#until the summer after eighth grade they Snapped

[singtomemylove]

ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɢʟɪᴛᴛᴇʀꜱ ɪꜱ ɢᴏʟᴅ (ᴏɴʟʏ ꜱʜᴏᴏᴛɪɴɢ ꜱᴛᴀʀꜱ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏʟᴅ)

Pairing: Klance

Summary: He’d never been in Miami before. Hell, he’d never left New York before. But maybe it wasn’t all bad. Shiro seemed like a cool guy; he was friendly and welcoming and didn’t seem to mind the fact that Keith was now sharing his room with him. He was even going to introduce Keith to his friends. The thought made Keith slightly anxious. Then again, why should it? He was going right back to New York at the end of August. If it all went to shit tomorrow, at least he’d only have to spend three months with no friends. And in those three months, he wasn’t at school or any other place that required having friends to be tolerable. Yeah, maybe it wasn’t all bad. 

Warnings: cursing, let me know if there’s anything I missed.

“A whole summer.” Keith groaned over the phone. “Yes, that’s what Krolia said. Just because she thought she could waltz back into my life again does not make her my damn mother.” 

“Are you sure you’re not just being over-dramatic?” Luka, his best and only friend since the eighth grade, asks. 

“Positive.” Keith grits his teeth. “It’s a three hour flight. To Miami. From New fuckin’ York. This is bullshit.” 

“I live in Miami, dipshit.” Luka reminds. Keith feels his eyebrows furrow. He forgot about that part. 

He’d met Luka over an online game, which, okay, maybe wasn’t the most trustworthy way of getting to know people. That never stopped Keith, though. He bounced from foster home to foster home for a while, from the ages five to seventeen. Maybe internet weirdos weren’t his biggest worry. 

His Dad was a firefighter, back in Texas. His Mom, though she’d never actually been a mother, left when he was born. Until now, that is. She finally decided she wanted a kid, when Keith was seventeen. 

“When are you leaving?” Luka snapped him from his thoughts. She was good at that. 

“Tomorrow.” Keith admitted. 

“And you’re only packing now? What the fuck, Keith?” 

“I was in denial, okay?!” He tried to justify, but she was right. 

“Jesus Christ—a whole summer and you’re only packing now? Do—are—can you—what the fuck.” He could imagine her face palming right now. 

“I have most of it done!” 

“Where are you even staying?” 

“With her best friend from high school, and their family. They have a son, who’s like, twenty something. He’s also going to stay with them for the summer. Pretty sure he grew up there, or something. I don’t know, I stopped listening.” 

“Okay. That’s..rough, but manageable.”

“Easy for you to say.” 

“Hey! I’m trying to help you out here, dickhead.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Keith stuffed more clothes into a suitcase. 

“What’s the family like?” 

“I don’t know. A woman and her wife and their adopted son. The son’s the son I was talking about—“

“No, really?”

“Bitch.” 

“Dumbass.” 

They were in a comfortable silence after that as Keith packed.

“At least there’s no time difference.” Luka broke the silence.

“Yeah. I don’t have anything against the beach or anything, but I’d really prefer to deal with a ridiculous amount of sun in a way that’s not against my will, so…” He trailed off. 

“I get it. How bad can it really be, though?”

Bad. It can be really bad, and Keith should’ve known it. After the chaos that was walking through an airport, Keith was entirely sure that he’d lost his phone somewhere between leaving the house and getting to where he needed to be. He thanked God or whoever’s up there when he’d realized it was in his back pocket. 

The plane ride had been boring at best, but that was the least of Keith’s worries. 

His main worry, which could be deemed a pretty important one, was that he had no clue what Krolia’s friend looked like.

He waited anxiously at baggage claim after grabbing his luggage. He looked around, trying to spot a family of two or three looking around for an eighteen year old boy.

He didn’t find one.

Shit, he thought. What the fuck am I supposed to do?

He nearly jumped out of his own skin when he felt someone tap his shoulder. 

“Sorry!” A woman, with dyed blonde highlights on her shoulder length brown hair, apologized. “Are you Keith? Kogane?” She asked, staring up at him. She was pretty short, maybe 5’1 or 5’2. 

“Er—Yeah. I am.” 

