#done with me and my shit that he just wanted to leave (granted also i wanted to go with him but like. damn. nothing for me when he was goin)

[phantomphangphucker]

Phic Phight - Dal′ton-izm

@tourettesdog

Danny should not be trusted with self care and clean up duty, especially if he couldn’t tell the goddamn difference between ectoplasm and blood.

Danny growls down into his arm, struggling a little to keep all the skin more or less together. Damn, he hated getting nastier injuries, it was always a freaking pain... literally and metaphorically. He’s busy using the other arm to fire off ecto-blasts and make shields to block the return fire. Stupid Skulker and his stupid homing missiles. Stupid ghosts destroying any sense of a normal fucking sleeping schedule. Ugh. 

“I will wear you down eventually! And when I do! Then you’re mine!”. 

Could he at least get some new lines? Danny snapping back, “tha oni ‘ay ya be owl ta cah eee ‘ine’ is ‘hen Ine ackin’ as a ‘and ‘ine fah ya!”. That wasn’t his best line and it was probably impossible to understand him, but his arm is in his mouth, so he’s kinda focused on things other than puns right now. 

Skulker sends off another rocket at him, unsurprising. What is at least slightly surprising is that right when Danny puts up another shield Skulker gets shot by what’s borderline a freaking taser. Danny glancing down at a smirking Tuck peeking out around a corner and congratulating himself. Danny making quick work of capturing the ghost after that and landing on the ground with his arm still in his mouth. Sam popping out in a second and pointing at the ground aggressively. 

“You better sit down or so help me”. 

Man they were both always so aggressive about making sure he got patched up as quickly and cleanly as possible. It was both touching and annoying, sometimes he still had ghosts to chase! Or he just wanted to go to bed instead of dealing with being bandaged up or stitched or wiped down. Granted the stitching was usually a little more necessary, like it definitely was right now. 

So he floats himself down to the ground, back against a wall and opening his mouth to let Sam inspect it and get to work doing patch up. 

“Zone Danny, way to really fuck up your arm”.

Danny pouting, “hey blame Skulker, not me. I actually tried to protect myself pretty well I think, it’s not my fault he managed to spear a goddamn grappling hook through my arm”. The guy nearly took his arm off entirely with that shit, dumb jerk. Though that was probably part of the point since the dude wanted trophies and shit, he could absolutely see Skulker freaking mounting his arm on a wall or something. 

Sam sighs, wiping his arm down overly thoroughly, “I know I know, it’s just a pain to clean up this level of damage and I’m allowed to worry about your dumbass; also, nice fang marks”. 

“Worrying about my ass is fair, sitting on this hard ground is gonna make it go numb”. She smacks him over the head for that one before getting to work on the stitching. 

Tuck’s off spraying some of the ecto mess on a wall, that dissolve crap Danny’s folks made works like a freaking charm, like well enough that he’d be legit worried they’re could get away with murder. All three going still for a second at the sound of a hover board, Danny turning him and Sam invisible while Tuck goes and crawls himself under a dumpster. Val/Red doesn’t do more than fly by at least, good. Danny grumbling quietly, “you know, if we didn’t stick around alleyways for cleaned up time, we wouldn’t have to worry about that so much”. 

Tuck crawling himself out, whisper hissing, “dude, we can’t leave your mess everywhere. The other ghosts are one thing, you’re different”. Sam only huffing and working a little more quickly on her stitch work, it looked like she was nearly done at least and fuck is he glad his pain tolerance could solidly kick ass these days. 

Danny whisper hissing back, “I don’t see how? Even if my parents, so called ghost experts, stumbled upon this, how would they even tell my stuff from any persons or ghosts stuff? My folks aren’t nearly thorough enough to take literally millions of samples”. 

Sam pausing a little, “don’t be stupid”.

“I’m not being stupid. Like yes I’m sure stumbling across massive messes and stuff would be very upsetting for the towns folk but people have gotten used to weirder. I mean, I’ve overshadowed Jason, like, eight times now and the guy isn’t even surprised anymore”. 

Tuck, scrubbing the edge of a newspaper stand, chuckles, “okay yeah that guy has terrible luck with you, didn’t you also accidentally set his water heater on fire?”, shaking his head and looking underneath the newspaper stand, “and it’s less about people freaking out and more about them wondering why there’s freaking human blood mixed in with the ecto”. 

Okay now Danny just goddamn confused. Glancing around at what little remained of the mess as well as looking his -slightly messy again- arm over without moving it, “the heck you talking about? Everything’s glowing, why would anyone think any of this was human”. 

“Okay sure, yeah, your human blood glows too but it’s clearly human blood, man”.

“No? It’s not?”. Literally the only difference between ghost ectoplasm and human blood was wether or not it glowed. If his human blood glowed then how would literally anyone know its wasn’t ectoplasm unless they went around sampling literally every drop they could find. Even then if some traces of human blood showed up in an ecto sample it could just be written off as freaking transfer or whatever. 

Sam looks up at him like he’s stupid, while grabbing out the wrapping, her pausing at Danny pretty clearly looking goddamn legit confused. “Danny... are you seriously saying you can’t see a difference between your ‘mess’ and everything else?”; she sounds actually worried about him. 

Well that was concerning, is he not seeing something they are? Because of the half dead thing? Sure, obviously goddamn dying changed his body, like duh, but he’d like to think he didn’t really lose anything a fully living human had. Or maybe it was because of the life long ecto-contamination? Danny shaking his head results in Tuck rubbing towels in some of the mess in different spots and holding it up at him with a head tilt. 

Okay Danny’s going to guess that the towels, or the mess that’s on them anyways, look different to the guy. Still don’t to Danny... “if you’re trying to ask me if I think those towels look different from each other or something, they don’t”, tilting his own head, “how the heck do they look different to you?”.

Tuck drops his arms and the towels right on the ground, fully gapping at him, “dude”.

“Okay now you’re starting to worry me. They’ve both got a glowing mess on them so obviously ecto, the glow is literally the only difference between ecto and blood”.

Sam buries her head in her hands and actually starts laughing, “oh- oh my zone- no, Danny. Oh- ha!”. 

“Sam stop laughing, damn it, you’re gonna make me laugh and this should be serious”, Tuck snickers a little anyways before clearing his throat, “Danny, man, Zone, how can you not tell they’re two completely different colours”. 

Danny blinking owlishly, “what”. Tuck just losing it at that, sitting on his ankles and laughing into his hands. Wait a minute, Danny blurting out, “are you saying I’m fucking colourblind and just didn’t goddamn notice?!!?”. How???

Tuck wheezes a little more while Sam struggles to contain herself and actually clamp Danny’s wrapping in place. Tuck walking over while fiddling on his pda, shoving it in his face, “okay okay, we, ha, should definitely make sure this isn’t a half-dead thing”, wiggling the pda. “So what numbers in the circle?”.

Danny blinks at the screen. Oh damn it, screw him. There’s no damn number at all, he is so totally colour blind. Groaning and rubbing the hand that isn’t attached to an injured arm down his face, “ugh”.

“Well?”.

Danny sighing, “it’s just a circle, dude. Fuck my half life”. Rubbing his face some more as both of them snicker at him mockingly but also clearly in pure goddamn surprise. Well, at least it wasn’t a dead thing. Yay? Dropping his hand and then using it to gesture at the somewhat still there mess, “so all of this doesn’t look all the same?”.

Tuck laughs, shaking his head and then snorting, “no, man. It’s mostly ectoplasm, which is green by the way. But there’s also splatters and swirls of your human blood, which is red”, he chuckles again, “those two colours are about as different as yellow and black”.

Danny winces, okay so it was noticeable. Shit. Sam patting his shoulder, “you’re patched and at least now I know why you suck at cleaning and were always so lax about it. You would be so screwed without us”.

Okay that Danny can’t help laughing at himself, “oh yeah! my blood and ecto mix would have gotten found out in a month!”.

“Try three days, you combative little shit”.

Danny absolutely sticks his tongue out at Sam for that, but watching his two friends get up and start cleaning the area again; occasionally shaking their heads in disbelief or snickering some more. At least they usually didn’t try and make him help since he was usually supposed to be spending his time healing aka not moving around a ton. Tuck actually left him his precious pda so Danny fiddles with it looking up random colourblindness tests.

…

He doesn’t seem to have any other issues but he fails every red/green one horrifically. Even the ‘super easy’ ones. The universe must really goddamn hate him to make him extremely colourblind but literally only to basically his own blood/ecto. Stupid body, stupid eyes. Wait, him blurting out, “holy shit does this mean that Vlad doesn’t have the same eye colour as me?!?”.

Both of them burst out laughing and fall over each other, smacking each other and random things. Tuck wheezing, “NO!”. Sam snickering, “oh that is too good! I mean it’s sad but ho!”.

Danny sticking his arms out to the side, pda cradled in his lap, “but that means we have literally nothing in common physically? Who would want a son that looks zero percent like them?!?!?”. Their laughter only gets louder and eventually he’s laughing again too.

“What is going on here?”.

All three still, still goddamn laughing though because shit you can’t just stop that shit on a dime. Danny snorts, coming up with something on the fly before Red -fuck is her outfit even actually red????- decides to start shooting him, “I, ha, am apparently fucking colour blind and, ha, these two citizens decided to absolutely lay into me for not realsing there was human blood here”.

“I just flew through here! I thought someone got hurt and was looking for them! You jerk!”, she actually sits down on her board, “so this is how I find out that the only other remotely decent sorta coworker in this town can’t tell if something blood or ectoplasm. Zone that’s stupid and I hate it”.

Danny snorting while Sam and Tuck continue making half assed laughter-fuelled attempts to clean. “What? You gonna give me a way to beep you in case I ever stumble upon a mess again?”, and chuckles to himself.

She groans loudly, “i hate that that’s a good idea”. Which makes Danny bark a loud laugh, “oh man is being fucking colour blind what gets Red to stop ridding my ass! Ha!”, clearing his throat and tilting his head at her in a way he hopes looks puppy-like, “is your suit even red? I will whole ass admit to thinking you picked your colour because the ecto blended into it”.

He can tell she’s staring at him, “I’m going to kill you a second time, Phantom”.

“Been there, tried that. Do something more original”.

Red goes from glaring bloody murder at Danny to looking at the teens who’ve basically cleaned everything, meaning that Val won’t realise the RED human blood had been glowing. “Will you two care if I end the town menace?”.

Sam glares but is still too amused for there to be any real bite to it, “this is the funniest shit I’ve ran into all week don’t you dare sully that”. Tuck just giving an agreeing thumbs up while snickering and wiping off a storm drain.

Red sighing, “that’s fair”, pointing aggressively at Danny, “it is red and ectoplasm does not blend in, zone I hate you”, gesturing at random bits of wall and ground, “now is there an injured person or not?”.

All three shaking their heads immediately, Tuck giving the crappy excuse of, “bad nose bleed plus sudden ghosts plus face-planting into a wall. I’m fine”.

Red scowl could be heard in her voice, “good, now I’m going to bed”, her moving to fly off with a grumbled, “my suit was supposed to remind him and the town of my human blood, stupid ghost jerk”.

Okay fine that is hilarious, eventually Tuck comes over and gives him a high five, “congrats on not getting shot”. Sam shakes her head, “I’m more impressed she’s chilled out even remotely”, pointing at both boys, “but you know that excuse will never work again, right?”.

Danny blinking and smirking, “so what you’re saying is I should start being super cautious and just constantly send photos of murky liquid for a colour check?”.

“As much as I have no problem with you filling my phone with gore, I don’t want the cops to one day question me about that”.

Tuck elbows her, “eh I can set up a fully secure time deletion. Start lowkey stealing all snapchats users after I release it on the masses”.

Danny stretching and swatting Tuck one, “that sounds like you’re attempting to take over the world big brother eye in the sky style”.

“I totally could”.

Sam rolling her eyes, “I don’t even disagree”, her glancing around before nodding to herself, “looks like we’ve dealt with everything. How’s the arm?”.

Danny gives the limb a shake before grinning, “healed as fast as ever. And no seepage on the bandages so no, you don’t need to redo it”.

She puts her hands on her hips, “i don’t think you should ever be the judge of that. But fine, I guess it looks fine. Meaning we should get outta here before someone changes their mind”.

“Yeah yeah yeah”, rubbing his neck, glancing around, and changing back human. Eyeing his arm for changes and shrugging when he doesn’t see any olive murky liquid, “is my blood always a weird mix of colours?”.

Tuck patting his shoulder as they all begin to move out of the alley, “yeah, hence why we always try to hide you or cover it all the time. Did you just think we were being weirdos?”.

Danny rubbing his neck and glancing around, “I mean, yeah? More overprotective than weird”. They both shake their heads and chuckle at him and his generally stupidity.

In the future Danny did absolutely become just as cautious of others seeing his blood as his friends were, much to their relief and amusement.

End.

Prompt: Danny is red-green colorblind. This never caused him much trouble before the accident, but now, well... It would have been nice to know beforehand that his blood was the wrong color.

#danny phantom #phandom #phicphight24 #phic phight 24 #danny fenton #tucker foley #sam manson #phantomphangphucker #have a fic suck my dick #my writing #gothmoth #valerie gray #Danny's a dumbass #blood and injury #colorblindness #colorblind danny

[moonflvver]

Starlight

character: Katsuki Bakugou x reader

warnings: angst (with fluff)

a/n: This is probably one of my favorite pieces about Bakugou that I've written. Also, I'm clearing out my drafts so expect an influx of posts over the next few days. And I'm getting back into mha so trust that there will be lots of Katsuki content in the future lol.

w/c: 1297

He was running his fingers through his hair as his jaw clenched. “What the fuck do you want from me then? What do you want? Because I just can’t figure it out. No matter what I do for you it’s never enough.”

You sighed, you were getting tired of having the same argument with him over and over again. And now of course he was turning this on you. Of course Bakugou Katsuki just couldn’t fucking admit that he was in the wrong for once. 

“What I want is for you to care about yourself Katsuki. I want you to stop overexerting yourself and coming home with an injury every other night. I want to trust that you’ll be safe when you’re out there.” You were trying your hardest not to let him hear your voice shake but it cracked mid-sentence nonetheless. 

It was just too much. God you loved him, of course you did. But he was too stubborn for his own good and he refused to stop pushing himself to the very edge of his limits. But that’s the thing about Bakugou, he’s a star. I mean it sounds silly to say but it’s true. 

He’s not just good at what he does, he’s great. But there’s something in him that refuses to let him enjoy what he has at any given moment and that’s the problem. They say that the stars that shine the brightest burn out the fastest and you know Katsuki better than anyone, so it’s clear to you that he’s just one mission away from crashing and burning. Which is why you can’t stop. If he won’t care for himself then you have to do it for him. 

“You don’t get it do you? I can’t just stop doing my job. People need me, people depend on me. I keep this city safe. I won’t drop it all just for you.” He shouted back. 

“Just for me, are you serious? Do I really mean that little to you, that you’d choose your own self destructive tendencies over me?” You’re crying now, tears are running down your face as you look at him. “I need you too, Katsuki.” You mumble, looking up at him.

Fuck. He looks exhausted and you’re sure that you don’t look any better, especially not after all of the crying you’ve been doing. But it’s clear that the long hours he’s been working have taken a serious toll on him and it makes you sob just a bit harder. 

His head is in his hands now as he says, “Shit y/n I didn’t mean that. I just-” But before he can finish you stop him. 

“I can’t watch you implode like this, I can’t stand by while you do this to yourself. I was so stupid to think that you’d actually change. But it doesn’t matter. You’re still that same impulsive, stubborn little kid that you were in highschool.” He knows you don’t mean it, he can tell by the fatigue that’s evident in your voice. You’re done. You’re clearly just grasping for straws at this point. There’s no fight left in you anymore and it’s all his fault. Fuck, of course he ended up pushing away the one person who’s remained consistently by his side.

The person who makes him lunch, who reminds him to take care of himself. Who always texts him on patrol asking him how he is no matter how late it is. He can’t let you leave, he just can’t. He wants to scream, he wants to fucking cry, he wants to let himself crash and burn and he doesn’t want you picking up the pieces. He just wants to be left alone but there’s a part of him that needs you more than the air that he breathes. And that part of him just can’t allow you to go. 

He’s taken you for granted, he knows that. He knew that his rise to the top would put a strain on your relationship but he had convinced himself that he would be able to figure it out. I mean of course he would, Bakugo Katsuki can do anything. Right? Anything except for preventing himself from getting completely and utterly blindsided by his own goals apparently. 

You’re grabbing your keys to walk out and take a breather but then he stands up, abruptly grabbing your arm.

You look up at him in mild shock. “Bakugou what are you-” 

“Don’t go.” He says, and it comes out as a quiet whisper. “Please don’t go, I’m sorry. Okay? I am so fucking sorry, just please don’t leave.” You don’t think you’ve ever heard him sound so desperate.

He looks down, lets your wrist drop. And now he’s just waiting for you to say anything, anything at all. You sigh, dropping your keys back down onto the table. “Okay.” 

“Okay?” He echoes back as his head comes up and you see that his eyes are full of tears. 

You step forward taking him into your arms and he buries himself into your chest as you stroke his back. You inhale that familiar caramel scent that always seems to linger around him, a scent that reminds you of home, a scent that never fails to make you melt into his arms. He makes you feel so at home whenever you’re near him, you just want to hold onto him forever. You open your mouth and just as you’re about to say something to him he pulls away, pausing for a moment.

“I know.” He says quietly. “I know that it’s been hard for you. It’s just that no matter what I do, no matter how much I achieve it’s just that. Fuck. It’s never enough.” There are tears falling from his eyes. His long lashes are coated in the salty drops of water that won’t stop cascading down his face as he continues, “I get into this insane mindset that I could just be doing everything better, that I could be stronger, that I need to try harder. And I end up pushing you away. I end up hurting you and it’s not fair to you and I’m just really tired.” His voice cracks as he finishes and all you want right now is to take away everything that’s weighing on him and put the burden on yourself. 

Really that’s all you’ve ever wanted, just to make him hurt a little less. Because seeing him like this makes your heart ache. How could he ever think that he was anything less than good enough? Katsuki Bakugou is a star. And sometimes his light is blinding and it overwhelms you. But he’s also capable of illuminating everyone and everything around him. And he needs to know how important he is. 

