno licked the bottom of your lip, which you opened your mouth to let his tongue enter, causing your tongues to fight for dominance. Jeno’s ultimately dominated and touched your throat. You gave a small moan which only made Jeno kiss you harder. Johnny coughed causing you two to stop. 

“You realize you two were making out for like 5 minutes right?” Johnny laughed.

You pulled away but Jeno held on to you by your waist. 

“What can I say, Suh, she tastes really good, I wanted to savor it.”

That made you blush. You guys continued the game and you and Jeno won, out of excitement (and slight intoxication) you kissed Jeno. He looked at you in shock and you apologized before he kissed you back. Since that game, you two were attached to the hip the whole night. Jeno didn’t feel safe letting you go home so he let you sleep with him in a bedroom upstairs. When you guys were tucking in for the night he wrapped his arm around you pulling you closer to him. 

“y/n, I love you.”

You giggled “You’re drunk Jeno...get some rest.”

“No, I mean it.”

“You’re really funny.”

“Do you need me to prove it to you?” He spoke in a deep voice, shifting his body to hover above yours. 

“If I didn’t love you do you think I’d be feeling like this right now?” Jeno whispered into your ear. When he leaned down you felt his member rock hard against your thigh. 

“J-jeno, you’re confused, do you know what you’re doing right now?”

“If you want me to stop I’ll stop. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I can take care of myself in the bathroom if you don’t want to do it.”

As Jeno was moving off your body you wrapped your arms around his body to pull him back.

“N-no, stay, please.”

“Are you sure y/n, you sure you want to do this?”

“Y-yes.” Little did you know that you would regret sleeping with Lee Jeno. 

Jeno kissed your lips softly, knowing how tired you both are. You felt his member twitching with every kiss. He moved on to your neck, leaving soft kisses and a purple mark on your collarbone. He moved all the way down your stomach down to your flower. He kissed your thighs and ate you out vigorously, he was sucked down on your clit while fingering you. You were trying to hide your moans but Jeno hit your sweet spot almost every single time, causing you to not be able to contain yourself. You were tugging and pulling at his har which also caused him to moan. You were about to climax when Jeno pulled away which caused you to whine and pout. Jeno kissed your pouty lips as he pulled out a condom from the drawer (be safe kids!) and tore it open and put it on his member. 

He looked at you and asked again for your reassurance and you nodded. 

“I’ll be slow and gentle I promise.”

He slowly slid into you as you clenched around him you squeezed your eyes from the pain, he was a lot bigger than you thought. Jeno moans harmoniously along with you as he waited for you to let him move. 

“P-please m-move..”

Jeno smiled as with every thrust he kissed you, he made you feel comfortable in his arms. 

“F-faster, please...”

“What’s my name?”

“J-jeno! Please!”

“That’s daddy to you.” He said as he thrusted harder inside of you.

“Y-yes, daddy, please go faster.”

“Good girl.”

Jeno pushed harder and faster as you moaned louder and louder, finally climaxing with Jeno. Jeno removed the condom and threw it in the trash as he walked to the bathroom and cleaned you up along with a few kisses. 

“Hey Jeno?” Jeno turned to look at you.

“I love you too.”

After that night you and Jeno were going steady for a couple weeks until he ghosted you. He stopped talking to you and his friends would laugh at you or Jeno would tell you to go back to your old table. You heard their conversation as you were walking back. 

“I can’t believe Jeno got her to sleep with him.”

“Easiest fucking $100 he’s ever made.”

 When you went back to your bandmates you were broken. Endless nights of tears and suicidal thoughts swamped your mind. Why me? Why did I have to fall for his stupid trap? He only wanted me for some cheap cash huh? How can he just move on so easily? Did nothing we have mean anything? Well screw that and screw you, Lee Jeno. 

“Hey y/n?” One of your bandmates asked. 

“Battle of the bands' championship for the school is coming up, do you know what song we are going to cover?”

You looked at Jeno. “Oh, I fucking know what song we are going to sing.” 

You and your bandmates got the sheet music for good 4 u by Olivia Rodrigo and practiced it until it became natural for everyone. Finally, the battle of the bands' championship occurred. It was hosted by your school to fundraise for the music program and scholarships. Before your group came up, you all huddled, and they all gave you the words of encouragement you needed to perform in front of Lee Jeno. 

“Sing it from your heart bitch.”

“Kill him with those words.”

“Make him feel like the shit head he is.”

As they hyped you up, you felt much better as you all walked out to stand on the stage. You saw Jeno in the crowd with his new supposed girlfriend. You began playing the first notes on the guitar. 

Well, good for you, I guess you moved on really easily You found a new girl and it only took a couple weeks Remember when you said that you wanted to give me the world?

You stared right into his eyes singing every lyric, letting him know what a scumbag he was for dating someone new in a few weeks when he confessed to you after he fucked your brains out. What kind of a person does that?

Now you can be a better man for your brand new girl

You raised your hand and pointed right at him and his new girl who looked like every other bitch who wanted to get with Jeno, you couldn’t compare to her, you had to show Jeno he made a mistake leaving you for $100. You wanted to make those $100 worth nothing because he left you for someone who’s only worth $1. 

Well, good for you, you look happy and healthy, not me If you ever cared to ask Good for you, you're doin' great out there without me, baby God, I wish that I could do that

You sang you heart out to those lyrics almost feeling emotional. How could Jeno sit there with a smile on his face while you almost crying during this set. You then realized Lee Jeno is an emotionless piece of shit. But just this once, you wanted to see him cry. 

I've lost my mind, I've spent the night Cryin' on the floor of my bathroom But you're so unaffected, I really don't get it But I guess good for you

It wasn’t fair that you cried endless tears, while Jeno came to school with a smile on his face. Your eyes would be dark and baggy from all the crying and endless sleep, but he came to school happier and brighter than ever, fuck you Lee Jeno. 

It's like we never even happened Baby, what the fuck is up with that?

Everyone forgot about you and Jeno the moment he dropped you. How come everyone took his side and let this slide past everyone? Did no one care about how you felt? How humiliated you were? How can someone forget something like that?

And good for you, it's like you never even met me Remember when you swore to God I was the only Person who ever got you? Well, screw that and screw you You will never have to hurt the way you know that I do

Jeno and you became strangers, nobodies, to each other just back at square one, how did this happen? He would complain about how his friends would make fun of his music tastes and hobbies, making you think you were the only one who understood him and supported him. You wanted to make him feel guilt and shame for toying with you. 

Maybe I'm too emotional But your apathy's like a wound in salt Maybe I'm too emotional Or maybe you never cared at all

You’ve thought about how you were the problem, that Jeno didn’t want you for you. He would act reassuring when you were in bed, but once he left you, he brushed off every concern you had. He never had any feelings for you. He never cared about you. 

Before the final chorus you pulled out a picture of you and Jeno printed out on paper and one of your bandmates set it on fire. The picture of Jeno’s face starting to well up with tears when everyone in the gym started to stare at him. It was music to your ears. 

Good for you, you're doin' great out there without me, baby Like a damn sociopath

You were now crying in the last chorus not out of sadness but out of joy, finally, Lee Jeno knows what it’s like to have his heartbroken. All of the other girls and guys were screaming and singing along with you, you were jumping and high-fiving all of them, rocking out to the music. Your mascara was dripping down your cheeks and you looked emotional and powerful. 

Well, good for you, I guess you moved on really easily

As you played the last chord on your guitar everyone was cheering. You thanked everyone for the performance as your group hugged your bandmates thanking them for getting you through the performance. You turned to look at Jeno one last time to see him crying. It was beautiful. 

good 4 u, Lee Jeno. 

#nct #nct imagines #nct imagine #nct jeno #lee jeno #nct angst #nct fluff #nct smut #nct smut imagines #nct jeno imagines #nct scenario #nct scenarios #nct x reader #nct smut scenarios #nct jeno smut #nct bad boy au #jeno scenarios #jeno fluff #jeno x reader #jeno x you #nct dream jeno #nct dream #nct dream imagines #nct dream scenarios #nct dream angst #nct dream smut #nct 2020 #nct 2018

[carryonthroughtheages]

Hello everyone!

Another year of Carry On Through The Ages is over and done! We have emotions and exhaustion, but we're so happy that this year had the hype and excitement that it did.

Thank you, from the bottom of our hearts, to all of the AMAZING creators who spent the last several months working away at their historical content!

Thank you also to the hard-working mods: @bazzybelle, @giishu, @palimpsessed, and @xivz . This fest would not have been as successful as it has been without you!

We encourage everyone to look under the page break for all the fics and art. They're all fantastic!

Here is the link to the AO3 Collection: Carry On Through The Ages 2021!

Thank you all, and until next year! 🧡🧡🧡

MONDAY:

1) sun on the sea (T) - @trenchcoat-moth : AO3 // Tumblr

Tensions run high in England, and Malcolm decides it's for the best he sends Baz to live with Fiona, where he'll be safer.

That is, until Baz's ship is attacked.

2) The Words I Long To Say (M) - @bazzybelle : AO3 // Tumblr

Simon Snow was dead.

Baz Pitch was sure of it. Simon had gone away seven years ago to fight a war in the jungle and he hadn't come home.

So, when Simon shows up in Baz's club, investigating a string of brutal murders, all Baz wants to do is hold him close and never let him go.

But these aren't the same boys from 1960 and Baz has a lot of processing to do before he's ready to believe in Simon again.

3) we are slaves to gods, whatever gods are (M) - @wellbelesbian : AO3 // Tumblr

I don’t fully understand what plagues him, but I know it’s bad, and I know it goes deeper than guilt. He didn’t want to kill his father, not really, but we were instructed to do so by Apollo. Cleanse the house of its sins, dispose of a murderer to set things right. It was only right that I join him; he was avenging my mother as much as his. Clearly, Apollo didn’t seem to consider that such an act would make Simon a murderer in his father’s place. It seems I got off fine, but as far as Simon is concerned, the vengeful spirits that once spun and danced on the roof of the palace now hunt him down, determined not to stop until he rids the world of himself.

4) World War II Era Art - @stardustasincocaine : Tumblr

TUESDAY:

1) the art of loving you (E) - @one-more-offbeat-anthem : AO3 // Tumblr

1955. London. Young love.

Forbidden love.

A year ago, starving artist Simon Snow met Baz Pitch, son of a wealthy art patron, at a party, and their days (and nights) together have been a wonderful secret.

But Simon is tired of being a secret and knows it's time for things to end.

(Baz has other ideas.)

2) Reliquary of an Arsonist (T) - @tea-brigade : AO3 // Tumblr

Simon Snow grew up a ward of Watford Abbey, but when his magic manifested in an explosive accident as a child, he became the Abbey’s anchorite—never to leave Watford’s walls, for his own protection. That is, until Abbot David sends him on an important errand…

Basilton Pitch paints portraits for his patron, Lord Grimm. But he’s never forgotten the magic he learned from his mother—nor the men who condemned her to death as a heretic. When Simon arrives and offers Baz a commission from Watford Abbey, he sees his chance to avenge his mother once and for all...and he’s willing to burn down everything in his path to that end.

But it was no coincidence that pulled these two unlikely souls together. Something more sinister is underway at Watford Abbey, and only Simon and Baz can uncover the truth before everything goes up in flames.

3) Westward Son (E) - @aristocratic-otter : AO3 // Tumblr

Simon and Baz have found each other again, but there's nowhere in Brooklyn or Virginia where they can safely be together. So now, they venture the hazards and struggles of the Oregon trail, to perhaps find a little homestead in Oregon of their own.

4) A Way Out (T) - @lying-on-the-sofa : AO3

I frown at him..“You don’t know me.”

He offers his hand. “Simon.”

Simon. I feel the name around in my mind and assign it to his face. Simon. I don’t shake his hand. They’ve still got my arms pinned. “Basilton.”

Simon nods at me. “Now we know each other. Let him go.” Very casually, he takes his other hand from behind his back. A sword, flashing. He leans on it and smiles invitingly. “Let him go.”

This time, they listen.

--

Simon Snow has been trained for years to become a tribute—one of the fighters Athens sends every ninth year into the Minotaur’s labyrinth. He wants to know the way out, if only for Penny’s sake. Luckily for him, Prince Basilton of Crete also wants a way out—off the island, where no one will know he’s the half-brother of the Minotaur.

Unluckily for both of them, they don’t exactly form the most agreeable pair.

WEDNESDAY

1) long is the road the leads me home (G) - @wellbelesbian : AO3 (Version 1) (Version 2) // Tumblr

Baz has a rather unremarkable life, and he's fine with that. Running his late mother's beloved inn with his temperamental aunt, estranged from his father and step-siblings, he's successfully convinced himself that he's better off without attachments.

Then Simon barrels into his life, guns blazing and rapier drawn, and Baz is swept up in dramatic plot he never bargained for.

Worse still, he finds he quite likes the thrill.

2) New Romantics (T) - @ninemagicks : AO3 // Tumblr

Basilton Pitch, twenty-two years old and a famed poet of the Romantic era, has fled to the countryside. In Mummers House, the fabled haunt of literary greats, he sulks himself into oblivion and awaits a sad, disappointing end to his brief years of brilliance. The cause of his downfall? None other than Simon Snow, the so-called “bad boy of English poetry”, breaker of rules and eternal thorn in his side. Baz hopes that Mummers House might mean an escape from London, from Snow and his increasingly virulent popularity... but the rain that comes has other ideas.

3) thnétos (T) - @snowybank : AO3 // Tumblr

thnétos: subject to death, mortal

a retelling of Apollo and Hyacinthus

4) A Medieval AU art piece - @thewriterxj : Tumblr

THURSDAY

1) From Eden (E) - @orange-peony : AO3 // Tumblr

I wonder if his skin is warm or cold to the touch. I tell myself it’s simple curiosity, that I’m an artist and capturing things on paper or canvas is my way to make sense of the world. That drawing him feels so natural, so I should just follow my instincts. Ebb used to say it all the time. Follow your heart. It knows where you’re supposed to go.

I wish I could. I wish I had enough money and freedom to just draw what I want. To paint him in his unattainable beauty. To draw him the way I want to. Naked and vulnerable, raw. Without frills and expensive suits.

Just Baz on paper, my fingers tracing his delicate and beautiful lines with simple charcoal.

2) Slings and Eros (M) - @palimpsessed : AO3 // Tumblr

Young god of love Simonides is tasked by his father, the god of war, to bring about the ruin of a mortal prince to punish his blasphemy. However, once Simonides sees his intended victim, he begins to have misgivings. Prince Tyrannus might have offended the gods with his very existence, but all Simonides can see is how beautiful and lonely he is.

Or, a very loose interpretation of the Eros and Psyche myth.

3) I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire (M) - @knitbelove : AO3 // Tumblr

September 1940: Going back to Watford feels different this year, and not just because England is at the brink of war with Germany and Italy. Penelope seems unsettled by everything, and Agatha is distant, and Baz is … simply not here.

What if Carry On but during the Blitz?? Yeah.

4) A Fool's Oath (M) - @thewriterxj : AO3 // Tumblr

A simple soldier is invited to join the ranks of the royal guard. He and his appointed mage arrive at the royal city to find themselves at the mercy of an unmerciful court. As he struggles to find his place in this foreign environment, he also finds himself entranced by music that only he seems to hear that floats out about the city. He makes an oath to wed whoever makes such beautiful music.

Too bad that person is the crown prince.

FRIDAY

1) Stranger Tides (T) - @tea-brigade & @xivz : AO3 // Tumblr

“If some god shall wreck me in the wine-dark deep, even so I will endure…” Captain Simon Snow of the Chosen One is many things—cunning, handsome, ruthless. Greedy. It’s no surprise that Snow finds a way to piss off the God of the Sea, he always manages to get himself into some type of trouble. This time, however, he’s not the only one who will suffer the consequences. Poseidon promises to not stop his pursuit until Snow and all of his men are dead.

Enter Basilton Pitch—rich, beautiful, mysterious. Suspicious. He offers the crew of the Chosen One a hefty sum to take him back to Europe from the Caribbean. And who is Captain Snow to refuse so much coin? After all, Greek gods aren’t real.

Right?

2) The wayward heir [comic] (M) - @letraspal : AO3 // Tumblr

Like a folk song, our love will be passed on. Simon Snow wants to be an artist. He used to live in Fiesole where he worked in the wool shop of his good friend Ebeneza Petty. He has now chosen to return to his native Florence in order to participate in an art contest hosted by the Pitch family, the most important bankers in all the three continents and Simon’s last chance for an art patronage. No matter how much he hates them.

But being back in Florence also brings back the memories Simon wanted to leave behind : his days as an orphan, the mystery about his mother, and once more being under the inquisitive eyes of his godfather, the new archbishop Davy. The archbishop is very same man who would never forgive him for dropping out the priesthood and ruining his secret plans against the Pitches.

The last thing Simon needed was an unbearably handsome jerk getting him into trouble on his very first day in Florence. How can focus when this man is the most annoying person he has ever met and yet his major source of inspiration.

3) Prohibition Blues (T) - @heyyyandrea : AO3

Simon Snow is a baker and aspiring playwright in Prohibition Era New York City. When he meets a handsome man at Shepherd's speakeasy who is interested in his work, he can't help but think it feels too good to be true.

4) Earth Below & Sky Above (M) - @phoxphyre : AO3 // Tumblr

In the depth of the palace of King Minos of Crete lurks a creature known as the Minotaur.