“You’re Krolia and Texas’s kid! You look just like them.” She smiled, as if remembering something.

“Texas?” Who the hell was Texas? 

“It’s what we used to call your dad. We all went to high school together, and he had his heavy accent, so we all called him Texas.” She explained, seemingly able to understand what he was thinking. “I’m Mary. My wife’s name is Hana. She’s in the car with Shiro. You’ll like him, he’s not too far from your age.” She introduced herself. He assumed Shiro was her son. 

She lead him to their car, and he quickly put his suitcase and duffel in the trunk before getting into the backseat. 

A man, with black hair—minus a section in the front, which was pure white—was sitting there. He smiled warmly as Keith buckled his seatbelt. 

“Hiya there, Keith.” Hana said from the driver’s seat. “How’s your mom been recently?” 

“She’s fine.” He said awkwardly as he stared at his shoes. They were completely white, minus rainbow stripes on the midsoles of them. 

“Have you ever been to Miami?” She asked. 

“No.” He shook his head. He didn’t miss how Mary lightly smacked Hana’s arm, giving her a look. Hana didn’t ask anymore questions. 

It was a quiet ride, minus the soft sound of the radio playing the 2010’s pop music. 

When he got to his new home for the summer, Shiro grabbed his duffel for him. 

“Thanks.” He murmured, and Shiro replied with: “You’re welcome.” 

They walked up the porch steps and into the house. 

“You don’t mind sharing a room, do you?” Hana asked after a moment. 

He shook his head. 

“Perfect. You’ll be staying up in Shiro’s room. I know you boys will get along.” She shot him a large grin. “You’re not too far off in age. You’re eighteen, right? Shiro’s twenty-two. It’s not too far off.” 

And she was right; it wasn’t. 

He walked up the creaky stairs and followed Shiro to his room. 

It wasn’t a small room, and maybe even a bit bigger than average. There were two beds in the room, and he could tell that the room was basically divided in two. 

“Hello,” Shiro introduced himself. “I’m Shiro. You’re from New York, right?” 

He gave a small nod, feeling awkward already. 

“Nice to meet you, Keith. There’s space for your clothes in the dresser; I moved all my stuff into the closet.” He gestured towards a dresser against the wall. 

“Thanks.” Keith responded. 

“No problem. Did you eat dinner yet?” He asked. 

“Yeah. Before my flight.” Keith replied. It was true, he had eaten. 

“Great. Do you wanna go to the beach tomorrow? I’m meeting my friends there at 11:00. I think you’ll like them, they’re pretty cool.” 

Keith didn’t like the idea. He could barely handle this, how was Shiro expecting him to meet a whole group of people? 

Nevertheless, he nodded slowly. “Thanks.” 

“No problem.” Shiro smiled again. 

Keith checked the time on his phone. 8:42 PM. Not too far from nine. He normally didn’t go to sleep this early, but he didn’t know what else to do. He could unpack, but he didn’t want help from Shiro and it would be awkward to just have him watch. 

“I’m gonna head downstairs. You okay to unpack?” Shiro asked. Keith gave him a quick nod, and Shiro walked out of the room. Keith mentally thanked him. 

He surveyed the room for the first time. The walls are white, with a popcorn ceiling and a fan in the middle of the ceiling. 

The left side of the room, seemingly now Shiro’s side of the room, had a bed with a black duvet and gray pillows. Next to the bed was a dark brown wooden nightstand. There was another white door, which seemingly led to a closet.

On the right side of the room, which was now seemingly Keith’s, had an identical twin sized bed, this one with red duvets and black pillows. Keith pulls back the duvet, nodding to himself as he proves that the sheets are also black. His side of the room also had a dresser and a nightstand. Against the wall that separated the room from the hallway was a bookshelf, filled with a bunch of books. 

Keith sets his suitcase and duffel back on the bed, opening both of them. He unpacked his clothes, organizing them in the dresser. He set his toiletry bag on top of the dresser, the dark gray coloring looking not too bad against the dark wood of the dresser. 

He plugs his phone charger into the outlet in between his bed and nightstand, plugging in his phone and setting it on said nightstand. 

He kneeled on his bed, looking out of the blinds of the window that his bed was next to. 

The window faces the road, and there’s several more houses on the street. 