You close the distance between the two of you and you swipe your thumb under his eyes hoping to clear away his tears. Your hand lingers for a moment and then you cup his face. “You are good enough. I get that it’s hard, I know how much pressure you put on yourself. But I need you to know that I see it. Even if no one else does. I see how much of yourself you’re putting into your job, I see how deeply you care.”

 He’s staring at you, practically dumbfounded. But then his eyes soften, “Thank you. Thank you for seeing me.” It comes out almost as a sigh, like he’s finally able to let go of the air that his lungs have been holding in for the past half-hour. His shoulders relax and your hands find their way into his hair as you bring him into your chest once again, mumbling into his hair. “How could I not see you? You’re too bright to ignore.”

#bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo mha #katsuki bakugou x y/n #mha #my hero academia x reader #my hero academia #katsuki bakugo fluff #katsuki bakugo angst #boku no hero academia

[artiststarme]

Highway to Hell

Just another fun little story based on a random sentence song title that came to mind. I hope you guys like it and please leave a comment below!

~*~*~*~

Steve was a really bad driver. He knew it, his high school friends knew it, and the police knew it. He didn’t mean it in a technical way, he was perfectly capable of driving a car and not crashing it. Admittedly, he was reckless and he found driving laws to be more of a suggestion than a rule. Steve had his reasons though. 

There was very little to do in Hawkins for any sort of entertainment. One could only go to the arcade or go swimming at the lake so many times before it became boring just like everything else in the town. When the excitement surrounding fun activities wore out, Steve turned to racing down empty country roads and skidding down the highway to feel a thrill. 

And he liked it. The feeling of the wind tearing through the open windows, the exhilaration at the threat of danger, and the delight that came with gaslighting the cops that pulled him over. There was nothing better. 

All of that changed when the kids started hanging around though. Steve couldn’t race down the 25 mph roads at 70. He had to slow down and protect his precious cargo. As such, the only people that didn’t realize he was a notoriously bad driver were the kids and Robin. They considered him the safest driver they’d ever been around. He followed the speed limit to a T, didn’t have road rage like their parents, and always stopped at stop signs. What more could they ask for?

It lasted for a while, his good driving habits, enough that Hopper, Powell, and Callahan all took a sigh of relief. Not having to worry about Steve Harrington doing his darndest to wrap himself around a tree allowed them to let their guard down. Granted, it coincided with strange happenings, disappearances, and murders, but still, it was one less thing on their plate.  

When he started hanging out with Eddie after the events of Spring Break, Steve relaxed a little bit. He didn’t have to be so stringent with his driving and could start letting loose again. So he did. Whenever he was alone or driving somewhere with Eddie, he’d speed like a bat out of hell, ignore the recommended stop signs, take turns too fast, everything he shouldn’t do. 

Hopper was the one who pulled him over first after he illegally passed the police cruiser going 60 mph in a 45. 

“Harrington, what the hell? I thought you were done with this shit,” Hopper grumbled. His face was exasperated which made sense since his pseudo-son was being a little shit again. 

Steve just sent him a chagrined smile, “I’m sorry Hop, I didn’t mean to speed. I’m rushing Eddie back to the trailer because he’s feeling sick and I don’t want him throwing up in my car. I love the guy but not enough to deal with vomit, you know?”

Hopper just shook his head at him and waved him off. “Next time I catch you speeding, you’re getting a ticket. Go the speed limit, Steve.”

“Of course you won’t catch me again, Hop! I’ll see you at dinner tomorrow. Bye!” He called as Hopper walked back to the cruiser. He looked at Eddie in the passenger seat to face a deranged glare. “What’s up with you?”

“Me?!” Eddie shrieked. “You’re the one speeding like you have a death wish then blaming it on me to my future father-in-law! You’re not winning me any points here, Steve!”

“Wow hey, Hop likes you just fine. Also, future father-in-law? Let’s go back to that, as far as I know, you haven’t even proposed!”

“Gay marriage is illegal! Otherwise I would’ve-”

~*~*~*~

The next time they got pulled over, Steve blew through a stop sign. That one, admittedly, was his fault. He’d been too distracted with Eddie’s hand rubbing his thigh that he’d driven right through it. Luckily though, it was late and no one was out and about. Besides the police cruiser that was parked out of sight in the dark. 

As soon as Powell saw it was him, he told him to keep his eyes on the road and walked back to his car. He’d dealt a lot with Steve Harrington and he wasn’t willing to put up with the headache at 2 AM on a Tuesday. He’d get him next time, he was sure. 

~*~*~*~

Steve had a tactic for dealing with Callahan. His big brother could be a bit of a dumbass and as long as you muddied the situation enough, he would drop the lecture and ticket out of confused rage alone. It had worked with him every single time thus far and it wouldn’t fail him now. 

So, when he and Eddie got pulled over for speeding down an empty country road, Steve mustered up his bitchiest face. As soon as Phil walked up to the window, he started his act. 

“Phil, what the hell? Why are you pulling me over? I’m just trying to get home after a long day.”

“You were going 30 mph over the speed limit which is considered reckless driving. I should write you a ticket right now,” Callahan spoke with an air of cocky arrogance that was sure to fade. 

“Who says I was speeding? You were the one that had to speed to catch up to me. Why were you driving so quickly? Some might say that’s reckless.” The smile dropped off of Phil’s face immediately and he became defensive. 

“I’m a police officer, I’m allowed to speed.”

“Ohhh, so you think you’re above the law because you have a badge?” Steve raised an eyebrow and could only watch in delight as Phil’s face became more and more red.

“That’s not what I sai-”

“That’s awful, Phil. What would mom say right now? Or worse, what would Hopper say about his deputy mistreating the badge?”

Phil just looked at him in shock before he blinked. “How the hell do you do this every time? Do you know how many times you’ve tried to trick me when I’ve pulled you over?”

“Phil, that doesn’t sound like me at all. Why are you really pulling me over today? Are you trying to pull the annoying big brother card? Is this a prank?”

“You know it's not a prank, you were speeding!” He yelled at him.

“You were speeding!” Steve screamed back, pointing a finger at him accusingly. 

“Jesus Christ, just go home and stop fucking speeding! Fuck Steve, every time!” Phil screamed in fury before stomping back to his cruiser. 

Steve merely rolled up the window and turned his head to look at Eddie. He was once again shocked with his mouth gaping open. 

“Oh yeah, did I tell you that Phil’s my brother? Small world, huh?”

~*~*~*~

Of course no one in the Party believed Eddie when he told them that Steve drove like a maniac on crack. Every single person he told just shrugged it off and it was driving him insane. He even tried to convince Hopper to talk to the kids but he refused to get in the middle or risk fighting with his kid. 

To this day, the Party still doesn’t believe Eddie when he says that Steve is a reckless driver (and it’s infuriating because Steve smirks arrogantly anytime it comes up).

Bonus: Eddie knows Steve before the Upside Down because he almost hit him with his car when Eddie was walking home one day (Steve gave him a ride after but the damage was done)

That’s how he knew he could handle driving the RV and why he decided to throw him the reins. 

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#Yes he crashed the Toddfather but that doesn’t count #Hopper finds out that no one has ever given the manipulative little bastard a ticket before and pins Steve with one the next time he catche #Callahan reads him the riot act because it was a ‘targeted ticketing’ that his brother didn’t deserve #stranger things #steddie #fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #chief jim hopper #phil callahan #officer callahan #officer powell

[oddballwriter]

HEYAA. I’ve been so obsessed with ur MK stuff lately it’s insane. Wondering if I could request a little blurb with Steven? 🙏 Maybe artistic reader who uses Steven as a muse of sorts? 🎨 Maybe Steven finds reader’s sketches of him and Reader is like embarrassed 😨 that he may be uncomfortable with it? Add and change up anything you’d like!! 😽 ur my fav writer thank you 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼❤️❤️

Your Drawings Look like Heaven to Me

꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦

Summary: Steven always enjoys your drawings and art, big or small, painting or simple sketch and doodle. But he's a bit surprised when he discovers that you have a habit of drawing a certain muse that you have. 

Warnings: There's nothing that I can actually thing of other than it's mentioned that the reader draws Steven when he's unaware, but I don't think it's that bad. Also 'Y/n' is used once. 

Author’s Snip: This was meant to be just a little blurb but I got the writing equivalent of zoomies. You asked for a cookie and I made you a cake with layers, frosting, and toppings. This is insane how did I do this. I think it's because I've been drinking a monster while writing this. I have paused the video that I was previously watching in the background because I am so focused. I'm not even joking this shit is 1517 words long and that is before I proof and grammar checked it. I think this might be the longest writing I've done thus far. Enjoy your free cake, anon.

Notes: This is written in the lens of a world where it's just Steven, so none of the actual events in the show happen.

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

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Steven always knew you drew. You met at your jobs at the museum, at the time, you were working the front desk while he of course worked at the gift shop. The two of you weren't all too familiar with each other since you only saw each other in passing. You knew him as Steven from the gift shop, and he knew you as Y/N from the front desk. You did learn more details through others. Steven was a chatty guy who had an impressive knowledge about Egyptology and mythos. And you were the person at the front desk who did nothing but sit there and draw all day when not granting visitors entry, or in most cases, taking a second to scan a preprinted ticket and check the schedule.

Steven heard talk that you were really talented in your art. You were able to draw what were basically pictures of things you saw or even made up. He hadn't seen your actual art till one day he found you sat where he usually did for lunch, drawing the statue man that he talked at everyday. And wow, were they right about how well you could draw. Though while you talked to each other you laughed "Well of course I'm able to draw him perfectly. He doesn't move.".

That lunch break was a long time ago. You two started dating between then and now. Steven managed to leave the museum for a new one that actually let him be a tour guide. You eventually managed to find work that let you use your skills in art instead of using it to beat the boredom of your job. And you also moved in with Steven in his little flat, in which he cleared out some of this clutter to make a space for you to work and make your own.

You would draw little doodles for Steven to have. Like Gus swimming around. An Egyptian god that you made using his books as a reference. You even drew him a little alligator with a speech bubble saying "Later" on a sticky note. He still has it by the way. He laminated it using clear tape and has it in his wallet as a pick-me-up when he's upset or as a lucky charm of sorts. You always made drawings for him. But never once had he thought that you would make drawings of him. Let alone how many drawing you made of him.

Steven isn't a man who likes to snoop around regularly, feeling a massive sense of ruining someone's privacy. But you said that he could always look through your sketchbooks and art pieces if he wanted, as long as it wasn't a commission that was still being worked on, which he respected. You, like any other artist, had a plethora of sketchbooks of different sizes that served different purposes. There were your personal sketchbooks, outline and testing sketchbooks, practice sketchbooks, a lot of sketchbooks with a lot of different things they were for. It amazed him just how many you had and how you were able to remember which is which.

He knew which ones were ones he gifted you though. Steven was never confident when it came to gifting you supplies. He wasn't an artist himself so he didn't know what was perfect and what was something you would say thank you for out of courtesy. One of the things he used as a safe play were sketchbooks. The bookstore he frequented had a section of art stuff and found that the sketchbooks were not only great quality but also had various designs on their covers. So he'd get you one almost every time he went.

When he looked at them on the shelf next to your desk he realized that he had never actually seen inside of those ones. He was a bit hesitant to grab one since he didn't know if you would want him to. It's not like he could ask you right now. You were out running some important errands and he didn't want to bother you. However, they were on the part of the shelf that you put all your regular personal sketchbooks, which he was allowed to look at so he took a one random from the collection and flicked through the pages.

Out of some coincidence, it was the first sketchbook he got you, which was admittedly one he got you before he learned what pages were good for actual art. The first few pages were doodles that were likely from testing how the paper held up with the actual process of drawing which soon stopped and the rest of the art was actually taped on like they originally belonged to another sketchbook.

Steven thought of that as a clever use for the pages. You would sometimes make art you thought was nice on miscellaneous papers and would simply take the piece with the art out and stick it somewhere else. But he soon notices a theme amongst all the doodles and drawings, which then follow into all of the other sketchbooks he gifted you.

Him.

Most of the drawings in these sketchbooks were of him.

They were all different. Some were him lounging around or taking a nap. Something that would have made him unaware of you creating a drawing of him. There was one that was him asleep laying in bed from what would be your side of the bed. His face was calm, the limpness of his arms and body was captured perfectly, the sheets drawn with the most accurate wrinkles, and the lighting gave the impression of the light of the morning that came in through the curtains. It looked like you simply took a picture of him while he slept but it was clearly a sketch drawn using a pen and pencil.

There was these bust and face portraits that spanned through out the books, of course of him. The first were already so good in detail considering these had to be drawings of him from memory. But they only got more detailed as they went on. You managed to get his amount of stubble right. You had the little baby curls that lived along his hair line. The crease between his eyebrows he had since he always had a slight anxious expression. That tiny little dimple that he had next to his nose that he didn't know existed until you pointed it out one time.

Steven's mind was boggling to him to see such detailed drawings of him that looked so carefully done even when they were simply quick sketches. They were life-like. They were him. They were Steven. To be honest, how could it not? You see his face all the time. So why wouldn't you have him completely memorized. It was just the fact that you had taken time and pages to draw him and him alone.

It was a bit jarring, for the both of you, when you walked through the front door with a hand full of groceries and other things from your errands and he was seen looking at all the drawings of him. You were embarrassed that he finally saw all your drawings of him and worried that he would think it was weird. He thought that he crossed a line and breached your privacy.

You two avoided talking about it till Steven finally did during dinner later that evening.

"You, uh, draw me... a lot." Steven spoke. "Yeah. I do." you blush as you avoided eye contact in case his eyes showed that your fear of him finding your habit with drawing him was strange was correct. "Why do you draw me so much?" he questions. You sighed, "It's sort of a habit I formed." you confess. You proceeded to explain how it started,

"I first drew you as an exercise to get rid of some art block. I usually draw faces of people I know as a means to do that. So I drew you. It was okay. But when I looked at it a couple days later I thought that I could do it again to improve on detailing some more. Then I used you as a study for lighting and colors.".

"Then, sometimes, I would just draw you when I thought you looked pretty or thought of you. And that's sort of what I've been doing." you explain further. "I thought you would find it weird if you saw all the times I drew you and so I just put them in the books you got me and hoped you wouldn't see them." you say in a timid manner.

"I don't think it's strange. I think it's actually quite flattering." Steven clarifies. "I was just surprised that you think of me as something worth drawing. Especially with such detail." he remarks. You breathe a sigh of relief at that.

"If I'm entirely honest, love," Steven spoke up, "Never tell me that you're drawing me from where I am. I'll get nervous and possibly ruin the position that you're drawing me in." he remarks.

#moonknight #moon knight #moonknight x reader #moon knight x reader #steven grant #steven grant x reader

[softlyspector]

Mothers

Summary: A year after his mother’s death, Marc travels back to Chicago to face his father. He doesn’t expect it to be easy but he also doesn’t expect it to be so hard. He especially doesn’t expect to find refuge from the hard moments in a little known witch’s shop a few blocks over. And definitely not in one keeping watch over the family’s piano.

This chapter: Marc is trying. Really, he is. But mothers are never an easy topic. Or, Marc attempts several difficult conversations.

Tales Untold; Part V - Series Masterlist

Pairing: eventual Marc Spector x Reader (eventual minor Steven Grant x Reader and Jake Lockley x Reader)

Word Count: 8.9k

Warnings (this chapter): angst, fluff, Marc Spector's terrible, oblivious flirting, lots of ✨touching✨, known menace Jake Lockley, mental health issues, feelings of guilt, tense relationship with a parent, mentions of past death, mentions of past child abuse

A/N: Hello! Here is the chapter a day early as promised! This part was originally 3k, oops.

I'm still unsure if anyone actually reads the author's notes, but I want to say thank you again. This chapter contains the scene that inspired the series! Memories and relationships are so complicated, especially when your perspective has to shift and you have competing views, and when other things like grief come into play it only makes things more complicated. This chapter tries to tackle that. I'm sure many of you can probably tell, I have issues with my own mother (mine is not like the reader's, or Marc's), and I just want to say thank you for letting me write something so cathartic. Moon Knight in general is really special to me but that facet in particular really hit home and made me question things about myself and my own childhood. I hope it resonates with you all as well and that I've done the topic justice.

Again, I want to give a big thank you to all of you who have been keeping up with this series. I love you so much, and thank you for all the continued love and support. It means everything to me. Comments and feedback are so appreciated! Please let me know if any additional warnings need to be added. For full series warnings, please check the series masterlist, which will be updated as parts are posted!

V.

Tales Untold, Chicago 7:48 PM

Marc sighs loudly through his nose.

“Stop being a pussy about it.”

“Shut the fuck up, Jake.” 

Jake promptly flips him off where he’s reflected in the shop’s front windows. Marc just huffs out another breath, irritated, and tunes out his muttering alter. He grips the cold steel rung of the ladder he’s standing on, both for support and to ground himself. 

He misses Steven at that moment, because Steven would leave him alone about the date. 

Probably.

“...said date -,” Jake continues. “Steven would agree with me. We definitely heard date.” 

Or, maybe not. 

Steven would probably harass him about it just as much. 

“I also heard date, mate,” Steven chimes in agreement suddenly. “Definitely said date.”

Marc rolls his eyes.  

So, he wouldn’t then. He would not leave Marc alone about it. 

Marc grits his teeth and ignores both of them, reaching a hand out to finger one edge of the curling burnt orange wallpaper. 

It’s true. You had said the word date to be sure. 

It’s a date, is precisely what you’d said.

But people said that shit all the time. It was just an expression. 

You hadn’t meant anything by it. 

You couldn’t have. 

It was just an expression. 

It’s just something people say. 

“Fuck off,” he snaps at both of them, when they continue muttering, trying and failing to refocus on the peeling wallpaper in front of him. “You’re distracting me.” 

Jake snorts and Steven shushes him. 

That little outpouring of emotion had been nearly a week ago, and Marc tries not to regret it. He tries not to let the shame that curls around his shoulders, that grows like a slow moving vine around his lungs and heart, strangle him. 

But his heart beats like a caged bird whenever he thinks about it, like it would snap his ribs just to be free from his body. The nervous flutter of his pulse serves to remind him that he’s said too much to you. 

That you did not deserve that kind of weight on your shoulders. 

“I’ll just go on the fuckin’ date then.” 

“You -,” he snarls, rounding on the glass, the ladder wobbling precariously, “- will not.” 