Baz, prince of Athens and chosen of the god Poseidon, has heard the stories. And now he’s volunteered to come to Crete as one of the annual tributes—to dance with the king’s bulls and fulfill his destiny. He just wants to survive the bulls, protect his people, and go home.

But what if the Minotaur isn’t a monster—but just a boy? And what if instead of slaying him, Baz fell in love with him?

A Carry On retelling of the myth of Theseus and the Minotaur, set in Bronze Age Crete.

5) A 1980s AU Art piece by @stardustasincocaine : Tumblr // Instagram (Slightly NSFW)

#carry on through the ages 2021 #carryonthroughtheages2021 #carry on through the ages #COTTA 2021 #COTTA2021 #masterlist #historical fanart #historical fanfiction #historical AU #historical #ancient history au #renaissance au #medieval au #regency AU #pirate AU #highwayman AU #mythology au #classical mythology au #WWII AU #1950s AU #1920s AU #1960s AU #1980s AU #amazing writing #amazing writer #amazing art #amazing artist #simon snow #baz pitch #the simon snow trilogy

[mggpleasedontlookhere]

checkmate

summary: where y/n and spencer live in a world of soulmates; but how magical can it really be when the last words of your lover are the only indication of their existence.

word count: 7,054                                                                                               reading time aprox: 26 mins

warnings: character death, angst

a/n: this is my comeback fic, I hope you like it. I made sure to make it extra angsty to compensate for my disappearance :) also this fic can be read by anyone!

masterlist

Chess is a meticulous endeavor, not only in its cold and calculated nature, but also in the player’s ability to detect insecurity flash across their opponents' eyes, the unconscious idiosyncrasies that foretell future moves, and the slow descent into hopelessness that disintegrates the former’s conviction. Most will point out the cruelty of the game, how callous it must be knowing your end eight moves before it happens. However, others will oppose this notion as it is the game; one must lose to win.

It’s all a matter of who plays their pieces right.  

Before that pivotal moment, players can only maneuver through a black and white arena. Fingertips would drum in anticipation while the other would hover over their pieces, striding across the board with purpose. Regardless of the disparity between the players’ experience or skill, there is always one factor, unmoved by player attributes, that is not a disadvantage nor luxury for either party: time.  

Even in the checkered plane, nothing will matter. The players will cease to move, forced to end the game by the lack of time. This mechanism in nature acts as a failsafe if either individual is unable to conclude the game. In other words, there are only two outcomes: winning the game by will or letting time take that will away from you.  

However, what is not noticed is the growing ache in the winner’s chest, disappointment beginning to fester inside of them because of their loss in deciding. In that split realization, the winner is placed on an equal plane as the loser, wondering if they ever really won at all.  

This middle plane is beautiful and tragic simultaneously—maybe the beauty is in the tragedy. But as my palm leaves a bloodied handprint pressed against Spencer’s chest, all I can see is the world around me turning red.  

Please be okay, please be okay for me

My mouth would silently mutter in tandem with his desperate and reaching touches, a mantra I convinced myself could surpass time, all while knowing my will was seized from me the moment Spencer uttered the words imprinted at my hip.  

-

October 27th

2 days before  

Water vapor collected around the coffee mug pressed to my lips. Although it’s ironic to call it a ‘coffee’ mug considering it was filled to the brim with scalding tea. The tips of my fingers and the skin of my palms tingled at the heat given off. My thoughts drifted to the explanation of the first law of thermodynamics that Spencer had kindly explained during the walk home from the night before.

  An unconscious smile brushed over my lips briefly, reminiscing the blissful moments of the team gathered around a bar table after finishing up a briefing about a local case. A warm cloud of content passed through my chest while a lightness traveled from the bottoms of my feet to the summit of my forehead. The herbal tea traveling down my esophagus countered the cold nipping of the autumn air, bringing a welcome equilibrium to my wellbeing.  

I shrugged the knitted blanket over my shoulders further, staring into the calming view that the apartment window provided. Across from the building was a small, abandoned park. Most of the neighbors had steered clear of the area as it didn’t meet anyone’s aesthetic standards—well, except for mine. 

 Half of the trees have lost their leaves, counting down the days to winter. The park benches were covered with tangled vines, even some lacking required wood boards. In summary, the place was an overgrown jungle that no one was willing to inhabit. In result, the once communal area was condemned by the normal folk for being ‘too dead.’ However, I would oppose those who claim the lack of life in the park considering life is not only just living, but it is to invite death.  

In my observation of the park, a soft reflection suddenly appeared beside the yellow oak trees. In my peripheral, I can see my roommate creeping up behind me with his limbs moving catlike. I bit my bottom lip to conceal the amused huff threatening to escape me, instead settling to blowing over the steam rising from my cup.  

Just before I saw his head bobble over my shoulder, arms stretched out above me, I whipped around his lanky figure and ducked under his arm. “You know for an agent; I expected a better performance.” An inaudible yelp interrupted the fit of giggles I was in as some of the tea spilled onto my blanket. “Now look what you’ve done! Do you know how hard it is to get dark liquids off cotton?”  

“Just some hydrogen peroxide will do the trick,” Spencer shrugged, insisting to pull off the semi-damp blanket off my shoulders. “Plus, you messed up my bit!”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot I was living with a five-year-old,” I teased, nudging him.

  Spencer craned his neck to the side, letting the sore tendons and muscles stretch out from just waking up. All without forgetting to let out an obnoxious yawn in addition to his exaggeratedly extended arms. “I’ll have you know that this five-year-old has three PhDs and three bachelors,” he boasted.  

“...and daddy issues.”  

Before I can find a way to defend myself, the same blanket that brought me solace previously was transformed into an unmerciful whip. Spencer chased me around the couch until I slipped and toppled over the cushions, landing on the throw pillows. I buried my head into the leather arm, shutting my eyes, while I replicated the nature of Spencer’s antics by emitting ridiculous snores. 

 “You can’t touch me while I’m sleeping,” I murmured, feigning my slow lull to slumber. “It’s socially unacceptable.” During my spiel, Spencer had playfully grabbed my ankles and dragged me to a sitting position.  

“SPENCER!” I gasped, clutching one of the pillows in hand and smacking him over the head with it. “You do not handle people like that! No wonder why you also have momm-”  

Spencer’s palm gently nudged me back onto the couch mid-sentence, leaving my frame to hit the cushions with a loud thud. A boom of laughter filled the empty space of my chest, my breath thinning as dopamine jumped from my brain’s synapses. An enchanted smile caressed the corners of my mouth mirroring the one Spencer was sporting.  

In these insignificant interactions, I would think back to the times where our comfortability was limited and reveled on how much our friendship grew over the years. There was a sense of solace that overwhelmed me knowing that introducing—and working on his—humor brought an auspicious light to the darkness that often clouded his mind.  

My lungs deflated with a hefty exhale, my arm slinging across my eyes in relaxation. Clamored feet and the rug shifting against the wood floor caught my attention. Freeing my line of vision, I was met with a raggedy-haired genius with barely a foot between us. I reached out to comb through his locks, the webbing of my hands catching the tangled curls. “You need to shower greasehead.”  

“Actually, the buildup of sebum and laloin in the gland of the hair follicles—coined as the sebaceous gland—offers moisture and protection, given that it is regulated upon its natural equilibrium.” Spencer leaned into the soft touch of my fingers, like how a kitten purrs against their owner’s affection.  

“Well, I don’t know about you almost-birthday-boy, but I don’t think you want to go into the next chapter of your life smelling like you just changed out of your first diaper.” I pushed myself up the couch, gesturing Spencer to the hallway bathroom. “This is the big 31!”  

“Y/N, we had a party for my 30th. I think I’m good to last for the decade,” he huffed, walking towards his bedroom to grab a change of clothes.  

“That’s not the spirit, Dr. Reid!” I yelled across the room. “I swear Spence, you’re the only person who’d turn down a party... And, you even turned down Rossi’s invitation to go all out in his backyard.”

“Another year to celebrate the ever-closing gap between my time on earth and my imminent demise—oh, and how can I forget celebrating it in an open space full of ticks and pollen,” Spencer sarcastically jested, his voice bouncing off the thin white walls.  

“At least you’d know your soulmate, right? Then I wouldn’t be the only one to deal with your ‘Debby Downer’ ass,” I added on, rolling my eyes at his usual pessimistic rulings.  

“I would prefer nihilistic, but if that vernacular serves you then to each their own.”

“Hey, maybe after you die, I and your soulmate can mourn over you—bond and all that—and then I can steal them away,” I teased.  

I looked to the lightning bolts etched into the crevices of my thighs, my fingertips tracing each design until it fell onto the carved words at my hip. In a way, the stretch marks made beautiful vines attached to the faded letters, covering the obvious red scratch marks that had resurfaced from my bad habits.  

I kissed my fingertips before planting them back onto the markings, chuckling to myself of the intimate gesture. Unconsciously, I began to rub at the tattooed words once again, hating how their protrusion made my skin crawl.  

“I mean I’m dead, what can I really do?” Spencer called out, stopping in his tracks when he reached the bathroom door. He faced me as he spoke, going on about his birthday celebration tomorrow—half of his speech unheard to me—until he requested my immediate attention. “You have to stop picking at the words, Y/N. You’re going to end up hurting yourself.”  

“I know, I know,” I sighed, letting my dominant hand fall to my side. A pout fell on my lips at the loss of the small satisfaction scratching granted me. “But the words are just so uncomfortable sometimes. I mean you got lucky with the whole soulmate placement.”  

Spencer brought his free hand to his chest, thumb tracing over the small words typed on the skin. “Yeah, I guess I did get lucky huh.” A soft smile grazed over his lips while his eyes were still trained on the unknowing figure resting against the couch.  

“What does your marking read aga-”  

“Spence, what’s it say on your che-”  

I groaned in playful disbelief at the coincidental timing. “You know at this point I’m starting to think we’re telepathic, Spencer.”  

“That’s actually what my tattoo is,” he laughed. “It’s my name.”  

“Oh yeah,” I nodded, remembering the first time we brought it up in the early days of meeting one another. “Must’ve saved a lot of name tags in elementary school” I teased.  

Spencer shook his head, shuffling into the bathroom with a lightness in his steps. With the closing of the door, my gaze fell onto the marking once again. 

 Regardless of the mechanics of soulmates, I was never worried about the possibility of not meeting them. I was already at my happiest knowing shared moments like these were good enough. However, unbeknownst to my ideal wishes, an irking desire still lingered in the back of my head while fingers hovered over the imperfect skin.  

October 28th

1 day before

“Kid, you can’t sit there and tell me that finding your soulmate can be ‘scientifically extrapolated.’ That’s not the point,” Morgan amusingly shook his head at Spencer, ruffling the top of his head as he brushed past him.  

“Okay,” Spencer tutted, “tell me. What ‘is’ the point then?”

“Well, all I’m saying is that finding your soulmate—if you have one—is supposed to come supernaturally.”

“Morgan, did you just try to win over boy genius here by talking about the supernatural?” With a tilted smirk, I nursed the half-filled flute between my fingertips. My gaze flickered over to a pleased brainiac sharing the same mischievous glint found in my eyes. I let my head fall back against the couch cushions, my eyes fluttering close to the sound of grown children bickering. 

 “Alright,” Morgan raised his hands up in defense. “All I was pointing out was that things like these can’t be solved by numbers and science.”  

“The same can be said about Newtonian physics, but look where we a-”  

Morgan flung a ball of crinkled wrapping paper Spencer’s way, aiming for his head. Spencer attempted to dodge the projectile—emphasis on attempted—only to have it hit him square in the face.  

“So much for those Newtonian physics, huh?” I teased while getting up to open another bottle of champagne. Spencer slouched in his chair, the paper cone hat on his head shifting to the side. A grimace replaced the smirk he initially wore, muttering about how he was going to get Morgan back.  

“Y/N! Bring that bottle over here when you’re done.” Morgan called out as I walked into the kitchen, pausing the ongoing discussion of the case we planned to tackle. “Also, bring another juice box for Reid here!”  

A chorus of laughter followed my ears which each step, a grin finding the corners of my lips. I rose to the tips of my toes to reach for the unopened bottle in the alcohol cabinet. I made my way to the freezer, taking out the bucket of ice I stored away hours ago. When closing the appliance door, my eyes landed on a picture magnetized to the surface.  

It was a physical reminder of the time that Spencer convinced me to dress up as Amy Pond, the eleventh doctor’s sidekick, for comic con. He too was dressed up in the doctor’s attire: a brown corduroy suit, a bowtie, and a sonic screwdriver. We both had silly grins planted on our faces, it seemed like nothing could tear down the joyous bubble we were in. Upon reflecting on the memory, the kitchen door swung open revealing a merry Spencer.  

“Hey, I was supposed to be getting you that juice box,” I joked.  

Spencer shook his head, pushing past me to get to the cupboard. “Very funny,” he droned, sarcasm dripping off his words. I leaned against the counter, setting the bucket of ice to the side. I analyzed his movements, noticing how often he fidgeted with his fingers or how his legs would clumsily turn inward at times.  

“You know,” he paused, turning around to face me, “In some countries ruled by military dictatorship, staring could be deemed as a call for execution.”  

I crossed my arms, challenging him. “Well last time I checked; we aren’t in any of those countries. Is that right, Dr. Reid?”  

“Unfortunately,” he chuckled. “Did you need anything?”  

“No, why do you ask?”  

“Well, by the way you were checking me out, I would think you needed something.” He sauntered over to the opposite counter across the kitchen, hoisting himself up on the granite. I watched as the casual smirk fell off his face after failing his initial attempt to sit. The second attempt proved to be better, although that didn’t stop me from rolling my eyes at his impotence.  

“You know,” I repeated his words, grabbing the champagne and ice bucket as I began to stroll out of the room. “I’m really starting to think you have a better chance at ‘extrapolating’ your soulmate rather than finding them.”  

“Wait!”  

I whipped around to face him with furrowed eyebrows. I nodded for him to continue, watching as a sly expression reappeared on his face. “You forgot my juice.”  

I sighed, setting the items back down on the counter before reaching for the fridge. “You are a grown man, Spence,” I gesticulated at the boy. I grabbed Spencer’s favorite sparkling water and left it aside. “You couldn’t get your own?” I raised my eyebrows at him, ducking out of the refrigerator door.  

He crossed his legs, still propped up on the counter. “Well, you did call me a five-year-old and it is my birthday,” he argued, shrugging his shoulders tauntingly.  

“I said that the other day, and considering it’s your birthday, that would mean you’d be old enough to conduct yourself,” I countered.  

“Actually, it’s grammatically inappropriate to say, ‘the other day’ when the event in question occurred yesterday,” he began to ramble. With an unimpressed nod, I began to slowly back away from the scene until I was abruptly stopped once again.  

“Wait!”  

“What!”

“You forgot to put it in a cup,” he meekly suggested, his face evident of mischief.  

“You’re clearly enjoying this aren’t you?” I groaned, shuffling towards where he was. “I’ll give you something to enjoy...” I whispered to myself.  

With a plan set in motion, I sauntered over to where Spencer sat. Once I was in front of him, I made sure to give no indication that I was moving beside him. Instead, I leaned forward, letting our chests press together as I reached up for a mug. I would be lying if I denied the faint blush warming up the apples of my cheeks or the tightness of my throat from this proximity. In a nervous hash, I could’ve sworn hearing Spencer’s breath hitch as my chin brushed against his neck.  

Feigning a confident disposition, I dropped back to the heels of my feet, finding myself to be inches away from the enamored and naive genius. “You need this?” I murmured, trying to maintain a collected tone of voice. However, Spencer did make it difficult with the intensity of his penetrating gaze or the way his breath fanned over my sensitive skin.  

For a lasting moment, I began to dissect the small specks of hazel hues in his eyes and how a dark pool of brown surrounded his irises. The tip of his nose was flushed in crimson and his mouth hung in what seemed like anticipation and hesitation battling it out. “Uh, yeah... thank you.” His Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped, linking his fingers with mine to take the mug.  

Without breaking eye contact, he set the mug aside and away from view. I opened my mouth to say something, but I soon discovered a dessert residing in the back of my throat. Slowly my composure unraveled, leaving me and Spencer in a purgatory of uncertainty and elation. I heard my heart thump against the walls of my ribcage as my eyes traveled to the parting of his lips, his tongue ever so often swiping against the skin.  

I shook my head out of the trance we were in, popping the hypnotic bubble forming around us. With a trepidatious smile, I gestured to the living room, suggesting going back out there. “Do you want to...” I tied my hands behind my back, stepping away from him slowly. He nodded in response; his mouth tightly pressed into an awkward line.  

With less than obvious movements, we both tiptoed our way back to the liveliness of the other room, soon forgetting about the juice and cup all together.  

-

“Bye guys, thank you for coming! See you tomorrow.” I politely bid everyone a farewell, sending them safe wishes home as they excited through the front door. “Pen, are you coming with us tomorrow?” I received a tipsy nod and a few stumbling feet, but nonetheless confirmation for the case. Spencer was to the left of me doing the same, enduring some last-minute birthday teasing from Morgan before he made his exit.  

With the slow creaking of the door, I leaned against the wood, letting my legs slowly slip down the floor until I was sitting. I tilted my head up, staring at an exhausted Spencer before making grabby hands at him. He snorted at the childlike request, aggressively pulling at my wrists until I landed into his chest.  