The sound of the door opening took all of his attention as he turned to look. But instead of Shiro or his Moms, it was two cats instead. One black cat and one cat was a deep orange. Both cats padded into the room, and he got off the bed and kneeled down. The two cats rushed to him, sniffing his fingers before letting him pet them. The orange cat looked almost red due to the setting sun shining on its’ coat. 

He vaguely remembered Krolia telling him about two cats. He looked at their collars, the tags on them reading their names. The orange-red cat was named ‘Red’. Keith chuckled at that. Even better, the black cat was named ‘Black’. 

Original, Keith thought to himself. 

He sat down fully, letting the two cats crawl into his lap. He liked them. They didn’t talk or demand any kind of social interaction from him. They wanted pets and cuddles and that was it. 

After a few minutes, they both pad out into the hallway, Red following Black. Keith crawled into bed, checking his phone one final time. Seeing no new notifications, he set his phone down on the nightstand before rolling over and falling asleep.

He’d never been in Miami before. Hell, he’d never left New York before. But maybe it wasn’t all bad. Shiro seemed like a cool guy; he was friendly and welcoming and didn’t seem to mind the fact that Keith was now sharing his room with him. He was even going to introduce Keith to his friends. The thought made Keith slightly anxious.

Then again, why should it? He was going right back to New York at the end of August. If it all went to shit tomorrow, at least he’d only have to spend three months with no friends. And in those three months, he wasn’t at school or any other place that required having friends to be tolerable. Yeah, maybe it wasn’t all bad. 

A/n: going crazy with a new series

#klance fic #Klance au #Klance #vld #voltron legendary defender #voltron #keith kogane #lance mcclain

[allthetea]

the first tea that i'm going to spill starts with these infamous four words: so there's this guy.

let's call this guy aaron. aaron is a senior (i'm a freshman), and i really like him. i've been friends with his sister since seventh grade, but i didn't meet him until the end of eighth grade. i had to practice singing a solo for a chorus concert, and my chorus teacher asked me to go sing for her high school chorus first period. so i was terrified, as any eighth grader would be in this situation. i was sitting there talking to one of the only people i knew in the class, let's call her allie. remember her, because she'll be important later on. so i sang my solo, and i did pretty well. i was walking out, and aaron went out into the hallway to throw away his gum as i was leaving. he told me that i did really good, which meant a lot to 13-year-old me.

skip ahead to the weekend after, when we had our chorus show where i was singing my solo. i was rehearsing, and he came through the auditorium with one of his friends. they stopped and sat in the front row until i finished singing, then stood up and clapped and yelled and all the things. he was the one who started the standing ovation after i performed during the concert. he was also singing in it, and middle and high school had a song together. everyone was getting on stage, and he came up next to me and smiled, pointed at me, and just said "it's you." and i pointed back and did the same thing, and then we went on with the show.

that summer, i got snapchat. one day i was sitting there on my phone and i got a notification that aaron had added me. i added him back, and waited for him to snap first. he snapped me almost immediately, and we were sending full-face snaps back and forth and all this stuff. i ended up deleting my snap because it was taking up too much of my time, but he was in my chorus class at the beginning of this year.

we got closer through chorus, and ended up exchanging numbers because i challenged him to a game of cup pong. we never really texted much, but we did play games a few times.

later on, we went to a chorus audition together. it was me, him, four other girls, and two other guys. we were all hanging out together, and one of the girls happened to be allie. remember her? she admitted to all the girls that she's had a crush on aaron since third grade. we all encouraged her and told her she should shoot her shot, but she hasn't so far. so now, i can't tell any of these girls about the crush on aaron. me and aaron played imessage games together all day that day, plus we talked a lot on the bus.

nothing majorly important happened until about a week ago. we were in chorus together preparing for our big show, and he has a solo in it. he was singing his solo, and we locked eyes. we held eye contact through the entire song and the next two songs, until my friend started talking to me. later on, during baby it's cold outside, we started looking at each other again. we were singing, and the boys had the line "gosh your lips look delicious." when he sang that, he looked down at my lips and winked at me. we kinda flirted through the rest of the class until we had to leave.

nothing happened through the next couple of days, until thursday. chorus was optional unless you had to make up time, but we both just came because we wanted to. so it was the two of us in there, plus about four other people. we sat together and talked through the whole class. he told me how it's his last chorus class ever, and we talked about how much it sucks that his other solo for the concert got cut from the set. we walked up the steps together to go to third period, and he was singing this song. i asked him what the song was, and he told me. the song is "a life where we work out" by flatland cavalry, and he told me i should learn to play it on the violin. we kept talking until we got to third period.

last night, we had our chorus show. we flirted and talked before the show and during the intermission, and i got up the nerve to text him after. and now, it's been 17 hours and i haven't gotten a response.

mixed signals suck. boys, don't do this to a girl. please.