Jake just smirks and crosses his arms, like he’s proud of himself for being able to get a reaction out of Marc. 

Marc rolls his eyes again, so hard this time it hurts a little. 

He’s still getting used to Jake, still trying to come to terms with having him around, especially when Jake seemed content to antagonize him most of the time. 

It’s playful, really. Like the annoyance of a sibling that was intent on getting a rise out of him. 

Even with Jake’s teasing, he’d much rather be here on the ladder staring at your wallpaper than upstairs. 

He feels guilty, for leaving you alone with his father. But agreeing to have him over at your place for dinner at all had been more than enough of a challenge on its own. 

It had been hard. To walk his father over to Tales Untold, his safe place, and meet you at the door. It had been hard to watch you smile and tilt your head, and lead them up the stairs. It had been hard to watch you turn your attention onto someone else. 

They’d sat around your kitchen island, and you and Elias had done most of the talking while Marc sat silent and tense, not sure how to join a familial, familiar conversation. 

You had set a beautiful spread, with candles and your good silverware and crystal, and a tablecloth laid haphazardly across the counter because it wasn’t the right size. 

Although Marc hadn’t spoken for most of the meal, he had watched you, and followed the careful way you made your way through the conversation, the way your hands moved when you got excited about something. 

He’d even learned things about you - like that you hadn’t finished college and were a server before you moved back to Chicago. 

It hadn’t been as awkward or painful as he’d expected it to be. But he feels a large part of that is due to the fact that you were there. He was in your space, your domain, and by extension maybe his own. You’re safe there, and so is he. 

He doesn’t like to think about what that means, that he’s become attached not only to you, but to your place. That he’s starting to feel at home there. 

Home. 

He’s starting to feel at home with you. 

His father hadn’t commented on the piano, and Marc still isn’t sure how to feel about it. But when the plates were cleared away and you offered dessert, Marc hadn’t been able to sit still any longer. A strangely nervous energy had sizzled in his veins, washing away any sense of security he usually felt around you. 

Family dinners weren’t exactly pleasant experiences for him, and it had been a long time since he was forced into that kind of box, especially with his father. 

He shouldn’t have left you alone, but he thinks you probably understand. He’d helped you clear the dishes, before he leaned in next to you at the sink and said, “I’ll wash ‘em later for you. No, listen, please leave ‘em there. I need to go work on the wallpaper downstairs.” 

He hadn’t needed to do anything. The wallpaper is your project and certainly not a pressing one. 

Your mouth had still been parted, where you’d started to protest his insistence with the dishes, and it had been a struggle to maintain eye contact when all he wanted to do was stare at your mouth. “Okay,” you’d pressed your hand against his forearm, warmth jolting up his arm. You’d slid your thumb along his skin and nodded, “Okay. Go ahead.”

And, despite everything, you and his dad seem to get along fine. You found easy conversation with most people and his dad was no different. 

The day before the dinner had been more stressful to you than anything else. You’d fretted over what to make for dinner, and Marc had helped you grocery shop and cook. “My dad keeps kosher,” he’d said while you pushed a shopping cart down an aisle, nervously chattering about what you could make. 

You had paused, head tilting to the side. “He does?” 

“He’s a rabbi.” 

“Oh,” you’d continued pushing the cart before you turned to him with wide eyes. “Oh, my god. Marc, you’ve eaten at my place so many times…It wasn’t - I mean I don’t know if it was kosher -,” 

He’d pressed a hand to the small of your back, urging you along, trying and failing to hide a smile. “I don’t keep kosher. My dad does. It’s okay, it would have been on me to tell you if I did.” 

You still looked nervous despite his reassurance, anxiously consulting the list of ingredients on your phone as you chewed on your lower lip. “Look, a kinda shortcut is to make something vegetarian. It’s usually kosher that way. And I’ll make sure everything in your kitchen is kosher.” 

“Oh! I’m vegetarian.” 

Oh, Steven would love that. 

“Great,” he had reassured you. “Then we don’t have anything to worry about. I’ll help you. I’ll make sure it’s all fine.”

And he had. And it was. And he’d liked cooking with you, even though it didn’t seem to be something you did all that often. 

Marc likes all the little mundane things you do together. Home improvement and grocery shopping and going to the hardware store and cooking. 

He shakes the memory away and looks at the wallpaper again, orange and patterned with gold leaf. It’s curling off the walls, peeling down in strips in other places where you’d torn at it with your hands. 

You’ve yet to paint your flower boxes, and Marc still hasn’t built you a new sign or finished repointing the brickwork. The fucking bell is still rusted where it hangs above your door. 

Only one of the warped glass panels in the wooden front door has been replaced so far. A single pane of colorless glass replaced by a red and yellow image of a bird that you and Steven had made together one evening. 

Despite all of those uncompleted projects, he’d caught you on a ladder earlier in the day ripping down strips of wallpaper when there had been a lull in customers. You’d had an odd expression on your face as you did so, one Marc couldn’t read. 

Marc stares at the peeling paper, and what lay beneath. He wishes you would have said something before ripping it down. He probably could have salvaged it. The design is pretty. 

“Marc!” You call. “C’mere, honey.” 

He gut lurches with that pleasant little nickname you’ve gifted him. It feels unfair, like something he should get to call you, not the other way around. You’d first called him that in the hardware store, your hand curled around his bicep when you saved him from the sales person. 

“Honey,” Jake coos at him. “Aw.” 

“Shut up,” he grumbles before calling out to you, “Comin’!”

Jake cackles, and Marc knows he thinks he’s slick, but it's hard not to notice how much Jake has been showing up lately compared to before. 

Jake likes you too, and he’s really only half joking about being the one to take you on a date. 

He steps down the ladder to weave through the shelves to the back of the shop. 

You’re just stepping down the last few steps of the back staircase, his father in tow behind you. 

Before he can reach you, you’ve turned to his father and taken his hands in yours. “Thank you for coming over, Elias. I hope my cooking wasn’t too bad.” 

“It was delicious. Thank you…for everything.” Elias’s eyes cut to where Marc stands before flicking back to you, an unreadable look passes between the two of you and he’s left to wonder what Elias means by that, what the two of you talked about. 

Marc’s hands curl into uncomfortable fists at his sides, but he makes an effort to smile.

By the snort you try to choke back he doesn’t do a very good job. “You’re very welcome,” you say to his father. “Marc will walk you home.”

Elias blinks over at him again. “You won’t be coming with us?” 

“I’m afraid not,” you say apologetically. “I have a lot to do around here. You see how Marc has been terrorizing my wallpaper.” 

Marc shifts his gaze to you, glaring. “Right, it’s me terrorizing the wallpaper.” 

To Marc’s surprise, his father laughs. “Okay, maybe another time then. For tea or coffee, whatever you prefer.”

You nod, though Marc knows you have no intention of ever accepting an invitation. Not without him, at least. 

The thought warms him, just a little, that you wouldn’t even walk over to the house with them, not if Marc didn’t want you to. 

He ushers his father ahead of him through the crowded aisles.

But before he can follow, you reach out and cup one hand under his arm, your fingers hooking in the crease of his elbow. “Are you coming back?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Okay,” you smile, rub your thumb against the delicate ridge of bone in his arm. “Tonight went well.” 

“Yeah,” he agrees. 

It did. 

Even if he’d had to escape a little early. 

You laugh again, though he can’t fathom why. “Okay. I’ll be waiting for you.” Your thumb traces over his skin again, before you release him and turn away. 

Milwaukee Avenue, Chicago 8:15 PM

His father is talking about you, moving around the living room slowly, gathering up a book and his reading glasses.

Elias likes you a lot. 

Since Marc’s breakdown, since he finally explained to his father how hard it is to be at home, things have been less strained between them. A certain tension still lingers in the air, but not as thick as it had. It’s possible to breathe now, possible to stand still. 

His father seems to understand why it's hard for Marc to be in the house, why it's hard for him to be around Elias himself. And Marc supposes it's a good enough start. 

Nothing between them is fixed and Marc isn’t sure it ever can be. He doesn’t know if he wants to try, if he wants to reconcile. 

Is there anything to reconcile? 

It’s the one question he consistently comes back to. He doesn’t know if what had been fractured between them can ever be fixed again, or overlooked. 

“Are you heading back over to Tales Untold?” Elias asks as he settles in an armchair, his book on his knees. 

“Yeah.” 

Marc considers leaving then, just turning around and walking out the door without another word. But speaking with his father has become easier in the last week, like Marc broke the protective seal of cordiality that made both of them quiet. 

He can do this. He can ask. 

Elias looks surprised when Marc sits down in the opposite armchair and adjusts himself uncomfortably. “We gotta talk about the piano.” 

His father slips his glasses on and then peers at Marc over the rim. “Okay, Marc.” 

“We gotta talk about everything.” He swallows, remembering the way he’d broken the week before, dashed his heart on the rocks of the house. 

For you. Because he was protective and worried about you. 

But he doesn’t know if he can do all of that in one day. To ask about the alcoholism and the abuse and why his mother had hated him so much and why his father let her hate him. 

“Not right now, though.” You’re waiting for him to come back, and he says as much.

His dad smiles at that, the twist of his mouth soft, and Marc can’t understand why it would garner that reaction. Marc doesn’t comment on it, decides he doesn’t want to know. “Why,” he starts, mouth dry suddenly, his tongue like sandpaper. “Why did you donate the piano?” 

Elias’s shoulders relax, the tension bleeding out of them. “I know you think the worst of me, Marc. And I can’t really blame you. The two of us…we’re not good at talking. We never have been.” 

Marc nods and waits, because it’s not an answer to his question. 

The muscle along Marc’s spine pulls tight while he waits for an answer, like he’s on marionette strings about to be cut. 

“Your mother never played the piano after Randall died, and neither did you. When you left, I still had hope that you’d come home. But when she died, that left me. Neither of you were ever going to play it again.” He glances away, “It reminded me too much of you. It was painful to look at.”

Marc goes still, trying to piece together what his father had just said. 

Reminded him of Marc. Given away because it hurt, not because he was being erased, not because it reminded him of Wendy. It reminded him of Marc. 

“I have to get back to Tales Untold,” Marc says abruptly, standing up sharply. 

Elias nods, “You should just stay there. You’d probably sleep better.” 

The suggestion catches Marc off guard. “I can’t just -,” 

His father shrugs. “You could ask.” Before he cracks open the novel, he says, “We talked about Shabbat. You should both come to a service one Saturday. Together.” 

“I…you did?”

“Yes,” he shrugs. “Seemed interested.”

He’s not sure why he says it, he should just turn and leave. “We had to go shopping for ingredients,” Marc says. 

And then, before he can convince himself not to say anything more, tells his father about how you’d been nervous about cooking for him, and about the kosher incident at the grocery store. 

Elias smiles and then laughs. “I think you’ve found a really good person.” 

The words well up inside him, the urge to tell his father he doesn’t know what a good person is, not really. But the words die in his mouth, because it feels like an insult to you. 

Because his father is right about that, at least. 

You’re an inordinately good person. 

“Goodnight, dad.” 

His father doesn’t look up from his book, “Goodnight, son.” 

Tales Untold, Chicago 8:58 PM

By the time he makes it back to Tales Untold, you’ve managed to rip down the wallpaper on an entire exposed wall. 

“Well,” you plant your fist on your hip and examine the yellowed wall beneath, your other hand still tailing a strip of paper. “I suppose I’ll have to clean the wall.” 

“Then what?” He leans back against one of the shelves, crossing his arms over his chest. 

You purse your lips, humming under your breath. “Maybe I’ll paint a mural.” 

“Oh yeah?” He watches your mouth twist, the flick of your eyes over the blank wall, like you’re seeing more than the empty space. “Why’d you want the wallpaper down anyways? We coulda fixed it back up.” 

“Reminds me of my mom,” you say, suddenly bending down to gather up the paper left on the floor, bunching it up between your palms. “I mean,” your mouth twists to the side a little as you consider the wall. “This is all her. Not me.” 

A sense of vertigo sweeps through Marc, because he associates everything here with you. “It is?” 

You hum in confirmation but don’t look at him, your eyes firmly glued to the paper in your hands. “Upstairs. That’s my stuff. But everything else. The shop and everything out front was hers.” 

And Marc becomes very suddenly aware of the fact that he’s never asked you. He knows nothing about your past, not really. In his mind, you’ve just always been there, standing in the sunlight at the back of the shop. 

He almost bites down the question. But he’s already tried his hand at one hard conversation, maybe he could do it again. 

“What…uh, what happened?” 

You turn and smile at him. “You don’t have to ask,” you say before walking away. 

Marc frowns after you before following. “Yeah well, I wanted to.” 

You stuff the long ribbons of ruined wallpaper into the bin behind the counter, leaning into the wood with your head propped on your fist. “I lived with my dad out of state. Chicago isn’t really my home, but I spent every summer here with my mom. I think she - I think she was like me. I think she felt things from the stuff people donated.” 

Marc leans opposite you, leaving one hand open and extended toward you. He hopes it's not too obvious, that he’s hoping you’ll reach out and fold your fingers between his. 

He feels a spike of jealousy sometimes, for how easily Steven touched you and how easily you accepted his touch. He doesn’t know for sure if it’ll be the same with him as it is with Steven. 

You don’t immediately take his hand, but that’s okay. 

Jake is reflected in a nearby case, gesturing at you. “Just do it.” 

He ignores him, giving the tiniest shake of his head. 

“Maybe that’s why you thought you knew me,” you say, mouth quirking in a smile. “Maybe we saw each other in the summer around the neighborhood.” 

He nods, “Yeah, maybe. You think this thing is hereditary?” 

“Maybe. We never talked about it so maybe she was just intuitive.” You shrug and then reach to take his hand as Jake calls him a coward for waiting. “Anyways, she passed away last year.” You squeeze his hand, “It was right around the time your dad donated the piano.”

You slide your fingers over his wrist, and Jake has gone quiet in the reflection of the case, carefully watching you. “I was meant to clean this place out. Sell it. I’d already gone through most of her things in the apartment and I was just starting on the shop when your dad came by. Something about it…I dunno, I felt like I should stay. Not like I had a career anyways. I never finished college and this place was paid off a long time ago so,” you shrug. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed the rest of the street got gentrified. I wouldn’t be able to afford it otherwise.” 

You’re rambling a little, your words nervous in a way they’re usually not. 

You look up and meet his eyes. “It gave me peace. I kept it for you as much as I kept it for me. I should have told you that before.” 

He remembers the way you’d went still when you realized what piano he’d been looking for the first day he stumbled into the shop, the guarded, watchful cut of your gaze before he explained who he was. 

Marc watches you for a long time, trying and failing to grip at the emotions twisting and roiling inside him. He’s not sure what exactly he’s feeling. 

Both your mothers’ deaths had brought you together. His father had. The piano had. 

Without any of that, he would have never had cause to come over to Tales Untold. He would have never had cause to meet you at all. 

“I just left everything alone after that. Well, I moved my things in and repainted upstairs. But now, thanks to you and your criticisms of my storefront,” you smile and roll your eyes, “I decided I should make it more me. Y’know? Like upstairs.” You fidget again, glancing away from him, your grin fading. 

Marc nods, still not sure what to say, the weight of something unknowable setting on his lungs. He never really considered that he might be impacting your life in any way. This weight isn’t uncomfortable, not like it usually is. 

Your hands are still stroking over his, the pressure of your fingers pleasant and warm, soothing, and he doesn’t know what to say. 

“I liked the orange.” 

You grin, the sudden beam of your smile blinding him. “I did too. It just needs an update. I don’t want to erase the character of the shop. And I don’t want to erase her.” 

Marc doesn’t know how to respond to that, since he’s had days he wished he could erase his mother. “I’m sorry,” he says, even though you’ll have no idea what he’s apologizing for. 

“Hey,” you press your fingertips to the pulse point in his wrist. “It doesn’t erase your feelings, honey. It doesn’t make -,” you stop and take a breath. “She wasn’t perfect either, y’know. She was only a good mom when it suited her, and only when I got older. It’s why I lived with my dad. Even though it was complicated, I still loved her.” Your voice is quiet, “I think you struggle with that too.” 

He doesn’t want to admit that. It makes thinking about Wendy all the harder, thinking about his past all the harder. “I don’t -,” he stops, meeting your gaze. 

The shop is usually flooded with natural light. Now, you stand cocooned together in the low overhead lights. It casts odd shadows across your face, and a sudden exhaustion hits him all at once. 

You don’t pull away, waiting. “It’s okay,” you soothe, still working the tension out of his hands. 

“I don’t want to miss her,” he shifts, cradling your hands between his, slowly sliding his touch along your palms and the falls and valleys of your fingers. “That’s…it’s fucked up. I shouldn’t fucking miss her. I shouldn’t remember anything good and the piano -,”

He stops again, not able to continue. “I understand,” you muse. “It’s obviously not the same. But sometimes, I’m mad at her. She didn’t want to change who she was to be my mom. At the same time, I had a lot of good times with her.” 

Marc looks up from your twinned hands at the same time that you do. 

You disentangle one hand to shift an errant curl back from his face. “It’s okay to miss her. It’s okay to mourn who she was before. It’s okay to miss and mourn the mother she should have been to you. It doesn’t make what she did to you any less terrible than it was. It just means things are complicated. It just means you’re human.” 

Marc doesn’t look away from you, chasing the cut of your gaze. Your lashes lie thick against your cheek when you look down, like you’re embarrassed about all you’ve shared. He doesn’t want you to stop talking. He’d listen to you forever. He doesn’t want you to be embarrassed about sharing things with him. 

Instead of saying any of that to you, he nods slowly and says, “How’d you figure all that out?” 

“It’s all I’ve thought about for the last year,” you shrug. “I’ve spent a lot of time with myself. I mean, you’ve probably noticed that you’re kinda my only friend,” you joke lightly.  

“That’s not true.” 

“Name one other person.” 

“That girl at Flour Up. The hardware guy.” 

You smile. “Okay, Marc Spector, the hardware guy is definitely a better friend to me than you are.” 

“He’d like to be though, wouldn’t he?” Marc mutters, thinking of the other times you’ve had to go to the hardware store with him. Your laugh breaks the tension, the edges of your eyes crinkling up before he adds, “Steven, too.” 

You before he can stop you, you’re tugging your hand out of his grip. 