“Alright birthday boy, just because you’re older doesn't mean you can get all strong on me,” I warned, nuzzling my heavy head onto his shoulder. A pleasant silence surrounded us, our bodies maintaining an equal balance as we leaned onto each other. On another note, it reminded me of Newton’s principle of force that Spencer explained to me a few months back. How Newton’s cradle, a simple office trinket, exemplified conservation of momentum and energy. In this fragment of space, it felt like that with Spencer—it always felt like that: a comfortable momentum.  

“Hey Spence?”  

The quiet continued to spread throughout the atmosphere.

“Spencer?” I pressed my chin against his chest, feeling his arms find their way to my lower back. He hummed in response, his eyelids resting at a closed position. “I’m sorry about that thing in the kitchen... I was just messing around.”

  He took a while to react before sighing and pressing a tired kiss to the side of my head; with that, I knew things were okay. “Oh! I didn’t give you your present yet.”  

I melted away from his arms, scurrying off to the couch. In an exaggerated reveal, I pulled a small parcel from beneath the cushions, glee filling my eyes as I watched the bow on top spring out. I extended my arms towards Spencer, eager to have him open it.  

He walked tentatively towards me, taking purposefully leisurely strides. At one point he began to act like he was in a slow-motion sequence, causing me to threaten the integrity of his present. With raised hands, he sat next to me on the couch and gently pried the gift from my hands. “What did you get me this time? Let me guess. From the size and shape of his package here,” he turned the box around in his hands, shaking it up, “and the sound to force ratio-”  

“Just open the damn thing, Spence.”

He smiled at my usual impatience, letting his fingers glide against the edge of the parcel. Finally, with gentle hands, he picked apart the wrapping paper, careful not to rip the heart sticker that held the presentation together. He gathered the bow in his palm, and gently pressed the sticky side of the accessory to my cheek.  

I cringed at the feeling, but that soon dissipated hearing the mollified chuckle escape Spencer’s mouth. With a determined huff, Spencer pulled the last pieces of wrapping paper from the box and was left with a frayed book in his palm.  

“The Parliment of Foweles...” he whispered; an unreadable expression crossed his features.  

I curled into my own body, anticipating some form of reaction. “I... I remember you told me the first time we really sat down and got to know each other that your mom used to read that to you when you were younger.” I picked at the stitches on the couch, a lump forming in my esophagus as my tongue swelled. “It’s first edition...” I smiled, insecurity beginning to conquer my excitement from before.  

“Sorry, if you don’t like it... I was just-”  

A pair of arms pulled me into a secure embrace while a tender hand came around to cup the back of my head. An inaudible expression of gratitude was lost in between babbles of endearment and soft caresses. Spencer pulled away with pools of adoration, he clutched the book in hand as he pulled me under his arm. He ran his thumb along the deckles that adorned the sides of the pages, his palm tenderly feeling the roughness of the old woven spine.

To open the book, he singled out a random page and lightly flicked a few pages to the side before I halted his movements completely. “Wait!” I requested. “I want you to read it after the case so we can do it together,” I sheepishly tucked a hair behind his ear, hiding the careful blush on my cheeks. “If that’s okay with you.”  

“Yeah...that’s fine with me,” he breathed, his eyes locked onto the soft curves of my face. I pulled my hand away, tugging my sleeve further down my arm. “Oh! That reminds me.” Spencer places the book behind him and headed over the coat rack next to the front door. Sliding his hands through various pockets, he finally pulled a small box from one of the compartments.  

He tentatively approached me, turning the object in hand. “I know it’s my birthday, but... I wanted to do something because you’ve made everything better in these past years,” he confessed, fidgeting as he came closer. “Being with my mother always felt like home, and I just... you became that for me, so thank you.”  

My fingers reached over to his open palm, approaching the velvet box as if it was fragile. I glazed over its general shape, turning it a few times between my hands. “Spencer...I don’t even know what to say.”  

“Well, you can start by opening it,” he smiled.  

I shook my head, gently prying the box open. Inside laid a beautiful heart-shaped necklace with words etched into the metal. Once I read the words, a heavy breath escaped my lungs, and my shoulders lost all tension. “Spencer...”

  “I thought that it would be easier to have the words of your soulmate above your heart rather than you tracing over your hip,” he professed. “I also know that even if you deny not having any connection to this soulmate thing, it often brings you comfort when needed.”  

My attention went to him the second he uttered those words. “How did you know,” I mumbled with an enamored chuckle.  

“Well, whenever we’re in the field, I could tell the times you get nervous or need reassurance by the way you subtly touch your hip.”  

“I thought staring was punishable by death,” I joked, referring to his argument earlier today.  

He brushed it off with a wide smile, combing his hands through his hair. “I know we have a hefty case tomorrow based on what Penelope showed us last briefing, so I hoped that this would make you feel better,” he confessed, shrugging his shoulders and leaning back into the arm of the couch.  

“Thank you, Spencer...really,” I wrapped my arms above my head, trying to attach the unlocked chain around my neck. “Can you...?”  

With gracious hands, he lifted the chain from my fingertips and wrapped it around my neck. The skin of his fingers would occasionally brush the back of my neck, sending euphoric chills down my spine. I felt myself squirm under his touch slightly, although it wasn’t enough to be obvious. Lifting my hair to the side with his wrist, he clasped the necklace together, letting the cold metal kiss the skin.  

I turned around, appreciating the trinket in my hands. I shook my head in disbelief, watching as some of the moonlight that seeped through the window reflected off the metal. “Thank you, again, Spencer.” I nodded, bringing him into a meaningful embrace. My head rested in the crook of his neck, an aroma of pine, vanilla, and old books surrounding us. “This really is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever possessed.”  

He scoffed, gently wrapping his hands around the small of my back. “Everything pales in comparison to you.”  

-

October 29th

...

I twirled the metal heart in between my fingers as Hotch’s words failed to reach my ears. I would look up occasionally to see the pictures, but we’ve been dealing with an unsub who showed no mercy to anything morally reprehensible. I sighed, swinging my feet under me as I pretended to be enveloped by the case file in my other hand.  

“Since we’re dealing with a L.D.S.K-”  

“A long-distance serial killer,” Emily intercepted, nodding towards the team.  

“We’ll have SWAT patrol the surrounding rooftops. Emily and I will stay with the defense team here.” Hotch pointed to the house of the unsub’s target. “Morgan, Y/N, and Reid will go through the floors of the apartment building with the strike team—witnesses stated that he was located on the 5th floor, but we have to be ready for anything.”  

I looked over to Morgan with a determined expression. His face hardened at the words and his lips was pressed into a tight line. In my peripheral, I could see the way his veins would constrict against the skin as he clenched his fists.  

This case hit him particularly hard considering we couldn’t save the unsub’s last victim. It was a 4-year-old little girl, and we were misinformed about her possible location. By the time we got to her, she was faced down into a park well with a single bullet hole above her heart. I watched the slow diffusion of her blood, and how the water turned to a murky black. I couldn’t imagine Morgan’s guilt considering he was so sure of himself when reaching a breakthrough with the unsub’s whereabouts. The parents of the child would soon blame Morgan for his ignorance, spewing derogatory slurs in their distress.  

“We’ll get him Hotch,” Morgan assured, “This time, we’ll get him.”  

Spencer noticed the certitude in his voice, sharing a look with me to give extra attention to Morgan out in the field. I smiled at him, warmed at the concern that the genius had over his friend.  

“I’ll be working with local PD to hold a press conference to keep the public on the lookout,” JJ expressed, crossing her arms.

“Since...last time, we figured that unsub finds enjoyment in toying with us or singling us out. So, keep each other in check and make sure to report back in your earpieces every five minutes.” Hotch himself seemed perturbed by the unsub’s earlier actions considering he had his own toddler to deal with. “Penelope has sent the coordinates to everyone. Remember the profile, and don’t leave yourselves vulnerable. We’re dealing with an elusive unsub that won’t stop at nothing to satisfy himself,” Hotch spoke with a quiver in his voice.

  I bit the inside of my cheek and breathed heavily through my mouth. My hands began to drift to my hip but momentarily stopped as I remembered the chain around my neck. I slumped into the chair as Hotch dismissed the team, sending them out for their respective assignments.  

“You, okay?” I whipped around to the sound of JJ’s voice. She leaned against the doorframe with an expression full of concern. Looking behind her, she noticed Spencer noticeably pacing through the bullpen waiting for a specific someone. He attempted to disguise his eagerness by counting tiles on the floor or squares on the ceiling, but to JJ he was easily discernable.  

I let a dry laugh, shaking my head. “After what happened, I’m a bit worried—not about me—but Morgan and Spence.” I swiveled around in the office chair a few times until I landed in front of JJ.  

“You know you fidget the same way as Spence,” she pointed out, grinning at the similarity. I shook off the oncoming warmth that flooded the skin and looked elsewhere. “You’re right to worry about both of them though. But you know how stubborn and determined they are.” As she began to walk out, she left a lingering message that soothed my nerves. “Plus, Spencer may have that IQ of his, but we all know runs things between you all.”  

She wasn’t wrong. I’ve always kept a watchful eye over the both of them—maybe Spencer a little more—but nonetheless, I deeply cared about both of them. It was relieving to know that Spencer’s circle of trust exponentially grew from Morgan to JJ to me. It symbolized the growth that Spencer was mostly oblivious to, but it meant more to me than I can explain, seeing how he opened himself up to happier possibilities.  

A sharp exhale left my lungs while my lips formed into a sly smirk. Without another minute to wait, I left the round table behind JJ, leaving Spencer to stop dawdling. “You ready genius?” I walked out into the hall, not sparing a glance at the figure trailing behind me.

“With you? Always.”  

-

“Nothing here,” a voice confirmed in my earpiece. My gun hung low in my hands while I tiptoed through the floor of the apartment building. “You know Y/N, if I knew that the unsub was going to the pick a building in the area we resided in, maybe I would’ve considered having the party at Rossi’s instead,” Spencer joked.  

I bit the smile growing on my lips, focusing on the assignment on hand.  

“Maybe after the case, instead of reading that book in our apartment we can go over to that small library/cafe we’ve been meaning to go to,” he continued to drone, forgetting about the connection of everyone’s channels.  

“Reid, if all you’re gonna do is flirt with Y/N, leave the damn channel,” Morgan warned. Hearing the worry in his tone, Spencer straightened up, coughing to cover up his soft apology. Being separated didn’t help the irrational thoughts that built up in the back of my conscience; I can’t even comprehend what’s probably going through Morgan’s head.  

“You good?” I mumbled into the com; my eyes straightforward while I advanced towards the hall. Morgan didn’t respond, an inaudible huff coming through the speakers.  

“I’m moving up to the top floor. Y/N and Reid, go back down to the basement and see if we missed anything,” Morgan broke the awkward silence with an austerity in his words. The silent hum that came afterwards was worse than earlier. I turned off my earpiece, sensing a conversation about to ensue between the two gentlemen.

The thickness in the atmosphere was similar to the air that surrounded me and Spencer when competing in recreational chess. Whenever I attempted to put his king in check, he would block the move by maneuvering another piece in front of it. This would lead to a game of cat and mouse until I would figure out that the entire time, Spencer had been deluding me into false security while checking my king piece. Ultimately, I would lose to Spencer. However, there were games where I’d outmaneuver him or win by dumb luck.  

I’d like to think that I developed some sort of intuition for his behavior from playing against him, but he’s deemed unpredictable every game. He was always sharp, eight steps ahead and aware of all possibilities. I guess that’s what make him an effective profiler, always thinking in the future.

I ran down the stairs, still armed, when Penelope’s voice ran through the earpiece. “Updates! Updates people.” The joy in her voice always relived me of the gloom that usually surrounded me in the field; hopefully she has the same effect on Morgan.  

“Hey, Pen.” An invisible grin was evident in my words, knowing she’d pick up on it.  

“Hello, my love, seems like at least one person is happy to see me,” she verbally jabbed at the lack of response from Spence and Morgan.  

Still no response.  

“Sorry, they’re working out their marriage at the moment,” I teased, hoping for the usual distasteful comment I usually get from Morgan.  

Still nothing.  

An unnerving feeling crept up the back of my neck. “Penelope, can you check if their coms are still workin—shit.” Before I could finish, a long buzz of static came through the speakers. The only comprehensible words that were picked up was the beginning of my name before cutting off.  

I bit my lip, pulling out the small piece of technology and tapping it a few times. “Come on... dammit.” After playing around with the earpiece, I grew frustrated with it and stuffed it into my pocket.  

I paced in the small landing between the stairs, thinking of a new gameplan. I ran my fingers through the ends of my hair, feeling the split ends prick at the skin. I felt a mountain growing in at the bottom of my stomach, leaving my esophagus constricted without air. “What would Spencer do,” I mumbled to myself, gripping onto my necklace.  

“Spencer...Spencer...”  

Before I could finish the mantra, a shot rang out from above me, and the crashing off glass followed. In the split moment, my legs grew a mind of its own and sprinted to higher ground. Suddenly, the sweat perspiring off me turned cold, and my heartbeat slammed itself into my spinal cord as I ran. My feet forgot its exhaustion while my mind devoured every irrational thought, and combined it with adrenaline.  

The single thing that drove me over my limits was knowing that the person who fabricated and would shoo away these thoughts was somewhere I didn’t know I could get to in time.  

-

Spencer’s POV

I tiptoed into a vacant suite of the building, still antsy about the scolding I received from Morgan. The conversation after didn’t help considering it was all a reminder to be aware and focused on the task at hand. I knew Morgan was filled with the need for redemption despite the team forgiving him of his ignorance. So, I shook off the creeping feeling and abided by his instructions.  

Deciding to update Y/N and Morgan about my whereabouts, I spoke into the coms only to have static come out of it. I tried once again but failed to reach anyone. The room around me shrank as a sharp exhale left my lungs. I swallowed the buildup of saliva in the back of my throat, feeling uneasy about not knowing what’s to come.  

Seeing at the area was clear, I looked out of one of the windows. Initially I cringed at the accumulated dirt and grime in the glass panes, but that all dissipated when I spotted the quaint park that Y/N loved. No one else had any interest in the community lot, seeing as people would coin it—or what Y/N would tell me—the park of death. But to her, she saw the opposite as she always does.  

The light feeling of reminiscing my interactions with Y/N soothed the disconcerting atmosphere, keeping me grounded. Although the sentiment ended as soon as it started when I spotted one of the apartment walls was spray-painted with black letters.  

Zugzwang

A blaring shot rang out and glass shattered into the room. I ducked into the floor, shutting my eyes. My head spun as the boom impaired my hearing. The window was forcibly open, the shards resting beside me. Left disoriented, I groaned, only feeling the after wave of vibrations on the ground. However, I soon found out that the quake of the floor wasn’t from the initial shot, but the rapid clobbering of feet inching closer to the suite and a shadowy figure preceding it.  

Y/N emerged from the doorframe, panting. Eyes were laced in fear while they bore into my own. My stomach twisted into knots from previous events while I contemplated what had occurred. The presence of Y/N wasn’t even strong enough to relinquish the egging feeling crawling in my skin. I anticipated Morgan to appear, considering he was closer to the scene.

Where was he?

Another thing I didn’t anticipate, a second shot.  

“Spencer?”  

-

January 3rd

Three months after

My thoughts antagonized one another while I stared out into the world from the eerily quiet apartment. The living room was cold and empty despite the array of furniture scattered about and the broken picture frames lining the walls. The vapor rising from the cup of tea drifted into the air, vanishing into nonexistence. It’s funny how that could happen in a matter of milliseconds.  

The pain the lived inside the chambers of my heart was no match for the burning of skin I felt when holding onto the steaming cup. The only worthy adversary would be the rush of self-resentment that coursed through me when picking up the book. I deserved it though. I deserved the spikes through my stomach while my fingers trailed the deckled pages, reminding me of the first time I held the book, its previous owner present with me.

I would remember our time together.  

I would remember the promise shared between us.  

I would remember the bloodied handprint pressed against my chest.

Now all I had was the physical manifestation of what’s left: the necklace. As cruel as it was for me, I kept it in the book, using it as a bookmark while I lost myself into poems. After a while, the inked words lost their meaning to me, becoming an empty cacophony that encased the jewelry.

Every time I grasped the chain in my clutches, a numbed ache would make itself known at the pit of my stomach. It clawed at my intestines and made the entirety of my body system obsolete. With that, I was abandoned with the sinister hauntings of my own mind—a part of me that I was once praised for. 

 A genius. A prodigy. Hidden behind the real mess of a guilty man.  

I ignored the smashed chess board and pieces that laid still at my feet, concentrating on the snowflakes that littered the park across from the building. The grounds looked beautiful, covered in layers of pure white. I sipped at the tea once more letting my mind deteriorate with a sophisticated nonchalance. 

 What a tragedy it was to know my soulmate, especially right under the tip of my nose. What a cruel joke life had played.  

I wished I had more time.  

It was easier to let the guilt consume me rather than pondering on what I lost—who I lost. Had I lost myself too? Maybe, it didn’t matter. In some masochistic way, I enjoyed the guilt because it was a way to remember that at one point someone made for me existed. I used it to relive the moments I could never get back.  

All that remained was an empty shell of a man, staring out into a dull world, wondering how time took everything away from him.  