His grief only lasts a second though, because a moment later you’ve rounded the counter and yourself fitted into his arms, hugging him tightly. “You’re safe here,” your mouth is by his ear, your voice soft, and he can feel the movement of your jaw where it’s tucked against his shoulder. “You can talk to me.” 

“I know.” And he does. “My dad said to ask if I could stay here.” 

“You can stay here,” you say, even though it wasn’t a question. “Always.” 

Marc turns you gently in his arms, presses you back into the counter. Your hands fly up to press against his biceps, your hands warm through the fabric of his t-shirt. “What?” You smile at him when he doesn’t say anything. 

“My dad told me that he got rid of the piano because it gave him hope I’d come home. When my mom died, that hope died. He was alone. The piano was hope for him. It reminded him too much of me. And before.” 

You blink, “What’s the piano for you?” 

Home. It’s home. 

It reminds him of his mother and what should have been. 

He doesn’t answer you. 

But you nod anyway and stroke a careful hand across his shoulders, drawing him in closer. You’re warm against him, pliant and relaxed against his chest.

You smell like peace, like warmth and that signature lavender. 

Marc decides to accept the moment for what it is, whether he should or not, gripping you back tight. He slides one hand up your spine until he can cup his palm against the back of your neck, the other winds around your waist. 

For a moment, he thinks your breath stutters, before it rushes out of you in a sigh and you soften against him. 

It’s a show of trust he didn’t know he needed. 

You hold him just as tightly, adjusting your grip around his ribs. 

“Ask.” It’s Steven this time. “You’re clearly flirting with each other. Go on, Marc, ask about the date.” 

He closes his eyes to Steven’s reflection and shakes his head as subtly as he can. 

Marc doesn’t let go of you. 

He doesn’t ask you either. 

Tales Untold, Chicago 11:24 PM

Marc does the dishes, just like he’d promised to. 

Like always, he refuses your help but lets you watch. 

You stand close to him, just so you can feel the heat rolling off his skin. And although you want to touch him again, you don’t. 

He’s much quieter than usual, and for someone like Marc that means he’s practically nonverbal.

He doesn’t seem upset, merely introspective. 

But it doesn’t stop anxiety from swimming in your belly, worried you’d overstepped yourself downstairs. 

Your situation with your mother was very different to his, that much you know even if you don’t know the details.

When he’s done with the dishes and the water is draining away you decide to give him a bit of space. “I’m going to take a quick shower.” A knot of unease rests uncomfortably in your throat that you aren’t sure how to swallow down. You aren’t quite sure what it means. 

Despite the worry rooting down in your veins, you manage to smile at him, showing him where the remote to your TV is. “If you’re still hungry, the leftovers are in the fridge and there are snacks pretty much in any cabinet you open. Okay?”

“Okay.” He only answers you when the door to the bathroom is nearly closed behind you. 

You suck in a breath and try to put Marc out of your mind and how much you’d said. 

Too much probably, considering what you had been talking about. Marc is already so closed up, you should have just left it. He didn’t need your shit weighing on him too. 

A laugh escapes you and you press a hand over your mouth, stifling the laughter when you remember accusing Marc of being closed off. 

Maybe you were the same, and overthinking it too. 

You can’t find it in yourself to regret touching him though. The memory of the warmth of him against you fills you both with an odd peace and a giddy nervousness. You’d never wanted to move. 

You stare at the crescents in the tile under your feet, remembering the heat of his shoulder beneath your cheek, the scent of him something heady and uniquely Marc, the way his palm felt both possessive and protective on the back of your neck. 

You shake your head as you step in the shower, trying to clear away the wings of thought that closeness carried. 

Marc trusts you with the pieces of himself as he works through something you only half understand. You can’t break that, you won’t.

The warmth of the water serves to wash away some of the tension lining your spine, ease the anxiety still bubbling inside you. 

You don’t want to admit it, but you’re eager to be back with Marc. 

You roll your eyes at yourself and flip off the water, annoyed. 

It feels like a crush. It makes you feel stupid, like you’re a kid again, how much you like him.

It takes you a moment to hear it, over the sound of the bathroom fan and the still dripping water from the showerhead while you towel off. 

Piano notes.

A song is being played slowly and deliberately, a little clumsily as though the person hasn’t played in a very long time. 

You find yourself smiling as you listen. Still dripping water onto the floor, you wrap the towel around your body and step out of the shower to push your ear against the door. 

Marc seems to pick up confidence the longer he plays, the notes faster and more sure, though he does make quite a few mistakes. 

He plays beautifully, if a little inelegantly, the same song you usually play for him. You close your eyes and listen, not sure what it means that Marc is finally playing the piano. You pull away from the door and go through your after shower routine as quickly as you can before dressing, not able to wipe the smile off your face, worries forgotten. 

You half expect the music to stop as soon as you have the door open, but it doesn’t. 

Marc doesn’t even glance up as you creep closer and perch on the edge of the bench, like he isn’t entirely aware that you’re there. 

You don’t touch him, just listen quietly for as long as he plays, itching to play alongside him but not daring to interrupt. 

When the song eventually tapers off, Marc doesn’t turn to you, like he’s afraid to look at you.

You scoot closer to him on the bench then, until your shoulder bumps his. 

His breath hitches when you pillow your head against his shoulder. “Beautiful,” you murmur. “Really.”

Marc carefully lies his cheek against the crown of your head. “Thanks. Little rusty.” 

“Not too bad,” you hum. “I’m definitely the better player though.” 

You think you feel his lips ghost against your temple, but you can’t be sure. 

The feeling is so brief, you’re sure you imagined it. But you definitely feel the little huff of a laugh against your forehead. “Yeah, you are.” 

He lifts his head away from yours, but his hand finds yours, the warmth of his palm enveloping yours. 

You don’t try to hide your smile when you stand and attempt to tug him up from the bench. “C’mon. That’s enough emotional turmoil for one day.” 

Marc manages a laugh but doesn’t follow the pull of your touch. “What?” you ask when he just looks at you. 

For a moment, you think maybe you’re looking at Steven and you just hadn’t noticed the switch, before you realize Marc just has his guard down. His gaze is wide and gentle. The ease of trust makes him look younger, looser. 

“What?” you repeat. “What’s wrong, honey?” 

That word on your tongue seems to pull him out of his thoughts, whatever doubt was making him hesitate. 

“C’mere,” he says, his eyes going soft and shaded. “There’s somethin’ I wanna show you.” 

You tilt your head and watch curiously as Marc releases your hand and stands. He pushes the piano bench out of the way, and then folds himself to lie beneath the piano. 

Intrigued, you bend at the waist and meet his eyes. “Is this your way of telling me you wanna sleep there?” 

He rolls his eyes. “Just c’mere. I’m trying to show you something,” he grumbles. 

You straighten and pluck a pillow off the sofa before returning to him. 

It’s shadowed beneath the piano, the air cooler than the rest of the apartment. You tap Marc’s forehead so he lifts his head and you can fit the pillow beneath his head before you settle next to him. 

He’s warm, his skin molten where it presses against yours, and that odd little flutter returns to your chest. 

You don’t even consider looking up, tilting your chin in his direction instead. His lashes look impossibly long against the arch of his cheekbone, his skin golden brown in the soft lighting. The dusk of the little cocoon you’ve created in the shade of the piano feels strangely safe and peaceful. 

You wonder how much of that is Marc’s presence, and how much is the piano’s energy. 

Marc’s normally stormy expression breaks and he smiles at you suddenly, letting you watch him before he reaches out and taps two fingers under your chin. “I know I’m pretty, but you can stare at me some other time.” 

You scoff, despite the prickle of embarrassment that itches under your skin. “Sure, flatter yourself, Marc.” 

Marc just guides your head up, until you’re staring at the underside of the piano. 

Etched into the wood are two sets of initials. 

M.S. R.S. 

“Oh,” you say, reaching up to trace the outline of letters clearly made by a child’s clumsy fingers. “M S, Marc Spector,” you whisper and trace the letters slowly. “Who’s R?” 

Marc doesn’t immediately answer. When you hear him swallow loudly, you turn your head to look at him, hand settling atop your stomach when you lower it. “Marc?” 

“My brother. Randall.” 

“Randall,” you repeat. “Right. Your dad mentioned that when he dropped it off. Said you and your brother played it together.”

Marc nods, just the slightest dip of his chin. “Yep. We did.” He reaches up and traces the letters now, and you watch his face carefully. He’s nervous, but otherwise fine. “That was before he died.” 

“Oh,” you murmur. “I didn’t know. I’m so sorry, Marc.” 

He turns to you, eyes flicking over your face. “Look, I don’t wanna - we don’t gotta talk about it.” 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” When he just stares at you, you tilt your face toward his. You turn on your side and tuck your knees up against the side of his. Something warm roots down in you when he presses his hand over your waist and helps you wriggle closer to him. “It’s not about me, honey.” 

His brows furrow. “Why do you call me that?”

“‘Cause you’re sweet,” you tease and smirk when he rolls his eyes. He leaves his hand where it rests against your waist, his wrist draped casually on your hip. His fingers flex on the edge of your t-shirt, fiddling with the edge of it, when he turns fully toward you on his side. 

“I don’t know how,” he admits, fingers tightening on you, like he’s afraid you might slip away. 

You tilt forward carefully, until your forehead rests against his. Marc keeps his eyes open and on yours. His eyes are like amber, threads of coffee and umber darkening his irises. Pretty, expressive eyes dig into yours, rounded with something you can’t identify. “No one really does. It’s not easy.” 

“Was it easy for you? Talking about your mom?” His nose touches yours, his breath warm where it fans over your lips and chin. 

It’s a little hard to breathe, even harder to focus. 

Really, you think, no person should be allowed to be so beautiful. 

“No,” you manage to laugh. You hadn’t talked about your mother since she died, since her funeral. “I went in the bathroom and panicked about how much I said,” you admit, and Marc frowns at you, starts to open his mouth when you continue. “It took a lot of…of y’know, internal work, to make peace with it. Only really started to get past the grief and confusion when you showed up.” 

You fold one of your hands into his chest, trying not to feel nervous about the closeness, the vulnerability. It would be so easy to roll into him, to press yourself into his chest and absorb the heat of him. “Really?” 

“Mmhm,” you hum. “Reminded me that this place can still change, and so can I. I’ve been like a bug trapped in honey. Everyday was the same. Long shifts and terrible dates. And then you showed up.” 

Marc blinks, like he’s confused, like he never considered that he might be impacting your life. At least not in a positive way. 

It’s quiet for a long time, and you shift to tuck your head under his chin, so you were both more comfortable and the position was slightly less awkward. 

Marc does tuck his arm fully around you then, dragging you closer. 

You can feel his eyes on the underside of the piano, on his brother’s initials. 

“He died when we were kids,” Marc swallows and the sound of it is like grief and mourning. “That’s when she changed. He wasn’t there and she was different. My dad didn’t know what to do. And I was…alone.” 

You try to piece together what exactly Marc is trying to say. He has a way of speaking cryptically, saying one thing that was coded for something else. He always treads lightly, like he’s trying to lighten the load of whatever he’s passing on, making the smallest mark possible. 

You think of the way he’d told you about what happened the night you met Steven. How he’d said he was stretched thin, a mild turn of phrase for what had clearly been mind numbing fear. The strength of his grief had been enough evidence, the tears and stress and those tiny broken blood vessels beneath his eyes. 

“So,” you hazard a guess, “you only have nice memories of both of them with the piano?” 

He relaxes against your hand when you press it up the length of his spine. “Yeah.” 

“That’s why it’s so important.” 

“Yes. And I don’t think -,” he struggles with the words for a long moment, clutching you tighter. “I don’t think I got to mourn. Either of them. I wasn’t allowed.” 

You rub his back quietly and wait to see if he’ll say more. 

You already knew, you could tell, that Marc just sits with pain, buries it, ignores it. But to hear him admit it shocks you a little. 

When he stays quiet, hands drifting over your back and along your sides as though grounding himself in you and the fabric of your shirt, you say, “You have time now. I’m glad you came to get it. It’s okay. To have good memories, of both of them. It’s okay to want the chance to mourn.” 

Marc’s arms tighten around you, and you burrow down into him, resting your face against his chest. 

You consider asking him if he’d like to move somewhere more comfortable, but you’re already comfortable with him and sleep pulls you under too quickly. 

When you wake, Marc’s arms are tight around you, your head pillowed on his chest where he’d turned onto his back. 

The sun has long ago risen, and Marc is still asleep. 

Halsted Street, Chicago 4:56 PM

Marc watches the hardware guy flirt with you again from the rearview mirror. This is your fifth trip to the store since the first one. 

You had decided to layer neon lettering over the new sign Marc was making for you, smiling at him apologetically when he’d groaned. “Now we gotta go back to the hardware store.” 

“Sorry,” you’d said. “I know you hate having to go out with me.” 

His stomach had done a weird little somersault at your words. “That’s not - that isn’t why -,” 

“Marc?” 

“What?” 

“I’m joking,” you’d winked at him. “I know you hate my hardware store friend.” 

He’d just grumbled, “We should go to another fucking hardware store.” 

But you are attached to this one now, the one Marc had dragged you to in the first place. It’s something he’s slowly come to realize about you, that you easily get attached to things and routines and people. 

He hopes you’re a little more attached to him than that fucking sales associate with a crush. 

At the end of the day, though, he’s just some guy with a crush too. 

“Crush, eh?” Steven is watching you from the side mirror of the truck. “Me too, I think.” 

Marc watches Steven for a moment, his eyes flicking back to where you laugh with the sales guy, still chatting about something in the afternoon sun. It’s hot, summer falling on the city with a vengeance. Your shoulders are partially bare to the sun, and you have one hand lifted to shield your eyes despite having sunglasses clutched in your other hand. 

Steven is watching you too, his eyes round and big, like cartoon hearts are about to start floating around his head at any moment. 

He’s put off telling Steven about the piano, and he’s been more than patient, even if he’s begun harassing Marc daily about the Cubs game that may or may not be an actual date. 

It had only gotten worse since he slept with you in his arms, under the piano no less. He’d tried to stay awake that night, so he could have the memory of holding you that way, apparently completely at ease, relaxed enough with him to fall asleep. 

The teasing from Jake had been brutal, while Steven had been delighted. “Nice innit?” he’d asked none too casually.

He told you about Randall and his mom. He asked his dad about the fucking piano. 

Steven deserves to know, too.

He can do one more hard conversation, he’s done it twice already. 

Besides, Steven always knew better than him anyways, was better at seeing up from down. 

“Steven,” he says, catching his alter’s attention from where he’s staring at you with lovestruck eyes. “I wanna tell ya about the piano.” 

“Bloody hell, Marc, right now?” He blinks away from you to Marc. 

When Marc just stares, he nods. “Alright then. Go on,” he encourages quietly. “I’m all ears.” 

Marc swallows, leans his head against the frame of the door. “Mom and me used to play the piano all the time.” He swallows, “All my - everything I remember is good.” 

The image of the living room bathed in gold swirls back to the front of his memory. The dust motes, the laughter, the quiet of a Saturday morning. 

For a moment, he can’t continue, his throat swelling closed with unshed tears. “That’s - that’s a good thing, innit?” Steven asks gently. 

Marc swipes at his face even though no tears have escaped. “Yeah. I guess so. But it feels fucked up to - to miss her.” Steven sucks in a breath but Marc barrels on. “I can’t be angry at something that was good. When Randall - when he died, we stopped playing it. We never touched it again.” He presses his head back into the headrest and closes his eyes to Steven. “How am I supposed to hate her when I remember loving her so much?” 

“Oh,” Steven whispers, his breath a rush, like he finally understands. “You can do both, I think. I do.” 

“You do?” 

Steven sounds meek when he answers, “Well, yes. It was hard. Knowing all the love I remembered, well, that it came from you. And knowing-knowing what she did to us. It was hard. It is hard.” Marc opens his eyes to meet Steven’s gaze. “She loved us. We’re allowed to love that part of her. No matter what came later.” 

A tear does track down his cheek then, and Marc hastily swipes it away. “Yeah,” he croaks. “Well, that’s why the piano is so hard.” Steven nods, encouraging. “It’s not just about mom though, it's about Roro too.” 

“Randall played the piano too?” 

“I was just - I had just started teaching him. He wasn't good at it. It came naturally to me. One morning, we - instead of practicing, we scratched our initials into the bottom of it.” Marc stops and checks the rearview mirror, to make sure you’re okay, to make sure you’re still there but not approaching the truck yet. 

You’re smiling, one hand still lifted to shade your eyes. 

“Anyways,” Marc says, glancing back at Steven. “I don’t like having good feelings about any of it. It feels wrong. Like I’m forgiving her.” 

The image comes unbidden again. The warmth of the living room, Wendy’s hands over his, the sound of prayer and breakfast being cooked, the dust motes hanging suspended in the air; Randall begging Marc to show him how to play, even though his hands were much too small. 

He hates that he remembers laughter and love when his mom bent down to ask them what they were doing under the piano. She hadn’t even gotten mad when she discovered what they’d done, just smiled and held out a hand, beckoning them out. 

“You can have both,” Steven says. “It’s alright, Marc. It doesn’t have to be all bad.” 

It’s the same thing you’d said to him. 

But it had been easier when it was all bad, simpler. 

“I know,” he says. “I think I do.” 

Steven starts to respond when the passenger side door opens suddenly and you climb into the cab. “Marc,” you say his name, huffing out a wild breath as you adjust yourself in the seat and yank your seatbelt into place. “We gotta go get some ice cream. It’s so fucking hot,” you swipe a hand over your sweaty brow. “It’s full of tourists, but do you wanna try Navy Pier?” 

If it were all bad, he thinks suddenly, maybe he wouldn’t have met you. If it were all bad, he wouldn’t have found out that his father missed him, he wouldn’t have had a reason to hunt for the piano and visit Tales Untold. 

Marc reaches over and takes your hand, folds your fingers between his. He says your name and when you meet his eyes, your smile disappears, replaced with a fretful expression. “What?” 

“Nothin’,” he shakes his head. 

You reach up with your other hand and touch his cheek, the corner of your mouth twitching upwards again. “Alright, go ahead and be cryptic and weird.”

“Hey,” he catches at your hand when you start to pull away. You look beautiful, your skin is glowing. Marc tries not to stare and fails. “We gotta get tickets. If you still wanna go to a Cubs game.” 

You blink at him; long, slow blinks where your lashes kiss the space beneath your eyes. “Yeah? I thought you were getting them.” You tilt your head, “And then - pizza after? Isn’t that what we said?”

You’re close to him, your eyes wide as you lean closer to him over the center console. You smell like sunshine, like sun on skin, and beneath that like your usual lavender. 

Marc presses your hand harder against his cheek, tipping his head towards yours. Your breath shakes when you inhale and your mouth parts gently when you glance down at his lips. 

He wants to kiss you so bad there’s an ache in his chest. But he keeps his eyes on yours, your breath fanning across his lips, the scent of you like sweet mint. 

When you meet his eyes, you look mildly confused, and Marc wonders for just a split second if you’re as unsure as he is. 

Your eyes flick down again, and Marc watches your face curiously. There are no walls between you. He doesn’t feel like he has to hide anything from you. You’d already caught him at his very worst. 

So, he should do this right - shouldn’t he? 

He should wait. Do it properly. He’s never gotten the chance before, not really. 

He clears his throat and inches back from you, pulling your hand away from his cheek as he goes, patting your fingers gently. The last thing he wants to do is let go of you, and so he doesn’t, folding your fingers between his instead. “Yeah, I can get us tickets. Just wanted to make sure you still wanted to go.”

You smile and then narrow your eyes. “Did you forget about it or something?” 

Marc scoffs, feels the beat of the pulse in your wrist against his. Like he could fucking forget about it. “Of course not.” 

“Not,” you repeat with the same inflection, a tease in your voice. “Listen to that accent.” 

You glance over him, a strange fondness lodging in your eyes. “You alright? Looked like you were thinking pretty hard about something.” You reach up when he doesn’t answer to push a lock of hair behind his ear, like you’ve done a million times before. 

But this time you say, “You should let your curls out more.” 

Your fingers brush along his temple, the pads of your fingers soft. Marc basks in the warmth of your attention, the feeling of your hand against his skin. 

“You like the curls, huh?” 

You huff out a laugh and ruffle his hair until it falls in loose rings around his forehead. 

He glares at you, and you throw your head back and laugh. The sound is unbelievable in its joy and he’s surprised he managed to draw it out of you. 

Marc’s breath catches somewhere in his lungs, and he finds it hard to swallow down the feelings welling up. 

Should he wait? Should he do anything at all? 

This can’t last, this happiness in you. It never does, not when he’s around. 

He hates the uncertainty that snaps a steel trap around his heart. But it's true, it’s always been true that people are better off without him. 

You smile and twist a curl around your finger. “Look how pretty,” you coo at him. 

Marc finds himself leaning into your hand when you cup his jaw. He wants to close his eyes and melt into it because he can’t be sure how long it will last. Your fingertips are just brushing his cheek when -

“Stop it. We are not doing this again, Marc. Stop thinking like that, asshole,” Jake says from the rearview mirror so suddenly that Marc flinches away from your touch. 

You suck in a hard breath, and unlike the other times, it’s not a pleasant sound. “Sorry,” you pull back from him, looking horrified as you drop your hand. 

“No,” he reaches for you again. “No, it’s -,” 

You lift a brow, move your hand out of his reach, “It’s what?” 

“Not you,” he shakes his head. “It’s not you.” He glances at Jake, who has the gall to lift a brow at him though he does look guilty for startling him, and then back at you.

“Oh,” you murmur. 

Your face is closed off now, your smile a little strained, and he can’t tell what you’re thinking. “Okay.” You swallow, “I wanna go. With you. Just to be clear.” 

Marc isn’t really sure what to say as you tuck yourself back into the seat, practically against the door, readjusting the seat belt before you fiddle with the radio, not looking at him, like you’re trying to give him space he doesn’t want. 

He sighs, glares at the rearview where only his own face stares back at him now. He should know by now to take the chances offered to him, because nothing ever goes right otherwise. 

He wonders again, why he even tries. 

And this time, Jake isn’t there to interrupt him. 

Thank you for reading! A special thank you to those keeping up with the series, and for all the continued love and support.

Comments and feedback are so appreciated. New parts will be posted Saturdays at 3PM EST! You can add yourself to the tag list on the series masterlist.

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@razor-blayde

@shadypaperwitch 

@cool-ultra-nerd

@PeachyRue-777

@kult6

@taylormm1016

@ashleighjadesworld

@tasersloth

@sunfairyy

@stevenknightmarc

@alexxavicry

#marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fanfiction

[dreamdaddymorpheus]

love made me do it | dark!morpheus headcanons

pairing: dark!morpheus x human!reader warning: dark!morpheus ig, yandere behaviour, dark themes, still no beta we die like jessamy. heed the warning, it gets pretty dark– don't let the fluff fool you. a/n: requested & continuation of don't blame me headcanons.

Should you return to the Dreaming know that you are unlikely to ever leave it again. Morpheus would absolutely make certain of it. Letting you go the first time was a like an experiment for him, and he learned he simply wouldn’t do without his wife and queen.

Morpheus wouldn’t punish you, no, what you went through was punishment enough. His heart ached watching you endure your trial and though he admired your perseverance he wished you asked for his help much, much earlier.

 Without your family and friends as his leverage Morpheus will be forced you give you more space in the Dreaming, will try to be as less needy as he possibly could, and will leave you to initiate physical contact. He would visit your rooms every day, of course, just to get his daily dose of you, but he won’t be as pushy as he was prior to your little adventure in the waking world.

In the Dreaming you’re just…numb. Unable to process whether to be miserable over your fate with Morpheus or the betrayal by your loved ones. So much to process that your mind just completely shuts down. You ignore the issues and just keep to yourself in your rooms or in Lucienne’s library. Sometimes you’ll speak to Matthew about the human world and what you both miss about it. Like, pizza. Or Game of Thrones. But you both ignore the elephant in the room.

When loneliness starts to creep in, you’ll approach the other residents in the palace for quick conversations until eventually it develops into friendships. They’re sympathetic to your cause, but you understand there isn’t much they can do for you.

Morpheus will continue to give you whatever you want – even things you never asked for. Books, trinkets from the waking world, clothes, takes you to wonderous places in the Dreaming for dates or just to take you out of the palace. He once mimicked the Paris from the waking world for you, thinking it would cheer you up, but it only made you cry instead – knowing you’ll never see the real thing.  Morpheus was at a loss at this point.

Morpheus will 100% ask Lucienne for advice. Lucienne would be 100% tired of his shit, but what can she do? She’ll advise him to continue giving you space as, quote, “you’ve done quite enough, your majesty”

When one day you approach him of your own accord while he’s moping on his throne it’ll be comparable to the sun shining upon him for the first time in centuries, “I was wondering…” You’d start, eyes on the ground, not seeing the hopeful look on his face. “Matthew said it’s December in the waking world. So—so, I was wondering if we could decorate the palace for Christmas?”

Oh, the look this man will give you. It’ll be a mixture of surprise, love, and relief, all because finally, finally you asked him for something he could actually grant you (and that didn’t involve you leaving). “Of course, my love.” This man will be so utterly smitten. “Whatever you want, you need only ask.”

There will be a very awkward pause between you afterwards, but Morpheus won’t let it get to him. You approached him. You spoke to him. You wanted to decorate the palace, your home, for Christmas. This man was high, and he relished every second of it.

He will go all out. He will put Father Christmas and all his elves to shame with how merry and jolly he’ll deck the palace and the Dreaming for Christmas, complete with snow and everything. He’ll grill Matthew on Christmas traditions and the poor raven will be at a complete loss because what the fuck.

You’ll throw a Christmas dinner for all the people at the palace as well as Cain and Abel – turkey, roast potatoes, pigs in blankets, even brussels sprouts. Of course, there’s presents! At first you thought it was one sided, but it turned out everyone was also familiar with human traditions, and they also got presents for you and everyone else. They knew you were not here of your own volition and though they couldn’t rectify that they wanted to make you happy and make things easier for you.

Morpheus will briefly make an appearance at the dinner to give you his present – a snow globe that’ll take you wherever and whenever you want in the waking world, but it’ll automatically take you back to the Dreaming after 5 hours and you must stay in the Dreaming for at least a day before you can use it again. “I know it is not what you want nor is it the true freedom you deserve, but I hope…this will give you some comfort.” Then he’ll greet you a warm Merry Christmas before making his excuses to leave, thinking his presence will only make everyone behave too formally.

“Wait— maybe you can join us for pudding?” You don’t know whether it was the look of resignation on his face or your own feeling of resignation that made you ask, but you stood by your words.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude.” He’d say, but his eyes glistened with longing.

“This is your home; you wouldn’t be intruding.”

You haven’t seen him smile like that in a long time, you’d think to yourself. “I hope it’ll be your home one day too.” You’d hear him say, but you don’t acknowledge it. Instead, you take his hand in yours and lead him to the long table where the others were conversing and taking turns teasing Matthew about being the centre piece next year.

Matthew’s “screw you guys” and everyone’s laughter was the last thing you remembered clearly before turning your mind off and drowning yourself in the moment.

There’s a tentative peace in the Dreaming afterwards, a mutual understanding between its rulers. Morpheus doesn’t push and neither do you.

When the King of Dreams asked to join you on your daily walk, he steeled himself for disappointment, but was pleasantly surprised when you obliged him.

As you both followed the well-kept trail in the garden, Morpheus used the silence to ponder over your relationship. Though he regrets the actions he has taken, he knew he was well past the point of no return.

He thought back on happier times – before he broached the subject of marriage, a time before you broke his heart by hastily refusing.

“It is my fault, I know—” His sombered voice broke the peace and made you both pause in your steps to stand stiffly next to each other. You wanted to keep walking, to keep pretending, to live in your little bubble. “I should have walked away the second I realized I would fall for you.” You turn to look at him, your eyes full of resentment. Why didn’t you, you wanted to ask. But that wouldn’t have been fair – for there was a time when you also loved Morpheus, when you would have happily chased him until you broke down his walls and loved you back.

Morpheus dared to step in front of you, hands reaching out to hold both of yours in his, a look of absolute desperation and yearning etched across his face, “I have hurt you, I hurt you still, I know, but I—” The unspoken words hang in the air, I can’t let you go. “I can make you happy, I can make the Dreaming a home for you…if you but give me a chance. You loved me once; you can love me again.”

HAPPY ENDING (?):

Try as he might, Morpheus couldn’t ignore the ache in his chest as he waited for your response. Your sentence upon his soul.

You pull your hand from his grasp and reached up to cup his jaw, watching curiously as he sinks into your touch, eyes fluttering close to savour the warmth of you, lips parting as though hungry for more, both his hands holding onto your wrist for dear life –  fearful you might end the moment too soon.

“I don’t want to hurt anymore.” You whispered tiredly, “I don’t want to keep hurting each other.”

“Then let us heal together, my love.”

DARK ENDING (TW):

You could only stare at him in disbelief, “How—How can you think we could ever go back?” You shove his hands away, back taut like a bowstring just shy from snapping in two, “Did you think because I have not actively fought you that I wish to be here? That I have magically forgiven you for what you’ve done?” You could almost see the regret wash over your former love.

“You have made certain I will never have a place anywhere else but by your side.” You were exhausted, resigned to your fate “I will sit tight. Sit pretty. But know that I will never love you again.” You felt powerful, felt in control for the first time since he brought you here against your will. Morpheus could direct his subject and even you to a certain degree – but he could never direct your feelings. That will always be your leverage over him.

You watch the tears well up in his eyes, the same resignation you felt painted inside them. “Everything I do—it is only because I love you. And I want you to be happy, here, by my side.” His words doesn’t move you and you waste no energy to hide it.

Your brows furrowed in confusion as he begins to approach you, single-minded and resolute in his steps. “What are you doin—” Just as the words left your mouth, Morpheus reached for your temples with both hands and though gentle and kind in his touch he was unyielding in intent. “Morpheus, what—”

“I’m sorry, my love.” were the last words you heard before a screeching sound filled your ears and an excruciating pain shot through your head. The feeling felt as though it lasted forever that when it was finally cleared it left you gasping for air. “W-What was what?” You asked brokenly, eyes aimless and tearful.

You felt the familiar arms of your lover engulf your form, his fingers brushing through your hair as a silent offer of comfort. “What happened, my love?” You relished the tenderness in his voice, pressing yourself closer into to him.

“I-I don’t know. It—It felt like a nightmare. It hurt so much, but—was I sleeping?” You were dazed and confused, words slurred and in fragments.

“Perhaps a loose nightmare. They are known to misbehave. I will have Lucienne look into it.” He assured you, tightening his arms around your quivering form. “I do not know how many times I must ask you to stay by my side so such things doesn’t happen.” He chides softly, but you smile knowing there was no bite behind his words. He loved you far too much to not indulge your wandering habits.

You’re certain all will be well.

a/n: I didn't want the happy ending to be too happy considering the context of their relationship. So that's all you get, I'm afraid. But it did get pretty dark at the end there–😳

#morpheus x reader #dream x you #this header is making me feel things #morpheus x you #morpheus imagines #dream x y/n #dream imagines #dream x fem!reader #dream x reader #netflix the sandman #the sandman imagines #sandman x reader #morpheus x fem!reader #tag:my work #tag:headcanon

[arashrita]

Don't say you love me, unless you do.

He didn't have to act like an arse. Sure, he was stressed and busy. That overworking dude seriously. But, you were only trying to help him. The only thing you said was

"Hey, Lucifer! Do you want me to help you?"

What bad thing did you say? Exactly, nothing. But, there's a thing you see, people take your love and care for granted and forget that you have feelings too. Humans do that all the time. Can you really blame the demons? Yes, you can. Because being a bloody prick can never solve anything. What's bad is bad. Dosen't matter what species they are.

He went out of his way and called you "Pathetic, insufferable little human", "annoying happy-go-lucky", "immature and insensitive." Lots of other stuff probably, you don't even remember everything.

You didn't cry in front him. Instead, you stared back with a raging fire in your eyes and snapped "Damn, what all of them said about you is true after all."

That rendered him speechless. Good, you won't let him tear your soul just because he feels like it. You are so done being the sweet and forgiving one. Have they really forgotten that you can feel? That's it. That's so fucking it.

You had stormed off from his office and requested Solomon to pick you up. Surprising, that you didn't break down in tears. You could feel rage bubbling inside your veins like hot lava. Damn him and his stupid pride. You wanted to scream and throw things.

"(Y/N)??"

It was Simeon. Yup, you ended up crashing in the Purgatory hall, of course. But why Simeon is calling in the middle of the night?

"What is it man?"

"Ummm... I guess you should go outside and see for yourself."

You huffed but eventually obliged. You already had a hunch about what it might be and that's exactly why you were reluctant to go.

Sure enough, it was the person—demon you didn't want to face. What? He is capable of pulling that puppy dog look? Well, too bad, you ain't falling for it, not today. Wait, are those... tear stains? Ah man seriously? He knows so damn well that you are soft. But bloody hell man he looks like shit and that's that.

"(Y/N), I'm sorr—

"Apology unaccepted, now leave. Goodnight."

"There's nothing good about this night when you are not by my side."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Lucifer. You realize that I'm not a robot right? I have feelings too and YOU—Mr, congratulations! you officially lost my trust."

Every word that came out of your mouth struck him like a bullet. He didn't mean it. He didn't mean anything. He made a grave mistake—again. He dosen't deserve anymore chances. Still, his heart wants you. His body automatically moves toward you.

"I'm really sorry... I-I know I caused a lot of damage. I feel shame... But, (Y/N), I love you..."

"Don't say you love me, unless you do."

"(Y/N)...."

You were doubting his love for you and that was enough to understand the weight of the situation. Well, it was him who digged his own grave, as simple as that.

His eyes welled up. You could see his hands trembling like crazy. Well, shit. You aren't supposed to give in. Not after what he did. You shouldn't welcome him back in your life. He isn't worth that. Or... wait... true, he destroyed your feelings today but... you can't deny that in countless situations he helped you in every way he can. Also.... watching him so miserable... You are supposed to feel the taste of sweet sweet revenge. Then...why it makes you sad...? Damn him for having such a strong hold over you.

"Lucifer..."

Whatever decision you take, it's going to be a turning point. Do you really want to lose him? Not really... The answer is crystal clear. You want him back.

"Fine, you know what you are lucky. But, I swear to god, this is the last fucking time I—

You couldn't finish your sentence. He was holding you like you will disappear in thin air. You could feel sobs wrecking his body. Now, who is the pathetic one? Probably, something you would've loved to say. But, no, you could feel the genuineness. Argh... why do you love him so much?

You blinked back the tears. Fine, just this once he will get away with it because you love him too damn much.

#obey me imagines #obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me mc #obey me x mc #obey me headcanons #obey me angst #obey me lucifer #obey me angst to fluff #ohey me lucifer angst #obey me shitpost

[frankiesgirlxx]

sweet dreams ༊*·˚ ☁

pairing: frank castle x reader

summary: frank has a nightmare and tells reader how he feels about them.

warnings: fluff and angst kinda. he's kinda just vulnerable about whether or not he deserves reader.

a/n: im so self indulgent lollll. like alexa, play 'that should be me' by justin bieber. anyways, enjoy ig. leave me asks and requests and stuff!!! love you byeee!

I'M MOVING TO THIS BLOG SO FOLLOW THAT BLOG FOR MORE WRITING LOL THANKS LOVE YA

wc: ~720 ish words (shush)

you couldn't sleep. you're a light sleeper and frank was tossing and turning, groaning and sweating. he’s on his side right now facing away from you. he wasn’t always like this, but it was like this every so often. you didn’t mind losing sleep, but what drove you crazy was how frank is feeling and his past affects him even in his sleep. when he gets like this you can’t help but think that you’d taken all those nights where you’d admire him peacefully sleeping for granted. it hurts you to see him like this.

he goes quiet and then jolts awake panting. he sits up, eyes looking panicked. you sit up too and rub his back "shh, its okay love, it was just a bad dream."

as he hears your voice it seems that his eyes seem to become more relaxed and grounded. he looks at you with those soft brown eyes that you love, “it’s okay sweet girl, i’m okay.” you look worried, and can’t help but ask.