-

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[storiesbymads]

GIVE IT UP ( tyson jost . )

You find yourself at your ex’s house party despite the fact that you’ve pretty much convinced him and yourself that you hate him. Apparently, he’s not that fond of you either. At least, that’s what he wants you to think.

warnings: smut, hate sex, unprotected sex

wc: 2.6k

add yourself to my taglist + masterlist

It was shocking of how quickly the sweet boy who once would’ve done anything to see you smile turned into the man before you that managed to get a rise out of you without even directly speaking to you.

Granted, most of that was your fault. All he’d wanted was a break, a few weeks, maybe a month apart to think things over. You’d been the one to suggest a full breakup.

“Tys-“ you stopped yourself. “Tyson.”

His pacing stalled, the hand that had been furiously running through his curls fell to rest on his hip as he turned to face where you were sitting on the couch. The couch you’d helped him pick out when he’d first moved into this apartment. The one he’d first kissed you on three years ago, though it was a bit more beat up now than it had been then. It was a faded blue in color now.

“What,” he halfway snapped. The tone of his voice caused you to flinch at his words, which almost sent Tyson into a deeper downward spiral had he not been so desperate to get through this evening without you killing each other.

“You know this isn’t working,” you said. “Not like it used to.”

“Then why are you fighting with me about taking a few weeks to figure things out,” he sighed before moving to sit on the matching ottoman in front of you.

“Please don’t make me say it out loud,” you said. Your jaw was trembling as you didn’t know how much longer you could keep looking him in the eye without breaking down.

Tyson’s hands were quick to start rubbing his eyes, almost painfully so as the heels of them dug in.

“You don’t mean it,” he whispered.

“Tyson.”

“I still love you,” he sighed.

“We had a great run, yeah?” you smiled sadly at him as you picked yourself up off the couch. “I’ll be back to get my things in the next week or so.”

And that probably would’ve been the end of it had Andre not been your best friend. He was, and he claimed, the best guy in your life before Tyson and he was going to stay that way after Tyson.

Sure, parties were awkward but it was nothing you couldn’t get through without a couple girl friends and some distance. And a handle of pink whitney.

“You’re kidding!” you gasped as your old college roommate gushed about her new boyfriend and their bedroom antics. “There’s no way you let him do that!”

“Long time no see, sunshine,” a familiar brown haired swede said as he pulled you into his side by the hip. You could tell the drink in his hand was far from his first based on the slur of his words and the way the snapback was situated sideways on his head.

“Hey, Dre,” you said before pecking his cheek quickly and sipping on the drink in your own hand. Contrary to your usual party behavior, you were only about half of the way through your first.

“Yeah, sunshine,” you heard Tyson say from behind you. The smile on your face wiped away into a scowl within seconds. “Long time no see.”

You opted to ignore him, continuing your conversation with your roommate, Savannah, as Andre left your side to join the beer pong game in the corner.

“Aw, c’mon. It’s not my fault you’re desperate enough to come to your ex’s house party,” he mocked as he shuffled his way closer to you.

“Aw, it’s not my fault your other eye’s just begging for a matching shiner,” you cooed. You could feel his breath against your pulse point as he leaned in closer.

“Think you have it in you?” he asked, voice grovely as it dropped an octave. Scoffing, you pushed away from him in search of anyone else to talk to. You couldn’t stand the fact that he was still able to jump start your heart rate after all these years, especially after all the things he’s said to you after you’d broken up.

You shouldn’t even be going to this part. You wouldn’t be had Andre not literally dragged you into his car with a promise that you wouldn’t even see Tyson, let alone have to speak to him.

“You haven’t been out in months, sunshine,” he said as he pulled out of your apartment complex. “We miss you.”

“You missed me,” you sighed, pulling your head up from where it was resting against the cool glass of the window.

“The team misses you,” he said, temporarily taking his hand off the wheel to pinch your hip. The team minus Tyson, you thought.

The party itself was fine for a while. You’d practically attached yourself to Andre’s side, not that he was complaining. He was just glad to have you in a social situation again. You were actually having fun for the first time in a while playing flip cup with some of the guys. Tyson had practically slipped your mind, another first.

Until he decided to, rather harshly, drag you away from the table.

“What are you doing here?” he rushed out as he clicked the lock on the bathroom door.

“Dre- Andre invited me,” you stuttered. The party was still going strong outside the room and you could feel the bass through the floor.

“God, I haven’t seen you in months and you’re here because my teammate invited you?” he scoffed. The shock in his eyes had since shifted to something more of disgust.

“We broke up, Tyson,” you said.

“Exactly! We broke up!” he said, throwing his hand up in the air. Your eyes stayed glued to the lock behind him.

“I didn’t come here to see you,” you said, though it came out more like a whimper. You swore you saw something crack in Tyson’s eyes before his resolve went back up.

“That’s rich, even coming from you.”

“God, you’re such a dick, Jost,” you pushed past him, wiping a tear away before it had the chance to fall as you unlocked the bathroom door.

You hated him. You hated him.

Thankfully the kitchen was empty when you found yourself there. You weren’t looking for anything, your cup was still mostly full.

How was Tyson always able to find you in a crowd? Even when you were actively avoiding him like the plague, he somehow managed to sneak up behind you and send your head into a downward spiral.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing thinking so much at a party,” an unfamiliar voice said from beside you, pulling you from your daze.

“I’m not-“ you cut yourself off. “It’s just…”

“Whoa, don’t burst a blood vessel,” he smiled at you. His comment was awkward at best, but the soft look in his eyes made up for it. He was cute.

“Sorry,” you chuckled. “I’m Y/N.”

“Jason,” he responded, clinking your red cups together in a fake toast.

Jason, you learned, was a bartender at the Star Bar in downtown Denver. Though, that was a temporary job as he worked on his masters in biochemistry. You ended up telling him a story about the time you found yourself being escorted out of said Star Bar from dancing on the bar.

“If you’ll excuse me, I really have to go to the ladie’s room,” you said, starting to walk past him in the now crowded kitchen before turning back to face the blond. “Would you mind holding my drink?”

“Sure,” Jason said, even going as far as putting his own drink down so that he could cover the top of yours fully with his hand. Maybe this party hadn’t gone completely to shit.

The line to the bathroom was nonexistent and you’d managed to finish your business in record time. You checked your appearance in the mirror before clicking the lock on the bathroom door and opening it to see the one person you really wished you hadn’t.

He pushed his way through, slamming the door and locking it behind him.

“What are you doing, Jost? Let me out,” you said.

“You really think you can come here and flirt with some random guy in my kitchen?” he scoffed. With every word he took another half step closer to you until your back was pressed against the far wall.

“What do you mean your kitchen?”

“Did Dre not tell you? Can’t believe this is the fourth time you’ve been here and you didn’t even know who’s apartment it was. I think that’s a little rude, if you ask me,” he cooed. Four times; he was counting. He’d made a mental note every time you’d been sitting on his couch and he’d been too fucked up about it to do anything.

His knee pushed your thighs apart as his hands found solace on the wall beside your head. You felt the sudden urge to spit in his face. Or to let him spit in yours.

This was much more possessive than he’d ever acted when you were together. Granted, he hasn’t acted the same way he’d been when you were together in the year and a half you’d been apart.

“Answer me,” he hummed. “It’s rude isn’t it.”

You tilted your head to the side in response only for Tyson’s thigh to press up further so that it was resting against your core. You took the sudden close proximity between the two of you to gauge the changes in his features. Most obviously was the beard he was sporting now, he’d never been able to accomplish more than a patch here or there while you were dating despite his best efforts. His shoulders were more filled out now, too, and his curls looked longer. He looked more… mature, if that was the word for it.

“Answer me,” he tutted. “Or am I gonna have to fuck it out of you?”

“You’re a lot bolder than I remember, Jost,” you gasped. There was a definite wet spot growing in your underwear at the rasp in his tone.

“You’re just as annoying,” he said before one of his hands found your hip. His mouth came crashing against yours an instant later, a rough mess of teeth clanging together as he popped the button on your jean shorts. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m sure I’ll fuck that out of you, too.”

The comment caused a gasp to slip past your lips as he removed his knee so that he could tug your bottoms to your ankles in one fell swoop. His fingers were quick in replacing the delicious pressure against your clit, circling the nub with the pad of his finger.

“Do you still make those pretty little noises you used to make?” he asked, only to pull a whimper out of you not even a second later when he slipped a finger into your hole.

“You’re still a dick,” you moaned as you dropped your head to rest against his shoulder. You bit down on the cotton of his t-shirt to conceal the whimper of emptiness as Tyson slipped his finger out of you so that he could push the band of his sweatpants down just enough for his cock to slip out.

“Yeah? And you’re about to cum all over it.”

The string of profanities that followed from your part were involuntary.

He pushed into you slowly until he was halfway in before snapping his hips forward in one quick motion so that your pelvic bones were pressed together. You hadn’t felt this full since… Well, since him.

“Fucking-“ he hissed. “I forgot how tight you were.”

His eyebrows furrowed as he started thrusting his hips. You would’ve been able to admire it longer had your eyes not rolled into the back of your head. Your hand slipped down between your bodies to rub your clit only to be swatted away and replaced by Tyson’s a moment later.

His name rolled off your tongue like a chant as you felt your orgasm building with each pump of his hips.

“I’m gonna cum, holy shit,” you said.

“That’s right, baby. Cum all over my cock,” he said. The rhythm of his thrusts was getting sloppier by the second and you could tell he was getting close. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Where do you want it?”

“What?” you asked, head still very hazy from the impending orgasm.

“I can’t cum inside you—shit,” his thrusts slowed. “Where do you want it?”

“I’m on the pill,” you rushed out in hopes that he’d start fucking you again. The thought alone almost had him falling apart.

“Holy shit, ok,” he mumbled before picking up his thrusts once again. It was a step the two of you hadn’t taken before, and he was dying to see his cum drip out of you.

“Fuck, Tys,” the words came out rushed as your high washed over you. Tyson came soon after as ropes of it coated your walls in hot spurts.

Your senses came back to you as you came back down. What the fuck were you doing? Why did you allow yourself to hook up with the ex you were still pretty sure you hated in a bathroom.

“I-I’ve gotta go,” you said, pushing Tyson off, and subsequently out, of you so that you could pull up your shorts and button them.

“Wait, Y/N,” the flustered, blushing Tyson you thought you’d never see again made an appearance as you threw the bathroom door open just as he tucked himself back into his boxers. The fly of his blue jeans was undone as he chased you out of the bathroom, practically begging you to stop as he followed you out the front door.

“Leave me alone, Jost,” you scoffed as you watched him zip his pants out of the corner of your eye.

“There’s no way you’re gonna go back to hating me after that,” he said. You could feel his cum dripping into your panties as he spoke.

“We made our decision last year. We should’ve left it at that,” you shivered in the open exterior of his apartment complex, silently cursing yourself for thinking a jacket would ruin your outfit.

“You’re fucking kidding me, right?” a dry chuckle slipped from his lips. “After all of that? After a year and a half of pretending, you can’t admit it?”

“I wasn’t pretending-“

“Like hell you weren’t. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t regret even mentioning the idea of a break between us. What we had doesn‘t just go away,” he took a step towards you. You could still hear the music from inside his place, though it was fainter now and still half-muffled by the various conversations just past the front door.

“We weren’t working out,” you said, though it came out as more of a squeak.

“You and I both know we could’ve worked on it. We were stupid to let what we had go over nothing,” he said. “I miss you.”

Your resolve was breaking more with every word.

“Jost, what if this doesn’t work?” you asked, allowing him to get close enough to take your hand in his. It was quite the contrast to the way he’d been with you not even ten minutes ago.

“Would you stop calling me that?” his features were screwed tight as he asked. “You only call me that when you’re mad at me.”

“Tyson,” you said, only to be greeted with a knowing look in his brown eyes. “Tys.”

“We’re gonna work out,” he said. “We’re gonna work out because…”

“Because?”

“Because I still love you. And I’m not letting you go again,” his voice had lowered to a whisper and it shook and his forehead was dangerously close to resting against yours. Within the span of an hour, he’d transformed back into the shy boy you’d given your heart to three years ago on his blue couch.

“Ok,” you whispered back, closing the distance and resting your foreheads against each other only for Tyson to bridge the gap completely with a tilted head to plant his lips against your own.

tagged @ptersparkers @annedub @corebore123 @damndunner @kiedhara @watermelon05 @sidscrosbyy @thelionkingpw @besthockeyfics @iwantahockeyhimbo @beauvibaby

#tyson jost #tyson jost imagine #tyson jost smut #tyson jost x reader #nhl #nhl imagine #nhl smut #hockey #hockey imagine #hockey smut

[2jaeh]

SESSIONS | LUCAS WONG

genre: fluff, mature themes,

warnings: suggestive grinding, groping

Words: 1,5k

You’re WayVs assistant and you’re incredibly whipped for their charismatic rapper after he stole a steamy kiss from you a year ago.

——————————————————————————

You went through your schedule frantically, realizing that you needed to be somewhere right now. Most of of the staff rooms were empty and you couldn’t find any of the NCT boys anywhere. Being an assistant manager for WayV at SM seemed like a dream job but why have the past couple of months been literal hell ?

SM had hired you to watch over the WayV unit during the resonance promotions seeing as you were the most capable at mandarin than the rest of the assistants, and frankly the only one who hadn’t complained about their recklessness or the farm that was developing at their dorm.

The only issue with being assigned to WayV right now was an attachment to one of the members you wish you’d forgotten. Wong Yukhei, or better known by his stage name Lucas. Ever since you laid eyes on him you felt giddy, like a school girl going through her first crush.

Lucas was so nice to you from the very beginning. He made you comfortable enough to joke around them and always treated you like a friend rather than an employee. The problem though started at SM’s Christmas party a year back.

“Y/n what are you doing here ?” He said, that familiar grin spread across his face as he approached you.

“Hey-y I’m just getting some fresh air” you had responded shyly, leaning against the wall as his huge frame stood in front of you.

“Hey-y I’m just getting some fresh air” you had responded shyly, leaning against the wall as his huge frame stood in front of you.

You couldn’t remember much of how the rest of the conversation went but you do remember at some point Lucas had pinned you against the wall and kissed you. You remembered his large hands grope your thighs as he groaned into the kiss, whispering sweet nothings into your ear. He smelled like tequila and his usual Tom Ford cologne, having him that close was intoxicating. You also remembered when it came to an end, his band mate Yangyang had shouted for him, and Lucas’s last words to you that night was “let me know if you wanna do that again sometime.”

After that night he moved on like nothing happened. It’s not like he didn’t talk to you but he had completely erased that you two had shared an intimate moment together. You hated that after that night your feelings for him had only escalated and unfortunately you couldn’t do anything about that.

You dragged your feet across the floor as you made your way over to the recording studio as that’s where your schedule needed you to be right now. WayV was recording their individual track for the resonance album and you had to make sure all their needs during recording were met.

Opening the door you were greeted by WinWin and Xiaojun, WinWin in the booth and Xiaojun on the couch memorizing his lines.

You playfully nudged him as you took your seat, “you need any snacks or water ?”

“I’m good thanks, the producer just got us drinks too” Xiaojun smiled sweetly.

You nodded and slumped into the couch as he now took his turn and WinWin waved you a goodbye before leaving the studio. Something in you hoped that you missed Lucas’s recording, but a little part of you didn’t.

You got your answer pretty soon when the door flung open and Lucas walked in, sporting a simple black tank top and jeans. His hair was pushed out of his face and he wore clear spectacles. He was effortlessly hot and he knew it.

You had no idea how long you were checking him out but Lucas had noticed and waved his hand in front of your face.

“Hey you” he giggled and awaited a high 5 from you.

You pressed your lips together and hi5ed him, hating that he was still so nice instead of being a dick about the whole situation. Lucas was cocky but not in the way where he would’ve boasted about kissing you or mocked your little crush on him. But it still hurt how normal he was. It hurt so much.

“Alright Lucas we’ll take it from your verse” the producer said as Lucas stepped into the booth and placed the headphones on his head.

He sucked in his lip as his eyebrows knitted together, reading the words before nodding his head to the music that began to fade in.

You knew about their song Nectar. The words, the innuendos, the whole message behind it and it didn’t surprise you that the boys were quite excited to perform this song.

Lucas was his usual playful self, dancing along to the beat and just having fun with the recording. You unconsciously bit down on your lip as Lucas lifted up his shirt in order to feel the cool breeze of the a/c, still dancing along to the beat.

“Great stuff man, hey I’m gonna go meet with the main producers real quick I’ll be back in an hour or so” the producer turned back to you and you nodded.

Suddenly there was an uncomfortable tension in the air as Lucas emerged from the booth and grabbed a bottle of water from the coffee table. You watched as he downed the whole bottle, the veins in his neck became prominent as he swallowed.

You diverted your attention to your phone, hoping he didn’t catch you staring or notice your reddened ears.

“What did you think ?” Lucas asked as he took a seat on the coffee table in front of you, wiping away the small beads of sweat from his forehead.

You looked up at him, “of what...?”

“My recording, stupid” he chuckled and playfully knocked his knee against yours.

“Oh it was good” you replied shyly, his eyes were practically burning into yours as he talked.

Lucas sat back placing his hands behind him for support and spread his legs as he cocked his head to the side.

“I thought you liked me...is it just good?”