“do you wanna talk about it frankie?” he shakes his head. he wants to tell you everything, about his past in the military, maria and the kids, but he’s tired. he’s told you the basics, but not the parts that haunt him every night. “you’re too good to me darlin’. sometimes i don’t think i deserve you.”

your head tilts slightly. what does he mean? if anything you think it’s the opposite. he protects you, he remembers every little thing you tell him, he makes you feel so good in every way. you don’t want him talking like this. “what do you mean?”

he looks a bit nervous as he says, “you’re so precious and beautiful” he takes a moment to cradle your face with his hand, thumb rubbing over your soft cheek. “i can’t believe you’re all mine sweet girl”

you start to feel your cheeks grow warmer, knowing that you’re blushing. “why wouldn’t you deserve me frankie?” there are tears building up in your eyes. you don’t understand what he’s saying and you’re scared of what he’s going to say next.

he looks down, as though he’s ashamed of himself. “you know about the bad things i’ve done, it’s hard not to think like that”

you didn’t know he thought like that ever. to you, frank was the most secure person you knew, but now you were starting to question that. you were also internally beating yourself up for not thinking about this possibility. he’s been through so much and this didn’t even cross your mind? “you’re mine frank, nothings going to change that okay?” it’s your turn to hold his face. both hands go to his face. you kiss his forehead over and over, hoping to get rid of as many of his negative thoughts as you could. “can you please believe that?” a few tears were rolling down your cheeks making it seem like your eyes were twinkling. you felt bad for crying when this was about frank, but you couldn’t help it. how could he think that he was unworthy of you?

frank looks at you, wiping your tears, “yes princess”. he sighs like it felt good to get that off of his chest. however, he hates to see you like this, so he thought he’d try lighten the mood. he didn’t want you crying yourself to sleep, he couldn’t bare to see it. “you’re the macaroni to my cheese baby”

you hit frank playfully after sniffling, “eww stop it with the corny shit” you laugh “go back to sleep frank.”

“yes ma’am.” he starts spooning you, smiling to himself and rubbing your stomach. you used to be insecure about it but now it just comforts you and helps you sleep. “frank?”

“yeah sweetheart?”

“can we talk about your dreams in the morning? i know you don’t wanna worry me, but i can’t help worrying anyway. i want you to feel like you can talk to me about anything.” your heart is racing because you don’t want to push him too far. you don’t know it, but he can feel it. he thinks about how precious you are.

“okay then. in the morning. get some rest sweet girl.”

“good night frankie.” you quickly fall back asleep, but frank stays up thinking about how lucky he got finding you.

#frank castle #frank castle x you #frank castle x reader #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle fluff #the punisher #jon bernthal #jon bernthal fluff #marvel #nmcu #marvel fluff #frank castle fic #frank castle fanfic #frank castle x female reader #frank castle fem!reader #frank castle x y/n #netflix #marvel netflix

[signed-sapphire]

The Fallen Star ✨

A Wish rewrite

Cielo design 💛

The boy is here! The most ever! The Fallen Star’s very own Starboy!

So I lied and don’t have the finalized designs for King Maggie or Queen Ams yet soooooo *throws confetti at you* take this Starboy reimagining in the meantime!

Eugh boy the name gave me trouble. I didn’t want to use Aster since that’s the name of a a couple popular Starboys already (@annymation/@gracebeth3604/ @mythartist21) and while the Greek name is cool, I wanted something a bit different.

SEE-EH-LO, for anyone wondering. He/they pronouns <3

I was heavily considering choosing Estrella and making Starboy a Stargirl, and then we’d have a gay romance. But this is supposed to be SOMEWHAT of a homage to early Disney. This may not be KoW, but… idk. Cielo is a gender neutral name. Literal manifestation of light. Go ahead and draw them as a female-presenting figure and it’s still TFS!canon~

Aaaaaaanyways. Here’s the actual rewrite!

First of all! Cielo is NOT the Northern Star! He’s a baby star like… in the bottom right

However, the Northern Star? Evangeline? Yeah, she’s gonna be in my rewrite

But Cielo is NOT her

For now I’ll just say Evangeline is sort of a mentor-figure to Cielo and leave it at that

So not all stars are wishing stars, and similar to Kingdom of Wishes, a wishing star is born when first wished upon

Once a wishing star fulfills their first wish, they become Stars (capital S), and are free to help anyone that needs it

The more wishes a Star fulfills, the more powerful they become

Idk maybe it’s like a Rise of the Guardians thing, where the more people that believe, the stronger your magic is

Sparkles and hope and glitter and shit

Until, as explained in my rewrite… the Stars grew bored and started simply granting wishes

Then people grew lazy and started demanding wishes

And all this belief made the Stars go overpowered

Basically it became Wonderland, everything coming true, kingdoms burning and villages destroyed

Yeah. So Magnus god rid of them eventually

Though who would suspect that it would be the king’s own daughter that would bring back his greatest fear?

Yep, Asha brought Cielo down

Not purposely, but even if she had done it purposely, she wouldn’t have chosen Cielo

He’s a little baby, a dwarf star maybe

Only ever gotten one wish in his life…

Huh never seen that before *side eyes KoW*

Personality traits

Optimistic

Very Anna-coded

Probably ADHD tbh (autism x adhd duo unite)

Stubborn

HE’S the quirky Disney princess

Although more Flynn than Raps

Backstory

Fuck around and find out

(And by fuck around I mean wait for my rewrite to come out bc I haven’t slept in two days and I’m too tired to articulate their story accurately)

Design

Due to popular demand, Cielo now has the Charlie Morningstar cheek thingies

Also @gracebethartacc got an ask about canon!Star being marketed with a star over their right eye so… vitiligo mark, anyone?

Yeah I don’t have many colored refs but basically Cielo’s star eye mark and cheek thingies turn into vitiligo marks when in their “human form”

Uh take this

Ye sort of like this^

Heart shaped face! His part is also supposed to resemble a “V” shape to make the top of the heart

My sister said they looked like Viva and I’m crying but too late to take it back

I guess they’re both Spanish? Ajdjajhsjajajs

Thin slutty waist. Imagine Lucifer from Hazbin Hotel bc Jeremy Jordan is Yes.

Like I’m obsessed with that wet cat of a character I’m thinking about Cielo’s voice being Jeremy

Although his younger VA days as like Varian would better suit Cielo…

ANYWAYS

Design by @mythartist21 save for the Trolls hair and cheek thingies! Those were my additions

Uhhh pointy ears, poofy sleeves

Idk is the star eye mark AND the cheek thingies too busy? Lmk and I’ll try to post a colored ref of that helps

#asha #disney wish #princess asha #asha x star #star x asha #the fallen star au #wish 2023 #human star #starsha #saph doodles #wish reimagined #wish disney #wish star #wish #star wish #wish concept art

[jstarr86]

HALLOWEEN FUN

I sighed looking down at him a smirk on his lips.

“Stop so I can paint your face or I’m leaving ya ass at home.”

“No you won’t first because you want me there two I’m never home and three you want me there cause I’m never home.”

“Baby.” I said breaking out a smile “let me paint your face. I gotta get ready too.”

“Fine, no fun.”

“You can have all the fun you want to later for now behave.”

“Yeet.” I rolled my eyes looking into his as he placed his hands on my hips.

“Joshua.”

“Aye I’m not doing anything I’m just holding you.”

“Mhmm.” I sighed sitting on his lap as he groaned arms wrapping around me while I painted his face. I was trying to get the skull part done since he was mixing a clown and skull. It looked cool, we hadn’t been able to decide on a costume this year so we combined both options and it actually looked pretty cool. “Turn.” I moved his head finishing the shading but also taking the chance to check him out. He was fine as fuck and I was lucky. “There Your done.”

“Eee this is sick thanks baby.” He said looking at me from the mirror as he checked over his looks.

“You welcome and you look good now go so I can do mine.” As he left I pulled the costume out getting dressed first. I then fixed my hair glad I had bought multiple sprays. After I started painting my face. This is why I’d made sure to not work today, knowing it was a busy day around my home, so I generally took off fully or at least half the day. I was half through doing my makeup when the bathroom door opened and my husband walked in arms sliding around my waist.

“Damn mamas. You look good.” Josh said rubbing my legs sliding his hands under my skirt grabbing my butt and squeezing.

(Like this but neon)

“Josh.” I said softly biting my lip trying to not moan. He was always like this coming back from the road. He’d always had a high sex drive anyway but this was always different. I mean don’t get me wrong I missed him too always did and he’d spent the last week not even in the country he’d been in Germany until this morning ; he’d gotten home at 445 this morning. I appreciated the thought of being with us and the sleep deprivation he had to be going through right now but wasn’t saying or showcasing it because he wanted the time and memories with and of us and that meant the world to me. Fuck the man being an amazing husband lover and friend him as a father was probably my favorite thing about him. The love the care the interest the devotion he had as father that man that was another level and I loved it that was Josh. The world can have him as Jey but Josh man if they only knew granted he was pretty much just him just super live and turnt up but still I wish the world saw the Josh I got.

“Hmm.”

“Let me get done.”

“You fixin be cold as hell mammas.” He said eyes trailing over my body. “It’s like 30 degrees.”

“I got thermo leggings on under these tights a thermal long sleeve onesie under this and I am wearing my coat and have this lovely human called my husband that will keep me warm.”

“Nah you bout be shivering and complaining lil miss thang. You too little for this shit and we both know it.”

“Then keep me warm daddy.”

“Shit call me daddy again we staying home and I’m trickin and treatin ya ass all night.”

“Our youngest son wants to go out.”

“Then remember that cause you say daddy again and Jaciyah gonna be takin him not us.”

“Now you know that ain’t happenin Jaciyah is on candy duty here.” I finished my makeup before meeting my three main men downstairs. My oldest in a jack skellington onesie but he’d at least let me paint his face. Our youngest a clown much like his dad and I but much more bloody. “You ready baby.”

“Yah let’s goooo!” I laughed watching as he got super excited.

“Alright grab a our bag and coat baby.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Jaciyah.”

“Ma’am.”

“If someone-“

“Knocks or rings give them candy don’t be rude be nice and don’t give it all to my friends I know. I got this.”

“Ok have fun we will be home in a hour or two.”

“K love you guys.”

“Love you too.” We walked out as our oldest locked the door behind us Josh pocketing the keys inside his hoodie. We’d taken some pictures that came out dope. Then again anything neon or glow in the dark if I wanted to pull it off it wouldn’t take a lot all I had to do was call my amazing sister in law and ask, the queen of glow. Josh and I walked watching as Jeyce ran up to each house or drive collecting candy. I leaned into Josh who chuckled moving to stand behind me wrappping his arms around me

“Cold?”

“Not too much. How much longer should we let him go he has school and no one needs to be sick.”

“Eh he’s ok give him some more.” I nodded popping a sucker in my mouth as my husbands smile widened the paint elongating it. I rolled my eyes as he winked both of us knowing why he’d smiled.

“What Joshua?” I asked nudging back into him

“You kno what, practicing for later tryin tease me.”

“I’m just eating candy if I was trying to tease you I’d do this.” I responded looking at him twirling my tongue over the lollipop and sucking as seductively as possible while keeping my eyes locked on his. He groaned nonchalantly rolling his hips into my ass so I could feel his hardening dick.

“Don’t do that baby. These kids gonna get a real show.”

“Oh my god Joshua.” I laughed out as a few people looked at us.

“What you the one acting like you sucking my lollipop.”

“Behave.”

“You behave over here performing oral on some candy.”

“You’re terrible.”

“And you a freak, but forreal though how you make something so simple and innocent so naughty and sexy.”

“You always say that.”

“Cause it’s true even in school that’s why everyone always gave you suckers cause they liked watching you eat them always more sexual then it should be even when you ain’t notice.”

“I really didn’t.”

“I kno but only me and uces believed it.”

“I remember you got into that fight sophomore year cause that guy flirted with me.”

“Flirted he was practically dry humping you made you uncomfortable and then didn’t care Nah homie deserved that ass whoopin.”

“Thank you for defending my honor.”

“Always wifey.” I took pictures here and there and Josh took some with me. I loved that he kept a hand or arm around me at all times. He was very touchy always had been I always joked physical affection was his love language. After a couple hours it was dark and getting colder and Josh could see I was getting cold.

“Aye Jeyce wrap it up.”

“Yes sir.”

“You ain’t have to do that.”

“Your cold and I peeped the cough that started you gonna get sick. Plus his nose is red and not from paint he’s getting cold too.”

“Mmm so observant I love when your home.”

“I love being home.” He replied kissing me.

“Ugh mom dad really.” I pulled back he and I laughing as he licked his lips the dark colors smudged slightly at his lips and a bit red from my lipstick and our small make out kiss.

“Sorry ya momma is beautiful.”

“Even like that?”

“Yeah even like that no matter what ya moms is beautiful. Let’s get you home.” We walked back home Jeyce trying snag candy until Josh took the bag. “You kno the rule.”

“Who made that rule what’s wrong with it why can’t I eat it.”

“Gotta check the candy ya kno people be stickin stuff in candy.”

“Don’t tell him that.” I said nudging my husband “you kno that’s a urban legend right there ain’t any known cases of that actually happening but there was this one man who tried offing his kids with laced pixie stix”

“How you do that no wonder he got caught.”

“Used the giant plastic ones gave them to his kids and their friends thought they’d all eat them only one his did and died then he got caught cause he couldn’t remember what house he didn’t get to Em from and where he told the cops those people wasn’t even home.”

“That’s fucked up some people don’t need kids.”

“Very true.”

“Sometimes it’s scary all the random stuff you kno.”

“I like criminal Justice or did you forget my major and I listen and watch way to much true crime stuff.”

“You do little serial killer.”

“That be a good costume.” Josh and I acted silly the whole walk back home racking jokes and dancing and laughing. He also every time or son turned was grabbing at me. Getting close to our home I saw some of our elder child’s friends walking down the street.

“Hi Mrs Fatu, hi Mr Fatu.”

“Hi guys.”

“Sup.” Josh replied arm going around my waist.

“Cool costumes.”

“Yeah you look awesome Mrs Fatu.”

“Thank you guys have a good night and behave.”

“Yes ma’am.” As they walked off Josh growled.

“Little ass boys crushin hard bout make me hurt a lil kid lookin at you like that. ‘Hi Mrs Fatu you look good’” he mocked as I chuckled.

“They are kids stop.” I said leaning to his ear “besides your the only man I want making me scream.”

“Mmm Gotdamn” We got in and Josh went through the candy while I shook my head and he let Jeyce get 4 pieces and they went to wash Jeyces face. I turned from the dresser as Josh walked in our bedroom eyes trailing over me before he locked the door. I laughed as he hit the light switches turning off the lights but turning on the black lights we’d put up for Halloween. “Wanna play a game.” He asked voice deep

“Boy cut on the light so I can see so I can go shower.”

“No.”

“No, boy.”

“You heard me.” As I looked up at him he looked sexy yet dangerous and dark, good on he was glowing but his face still dark his eyes dark. “Come here.”

“Josh.” I gasped as he didn’t verbally respond but reached out with a firm gentle hand grabbing my throat. He pressed his head against mine as I watched him close his eyes for a second. When he opened them again the want the lust was definitely behind his beautiful dark chocolate colored eyes. The intensity in his eyes and his hand on my throat had me biting my lip as I silently stared at him, trying to decipher what was going through his head. His other hand came up grabbing my right breast in his hand as he kneaded it. I watched him smirk as my bottom lip went back between my teeth. I hadn’t seen him in a few weeks he’d came home a couple days then was out again cause of work and they’d had a tour overseas “aren’t you tired.” I muttered softly to which I watched his eyebrow raised Josh didn’t respond but trailed his hand down gripping my thighs as he moved standing between them slowly dropping to his knees.

“You know when we all left town for ya birthday how I sent you away for a bit early with Trin.”

“Yeah.”

“Well I never told you but I got this room soundproofed”

“You did wha-“

“You better hope that shit really work cause you gon be screamin.” I didn’t get to respond as he roughly kissed me and the second I moaned he slid his tongue in my mouth easily winning the dominance battle as he lifted me up in his arms as he walked to our bed. He dropped me down on it as I watched him.

“We need shower take this makeup off, creppy.” Josh pushed my shoulder as I went to try and move. “Josh.” I jumped as he pulled out a knife my breath holding as I watched him as he slices the tights and pulled my leggings. I was lo key scared first I ain’t like clowns anyway and my husband was dressed like one with a damn knife. He slid it over my collarbone as I looked at him with wide eyes before he easily cut the strap to my costume and bra in one go. “Josh. Come on you know I hate clowns.”

“I love you but shut up.”

“Excuse you-“

“Mamas you know I’d never hurt you so just sit back shut up and feel, stop thinking.” He kissed me sensually as fuck his mouth tasting like chocolate his mouth blazed a passionate trail from my lips to my neck sucking gently at the spot that made me arch my back. He tugged down the top of my costume lips attaching to my left nipple as his fingers tweaked the other my hand gently grasping his head fingers playing with the curls at the base of his neck.

“Baby.” I gasped out as he somehow rough yet gently slammed two fingers inside me while tugging my nipple with his teeth.

“Wet as fuck. Tryin stunt like you dont want this dick.” Fuck he hadn’t even started and I was gonna cum. Josh knew how to play my body like an instrument and he did it with precision. “Look at me.” I moaned as his fingers hit my gspot with every thrust of his fingers thumb rubbing circles on my clit while he sucked at my neck. “Watch me make you cum sexy.”

“Mmm fuck. I’m gonna cum Josh.” My eyes finally closed as my head went back.

“So Fuckin sexy.” He groaned as I opened my eyes trying to breathe. Josh pulled his pants low enough for his dick to pop out before he pushed my legs up and thrust into me a groan leaving his mouth.

JOSH POV

It was takin everything in me to not cum already. She’d been getting to me all day and I’d waited hours to have her. Every sound leaving those thick pink lips moans whimpers uneven breaths only I could do that to her. I could feel her tightening on my dick pussy fluttering showcasing she was about to cum. I slid my hand around her throat as her back arched and she moaned.

“Josh.”

“Cum.” I pumped working her through her release before I pulled out rolling her over and slamming back into her my hand smacking down on her ass the sound echoing loudly along with her moans as she gripped the sheets takin these back shots like a damn champ. “Pussy so good. “ I stilled for a second rubbing on her ass as I let her toss it back riding my dick. I pulled at her outfit shredding it and pulling it off her as I resumed my pace chasing my nut. I knew I’d freaked her out a bit earlier only because she hates clowns. She had since we was kids. She’d walk through a haunted house laughing her ass off but clowns nah she’d be gripping me with her head buried in me. “Shit baby.”

“Mmm daddy.” Id assume by now the soundproofing worked cause neither of our sons was banging on the door yet and I knew we was being loud especially her and the headboard was thumping against the wall.

“I’m bout nut. Fuck.” I grunted out playing with her clit making sure she came again.I grunted out feeling her tighten as we both came. I lazily pumped through it before withdrawing from her body. I walked to the bathroom starting the shower. Walking back out I pulled her down the bed tossing her over my shoulder as she giggled and I smacked that fat ass. I let her down as we walked in and she looked wrecked we both did paint and makeup smudged missing we got in the shower washing up both us double checking the other for left over face paint. She’s killed it with all this, looked dope. I lifted her against the shower wall entering her as we sloppily kissed it going from a peck to extreme as fuck pretty quick. “Damn do ayt shit again.” I grunted as she moved, I dunno what she just did but that shit sent me deep as fuck. I gripped her thigh harshly fingers digging in as she made the same movement making us both moan out. “Grippin me so tight.”

“Josh, fuck don’t stop” she moaned gripping my shoulders as I bounced her up and down my cock her free hand slid down the glass before gripping the back of my head as she placed a sloppy passion fueled kiss the pit in my stomach knotting as my orgasm fueled causing me to thrust harder and deeper into my wife as she tossed her head back a loud moan of my name leaving her mouth. Her finish was my undoing as I buried my head in her neck pinning her to the wall with my hips as I came. Her nails lightly raking my scalp I pulled back kissing her softly.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” She replied as I wrapped a fluffy towel around her. I knew she was tired and fucked out. I dried her grabbing her favorite lotion and rubbing it into her skin leaving it soft as hell and smellin like some tropical ass fruit or sumthin. I lifted her carrying her into our room as I laid down pulling her into my arms as she curled into me head on my chest. I wouldn’t have long gone til I was back on the road but this Halloween was definitely great. I started the tv and turned in a scary movie as we winded down and finished out our Halloween night her falling asleep within twenty minutes

#jey uso #main event jey uso #wwe jey uso #wwe #jey uso fanfiction #jey uso smut #jey uso x reader #the usos

[theloststarboy]

Hey! I just posted this on AO3 (like two seconds ago right here)

But it’s also rlly short so have it here too!!

Transfem eve!!! I’m obsessed rn

Evie tied her laces around her ankle on her roller skates — impalas, pink with red hearts, her favorite pair, gotten on a Valentine’s Day special — tightening the Velcro she stood, flattening her light pink tennis skirt, with a white stripe through it , matching her white socks with a pink stripe, up to her knees, a white tank-croptop with red straps, and a pink choker with a heart shaped metal loop rink eyeshadow, and red lipstick, the tips of her hair dyed pink

She pushed off grinning on the hot summer day, she loved skating, favorite activity, it kept her nice and fit, expecially after her transition she was scared of going to the gym, but this helps, a lot.

She did a warm up lap around the skate park before skating up a hill, turning sharply and flying down, she loved the adrenaline rush. She skated up another hill and right back down, she practiced more, warming up her muscles before deciding it was time for the pool, her favorite place to skate

She pulled up to the pool before dropping in down to the the deep end, before up and up, right to the ledge, jumping up, flipping around—she loved the dead leaves on the ground, the graffiti in the pool the way the wheels of her skates and other skaters, mostly skateboards, clicked against the asphalt in unison the skate park was such a comfort place, where she felt free, where she met people, she loved it—to face the pool, before dropping back in, she messed around a bit, just enjoying herself before decided if it was a water break

She got out of the pool skating down the ramp that lead up to the pool, going to turn out but- ah shit

She stumbled over some rock, nearly crashing into some Skateboarder but-

He was quick to slide off his board and catch her, dipping her down before wrapping his arms around her back, pulled very close to him

“Shit..”eve muttered

“Hey, don’t worry, i won’t let you fall” the Skateboarder smiled wide, he had pretty dimples, accentuated with piercings through the cheek, and pretty eyes, lined in dark kohl

Eve blushed and laughed softly “thank you.” She stood steadying herself and flattening her skirt, adjusting her shirt

The guy paused, taking a breath and glancing over eve “I’m Eddie, Eddie Munson at your service” the guy- Eddie, reached his hand out, eve took it ready to shake it but instead, Eddie bowed, lowering one knee and kneeling his head and pressing a kiss to her knuckles

“I’m…eve, friends call me evie.” She smiled widely

“Great to meet you eve” Eddie smiled “nice skates”

“Nice board” eve smiled gesturing to the board covered in stickers and scratches most metal bands that she didn’t know of, yet some she did

“Thanks.” Eddie smiled and they just kinda stared, neither wanting to leave the others presence “hey uh…do you wanna get coffee or somthing? I know this place nearby, uh- real good” he smiled

“Yeah, absolutely…let em change outta these” she smiled gesturing to the skates and pads

“Awesome.” Eddie smiled

Eddie speed walked away, attempting his absolute best to see cool, he ran up the biggest ramp where gareth and grant were hanging out, sharing a joint, Eddie’s eyes wide, gareth caught on first his eyes widening

“No way, no fucking way!” Gareth stood

“No fucking shit.” Grant followed much taller than gareth, typically Eddie would have laughed at that but he was too in shock

“Guys what the fuck she said yes ” Eddie grinned running a hand through his hair

“Dude, she is hot as hell ” grant laughed “no way she said yes to you”he scoffed

“No! You don’t get it she- she said yes, her names eve- and….oh my god.” Eddie grinned tapping the railing

“So- what when are you getting coffee?” Gareth asked

“Uh-…” Eddie glanced at a nonexistent watch

“Hey Eddie! I’m all done!” Eve smiled and waved

“Now” Eddie laughed he shoved his skateboard into gareth's hands “uh- tell Wayne I’m out- bring that home…or to the garage- either one bye!” Eddie grinned before sliding down the hill by his feet walking up to eve, purse on her shoulder and roller skates around her neck

“So…where are we heading?” Eve asked with a smile

#stranger things #steve harrington #eve harrington #steddie #eddie munson #trans steve harrington #transfem steve harrington #roller skating #skateboarding #ok i needa go I’m v proud of this bye #<33 #Ian writes

[berberriescorner]

Nobody's Gonna Know

(Part Two)

Characters: Yahya Abdul-Mateen II as himself x Black!reader (woc!reader), Michael B. Jordan as himself (appearance), and Kiana Ledé as “Jerrika” (appearance).

Summary: What happens when you realize what you’ve always wanted was right in front of your face the entire time?

Warnings: Profanity, daddy kink (you’re not surprised), smut, mentions of violence, drinking, and did I mention smut already😈?

Word Count: (Part Two) 4800+.

Inspired By:

The sound of his phone snapped Yahya out of the flashback. A smile crept across his face as he swiped to answer.

“Ain’t been gone but a minute. You missing daddy already, love?”

“You’re so annoying. I was calling to let you know I made it home safely.”

“Thank you, love. I wished you could’ve stayed one more night,” his tone was affectionate and sensual.

Yahya always made his words sound both rugged and soft with you. It was both erotic and sinfully sweet, causing butterflies to flutter inside you.

“You still there, mama?”

You cleared your throat, trying to hide that his voice was affecting you. Changing the subject, you continued, “There’s a kickback Friday. It’s at my sis’ house. You're coming, right?”

He smiled to himself, knowing he made you feel some type of way. In a raspy voice, he asked, “That depends. Are you staying the night afterward?”

“I’ll meet you at your house later in the night.”

“Why not just arrive and leave with me? Nobody’s going to suspect anything.”

“I would, but she invited Michael. He’s asked me to ride with him.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Are you mad? I can call back and make up an excuse.”

“That’s okay, love,” he answered in a curt tone.

“Doesn’t sound like it-.”

“I’m good. Listen, I got a few things to handle. I’ll hit you back later.”

Yahya ended the call, not giving you a chance to respond.

This shit ends Friday. I know just how to make him go ghost. I’m done playing games with this woman.

He scrolled through his contacts, tapping the name he was searching for. The phone trilled twice before he heard the familiar voice. Making small talk, Yahya waited for the perfect moment to put his plan in motion.

“Hey, Jerrika. How’s it going?

“Oh, yeah? That’s wassup. Listen, I was wondering. Do you have plans for Friday night?”

“Perfect. Be ready by eight. I want you to ride to this kickback with me.”

Yahya made more small talk, and she told him what she had been up to lately. As he listened, a twinge of guilt pulsed through his chest. His mind was riddled with second thoughts. Using her this way made him feel a bit guilty. He wanted to be truthful with Jerrika. Interrupting her mid-sentence, he explained his intentions for Friday night's kickback. To his surprise, she appreciated his honesty. Jerrika wasn’t shocked-they had known each other awhile. She had an inkling Yahya was attracted to his best friend. Not only was she aware of his feelings. Jerrika offered to help out in any way she could. Yahya spent a few more moments on the phone discussing the plan.

Lying in bed, he stared at the ceiling, hands folded behind his head. Thoughts racing through his head, he contemplated whether his plan would help or hurt things. He cleared his mind and closed his eyes, trying to fall asleep. Yahya’s phone dinged right as he started to nod off. Groaning, he snatched it from the nightstand. You had texted, “Not you hanging up on me mid-sentence. Goodnight to you too, mean ass.” Truthfully, he felt like a dick for abruptly ending the call. Also, for what he was about to pull Friday night. It felt like his only option that would give you the push needed. He quickly texted you back, “I’m sorry, mama. I promise to hit you first thing in the morning. Goodnight, love.”

Friday had come around much quicker than you anticipated. Your sis had hit you up early that morning. She begged for you to arrive several hours early to help set up. Being a helpful and dependable best friend, the request was granted. However, twenty minutes after your arrival, you started to regret it. 

The two of you hadn’t seen each other for a while. You were greeted with a lecture about not making time for girl's night lately. According to the crew, you had been neglecting your homegirls and spending too much time with your sneaky link. Defending yourself, you brought up the numerous times they brushed you aside for their new flavor of the month. To which they did not argue and immediately forgave you.

Believing you were off the hook, your best friend put you on the spot again. She grinned at you mischievously, “We cracked the case, sis.”

With a confused expression, you responded, “What the hell are you going on about?”

“Bitch, don’t play stupid.”

“I honestly have no clue what you’re talking about, sis.”

“We figured out who sneaky link is,” she smirked at you. “It’s about time you two dumbasses got together.”

You started to deny it, “What are you talking about-.”

“We know you and Yahya have been fucking around. Which one of your horny asses gave in first?”

You busied yourself with setting up the bar as you ignored her question. Snatching the liquor bottles and setting them down, your best friend crossed her arms, waiting for you to confess. Her foot tapped against the floor as the rest of your friends cocked their heads to the side. Rolling your eyes at the group of nosey ass women, you asked, “What makes you all think it’s Yahya?”

Each woman smirked at you until your best friend piped up, “If you're going to keep it low-key, don’t make a sound in your sexcapades while recording. Also, make sure your friends don’t know or follow him on social media.” 

Fucking Yahya and his pornographic IG story.

“Oh, it wasn’t just his mini-sex vid. I kick it with his homie. That little pic you posted? Yahya canceled plans with them that night. Naturally, he came to dick me down when plans fell through. I mentioned the pic, and we put two and two together.”

“Whatever, nosey ass Heffa. It’s not even that deep. We fuck around occasionally,” you snarked, rolling your neck.

“On occasion, my ass. You’ve been getting dicked down on the regular. None of us make it a habit to sleep with multiple people. Therefore that is a consistent dick down, and you know it.”

“Who else knows about us?”

“Pretty much anyone who knows what you sound like when you moan. Given that we were all roommates at one time, we, unfortunately, know what that shit sounds like. Your ass never could keep it down. Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with us,” she smirked.

“You bitches get on my nerves. I’m going home to finish getting ready.”

“Don’t leave mad, best friend! We’re honestly happy you two came to your senses. Finally locked his fine ass down.”

“One, I’m not mad. Two, he’s not my man. We fuck. That’s it.”

Your friends gave each other a knowing look, irritating you further. You snatched your keys from the Louis Vuitton handbag. “I gotta go for real. I need to be ready by the time Michael picks me up.” A multitude of gasps sounded in the room. Rolling your eyes, you braced yourself for more unwanted opinions.

“Does Yah’ know you’re rolling with Mike tonight?”

“Yes,” you answered exhaustedly.

“And he’s okay with that?”

“What part of that’s not my man do you all not understand? Besides, Michael and I are just friends. Yahya knows that. He doesn’t believe it, but that’s not my problem.”

Is that a little petty? Maybe, but I don’t want Michael, honestly. We’re just friends.  If he expects more, he’s in for a rude awakening. It’s not like Yah’s not out here, entertaining bitches. I’m not falling for the bullshit with any more men. Best friend or not, men lie all the time…okay maybe that’s not fair. I need to work on trusting men again. On second thought, no, fuck that shit. Single is the best way to be. No games. No lies. No cheating. No heartbreak. I just need that superb dick and toe-curling head.

The sound of fingers snapping in your face pulled you from your thoughts.

“You not even listening to us. Girl, stop lying to yourself and give that man a chance. Yahya’s not like your past relationships. He cares for you.”

“It always starts that way. I’m good with being what we are.”

Before she could continue to chastise you for being scared, you dipped out.

The evening was already turning sour. Sitting on your best friend's couch, you watched as Michael made small talk with a mutual friend. His eyes scanned the room, landing on you as he bit his lip, giving you a seductive smile. One of your girls nudged you, “ I saw that face you made when he looked away. Are you two into it? Or are you still mad that we got all in your business earlier? 

“I’m fine,” you lied.

She looked at you, not believing a word you said. It wasn’t just the man that had accompanied you to the party. Though that was where most of your frustration came from, you were also irritated that Yahya hadn’t shown up yet. His text throughout the week had been short and sweet. You were starting to feel like he was avoiding you.

“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you? Or am I going to have to force it out of you?”

Sighing loudly, you started, “While I didn’t appreciate being interrogated earlier, that isn’t my issue.”

“Bitch! Just tell me why you have a stank-ass attitude,” she teased.

“I would if your rude ass would stop interrupting me,” you shot back. “I think I pissed Yah’ off. We had a conversation Sunday night. I mentioned the kickback, and he offered to come and leave together. He started acting weird when I told him Michael had already asked me to ride with him. I don’t understand why he’s angry. I told Yahya we’re just friends. That I’d slide through afterward.”

“Your green ass. It doesn’t matter what you say. Though you’re not interested, I’m sure Yah’ knows Mike wants to knock you down…real bad.”

“Trust me, that’s abundantly clear now. Michael’s not getting one ounce of this pussy. He’s about to find that shit out real quick. This ninja kept trying to rub my thighs on the ride over here. I had to cross my damn legs just to get him off me.”

Just as your friend was about to respond, she gasped. You nearly caught whiplash, turning to stare in the same direction.

“What’s wrong with your dramatic ass-.”

Glancing toward the entrance, you saw the person you’d been searching for all evening. The fact that he wasn’t alone sent a tiny sliver of jealousy through your body. Shaking it off, you rationalize internally, “Chill, sis. That’s not your man. That could be just a friend.” It did very little to tamp down the mild bout of jealousy.

You will not be petty and use Mike to make him angry. That thought was stomped out as his guest turned, and you got a look at who she was. This is why I’m single. Friend my ass. You chuckled bitterly as Yahya and his company made their way over to you. Are they holding hands? Oh, okay. Bet it the fuck up! Don’t give him a reaction.  They’re all the same.  Fine ass. Lyin’ ass ninja. Yahya greeted you and your friend as you gave him an expressionless stare. Introductions were short and sweet, excusing yourself after. Though he had irritated you, Michael called you over at the right time. You could feel Yahya’s eyes boring into your back as you crossed the room.

Being bold and not taking the hint from earlier, he slipped his arm around your waist, tugging you closer. As he attempted to whisper sweet nothings in your ear, you made eye contact with Yahya. You watched as his jaw ticked, and he draped his arm around Jerrika, pulling her closer to his side. Her hand slid down from his chest and rested on the abs you had traced with your tongue just last weekend. Yahya watched as your eyes narrowed at the gesture and smirked at you. His face fell as he watched Michael kiss your cheek. The look of disappointment was enough for you to step away from Michael. “I have to go check on the bar, be right back.” It was enough to keep him from questioning why you removed yourself from him.

Quickly glancing over the bar, you made a beeline for the kitchen. All you wanted was time to pull it together and gather your thoughts. Yahya, however, had other plans. He stood at the kitchen entrance, fixing you with an angry stare. Crossing your arms, you returned his glare.

“What,” you spat, rolling your eyes.

Yahya’s head leaned back, “You and your boyfriend looking real cozy out there.”

You laughed bitterly, “Says the one that’s here with the woman that he claims he’s no longer fucking. Is that not what you told me last weekend, friend? The audacity to have the very bitch you say you don’t want all in my face.”

“I didn’t lie. I’m no longer sleeping with her. You came with a friend. I figured I could bring one as well.”

“Difference is I haven’t had sexual relations with my friend. Can you say the same,” you questioned.

“Whatever, man. You’re tripping.”

“Be honest with me, Yah’. Are you still sleeping with Jerrika?”

“I just watched that thirsty ass dude damn near suck on your neck, and you’re seriously sitting here questioning my loyalty? You keep accusing me of shit. It’s making me wonder if that’s due to a guilty conscience. Why trip? We’re not together, remember?”

“That’s what this about? A fucking title? How many times do I have to say it, Yahya? I don’t fucking want-.”

Your sentence came to a halt as Jerrika stepped into the kitchen.

“Pardon me for interrupting, but could you show me where the bathroom is?”

Feeling slightly guilty for stealing Yahya’s attention, you offered, “This my sis’ house. I’ll show you.”

Jerrika winked at Yahya and turned to follow you out of the kitchen. That looks like a disaster waiting to happen. He wondered if it was wise to leave you and his date unattended. Just as he was about to go and check on the two of you, Michael entered the room.

“Ay, bro. Where’s your sis at,” he asked, referring to you.

Through clenched teeth, Yahya answered, “More like a best friend. I know things about her that siblings wouldn’t share,” he smirked at the expression on Michael’s face. “She’s showing Jerrika where the bathroom is. They’ll be back shortly.”