“Huh w-what I don’t like you...what” you were a stuttering mess as you tried to compose yourself.

Lucas laughed loud and ran his fingers through his hair, “you’re so cute oh my God it’s insane you know that ?”

You kept quiet, afraid to make yourself look stupid in front of him again when you felt him lean in and place his index finger under your chin, lifting it to meet his gaze once more.

“Those innocent eyes drive me crazy, just like that night we...were together. You remember ?” He licked his bottom lip.

“Y-yeah I do” you murmured placing your hands in your lap and twirled your rings nervously.

“I was waiting for you to let me know when you wanted to do that again and you never did” Lucas pouted and stroked your cheek, “you don’t like me ?”

“No that’s not it!” You blurted and he chuckled. You sighed and swallowed hard, “I do like you Lucas but you just kinda ignored me after so I thought you didn’t like me...”

Lucas’s eyes widened and his lips curled into a smile as he his hands moved to your lap and laced his fingers with yours.

“I clearly remembered telling you to let me know if you wanted to, I thought me kissing you was enough to let you know how I felt about you y/n” Lucas sighed, “when you didn’t respond after I assumed you weren’t into it.”

You groaned loudly and playfully shoved him, “well next time be more clear will you ?!”

Lucas grabbed your face and pulled you into a passionate kiss, quickly dominating it and cheekily bit on your bottom lip before pulling away.

“Is that clear enough for you ?” He said lowly as his hands moved to your sides and drew circles on your hips.

“I meant be more vocal Lucas” you rolled your eyes yet still flushed from his incredible kiss.

Lucas moved from the coffee table to the couch and in one Swift movement he had you on his lap, straddling him.

He laid his head back as he looked at you through hooded eyes and wet his bottom lip with his tongue.

“Vocal huh ?” He mused.

You tried your best not to move on top of him, the last thing you wanted was to get a tiny taste of friction and going all the way in your workplace studio.

“I don’t want to be just a fuck buddy if that’s what you’re into...”

“Now where the hell did I say that damn y/n what do you think of me?” Lucas chuckled and fake cried into his hands.

“I’m sorry I just wanted to put it out there” you bit down on your lip and played with the material of his shirt.

“I want more, Ofcourse I want more” Lucas groaned and pulled you closer, “you know Johnny hyung told me you’re out of my league”

“I-I’m out of y-your league ?”

“I mean he’s kinda right though, you’re perfect I’m sure any of the guys were waiting to get to you” Lucas pouted and placed a soft peck on your neck.

“Well I only want you...” you mumbled not noticing Lucas’s eyes brighten, all you felt was him bear hugging you and placed butterfly kisses all over your face and neck.

“Good!” Lucas grinned before his eyes became dark again, “so now that I’m vocal, I want to hear a different type of vocal from you y/n.”

#lucas wong #nct lucas #wayv lucas #yukhei angst #yukhei fluff #wong yukhei #lucas smut #wayv smut #wayv scenario #wayv imagines #wayv angst #nct scenarios #nct reactions #wayv reactions

[storiesforallfandoms]

can’t get in ~ machine gun kelly

word count: 1049

request?: yes!

“I'm so happy I found your blog I'm really enjoying your work atm,they are so good. Could you write one where the reader is asleep in MGK's house and Colson came home from party but he don't have keys. So he has to wake the reader up and feels so bad. Have a lovely day! X💙💙”

description: after a drunk night out, colson realizes he left his keys at home, so he has to wake his girlfriend to let him in

pairing: machine gun kelly x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist

Being in Colson’s giant house all by yourself always made you feel extra lonely. Usually you had Casie to keep you company, but on this night she was over to a friend’s house for a sleepover. Colson was gone to a party and, although you had been invited as well, you decided to stay home.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come babe?” Colson had asked as he was getting ready to go.

“I’m not in a party mood tonight,” you had responded. “I’d just be a party pooper for everyone there. You go have fun baby.”

While you meant what you said about him having fun, you were starting to wish he’d stayed home with you. You were bored and lonely, and you just wanted to cuddle him on the couch while watching Netflix.

You were doing at least half of that anyways. You had a fluffy blanket wrapped around your legs and your favorite show playing on TV. Every so often, you phone would chime to alert you of another text from Colson. He kept texting you just to let you know he was alright, and the drunker he got, the more times he’d repeat how much he loved you.

You eventually found yourself struggling to stay awake and you knew you had to call it a night.

You were sound asleep in your and Colson’s shared bed when a sound started to stir you from your sleep. At first, you thought you were imagining the sound and ignored it, but then you heard it again. The sound came a third time as you sat up on the bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You came to the realization that the noise was coming from the window and went to go investigate.

You peered out the window to see Colson stood in the driveway, holding a handful of pebbles.

You opened the window and leaned your head out. “Colson? What are you doing?”

“I forgot my key,” he said, he words slurred. “I tried to text and call you, but you weren’t answering.”

You looked at your phone to see dozens of missed calls and texts from Colson. “I was asleep. Hold on, I’ll come unlock the door.”

You couldn’t help but giggle as a very drunk Colson stumbled into the house, barley able to walk a straight line without stumbling. He leaned against the wall, trying to keep himself up as he kicked his shoes off.

“Can you get up the stairs on your own?” you asked.

“I’m fine,” he responded, waving away your comment.

You rolled your eyes playfully as you watched him climb the stairs. Once you were sure he was safely up the stairs and in the bedroom, you went to the kitchen to get him a glass of water and an Aspirin.

He was already sound asleep when you got back to the room. You placed the water and Aspirin on his bedside table before settling into bed next to him and drifting off to sleep again.

~~~~~~

The warm sun lighting up your skin awoke you the next morning. Despite having slept well, you were still tired. You groaned and rolled over to face away from the window. You expected to cuddle into Colson’s body, as he was well known for sleeping in all hours of the day. To your surprise, he wasn’t in bed. In fact, he wasn’t in the room, or the attached bathroom, at all.

As you pulled yourself out of bed, you heard a sound coming from the kitchen. You followed the sound and was met with a delicious smell as you reached the bottom of the stairs.

Colson was stood in front of the stove, dressed in just a pair of sweats, flipping pancakes he was making. You walked up behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist, kissing the back of his neck.

“Good morning sleeping beautiful,” he said, turning his head to meet your lips with his.

“You’re up so early,” you pointed out. “Early for you anyways. Are you not hungover?”

“Oh now, I am majorly hungover. I woke up before you and, after getting a little sick, I decided to get up and make you breakfast. To say sorry for waking you up last night.”

You pulled yourself up to sit on the counter next to the stove. “Why? You don’t have to be sorry for anything.”

“I feel bad that I woke you.”

You chuckled at this. “Babe, you forgot your keys. It happens. I’d rather you wake me then to be stuck  outside all night.”

Colson added the pancakes in the can to the stack he already had next to him. He turned to face you, positioning himself between your legs.

“I still feel bad,” he said. “For that, and for going to the party last night. I should’ve stayed home with you.”

“I told you to go.”

“Doesn’t mean I had to listen.”

You rolled your eyes at him before leaning forward to plant a kiss on his lips. “You love going out with your friends, and I like to go out with them, too. I just wasn’t in a party mood last night, but that doesn’t mean you also shouldn’t go out.”

He buried his head in your neck, pulling your body close to his. “I just don’t like leaving you all by yourself like that. I felt bad about it all night.”

“You’re such a hopeless romantic,” you teased. “It’s fine, my love. Really, I just want you to have fun. I don’t want to be the reason you don’t go out with your friends and stuff, because I know that makes you happy. And I like the guys, they treat you well and they’re such good friends.”

Colson lifted his head to kiss your lips again. “They told me I’m stuck in the honeymoon phase of our relationship.”

“You are,” you confirmed. “But it’s okay, because I am too. I don’t think either of us will ever be out of that phase.”

“I hope not. If this is the honeymoon phase, I like it too much to stop.”

You smiled and kissed Colson once more before pushing him away from you. “Okay, enough of the sappy. I want to eat those pancakes you made.”

#machine gun kelly #machine gun kelly imagine #machine gun kelly x reader #colson baker #colson baker imagine #colson baker x reader #imagine #one shot #request #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Stalker X Stalker, Part 4

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Perma tag: @nathleigh

Stalker x Stalker taglist: @aespades @jayjayspixiepop @blueslushgueen @fan-written @seraphichana @nerd-nowandforever

Marinette almost missed Hawkmoth. Sure, she ended up extremely emotionally repressed, but hey! At least her opponent was stupid, at least she never had to fear losing.

But, yeah, that was why she didn’t notice the fact that chloroform was on the floor. That was way too smart for a villain, in her opinion. Wasn’t Joker supposed to be insane or something? Why wasn’t he completely stupid like Hawkmoth had been?

Those were her last thoughts before her vision blacked out.

She blinked her eyes open one time while she was being transported, but… it wasn’t enough. Her head pounded, her limbs felt like lead. She tried to pull one of her arms away from the five goons carrying her around -- she giggled at how much effort they were going through to keep a half-conscious person down -- but it was too weak to even break their grip. She wasn’t going to be getting out of the situation anytime soon.

She rested her head back against the chest of whoever was carrying her head.

Her eyes fluttered shut without her permission.

It took a while for her to be able to open her eyes again, and when she did she was almost tempted to close them. She was tied up with Red Robin, hanging upside down over a vat of acid. Decidedly not a good situation to be in. Maybe she could ignore it for a little longer…?

She buried her face in the neck of Red Robin’s suit, using the cool material as a kind of cold pack to try and soothe her pounding headache.

… wait... Red Robin!

She had a bit of protection because of her mask covering her mouth and nose and miraculous immune system, but he was a human and both his mouth and nose were uncovered! Shit!

Marinette pulled back as much as she could to check his face and see if he was okay and then cursed the domino mask blocking his eyes from her view. What she could see wasn’t good, though: the skin of his face had broken out into hives where he had come into contact with the chloroform. Ouch.

She tried just poking the good parts of his face with her nose to get him to wake up, but clearly that wasn’t working. Alright, new plan.

“Red Robin?” She whispered.

Nothing.

“Red Robin Red Robin Red Red Red Red Red…”

She was pretty sure she was doing this annoying thing right. She didn’t have siblings, how could she know?

Wait wait wait, what was that one thing that his siblings always said to him?

“Reeeeed Robin, yum~.”

Not even that got a response? Damn, he must really be out of it.

Time for drastic measures, then.

She tipped her head back as far back as it could go and then slammed her forehead against his. This evoked a lot of swearing from both parties. Apparently, headbutting people doesn’t help headaches.

When her head stopped ringing as loudly, she peeked her eyes open. “Sorry, checking to see if you were alive.”

He gave about as much of a nod as he could. “It’s… I understand why you had to do it.”

She gave a tentative smile. “Right. Still, sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he assured her, then glanced down to see what they were working with. He bit his lip anxiously. “Ah, that’s not good,” he said after a few moments of consideration.

She rolled her eyes because, yeah, obviously. She didn’t say that aloud, it wasn’t productive, so she said: “I’m going to squirm. See if you can free your arms a little?”

“Do you think I have some kind of gadget in my gloves for every situation?”

“Don’t you?”

He hesitated. “I mean… yes, I do have something that could help us out of the ropes, but we are kinda over acid right now. How fast is your reaction time?”

She tipped her head from side to side with an awkward smile. “Not great.”

“Then maybe we should just wait for backup --.”

“Do you think they’ll get here before Joker does?”

“... you’re right. Start squirming --.”

“Wow, you two hate me that much? I’m hurt,” a voice cooed.

Marinette jumped out of her skin. She craned her neck to glare at Joker for scaring her…

And immediately regretted it. Why was his face not attached to his skull properly? Did he cut his own face off? Who even does that? Ew.

Red Robin scowled at him. “I can’t say we were all glad to hear you were out.”

“Red Robin...” she warned.

“Wow, not even old Batsy was happy to hear the news?”

“Nope. Didn’t say anything, actually.”

Joker’s smile wavered. “He didn’t?”

“Um, Red,” she tried again.

“Nothing,” he confirmed. “Not. A. Word.”

Joker didn’t seem to know what to do about this information. Batman wasn’t even paying attention to him? What was the point, then?

Marinette was also concerned about what was going on, but for a completely different reason. She leaned close to his ear and whispered: “Why are we trying to anger the psychopath?”

He gave as much of a shrug as he could while tied up. “If he’s talking he’s not trying to kill us.”

“And what if he gets angry enough to kill us?”

“He probably won’t.”

She winced. “Okay, I really don’t like your use of ‘probably’ there --.”

With both of their hands forced behind their backs, the only comfort he could really give was pressing his good cheek to hers. It shouldn’t have worked, but apparently life or death situations mess with your emotions.

“Just… trust me?” He pleaded quietly.

She sucked in a deep breath before turning to glare at Joker, who was still having a crisis over the fact that Batman didn’t care as much as he did. Well, she guessed that she had to take out her headache on someone. Might as well be the bitch in ugly clown makeup.

“You know, I don’t even understand why people are scared of you.”

Joker frowned and turned to look at her. “What?”

“I mean, I get why Poison Ivy is feared, I get why Mr. Freeze is feared… I even get Penguin and Riddler since they both have a high enough intellect to make up for their lack of powers… but you’re just… some guy.”

Joker gave her a cold look. “I could kill you.”

“So could a particularly determined cow, you’re not special.”

Red Robin snickered. She smiled, a little proud of herself for making him laugh.

Their grins were wiped off their faces when the rope holding them up dropped.

It caught them again dangerously close to the acid. Red Robin was a few centimeters from getting a new haircut. Marinette wondered, morbidly, whether her suit would go with her if she disintegrated.

“Not going to kill us, huh?”

“... well, I did say probably,” he mumbled, his face a little red.

She swallowed thickly. “If we live, I’m going to kill you.”

“Fair. Want to mess with him if he’s going to kill us anyways?”

“... yes.” She whipped around to glare at Joker again. “I mean, honestly, why aren’t you dead yet?”

“We don’t kill,” supplied Red Robin.

She grinned. “Sure, and I get that. I’m also not fond of murder... but is every citizen in Gotham just agreeing to not kill him? Does Batman spend all his time making sure that civilians don’t do it? Why hasn’t anyone seen him on the street and just tried to run him over?”

“... I mean, Robin hit him with the Batmobile once.”

“See?” She grinned. “And don’t even get me started on Punchline and your goons, Joker. How did you find so many people loyal to you?”

“I love him!” Said Punchline defensively.

“... sweetie, if you want a pasty white guy with green hair just watch 2016 Jacksepticeye.”

Red Robin nodded. “At least he’s kind of funny sometimes.”

“If you need the guy to be evil, how about the evil alter ego he made… what was he called?”

“Antisepticeye.”

“Ha, you’re a fucking nerd,” Marinette teased.

Red Robin blushed (or maybe that was just the blood slowly rushing to their heads from being upside down for so long) and pointedly ignored her: “Look up Antisepticeye. It’ll probably be healthier for you.”

Punchline didn’t have a retort for that. Marinette was deciding that was because she was considering it, not because she probably didn’t know who Jack/Antisepticeye was.

She pushed on: “And, hey, you goons don’t have to give Punchline over there the glory. Stab your boss. C’mon, it’ll be cool. Doubt he’s paying you more than whatever bounty is on his head, anyways.”

“If you’re going to rally henchmen maybe you shouldn’t call them ‘goons’,” suggested Red Robin.

She pouted. “But ‘goons’ sounds cuter.”

He opened his mouth to retort but she’d never know what he was going to say because, at that moment, Signal and Robin came busting in through the skylight.

~

Tim relaxed when he heard the glass shatter. Whether Marientte’s henchmen rallying had somehow worked or their backup had come, it at least meant that Joker and Punchline were distracted from wanting to murder them.

He struggled to crane his neck to see what was going on.

Oh. Damn. Damian was back from his angsting on the weird murder island? And he was here? Nevermind, he’d prefer Joker and Punchline. Damian was never going to let him live this down.

Speaking of Damian, a weight jumped onto their ropes and the three vigilantes became a pendulum. Tim grit his teeth tightly and Marinette let loose a long string of swears as their headaches worsened.

But, apparently, the world wasn’t done with them. Damian sliced the line at the highest point and they went flying across the room. Tim was the unlucky one on the bottom when they hit the ground, which he doubted was an accident.

Damian left them to deal with things on their own from there. Least he could have done was cut them free with his katana, but Tim supposed that was too much to wish for from the youngest brother.

He rested his head back against the cool floor for a second. He could feel Marinette stretch across his shoulder to do the same. They sighed in relief. This was the closest they had come to treating their headaches and wow was it nice.

But, frankly, resting in the middle of a fight isn’t a great idea. So, they wriggled around on the floor until he was able to flick open the tiny knife in the index finger of his gloves and cut the rope binding them without, y’know, cutting one of them instead.

Freedom! What did they do with this newfound freedom, you may ask? Scratch their heads. Turns out chloroform sucks for many reasons and one of those is that it’s a major skin irritant.

He also vomited. Thank god they’d been freed. He’d been only a few seconds away from throwing up on Marinette. He felt especially bad about that when she peeled a hand from her itching to hold his hair away from his face.

The fight was over soon enough. Duke and Damian came over to watch the two of them attempting to peel their skin off layer by layer.

“Pathetic,” chided Damian.

“Don’t be a dick --.” Marinette cut herself off, her hand flying to her mouth. “I swore in front of a baby.”

“I’m twelve!”

“Exactly: a baby.” She reached out and cupped a very affronted Damian’s face in her hands. “Look, you still have baby fat! You shouldn’t be fighting crime!”

Tim couldn’t tell if she was messing with Damian for being rude to them or if she genuinely saw him as a little kid. He wasn’t going to correct her. She’d remember he was a gremlin soon enough.

Damian wrenched his face from her grip. “If I hadn’t come you two would have been burned in acid.”

“Please, we all know Signal probably could have dealt with this entirely on his own,” Marinette waved him off.

Duke rested a hand over his heart like he was touched.

Tim rolled his eyes and pulled Marinette to him, resting his head on top of hers lazily. “We should get a checkup at the cave. Chloroform has… not nice effects and we both rolled around in it a little while fighting.”

Duke and Damian both winced, but Marinette didn’t seem all that concerned.

“I’ll be fine. My immune system is enhanced by --.”

Duke clapped his hands by her ears as loudly as he could. Neither Marinette nor Tim were particularly happy about it.

“Behold: a headache, one of the main symptoms of chloroform. Your face also has some red streaks, so don’t even try to deny that the chloroform is affecting you.”

“I take back my praise, I’ve decided I hate you,” she murmured, massaging her temples.

“I just remembered that I need the siren on my bike on to tell all the other bats we’ll need them at the cave...”

“Wait, no --.”

~

Marinette glared at Black Bat and Spoiler. The batboys had left the infirmary area for her own comfort and that was nice of them but she would really prefer if she hadn’t had to come at all.

Now she sat in some of Black Bat’s pajamas and one of Spoiler’s spare masks as they inspected her.

Her nose scrunched as Black Bat drew blood from her arm.

“This is dumb. I don’t need this.”

“We’ve been told. Humor us?” Spoiler said and, though Marinette couldn’t see her face from where she was, she knew she was rolling her eyes.

“I would if you were actually funny.”

“I think we can definitely put her down for irritability,” commented Spoiler.

Black Bat nodded and dutifully wrote it down. Traitor.

The cool metal of a stethoscope was pressed to her back and she cringed.

“Deep breaths.”

Marinette complied, however reluctantly. Might as well get all this bullshit over with as soon as possible.

… she was regretting that decision, now, though.

She gave Batman a cold look. “You can’t keep me here.”

“You need to stay so we can monitor your state overnight. You could have asphyxiated.”

“But we didn’t,” complained Red Robin, who looked just as annoyed about this as she was.

“We have lives, B,” she said.

“You weren’t going to do anything other than patrols tonight, don’t act like I’m tearing you away from something important.”

“The protection of the city is important,” Red argued.

“Neither of you would be much help tonight in the state you’re in, anyways.”

Red Robin stuck his lower lip out in a pout. Marinette gave her best puppy-dog eyes.

Batman wasn’t moved. “If you need something, Agent A will provide it.”

She blinked, eyes returning to normal in her confusion. “Who --?”

He disappeared into the shadows before she could finish the conversation, something she was, unfortunately, getting used to.

Marinette scowled at where he had last been.

Maybe she should have expected this, maybe if she had been less out of it she would have. They had given her pajamas when she’d had clothes and insisted on cleaning her old ones ‘for chloroform’. The checkup might have been a genuine checkup on her state, but it probably wouldn’t have mattered what the results were. She was always going to end up staying the night in the cold, dingy cave filled with bats.

She sighed and laid back against the stone floors. She heard Red Robin groan and looked up to see he had been locked out of the Batcomputer for the night. He leaned back in his chair and mumbled curses.

She giggled at his distress and, despite himself, a tiny grin poked at his lips.

“Want to race to see who can hack into it first?” She suggested.

He raised an eyebrow at her under his domino. “Think you can win?”

“Considering I don’t know that much about hacking, I’m going to say probably not.”

A wide smile spread across his face, now, and he waved her over. She took a seat on the desk beside the keyboard and he started teaching her everything.

Most of what he said, while technically heard, wasn’t exactly understood. She couldn’t concentrate. It was the first time she had seen him in anything but his vigilante suit and she decided that that was a crime because he looked so cute in the Batman-themed pajamas. Furthermore, the way his long hair was pushed back by a headband to keep it out of the green paste spread over his face to alleviate the chloroform’s rash reminded her of a spa day in all those movies.

And then there was the smile. It made her heart flutter in her chest because she was so used to his grins but this was just a genuine smile. He looked so passionate about the intricacies of cyber crime. She was almost sad about the domino hiding his eyes because she wanted to see the way they lit up while he explained different ways viruses could be accidentally downloaded to devices.

Basically, she was a mess for this random cute guy she worked with. She had never seen him so casual and at ease and it felt far more intimate than it maybe should.

She rested her head on her hand, nodding along as he talked about data encryption versus decoding.

Well, maybe a forced sleepover in the Batcave wouldn’t be so bad...

~

Tim was suffering a lot more than he would ever admit, and only a small part of it was due to chloroform.

He was going to be having a sleepover with one of his idols and he was going to be spending a large amount of the time trying not to throw up. And she could totally tell, too, why else would she be watching him so intensely? Someone kill him, please. He was so glad he had a secret identity because he didn’t know how he would manage if she thought Tim Drake-Wayne was a loser.

Granted, she was going to think Red Robin was a loser... but at least he had a second chance as Tim.

He rested his chin on the back of his chair. He had hacked into the Batcomputer already but it was a relatively dull night out on patrols and he wasn’t eager to be yelled at for showing Marinette some files on top of already hacking into them when he wasn’t supposed to.

“Wanna do something?”

She grinned. “Is there anything to do here other than train?”

“... nothing approved.”

She tipped her head to the side. “And of the things that aren’t approved?”

He matched her grin. “Well…”

And that was how he ended up setting up a movie projector in the cave so they could watch Groundhog Day. Marinette had taken to making them a pillow fort.

Duke stumbled down the steps, half awake, and raised his eyebrows at them from behind his domino. He poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot that they had made and took a long sip before sending the two of them a wary look. “Do I want to know?”

Marinette didn’t look up from her and Tikki’s base construction. “Dunno. Do you want to watch Groundhog Day with us?”

He frowned. “Isn’t that the one where that guy in a time loop stalks his co-worker until he knows enough to make her fall in love with him?”

“Just say you don’t like romcoms and go,” Marinette irritably.

“I’m fine with romcoms, it’s just… a little messed up that he uses the knowledge he gets from being in a time loop to ensure she falls for him?”

“It’s a story about self-improvement,” Tim said, sending his brother a glare. “He grows as a person until he is worthy of her love.”

“Him learning about her is part of his arc. He starts off selfish and he ends it with a deeper appreciation for other people,” agreed Marinette.

Duke held his free hand up in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. Enjoy your stalker movie.”

“It’s not a --,” Tim tried to argue, but Duke was already heading back upstairs.

He huffed a little and finished setting up the computer and projector, then took a seat in the pillow fort. She poured each of them a cup of coffee, put a straw in hers to maintain her identity, and then took a seat beside him.

He took it from her with a bright smile and turned on the movie.

She rested her head on his shoulder as the happy-go-lucky music started up.

Unfortunately for them, they didn’t manage to stay awake for all that long. Duke had drugged the coffee pot.

~

Marinette shifted awake a while later and promptly decided that being awake sucked.

Nothing about her current situation sucked, of course. At some point during the night they had fallen asleep and now she was laying half on top of Red Robin, clinging to him like a koala. He didn’t seem all that upset about it, though, with his arm wrapped around her and his face buried in her hair.

Unfortunately, the time on the bottom right of the Batcomputer’s screen told her she didn’t have much time to enjoy it.

She started the slow process of extracting herself from him. Getting the arm off of herself was easy, getting his face away from her head was much harder (this wasn’t helped by the fact that the paste on his face had stuck to her hair).

There was one scare where she thought he was going to wake up. She pushed herself off of his chest and he took a long breath in. Marinette froze, watching his lips tighten… and then he turned over in his sleep.

Oops, apparently she’d been suffocating him a little in her sleep. Sorry, Red.

Well, at least she was free now.

She slipped out of the pillow fort and glanced at the time again.

Even less time to do what she needed. Because that’s how time works.

She sighed and called Tikki over with a tiny wave of her hand, walking over the edge of the railing. She looked down at the abyss that stretched many feet below.

Tikki couldn’t have looked more disapproving if she tried.