“You make a good point. Maybe you could give me some advice on her. Maybe put in a good word for me?”

The look that crossed Michael’s face made Yahya feel uneasy. Stepping closer, he lowered his voice,  not wanting anyone to hear.

“You saw that picture she posted of whoever it was between her thighs?”

Yahya chuckled knowingly, “Oh yeah. I saw that post. She seemed to enjoy herself that night,” he smiled at Michael’s cluelessness.

“That’s what I’m saying. You’re her best friend. Put me on, bro. I’m trying to take her thick ass down.”

“She posted up with another dude, and you’re still trying to slide? I don’t think she gets down like that.”

“If I manage to steal his shortie, that’s his problem,” Michael boasted.

“So you think my friend bounces from dude to dude? Watch your mouth, little nigga. You don’t know her like that to be making assumptions,” Yahya barked, approaching Michael aggressively.

“Chill, bro. No disrespect-.”

You and Jerrika had entered the kitchen as things had started to get heated between Michael and Yahya. Trading a knowing glance with your best friend's date, the both of you got in between the two of them.

“What’s going on? Calm down,” you soothed Yahya as you unknowingly rubbed his arm. Jerrika tugged Michael backward as well. Not wanting to ruin your evening, Yahya lied, “We’re just having a debate about sports. You know how passionate I can get, love.”

He didn’t want to spend another minute in Michael’s presence. Turning to Jerrika, Yahya placed a hand on her back. 

“Let’s go get you that drink you asked for earlier.”

As they walked past Michael, he leaned in, mumbling something.

“Good luck trying to fill her man’s shoes. Bro pretty much got her locked down. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

You watched as he guided her to the bar, hand placed above her ass. There goes that damn jealousy. Get it together, bitch. It’s just a sneaky link. Michael interrupted your thoughts yet again. “Come on, beautiful. Let’s rejoin the party.” His hand cupped your side as he guided you toward the music. The song changed, and Michael wrapped his arms around your waist.

“This my shit,” he groaned in your ear.

He pulled you closer, singing the words against your neck. The irritation for this man grew stronger with every unwanted advance he gave. 

His thirsty ass is getting on my damn nerves. I’m deleting this man from everything as soon as I get to Yah’s. If I’m even still invited. That’s right. I still want the dick. Thirsty hoes be damned. 

Michael's hand groped your thighs as he pressed up against you. You started to push his hands away and check him but felt fingers wrap around your wrist. With one strong tug, your steps fumbled behind a very pissed-off Yahya. Your mind hadn’t fully finished processing what was happening. It wasn’t until after he yanked you into a guest bathroom, closing and locking the door, that you started to catch on. Yahya pressed you against the door as his hand circled your throat. Wild eyes bore into yours as his chest heaved. He took a few moments to inhale and exhale.

“I don’t give a fuck what we are. He’s done touching you from this point on,” he said in a low and gravelly voice.

“Yah-.”

“I’m serious, Y/N. Whatever the fuck you two got going on. It’s done.”

“Last I checked, you’re not my father, and I barely listen to him anyway. Worry about what the hell you got going on with Jamaica.”

“You know that’s not her name,” he smirked.

“Whatever that hoe’s name is. Worry about what she got going on. Not me.”

“Your stubborn ass. You know damn well I brought that girl just to piss you off. It’s clear that it worked.”

“I’m not the one that got jealous and snatched you up like a rag doll.”

“Fine. I have no issue admitting I’m jealous. I want you, mama. All to myself.”

“You have me, Yah’. I told you I don’t want him, and I’m not sleeping with anyone else.”

“Let me be clear. I want you, all of you. Give me a chance, mama. I’m not all those other men that fumbled your pretty ass. Tell me that’s not what you want. Look me in my eyes and say it.”

“What’s wrong with the way things are?”

“What the fuck are you scared of? You can’t honestly sit there and tell me you don’t want the same. If that’s the case, you wouldn’t be salty over Jerrika.”

Yahya was right, but you kept letting your fear of another heartbreak cloud your judgment. You attempted to deflect.

“We’re being rude to our guests. Let’s go back to the party and finish this discussion later.”

“No, that shit’s out the window. You’re not going back out there so he can feel all on you. I told him you were dealing with someone. I even wished him good luck at trying to steal you for himself. It looks like I have to let him know what the fuck is up.”

“What does that even mean-.”

His hand circled your neck again. Pushing you back against the door, Yahya’s mouth clashed with yours hungrily. There was no sense in fighting it. Your body had been yearning for his attention all night. You felt him bend forward into the kiss, his hands reaching to hoist you up. Thick thighs locked around his waist as he ground against you. The back of your head fell against the door whimpering as Yahya’s lips trailed from your neck to the top of your breast. His tongue made contact with your skin, teeth nipping at the exposed flesh.

He groaned against your soft skin, “You wear this sexy little dress for me? Or your boyfriend?”

“Fuck you, Yah’,” you moaned.

“Oh, I plan to, baby.”

Yahya continued to lick and suck at the tops of your breast as his free hand snaked underneath the hem of your dress. A guttural groan vibrated against the bathroom walls as he felt your bare, wet, silky flesh.

“You’ve been hanging around with that dumbass with no fucking panties on,” he growled.

“Yes, but I didn’t do this for him. At the last minute, I made up my mind that I wanted to leave with you. I did this for you, baby.”

“That’s what the fuck I thought.”

The most erotic moan fell from your lips as two fingers dove into your slick heat. You started to ride his fingers, crying out, “Yes! Baby.” 

Yahya sucked, nibbled, and groaned against your throat. “That’s it, mama. Let them hear you. I know you can be louder than that.” 

His fingers sped up, scissoring in and out of your dripping folds. The feeling became too much as your core started to tighten. He could feel your muscles squeezing around his digits. 

“That’s it, love. Let go. Come all over Daddy’s fingers.” He pushed deep enough, tapping your spot.

 “Oh, f-fuck. Yahya!”

Still pumping his long digits slowly, he watched you ride out your high. He whispered sweet praise into your ear, “That’s a good girl. You did good, baby.”

Slowly sliding his fingers from inside you, he licked his fingers clean. You watched in awe as your tongue slid across your bottom lip. He smirked, knowing your freaky ass wanted a taste. Cupping your chin, Yahya pulled you in for a sloppy kiss. Your tongues wrestled for control as your hands undid his belt. Yahya pulled back, smiling, “Here?”

“I can’t wait until we get home. I want you now.”

He watched you unbutton and unzip his jeans, using both hands to push his pants and underwear down. Yahya scrunched your dress around your waist as he lined up with your entrance. He slid the tip in, pausing afterward. Your eyes narrowed, “stop fucking teasing me.”

“I’ll give you this dick now, but you better not hold back. Your better scream my fucking name like you do when we’re alone. Let that little bitch out there know who owns this pussy.”

You gave him a frantic nod thrusting your hips, trying to slide lower onto his throbbing member. A whine echoed as he slapped your thigh, “I’m running this shit, brat.” Your mouth opened to respond sarcastically, but Yahya slammed inside you, leaving you breathless.

“Thought that would shut your ass up,” he growled.

Yahya thrust deeper and deeper, causing your eyes to roll back. He angled you to where his pulsing rod tapped against that special little sponge. Your heels dug against him, and your nails scratched at his back. You skyrocketed toward a release, crying out his name repetitively.

“Yahya, yes! Yahya, please! Daddy,” you screamed, shaking violently.

He slowed his strokes long enough to bring you back down again. Pushing at his shoulder, you signaled that you wanted down. Yahya assumed you couldn’t take anymore and placed you on your feet. He held onto your waist to help you regain composure. Once you were stable, he reached for his zipper, but you stopped him.

“Wait, baby.”

Yahya looked puzzled. That was until your hands pressed into his chest, shoving him against the door. Dropping to your knees, he started to understand what you meant. Your glossy lips brushed against the tip of his thick member. His breath hitched as you licked around it. Your hands rested on his thighs as you took every inch down your throat.

Yahya’s groan reverberated throughout the room, “Got damn. Fuck, just like that, mama.” You hummed around his dick, forcing another growl from him. No longer able to control himself, Yahya gave in to his animalistic needs. His hands dug into your hair as Yahya pistoned against the back of your throat. The more you gagged around him, the closer he came to a release. One hand trailed from his thigh down to cup his balls. Massaging them, Yahya fucked your throat faster.

“Fuck, mama. I’m about to bust.”

Knowing how to send him over the edge, you hummed around his length. His hips stuttered a few times as he called out your name, sending his release down your throat. He plucked you from the floor, shoving his tongue into your mouth.

“Get dressed. I’m taking your fine ass home,” he demanded, smacking your behind.

Thankful for your richly melanated skin, you could hide a blush as the two of you rejoined the group. It was evident that everyone had heard the two of you. Your friends looked at you with knowing looks. Even Jerrika was smirking at the pair of you. The only person who seemed to be bothered was, of course, Michael. Not knowing what to say, Yahya stepped in, announcing your goodbyes. He dragged you toward a smiling Jerrika.

“I’m good, Yahya. I can catch a ride with someone or Uber. You wore that poor woman out in a packed party. Take your lady home.”

“Wait, you know about us,” you questioned his date.

“Sorry boo, I was in on this whole, make her jealous scheme,” she giggled.

“I should be mad at you two, but it did give me the push I needed. I guess he’s my man now, or whatever.”

“Took your ass long enough.”

“Not too much on me. I got trust issues. You know that.”

Yahya pulled you into his side as you made your exit. Unable to help himself, he made a stop on the way out.

“Alright now, be easy, bro. Don’t worry about driving her home tonight. Daddy got her,” he smiled cockily at the pissed look on Michael’s face.

“Don’t be upset, bro. I told you, baby girl had a man.”

“That’s cool. I’m not really into hoes anyway.”

The room went eerily silent. You tugged at Yahya’s hand, begging him to ignore him.

“He’s just trying to get a rise out of you, Yah’. Just come with me, please. He’s not worth it.”

You had almost convinced him to turn the other cheek, but Michael added fuel to the fire.

“That’s right. Listen to your loose ass bitch.”

Acting quickly, you stepped between the two men.

“I got this, Yahya.”

He was aware that you were a little spitfire. Curiosity got the best of him, so he obliged, stepping back to let you handle your shit like a grown-ass woman. Spinning on your heels, you tilted your head back to look Michael in the eyes.

“You thought you ate with that, huh?”

He smirked, shrugging his shoulders. Proud of calling a woman out her name not once but twice. Stepping closer, your voice filled with venom.

“Stop pretending in front of all these folks, Mike. I was never giving a weak-ass man such as yourself a chance. I don’t know why your pride is so hurt. I’ve told you several times that this wasn’t going beyond friendship. What? You send me dick pics, and you think I’m trying to take that shit for a ride? What good is all that penis if you don’t know how to work it? That’s right, boo. The ladies have been talking. The word around town is your stroke game’s weak as fuck. I wouldn’t even let you get a lick, let alone fuck you.”

He sat there embarrassed and stunned by what you revealed to the room. Trying to save face, he made one last attempt to bring you down.

“Nobody checking for that fat ass bitch anyway.”

His hand slipped from your grasp before you could stop him. Yahya stomped over to Michael, sending one hard blow to his face. With just one punch, he knocked him out cold. Making his way back to you, Yahya grabbed your hand, kissing it.

“It had to happen, mama. My mouth will make it up to you when we get home," he pecked your lips, tugging you out the door, to his vehicle.

Yahya leaned in, breath fanning against your neck. His hand reached across your lap, clasping you into the seatbelt. Yahya playfully bit your jaw, grazing your breast as he pulled away. As he started to close your door, he rasped, "You might want to take a nap on the way home. I'm about to have you wrapped around me all night. In more ways than one."

I honestly don't know where all this came from. My imagination just ran with it and made a movie😂. Hopefully, you all enjoyed it as much as I did writing it💕. Feedback and reblogs are very much appreciated. Enjoy the rest of your day, lovelies!

Gif Credit: @abdulmateens, thanks again for allowing me to use it for my mood board💗.

Divider Credit: @firefly-graphics.

Tagging a few lovelies:

@sheabuttahwrites , @moebuttta , @darqchilddaydreamz

@alertyoulikeitsamber , @astoldbychae , @miyuhpapayuh

@sunshine-flower , @nightlywords7 , @4everbrookemarie

@delta7of96 , @novaniskye , @1andonlytashae

@shaolyninferno , @mcdesij , @willadean

@partygetsmewetter-x , @blackerthings , @peachbuttetfly

@theraieinfluence , @honestpreference , @queeniekiy

@tashawar , @skyesthebomb , @captainwithoutmakingitlove

#berberriescorner #nobody's gonna know #part two #daddy yahya #yahya abdul mateen ii #yahya abdul mateen ii fanfiction #yahya abdul mateen ii x black!reader #yahya abdul mateen ii x reader #black writer #black fanfic writer #black fanfiction #yahya fanfiction #yahya fic #yahya abdul-mateen ii fanfic #yahya abdul-mateen ii fanfiction #spotify

[one-more-fangirl]

al haitham—confusing man

al haitham confuses the shit out of you. always has, always will.

he has never been one to like the spotlight, his nightly pouts and grumbles about his new charge as the grand master acting grand master only highlight that fact (“why must they call for me at every hour of the day? i mean i can barely leave my office! they are such pests, honestly” he will deny ever whining, by the way). still, it’s a weird combination with how his “zero fucks given” at everyone else’s opinions of him.

the asshole—because he’s an asshole, one you’re in love with, but an asshole nonetheless—has the audacity to scoff at you every time you look over at him with furrowed brows and a concentrated shift in your eyes, as if you’re trying to decipher the most complicated scroll the akademiya has to offer. he scoffs because unlike you, he has no trouble at all understanding you and the things you do. granted, you make sense when this man, doesn’t.

we’ve established that you’re very much in love with haitham. the feeling is incredibly reciprocated. like, incredibly. he’s a bit stoic and he’s also a bit of a grumpy pants and a little shit, but he’s so soft (to your absolute surprise, not that you’re complaining). this is the guy that brushes off every crumb that’s left around your lips and then eats it, the guy that that plays footsie fights with you under the library and cafeteria tables, that opens the doors and pulls out the chairs for you, who glares at whoever makes you uncomfortable until they run away—and isn’t afraid of start verbal passive aggressiveness either—, and the guy that latches on to you every night and late afternoons when he gets out of his office.

this man is putty in your hands.

so why oh why, does he avoid your affection? this is a relationship, a two-way road, he deserves to receive as much as he gives. yet in the month and a half that your relationship has been a thing—after years of pinning, kaveh would like to add—al haitham has refused to accept any other form of affection that wasn’t holding hands, a brush of your hand through his hair or cheek, or a quick hug.

"why are you like this?" you all but blurt at the cafeteria.

al haitham looks up from his book, and scoffs.

"don’t scoff at me, i’m serious!" you whine, "you’re looking so pretty there reading whatever book that is and i wanna shower your face with kisses, but i know you won’t let me! you’ve no idea how hard it is to contain myself."

"i would’ve thought you’d have more self-restraint," he comments, returning to his pages.

a huff leaves your lips, and if al haitham didn’t know any better, he’d think you’re going to leave it at that. but he’s smart, and he knows better, so he’s not surprised when not even ten seconds later, you’re back on track.

"it’s just- it’s weird! ‘cause i know you’re not ashamed of me, and i know you don’t like it when others meddle in your life because “it’s not their business”," you rant, adding a little imitation of your boyfriend, who is looking at you again, amusement swirling in his eyes, "but you never give a shit about doing what you want!"

as you ramble on about how weird he is, and how you don’t understand why he’s so against of kisses, al haitham only stares at you. the tips of her ears have started to grow hot, and he’s overly aware of how the heat is probably starting to leave a rosy trail on his neck and cheeks. he fights the urge to hide his face behind his book.

"i mean at this point, i’m starting to think you’re scared!" when you say it, it comes out with a chuckle, a “ridiculous, i know” message behind it. and that’s when al haitham chokes on air and is attacked by a coughing fit.

you blink thrice. one, two, three. three times. boyfriend’s dying next to you, you just stare. by the time he’s done and over—no thanks to your help—your brain cells have finally decided to connect. his book is usually lower than that, his ears and red and it is not because of the coughing, and he’s avoiding your eyes. you soften them in response, reaching a hand to take his.

"you don’t have to be scared, baby. it’s okay," your smile is understanding, and alhaitham hates it.

his other hand runs through his hair and falls on his face, the book forgotten on his lap. whether he’s frustrated or trying to hide his embarrassment, who knows. in the end, he sighs. he seems to have accepted his fate, and coming clean should prove to be the smartest move.

so, he turns to you, and still hesitant, meets your eyes. it’s rare to see this man flustered, the fact that it’s because of something he has to tell you sparks a tiny smugness in your chest, tingling. small smirk tugging, you sink your teeth. keep it in, this is serious.

"so," he starts, "i uh- i’ve never... i wanted to- shit," alhaitham ends up clearing his throat, his ever growing blush taking up most of his face now, "i wanted our first kiss to be special. because i’ve never kissed anyone so i wanted to make sure i did it right."

awe. he’s adorable. i mean look at him, still forcing himself to look you in the eyes, even when it’s painfully obvious he wants to take the book back and hide behind it forever. worse, he’s spotted your small smirk, and he’s already frowning and taking his hand back.

"no, no, no, wait!" you chase him when he speeds away, having to run to catch up to him. this asshole can really get away when he wants to, "haitham, hold on, come back! i’m not making fun of you."

curse his long legs, he’s already out of the place and in the hallways when you finally make him stop. stubborn as ever, and a little bit hurt, he looks ahead. curse his height, too.

"i’m not making fun of you," you repeat, taking his hand again, "it’s just, i can’t help but feel giddy that you’ve never had your first kiss, and that you want it to be me," the small smile shows up once more, "but you don’t have to worry about making it special, because anything with you is."

he doesn’t miss a beat.

"that’s so cheesy," his nose curls back as he looks at you.

you scoff.

"says the guy who’s so worried about kissing me special."

"fuck you."

"no, i want that to be special too."

#al haitam x reader #al haitham #al haitham genshin #al haitham fluff #al haitham x y/n #al haitham x you #genshin impact #genshin impact fluff #genshin scenarios #genshin impact x reader fluff #genshin x reader #genshin x y/n #genshin impact x you #genshin fluff