“It’s just a little insurance,” Marinette signed.

This didn’t make Tikki any less upset with her, but she hadn’t really expected it to. She signed for her transformation. She tied herself to the railing with her yoyo as a precaution and then hooked her legs around the railing.

And down she went.

She flexed at an awkward angle, flashlight in her mouth, and stuck a tracker to the bottom of the platform.

And, really, she wasn’t intending on using it. Like she said, it was just insurance. They had drawn blood from her earlier and she knew for a fact that it wasn’t necessary for chloroform inhalation. The only reason that made sense for that was that they wanted to check and see if she had inhaled some but they already knew that so… what did they want with her blood?

She was willing to bet it had something to do with her secret identity. And, hey, she didn’t particularly care if they knew her identity, she trusted them, but if it ever got out because of them revealing then who the bats were would be 1) revenge and 2) a good distraction.

“Hey --?”

Thank the kwamis she had tied herself to the railing because she’d been surprised enough to let go of the platform.

“Shit, sorry!” Said Red Robin.

She pulled herself back up onto the platform with his help and then collapsed on the cool stone. She spat the flashlight from her mouth. “Fuuuuuuck, don’t do that again, please.”

“Sorry,” he said again. Then he glanced back at where she had been and, momentarily, his lips pulled into a frown. “I gotta ask: what were you doing?”

“Hm?”

Shitshitshit.

“Oh, I wanted to see if there was anything down there or if it was just for The Aesthetic.”

“Why not just use your yoyo to go down?”

She shuddered. “The flashlight barely did anything. Would you want to go down into that darkness with no clue even how far down it goes?”

He seemed to accept the answer. “It’s an old iron mine. No one uses it anymore, though.”

She nodded her understanding.

She pushed herself back up to a sitting position and looked at him.

“The bats don’t get back for a while and we’re still on lockdown, so… want to do something?”

~

Damian was the first one to get home. Apparently he had broken a leg on patrol. This was fine (well, maybe he shouldn’t have been driving himself, but whatever).

What was not fine was that he had promptly decided to be an asshole.

Tim and Marinette had been playing Minecraft on the Batcomputer and, like all younger brothers, Damian asked to play.

And, like all older brothers, Tim barely looked up from his controller to tell him: “No.”

Damian looked to be on the verge of a meltdown.

Marinette sighed and sent Tim a tired look. “Red, don’t be mean. He’s just a kid. There’s more controllers, we can just give him one.”

“But…” He started. Damian was a terrible partner to play Minecraft with because he never helped out with anything except for the farm.

However, Marinette was looking at him expectantly. Tim bit his lip, considering.

Damian looked between the two of them and a wicked grin spread across his face and oh no.

Damian took a seat next to Marinette and gave her puppy-dog eyes (a real feat, considering the fact that he was wearing a domino and therefore his eyes were invisible). “Miss Ladybug, can’t you please make him let me play?”

Marinette gave Tim a tired look. “Red, c’mon, just for a bit.”

Damian smirked a little but, by the time Marinette turned back around, he had schooled his face back into a pout.

She handed him her controller. “You can have mine. I’ll find another for myself.”

The two watched her leave and Tim sent his younger brother a glare. “I can’t believe you would embarrass yourself this much just to play a game.”

“Anything to annoy you, ‘big bro’.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but then Marinette came back and all he could do was send him a glare behind her back.

Damian retaliated by sitting himself on Marinette’s lap. She looked down, amusement making her eyes crinkle, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge it. Damian smirked and stuck his tongue out at Tim.

That little shit.

And it continued on for hours while the three of them waited for the rest of the bats to come back. Damian would cling to Marinette in some way and he would become the bad guy for glaring at a child. He was seriously considering breaking the No Killing Rule for this kid.

Finally, though, people started coming back and apparently Damian thought it too embarrassing to do such a thing in front of more than just the person he was trying to annoy because he clambered off her lap to play just a little bit away.

Bruce was the last one to come in and he looked at his kids with the patented Batdad Glare because they had managed to drag Steph into playing with them (without much effort) and Cass into watching (with much more effort). Which meant that there were currently five family disappointments. Yay them.

Tim smiled innocently. “What? We got bored. Maybe you should let us out so this doesn’t happen again.”

“I’m keeping you here for your own safety.”

Marinette and Tim both groaned.

“I have work to do.”

“Me, too.”

Bruce didn’t relent because he was a stubborn asshole.

But that was fine. They really hadn’t expected them to. Tim glanced at Marinette and she twirled her index finger against her flat palm, the sign for ‘start’.

One flash and smoke bomb later, the two of them were running as fast as they could to his bike. He grinned as he helped his giggling friend get on and hopped up himself. Arms wrapped around him tightly and her face buried in his back. They tore out of the cave, giggling all the while.

#stalker x stalker #maribat #timinette #timari #shutterbug #timmari #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #red robin #tim drake #theyre paranoid bastards your honor

[lumosinlove]

Relic Keel

(warnings in tags)

PREVIOUSLY ON RELIC KEEL

Marlene got into college and hasn’t told Dorcas because she’s scared of how she will react.

Lily and James had sex and obviously like each other, but Lily is scared to have attachments on Hogwarts when they’re going to college soon.

Leo and Logan question each other about their pasts without much progress. Logan finds out that Leo hopes to own The Lion restaurant one day, and that his father’s death has something to do with “The Voldemort.”

Saint and Sirius talk about leaving the island and how they met when they were eleven years old. They have sex and avoid more difficult topics.

James and Lily meet at the Gryffindor Club as promised. Lily tells James that she doesn’t want anything tying her to the island, that she hates the fake boundaries that Hogwarts has and that James isn’t crossing them as much as he thinks he is. James understands, even though it hurts.

Saint and Sirius are cleaning the Potter’s pool when James arrives with Remus and Luke. Remus and Sirius have a tense moment in the kitchen, Luke and Saint argue, and Sirius finds out that it’s Remus who sails the Wolfsbane every morning—Remus thus finding out that Sirius notices.

Logan returns to the Carrows to hand over his money and stock up on Crucio. We find out that he works for them in the hopes that they will help him get Finn out of Saint Clair, only the Carrows are angry with him for using their Crucio—they say that Logan owes them now.

Logan heads over to Saint Clair to watch Finn from afar, and swears again that he will rescue him.

part iv

Remus closed his eyes, soaking in the morning sun and the salty air. The wind pushed his hair back as he tightened the rigging, catching the wind. Sometimes his sails felt like his bare hands. Like he finally had something to hold onto, even if it blistered his palms. The sea made him feel alone, in the best way. Usually, it felt like people were always around. He couldn’t go anywhere without running into at least two people from school, or his parents’ friends. Yes, he’s excited for college, no, he’s not sure exactly yet, yes, he’s still sailing, yes, he’s still obsessed, yes, he remembers learning at Gryffindor Club, sure, I’ll tell my mom you say hi.

Solidarity was less exhausting.

The wind buffered and he sighed as he slowed down. he looked back towards Shack Beach. Saint had said they saw him every morning—that Sirius saw him every morning. He wondered if Sirius was watching now.

He couldn’t see anything from this far away. Part of him wondered if he could make this island disappear completely, just for a moment. But it was dangerous to stray that far. Even The Cradle, the small U of islands just off of Hogwarts’ southern coast, was pushing it. Remus huffed out a laugh as he managed the ropes to come about, back towards shore. If that wasn’t a metaphor, he didn’t know what was.

Things on Hogwarts had become complicated in what felt like overnight, even though Remus knew that wasn’t true. They were older now. They didn’t just care about summer vacation. There was college to think about, and then jobs. Hogwarts wasn’t the dream it once was. Remus wanted to see mountains, and huge cities, or snow—and not just for a week on vacation. He wanted to belong somewhere because he wanted to be there, and not just because he had grown up there. He was tired of knowing everything there was to know.

He tied up his Wolfsbane on autopilot, stroking his hand over the side before tugging his shirt over his head and jumping straight into the water. It was cooler from the night, but it was what Remus needed. He held his breath as he found the sandy bottom, his eyes closed. For a moment, he didn’t have to be anywhere. He got to enjoy the ocean and its predictable changes.

When he came up for air, he remembered why he loved this island. That still didn’t mean he didn’t want to leave.

“Are you headed to the museum, sweetheart?” his mother said when Remus came down to the kitchen, freshly showered. He preferred to let the salt linger all day, but he figured he should be fresh for his first day of work.

“Yeah,” Remus held up his keys. “Just looking for some coffee first.”

His mom held up a mug for him, laughing. “Ask and you shall receive.”

Remus smiled. “Thanks, mom.”

“How was it this morning?”

Remus poured some milk into his cup. “It was good. Sun’s going to be strong today. Went near The Cradle—not too far, don’t worry.”

“You know me too well,” Hope laughed, whisking some eggs into a lather. “Well, it’s pizza night. We’re ordering in so, if you want to have some friends over and take it to the den, that’s fine with me. But don’t complain if Jules crashes the party.”

Remus nodded. “Actually, I think we’re going out. If that’s all right?”

Hope nodded. “All right, sure. Be safe, though. Who, uh…”

“James and Luke,” Remus sighed. “Mom—”

“I wasn’t going to say anything—”

“It’s not Luke’s fault,” Remus continued anyway. “His dad, I mean. He didn’t know.”

“I know that,” Hope sighed. “But…Even I can see that boy’s hurting and I barely see him at all.”

“Then shouldn’t he be with his friends?” Remus said.

Hope raised her eyebrows at him, and Remus raised his own right back.

“All right, all right,” Hope said. “You’re gonna be late, I’ll see you later, baby.”

Remus knew he should take the car his parents had given him. He knew he should get used to driving, knew his dad wondered why it just sat in the garage. But here, on the island, Remus liked his bicycle. He liked the warm breeze. It reminded him of being out on the water.

Which, in turn, now reminded him of Sirius Black.

When Remus remembered Sirius, he mostly remembered bruised cheeks and nasty looking cuts. He remembered the hushed way people used to whisper about him, and how, even when he was loud, grinning and well-liked, he was still from Salazar. Sometimes he had eaten lunch surrounded by people, and sometimes he had eaten it alone with his brother.

Remus didn’t understand this island. Was Sirius really so different because he was born a few miles South rather than North? It made no sense—only it did, but only because it was all Remus had ever known.

The Hogwarts History Museum was a pride of the island. Remus knew it well from school trips, and from his own interest. He’d spent many Saturdays there as a kid, gazing at all of the small models of ships and dreaming about what it would be like to sail them, wishing they weren’t trapped behind glass—feeling a little like he was trapped behind glass. A ship in a bottle.

“Hi there, Remus,” Layla smiled at him, green eyes kind and skin a rich, dark brown against the pale pink scarf in her hair.

“Hi, Layla,” Remus smiled. “Having a good summer so far?”

“Sure,” Layla shrugged. “Lots of time here. I saw you win the sailing race last Sunday, congrats.”

Remus smiled. “Thanks. It was real fun. Sorry I beat your brother, though.”

“Oh, Lyle doesn’t mind,” Layla waved a hand. Her nails were painted pink, too. “Don’t worry about it.”

Remus had been friends with Layla since they were little, competing for best in class usually. She was wicked smart and mellow. Remus could always use some mellow, good conversation—especially with James being James and Luke being…well, whatever Luke was now. Layla liked history, and her family owned the museum, which meant Layla told tales that were, albeit tall, fun to listen to.

Remus leaned against the desk, looking around. “This place never changes, huh?”

Layla laughed, clicking a pen. “History doesn’t tend to change that much, R, and so neither do we. Unlike the world out there.”

“I don’t know about that. Nothing ever feels too different out there,” Remus laughed, too. “But I guess you’re right. I’m glad you’re here, though. Or else I’d be sitting behind this desk by myself.”

“I’m glad you’re here, too,” Layla nodded. “What made you take the job?”

Remus snorted as he rounded the corner, picking up his name badge where Beatrice, Layla’s mother and the museum curator, said it would be. “Don’t pretend we didn’t see each other here when we were little all the time. Not to mention at Gryffindor Club. You, obviously.”

Layla raised an eyebrow. “Me and your mom.”

Remus winced and Layla laughed.

“C’mon, we both know you’d be out on your boat all day if it was up to you.”

Remus laughed. “Fine. But seriously. You’re a perk.”

Layla nodded, rolling her eyes with a smile. “Just a couple of history buffs, I guess.”

Remus shrugged. “There are worse things to be.”

The day was pretty slow. A few tourists here and there, taking photo behind the cardboard cutouts that made you look like you were dressed as a sailor, or a pirate.

“Are there really pirates here?” one little girl had asked Layla.

Remus had smiled when Layla crouched down and whispered to her, “careful, there’s one there,” and pointed at Remus.

When lunch rolled around, Remus expected Layla to pull out a bagged sandwich like him, but instead she scoffed and picked up her bag.

“Come on. We have to get out for a bit.”

Remus shrugged. “All right, where to?”

“The Lion, of course,” Layla replied. “It’s the best food on the island.”

“The Lion,” Remus repeated slowly. “You mean—in The Hollow?”

Layla gave him a look. “Oh, you’re not one of those are you?”

“One of what?” Remus said. “No. I’m not, I just… c’mon, you hear things.”

“Hear things? You’ve never been?”

“Once,” Remus swallowed, thinking of the fight. “It didn’t really go well.”

Layla just shook her head.

“History is just one great field of stories, Remus. You’ll never get to the truth unless you listen to them all.”

And so Remus found himself riding alongside Layla on their bikes and right through Gryffindor. The Hollow didn’t have a sign or anything, but you knew when you were in it. Remus almost wished he had been able to see some sort of line to cross, but everything was just suddenly different. Low houses with open doors, people gathered together and laughing. Kids running with surfboards over their heads, towards Shack Beach. It had seemed even more vibrant in the dark the night of the party, even through the tinted windows of Luke’s car. String lights hung over cookouts, and music blasting from speakers. It had smelled amazing, and Remus would have to say Layla was probably right about the food. 

The Lion was just as bright as everything else. It was bustling with lunch-goers, and the doors were flung wide, letting the heat right in. Remus looked around at the people. Some tourists, obviously. Some not. Hollows. Some of them smiled when they caught Remus’ eye, and some narrowed their eyes.

“Hi, Leo, babe,” Layla said as she slid onto a stool at the counter.

There was a blond boy behind it wearing a tank top and a snapback. He smiled as he set some shrimp down in a frier. “Hey, Layla, babe, ça va?”

“Just working. At least I’ve got Remus for company now.”

Remus smiled awkwardly when Leo fixed his blue eyes on him. He really didn’t know what he was waiting for. Something terrible to happen?

Leo only held out a hand. “Leo, nice to meet you.”

“Remus,” Remus said, and took it. He tried not to look at the rainbow bracelet on Leo’s wrist for too long, but he could tell Leo had felt the way his hand tightened. “Yeah—you, too.”

Leo touched it briefly, like an old habit, as he pulled away, giving another smile to Remus.

It didn’t necessarily mean Leo wasn’t straight, but on such a small island, Remus tended to notice these things. He and Luke had figured each other out pretty fast around sixteen. They’d kissed. Once. And then winced, laughed, and shoved each other in the pool. Sometimes Remus wished he and Luke had worked. He didn’t see any other boys coming his way. Leo was smiling at him like he knew what Remus was thinking.

“What can I get you two?” Leo asked.

A boyfriend? Remus thought wistfully.

“Two of your specials, please,” Layla said. “Re, you’re going to lose your mind it’s so good.”

“What’s your special?” Remus asked.

Leo shrugged, but he was grinning. “Like a chef ever gives up his secrets—”

Leo had stopped mid-sentence, eyes going over their shoulders towards the door. Remus turned to look, and a moment later, a brown haired boy was slinging a backpack down carefully between his feet and taking the seat beside Remus.

“Well, look who’s back,” Leo said to him.

The boy glanced at Remus and Layla, then gave a small shrug. “Yeah.”

Leo snorted. “Yeah,” he parroted. “You’re just hungry.”

The boy shrugged again.

Leo sighed, and gave Remus a look that said, can you believe this? before turning back to the stove. “This is Logan guys. Apparently he doesn’t talk today. Three specials. Coming up.”

~

Logan didn’t recognize the boy sitting at the counter. He didn’t recognize the girl either. Then again, he didn’t recognize many people. He didn’t know anyone. Except Dorcas—if that even counted. And Leo. If that counted, either.

The Felix was heavy in his pack, wedged protectively between his feet, and he wished the strangers would leave so that Leo would talk to him. He hadn’t said two words that weren’t him making sure that Logan liked his food, and asking him where he’d been.

Logan was a little annoyed with him for asking that question. It wasn’t like Leo didn’t know what Logan did. Then again, Leo didn’t know why Logan did what he did.

“You guys get the new madness exhibit up yet, Layla?” Leo was asking the girl with the scarf in her hair. “The one you were telling me about.”

The sandy-haired boy looked up from his food. “The madness exhibit?”

The girl—Layla—cocked her head. “Remus, you…you don’t know?”

“Know what?” the boy—Remus—replied.

Layla sat up a little, looking suddenly awkward. “Your mom donated almost everything we have. I mean…it is your family that’s famous for…”

Remus raised his eyebrows. “Losing their fucking minds?”

Layla winced. “Well, yeah, okay, poor choice of words on my part. But madness isn’t always a bad thing, you know. People say people are crazy all the time. Sometimes they’re just extraordinary.”

Remus looked back down at his food. “My family’s not extraordinary, believe me.”

“Usually extraordinary-ness belongs to one person, I’d say,” Leo said. “My mom’s pretty extraordinary. Doesn’t mean I am.”

“You want to stay on this island, don’t you?” Logan found himself saying. Then, he felt his neck heat and he turned down to his food.

“What’s so extraordinary about that?” Layla replied at the same time as Remus said, “You do?”

Leo just laughed, rolling his eyes at Logan. “I’m with Layla on this one, guys, sorry.”

“What about you, Logan?” Layla asked. “I want the museum after I go to college. At least I think I do. Leo wants The Lion, Remus wants to sail the world…” Remus blushed at that, and Layla’s eyes were very green. “What do you want to do?”

Logan found it strange that they were treating him like that. So normally. Logan knew his necklace was on display. It was easier than explaining why people hadn’t seen him around and pretending to be a tourist. That lead to questions. Being abandoned didn’t. And he was. He was abandoned. People didn’t ask. Most probably thought he had just aged out. People didn’t ask. It was better that way. Logan didn’t have any answers. All he had was the memory of that last night with Finn. Finn had returned to their room, eyes wild and voice urgent.

Come on, Lo, wake up. Wake up, Logan, we have to go. Now.

Logan had felt helplessly awake in the first weeks of being out. He was still sorting through what that meant.

Logan swallowed. “I don’t know. I’m—looking for someone first.”

Remus sighed and mumbled. “Aren’t we all.”

“You are?” Leo asked softly.

Logan nodded. “Or, not looking. I’m just…I’m waiting for someone.”

He knew where Finn was, but Logan knew that he could wait forever and he wouldn’t come. Logan had to take what he wanted. It was a lesson he was learning fast.

“Oh,” Remus replied. “Um…cool. I hope you find them.”

Logan just nodded.

“Well, we should head out,” Layla said, rising. “Gotta get back to work.”

“Sure thing, just pay up front,” Leo smiled. “See you later, Layla.” He nodded at Remus. “Nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” Remus smiled back. “The food was great.”

Logan watched Leo watch them leave, then snort. “That guy looked more spooked than a horse with a snake.”

“Isn’t that what Gods are supposed to look like?” Logan replied.

Leo shrugged. “Usually you can’t see their eyes behind their aviators.”

Logan laughed a little. “Right.” he looked back down at his food, realizing he had begun picking his fries apart, rather than eating them.

“I’m looking for someone too, you know,” Leo broke the silence.

Logan did. Only, he hadn’t thought about it like that. Leo’s dad and Finn. Leo’s dad was probably dead. Finn wasn’t.

“I hope you find him,” Logan replied. “Your dad.”

The Lion was in full swing now, the lunchtime rush loud and boisterous. Leo had a tank top on, and Logan thought he looked a little tired. Sleeplessness showed easily on his skin.

“Do you have to run?” Leo asked instead of responding. “And hide? Like, from the police?”

Logan sat up, instinctively looking behind him. “I assumed I would have to. But…it hasn’t been that difficult.” He laughed a humorless laugh. “I guess I keep overestimating how much people actually care about me. Maybe I should have learned something by now.”

“Maybe you’re just looking at the wrong people,” Leo said quickly, and looked up with a smile, a small one, then down again. “I know a few others who got out. They don’t seem to have trouble, so, you know, if you needed a job or something, you could work in my mom’s workshop. With me. Or here. I’m sure Celeste and Pascal would be all right with it.”

Logan felt taken off guard. “Oh. I…” he thought of the powder packets in his bag. Of the Carrows. How much do you think you owe us by now?

Others? he wanted to ask. What others? 

“Just think about it,” Leo said, and turned towards one of the stove tops to check on some boiling water.

“Yeah. Okay.”

They sat in silence for a long moment.

“It’s a boat,” Leo began suddenly, answering Logan’s yet unasked question. The Voldemort. What his father had been looking for. It was almost like Leo was thanking him for telling the truth about his situation. An eye for an eye. A truth for a truth. Logan sort of liked that consistency. “Was a boat. In the eighteenth century.”

“Oh,” Logan said.

“Biggest story on Hogwarts,” Leo said. “Ten thousand pieces of gold, all fallen to the depths of the ocean just off of Hogwarts’ shores…and never seen again.”

“But if it’s just off the shore…”

Leo smiled a little, shaking his head. “But you have to know where off the shore. Otherwise, you have a whole circumference of miles and miles of open water to work with.”

“And your dad figured it out?”

Leo shrugged, expression closing off a little. “He thought he did.” He cleared his throat as he put an order on the counter for a waiter to take away, and ripped another piece of paper down from the line up to look at. “The Cradle. You know it?”

Logan shook his head.

“It’s a sort of…horse shoe shaped cluster of islands, just off of our southern tip.”

“Salazar,” Logan said quietly.

Leo nodded. “Salazar.”

“Your dad was a treasure hunter,” Logan said slowly. “He was looking for a treasure.”

“Yeah,” Leo said, flipping a crab cake in sizzling oil. “He was.”

“And did he find it? Do you want to find it?”

“I don’t know,” Leo whispered, busy hands stilling. “He never came home.”

Logan nodded.

“He wanted to find it,” Leo said softly. “Really badly. And I… I feel like I should.”

“And was he close?”

Leo glanced up from his knife. “Yes.”

“Leonardo,” a voice came suddenly, entering the restaurant. “What does your mother feed you, you gorgeous specimen?”

Logan froze. He knew that voice.

Leo rolled his eyes, and looked at the newcomers. “Fuck off, Saint. Hey, Sirius.”

“Hi,” a second voice came, and it was closer, almost beside Logan at the bar.

Leo’s eyes caught on Logan’s again, probably meaning to introduce him, but he stopped instead.

“What’s wrong?” Leo asked.

But Logan just shook his head, and then the newcomers—Saint and Sirius—were leaning against the bar. Logan felt the breath beside him catch just as his own had, and he turned to look.

Logan thought the boy standing beside him looked different. Older. More muscular. Squarer jaw. But the same. Same eyes. Same shock of blond hair. Same warm, brown skin.

“Logan?” Saint breathed, his eyes disbelieving.

Logan went to open his mouth, when Saint’s arms were around him suddenly.

“It’s Saint,” he said softly, just for Logan’s ears. He squeezed him tighter. “God, you’re here.”

“Saint?” Logan whispered into his shoulder. No one had touched him like this in what felt like forever.

“Yeah,” Saint said. He pulled back and raised an eyebrow. “Okay?”

Logan shrugged. “I…yeah, okay.”

“Knutty,” Saint’s serious expression morphed into a grin. He leaned against the counter, keeping his palm on Logan. “Handsome as ever.”

Logan blinked at Saint, then at Leo. “Knutty?”

Leo rolled his eyes. “Don’t listen to a word he says.”

“Oh, Logan already knows not to do that,” Saint laughed. He tapped his cross necklace. “We’re practically brothers.”

“Oh,” Leo blinked. “Right.”

The other boy—Sirius—looked just as taken aback.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Saint called in a sing-song voice, looking at Sirius. “Order for us, won’t you? And get us a table? Logan,” Saint nodded towards the door. “Come hither.”

Logan was so thankful to see Saint, he nearly tripped while getting up. A familiar face. A familiar anything. Saint had gotten out almost seven years ago. He’d been there one day, in his bed, in classes, in the courtyard, and gone the next.

“Sweetheart?” Logan asked, glancing back inside at the dark-haired boy, Sirius.

Saint just put his hands on Logan’s arms, eyes more intent than Logan had ever seen them, then on Logan’s cheeks. “Holy shit, how did you get out?”

Logan felt his heart slow, then speed up. He swallowed dryly. “Finn. How did you?”

Saint ignored the question.

“Finn,” Saint repeated, nodding. “Of course. When?”

“About a month ago. And he—he’s still in there,” Logan said. “He’s…And I’m—”

“I hear you,” Saint said. He jerked his head over to the table. “Not now. Let’s get back.”

“Saint?” Logan asked again.

Saint rolled his eyes. “Leave it alone. For now.”

~

Saint hadn’t been ready. He hadn’t seen Logan in nine years, but he’d know his face anywhere. All eyelashes and sad, green eyes. A smile he wore with Finn only. He looked spooked now, and tired. They’d sat at the bar, watching one of Leo’s shifts go and another one come, then moved to a table. Watching it get dark outside now, Saint wondered where Logan had been living for a month.

He eyed the backpack that Logan held so protectively close, and thought of the way Dorcas did the same thing.

Saint had a bad feeling.

“So, how’d you two meet?” Sirius said, gesturing between Logan and Leo with a fry when Leo brought over more water.

“Party,” Leo shrugged after a moment of hesitation. “Shack Beach.” He jerked his head at Saint. “You two were there, judging by Sirius’ shiner. Could hear that fight at my house, probably.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “I didn’t start it.”

“True,” Saint said, wondering how he had missed Logan that night. “Some God—albeit a beautiful one—thought we were selling Crucio.”

Saint flicked his eyes over to Logan. Sure enough, he blushed.

Saint cocked his head. “The horror. Dangerous stuff.”

Leo looked at Saint quietly, and glanced at Logan, then back to him. Saint nodded. Got it, it said.

“Well, would you look who it is,” said a deep voice from behind them, and then there were two strong arms around Saint and Sirius. Pascal placed a loud kiss on each of their heads.

“Eck,” Sirius laughed. “You smell like grease, old man.”

Pascal Dumais laughed. “Grease that feeds you, maybe. And who’s this?”

“Dumo, meet Logan,” Saint said. “Logan, meet Pascal. He owns the Lion with his wife, Celeste.”

“The most beautiful woman in the world,” Pascal said, accent heavy. “Logan, it’s nice to meet you.”

Saint watched Pascal eye Logan’s necklace.

“We were together at Saint Clair,” he supplied.

“Maybe not so loud,” Logan said harshly. “Saint.”

“Oh?” Pascal said, and squinted at Logan. “Who are you with now, mon cher?”

Saint watched Logan open his mouth, frozen, and was about to speak up when—

“Me,” Leo cut in. He looked down at the carrots he was chopping as he said it. “Me and my mom.”

Oh, Saint thought.

“Oh, Leonardo,” Saint sighed. “Un ange.”

“Not my name,” Leo said.

“I know.”

“Yeah,” Logan replied to Pascal’s still questioning gaze. “Yeah.”

“I see,” Pascal nodded. “Well, I’m happy you and your mother will have a helping hand now. I miss your father dearly, mon fils.” He smiled sadly at Leo.

Leo just nodded. “Yeah.”

“Him and his treasure, eh?” Pascal said. “A wonderful man. I miss going out on that boat of his.”

Leo’s smile was small, but fond. “Those were some of his favorite mornings.”

“Treasure?” Sirius asked.

“Black!” a new voice shouted. “Thank fuck.”

Saint looked up when Sirius did. James and Remus were barreling towards them from the dark outside.

“Good lord,” Saint said. “Rain, from Olympus. Water my crops, why don’t you.”

“James?” Sirius said. “What are you—”

James and Remus walked right up to their table—Remus looking slightly more reluctant. “We have a question.”

“How did you know we were here?” Sirius raised an eyebrow. “I mean, just…it’s a little out of your way, non?”

“Remus came here earlier, and when I told him—well, you’ll see—he said maybe you’d be here.”

Saint watched Sirius’ eyes narrow at Remus, confused. “Okay…”

“Well, it’s good to see you again, tweedle-hot,” Saint said to Remus. “Up close this time. We actually though you were going to sail right out of sight this morning.”

Sirius stepped on his toe beneath the table.

“Excuse me?” Remus choked out. “What the fuck did you—”

James blinked at Saint, then shook his head, as if to right his thoughts. “All right, setting every strange thing that comes out of your mouth aside for a moment —where is Dorcas?”

“Meadowes?” Logan chimed in.

James’ eyes turned on him. “You know her?”

Saint raised his hand. “I have the same question.”

“Well,” Logan hesitated. “Sure.”

“And she sells Felix,” James said, as if trying to confirm the information.

Logan narrowed his eyes. “Says you.”

James sighed. “I’m not here to turn her in, Jesus, I just have a question.”

“Do…” Sirius was looking at Logan. “Do you sell…”

“What kind of question?” Saint cut in.

Remus spoke up. “A does-she-deal-to-Luke type of question.”

Saint laughed. “Deveaux?”

“You know who Luke is, Saint,” Remus sighed.

“Well, yeah I do, Lupin, he tried to buy off me,” Saint shook his head with a tisking sound. “Turns out he’s a prejudice piece of eye candy. Who knew.”

“Come on,” James sighed, rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses. “Please, Sirius, come on.”

Sirius shrugged. “We don’t know who Dorcas deals to. We’re not involved.”

“If you did would you tell us?”

Sirius smiled, just a little. “Probably not. But I really don’t know.”

James sighed, sagging away from the table. He looked at Remus. “Fuck.”

“What were you hoping to accomplish here?” Sirius asked slowly.

“We—” Remus said, then sighed, too. “We were going to see if she would agree to stop. If it was her, if she would stop giving it to him.”

“We’d pay her,” James added. “Obviously.”

Saint scoffed, and Logan laughed a little, too, from beside him.

“Obviously,” Saint mimicked.

“We just meant—” Remus began.

“We know what you meant,” Sirius said.

Saint popped a fry into his mouth. “If we’ll clean your pools for a few bucks, we’ll grant you three wishes, too.”

“Jesus, Saint,” James groaned.

“Mary. Joseph—”

James ran his hands through his hair. “We’re sorry, we misspoke. We’re just trying to help our friend. His dad got taken to jail, his mom pops pills all day and night.  That’s already draining what little money the bank didn’t seize and if he wants to do anything with his life he needs a straight head. Just—fuck, we’re just asking.”

Saint prided himself on gathering information, but most of that were things he didn’t know. Luke’s dad had got taken away. But the pills? The financial distress? All of that paired with that guarded snarl the boy always seemed to wear…it almost made Saint feel sorry for Luke Deveaux. He almost said so.

Instead, he said, while twirling the cross around his neck. “Wow, he must feel like an orphan or something.”

“All right,” Remus sighed. “James, let’s just go.”

“What does he look like?” Logan said suddenly before they could turn to leave.

James looked a him warily. “Um. Sort of blond-ish. More brown-haired, I guess. Big guy, built and tall and all that. Oh, he’s got this green spot in one eye.”

Logan nodded. James raised an eyebrow. Saint waited.

“How much will you pay me to stop selling to him?” Logan finally said. He rose as he did, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. “That’s a lot out of my pocket.”

“Logan,” Saint said, but Logan didn’t look at him.

James blinked. “I—oh. Oh, uh—God, what do you want? Two hundred?”

"One grand,” Logan said.

James laughed. “Dude. Who the fuck are you? No, I don’t have that much just—on me.”

“Logan,” Saint warned again, and this time Logan did look at him. Saint shook his head softly.

“Fine,” Logan said through his teeth, and held out his hand. “Two.”

James took his wallet out and handed over the cash.

“Thanks,” Remus said from a little behind James’ shoulder. “Really.”

Logan just nodded, shoved the bills into his pocket, and headed for the door.

“Pardon,” Saint sent a grin to them all, and followed him.

Once they were outside, Saint gave him a wack on the back of the head.

“Fuck,” Logan swore. “S—”

“You get out of that shit-hole and you go around selling Crucio? To Gods?”

“I—”

“I mean, seriously, what the fuck was that? Do you know how not careful that was?”

“I don’t even know who that boy is,” Logan bit back.

Saint blinked. “What?”

Logan looked out towards the ocean where they could hear the waves crashing against the shore. “He offered to pay, and so I told him what he wanted to hear. When his friend shows up hallucinating next, that’s their problem.”

Saint scoffed. “Fine, okay, clever boy. But you do sell Crucio.”

“Felix,” Logan countered. “And yes.”

“Crucio. And no.”

Logan shrugged. “I need the money.”

“For what?”

Logan looked at him and, this time, his eyes were hard. Desperate. “For Finn.”

Saint froze. He opened his mouth, and then closed it. “Excuse me?”

“If I can get enough cash, I can get Finn,” Logan said.

Saint stared at him, and then Saint laughed. Then, he laughed louder.

“You’re shitting me,” Saint said. “You think that?”

“What do you…”

“You think you can buy Finn out?” Saint repeated incredulously. “You think you can walk back in there and buy Finn out.”

Logan took a breath. “He—”

“Logan, Jesus Christ,” Saint snapped. “You walk anywhere near that place and you are never getting back out.” Saint pressed a hand to Logan’s shoulder and shook him. “Do you hear me?”

“I need to do something,” Logan shouted back. “I need to do something, I can’t just leave him in there, he’s everything to me.”

Saint shook his head. “He got you out. Don’t waste that.”

Logan nodded, eyes bright with tears now. “And you know he got punished for it. You know he did—”

“Stop,” Saint spat, glancing around, as if anyone could hear. “Don’t.”

“You could help me,” Logan said, wiping his nose. “Bash, you got out once—”

“No,” Saint said, and turned away. “No. And don’t call me that. Don’t you ever call me that.”

“Please,” Logan begged. “Please—Saint.”

Saint whirled on him again. “I am never going near there, and neither are you. Finn’s still in there, fine. But he’ll need to get himself free like us if he wants it bad enough.”

“I owe money,” Logan began, then his breathing hitched. “I owe them, I took some of it to see—to see Finn and…Bash—Saint—”

“Them?” Saint took a step forward. “Them?”

Logan pressed a hand over his eyes, but Saint walked forward and pulled it away.

“Logan,” he said lowly. “Tell me you didn’t.”

Logan closed his eyes, mouth twisting against his tears.

“Tell me, right now, that you didn’t let the Carrows tell you they’d help you. And that you didn’t believe them.”

Logan shook his head, not in negation, but in defeat. “I need him. I need him, I’m so…I’m alone.”

Saint pulled Logan against his chest and let him cry. The sobs heaved out of him for a long while, until the collar of Saint’s shirt was wet. Until Logan was breathing softly again, exhausted, and until his voice sounded shot when he spoke.

“You’re really staying with Leo?” Saint asked, more gently this time.

Logan nodded.

“I have a place, too. Here, in The Hollow. If you want.”

“With the others?” Logan rasped.

“What others?”

“How many others are out?” Logan said softly.

Saint shook his head, fingers in Logan’s hair. “Just me, that I know of.”

“You still wear it,” Logan said, pulling back to look at him. “The cross.”

Saint let his hands drop with a last touch to Logan’s hot cheek. “So do you.”

They were both silent.

“I’m sorry about Finn,” Saint said rigidly. “I know how much he meant to you.”

Logan’s brows pulled together. “He’s not dead.”

Saint nodded. “Right.”

“Saint…” Logan began, and Saint heard the almost B instead. “Would you—just thinking about it—“

“No,” Saint said, and then turned and went back inside.

Sirius, back at the table, looked at his face, and then at his wet shirt.

“Okay?” he asked softly when Saint sat down.

“Just dandy,” Saint replied, and looked towards the door. Logan was gone.

#warnings: brief mention of drugs and past abuse and death of a father #relic keel #lumosinlove #relic keel lumosinlove #wolfstar #wolfstar fic #saint #lumosinlove ocs #Logan tremblay #Leo knut #lelo #Logan Tremblay x Leo knut #o'knutzy

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 146

Whew, on a roll with queuing these up!  Kind of proud of myself.

Speaking of proud... So many familiar names in the notes this week!  Y’all are giving me a huge smile during a super busy week/month. Work has been bananas, weekends have been insane, and knowing that all of you are reading and enjoying the story gives me the encouragement I need to keep writing and to make the effort to keep the quality as consistent as possible.

All of you literally encourage me to take care of myself :)  Thank you so much. 

And, always, thank you to @baelpenrose, @charlylimph-blog, and @the-raven-fae, for everything you do, from beta-reading, to giving me stuff to read, to just keeping me reasonably sane. 

I huffed as I put down the box of blankets in our new quarters. With our expected drop from hyperspace getting closer, we had finally been assigned quarters closer to the Archives.  Xiomara and Tyche had both told me I was being ‘too nice’ by having Maverick put in the transfer request rather than doing it myself, but I still didn’t think it was fair to use my unwilling position on the Council as leverage to get bumped to the front of the line. After all, we had a few months to go, and with everything else going on, it wasn’t like I was in a hurry.

“Conor, be careful!” Maverick scolded as a box of dishes landed on the regrettably-smaller counter. “You’ll break them!”

“Mav, I love you to pieces,” Conor grunted and stretched his back. “But I want to point out again that we can just recycle broken ones and request new ones.” Completely contradictory to his own words, he wrapped the other man in a crushing hug and whispered something in his ear.

When Maverick gave him a skeptical look, Conor opened the box and pulled out a chipped plate. “The ones on the bottom are the ones with no chips, cracks, or stains. Promise.”

Hang on. “You let Conor pack the dishes, but you only let me pack the blankets?!”  I was honestly hurt.

Maverick kicked the floor gently, his way of showing embarrassment. “I was worried I would break them, and you know how attached I am to the chipped plates, and I knew he wouldn’t get rid of them….”

“Baby,” I whispered. “Babe. It’s okay. I like the chipped ones, too. I would never get rid of those…” I held out a hand to see if he was receptive to a hug. When he tugged my hand, I squished his waist the best I could.

“You’re so particular with the clothes, though…”

“Because I despise pills against my skin.” I shuddered at the thought. “They feel… dirty.”

I could feel him shudder in agreement. “They do, don’t they?”

Conor gave us both a squish and shook his head, chin rubbing against us both. “Just leave my shirts alone, yeah?”

Maverick’s agreement with my philosophy nearly vibrated my soul. He never notices when we replace the pit-stained ones, it’s all okay. We both casually replaced the never-ceasing rotation of Conor’s white shirts when they were dirty past the point of laundering, but made a point to leave the permanently grungy coveralls until they either gained enough sentience to run away or fell apart in despair.

“Your shirts and Brenda, promise,” I tried to swear as solemnly as possible. ‘Brenda’ was the tilandsia xerographica that he had gifted me that first Insert Winter Holiday. She was currently twelve inches, and was the third love of Conor’s life.

He nodded before releasing us. “Mav, the silverware is still by the door so you can make sure everything is in the right place. Sophia, I’ll put up the clothes if you’ll sort where you want the blankets.” Without another word, he palmed the thermostat control and adjusted it to the agreed-upon settings we had maintained for years in our shared quarters. “Head’s up, once I get the clothes sorted, I gotta go help Sam and Derek move.”

My neck cramped from the speed I whipped around to look at him. “Derek and Sam are moving?”

Maverick nodded, his chin against my scalp. “They mutually requested relocation to stay in similar proximity to our quarters… specifically to Mac.”

I rolled my eyes. “It is absolutely to be close to Mac. Not my blanket, not soup on tap, not Conor’s plants - “

“They’re your plants, love.”

“Tell the plants that,” I joked. “You keep them alive.”

He muttered something that sounded distinctly like ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ as he gently set a box under Brenda’s stand and started unpacking spritz bottles, fertilizers, and the world’s tiniest pruning shears.

I can honestly say I did not laugh.  With the exception of the shears, all six spray bottles, the soaking tub, and the three different fertilizers had actually lived with me longer than he had. “The point is that I’m sure they aren’t just moving to be closer to Mac… he roams the entire Ark, so it’s a pretty lame excuse.”

Maverick and Conor both shrugged before the former spoke. “Sam likes how you cook his produce. And it’s a long walk from our previous quarters.”

“I am not going to apologize that his strawberries go better in ketchup, or that his tomatoes make amazing ice cream,” I waved off. “I know it’s a side effect of using the known composition of Von’s soil and light, but… the strawberries are orange. Like a bell pepper.”

“But the tomato soup from his tomatoes is amazing,” Conor granted. “None of us even like tomato soup.” I opened my mouth to argue, but he cut me off. “The one recipe you like, Sophie, proves my point, it’s not an argument. It’s the only recipe you don’t….” He gestured vaguely. “You know.”

“Zhuzh,” I provided. “I don’t zhuzh it.”

Somewhat out of nowhere, Maverick sat down in the new but familiar armchair and asked, “Is it expected to have a housewarming when you live in the same… building… ship… thingie… but moved quarters?”

“I - “ Gaping, I turned to them both. “I’m not sure. I mean… we celebrated when you two moved into my quarters, but that was more a… wedding-slash-engagement thing. Have we been invited to any for just moving?”

Conor shrugged. “All the moves were done in the first few years to settle down. Nothing like this.”

I tapped my chin before pulling up my datapad. “I’m seeing that a total of fifty people - fifty, really? - have been relocated, just to be closer to the Archives.” I took a couple of deep breaths. “I know it’s the furthest Protection Zone from the rest of the ship, but there are only fifteen people sheltering there, not counting Tyche and Alistair.”

Maverick gaped at me before waving both hands widely. “You moved, so a total of five people relocated down here, which we were just discussing, and you don’t understand how fifteen people turned into fifty?” He scowled. “Sophie, I know you can do math.”

I glared at him. “Given the nature of relationships on the Ark, I thought it would be higher, smartass.” I leaned over to kiss his chin. “But that also makes me think… block party? Take the pressure off of us?”

Conor looked thoughtfully at both of us. “I think we should put up curtains, or - you know, soft barriers, something visible but easy to navigate - for the apartments where folks can duck and cover from being wound up too much?”

He had a good point. “Just to be clear,” I ventured, “you just mean the apartments that people already know they can duck into?”

Conor’s enthusiastic nod dropped mine and Mav’s shoulders by a solid two inches. “Yeah, color code them or put proximity alerts on them, something. I don’t think anyone overstimmed wants to wander into a room full of strangers, right? Derek would know he can walk in here, straight to our bed, pile up under the blankets, and he’s fine, but… what if he walks into another person’s bedroom? Fuck all, I’ll kill someone.”

He had a point. I hated that he had a point, but he was right.

“We’re purple, right?”

Conor and Maverick collectively rolled their eyes hard enough to make my head cramp. “Duh,” was the only response Maverick gave, while Conor just shook his head.

It was only a week later that they had the door to our old quarters repainted and retextured,  and had the doors to our new quarters painted screaming purple with green and black stripes.  Just to be clear, apparently.

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