#love #romance #mixed signals #boys #basketball boys #music #flatland cavalry #a life where we work out #him #i love him #chorus #tea #drama

[apocalypticgargoyle]

— MY MOTHER'S BOYFRIEND'S SON. stepbro!dream (18+)

"Okay bear with me please gene; stepbro!dream x reader where she flirts with him and hella crosses lines and plays with his head until he says fuck it and bangs her. like... alot of lead up and messing around and sexual tension please please please. you're the only dream nsfw writer I trust"

cw: nsfw (minors dni), smut, masturbation, fleshlight use, degradation, asphyxiation, shower sex, edging, spit, pretty much just filth

wc: ~4160

You tossed your bag through the front door of your mother’s house with a small grunt, the summer heat trailing a path of sweat down your back as you finally stepped into the air conditioning. You tiredly rubbed your eyes and headed towards the kitchen, your foot catching on a hard object and sending you to the floor. You groaned from your spot on your ass, kicking the heavy box away from you in frustration.

“You okay?” A familiar voice called to you, snapping your attention to the tall figure emerging from the darkness of the hallway. You shrunk away from him as you struggled to recognize who he was as he pulled you up by your forearm. “God, you smell like a fucking mall,” he groaned as you pushed away from him.

With your newfound distance, you could finally focus on his face, the familiarity of his features only shining through in his eyes. “Clay?” You whispered, making him angle his head at you like you were crazy. “What the fuck are you doing in my house?” You asked, brushing off your shorts.

You hadn’t seen him in years. In fact, the last time the two of you had talked was when he’d closed your fingers in the seal of his middle school locker on the last day of eighth grade. That boy you once knew was long gone, only to be replaced by a six-foot-something man.

He perked an eyebrow at you. “I’m just moving my dad in. Chill out,” he grumbled, shoving his fists in the front pockets of his jeans. The furrowed look you gave him made his soft lips curl into a sly smirk. “No one told you about our parents?” You reached to pinch your own arm, hoping that the long drive home had left you tired and delirious. The sting of your fingers came but the image before you didn’t bleed away to the image of your bedroom ceiling. Instead, Clay watched you in slight amusement, letting his shoulder press against the wall beside him. “You’re still so fucking weird,” he joked, his voice so much deeper than you remembered.

“Doesn’t your dad have his own place? Why does he have to mooch off my mother?” You bit, grabbing your bag and kicking the box further out of your way. You brushed past him as you headed down the hallway. He reached for your bag, slipping it out of your hands and following you to your room. If you weren’t so dead tired from the drive, you would have yelled at him.

At your question, a low chuckle fell from his lips in a condescending way. “Doesn’t your mom have her own money? Why does she have to mooch off my father?” He shot back, making you roll your eyes. After the two of you entered your dusty childhood room, you turned on your heel, pulling your bag from his grasp and glaring into his cocky gaze.

You huffed slightly. “Of course she does. Don’t you think having a boyfriend at her age is a bit…” you trailed off, breaking from his sights as his sly grin began to stretch further.

You tossed your bag on the ridiculous pile of stuffed animals and throw pillows you once believed were necessary as Clay plopped down into your desk chair, letting his green eyes linger around the room at your various Tiger Beat posters with the magazine creases still in the middle. In the dim pink lights of your room, his features were soft as shadows shaped his cheekbones and bathed his blond hair in an almost glossy shine.

His eyes narrowed slightly at one of the posters. “I mean, I’m not in love with the idea of my dad hooking up with my childhood crush’s mom but-”

You cut him off, turning away from your bag to notice him staring at your ass. “Awe, what?” You cooed, making him roll his eyes.

He wet his lips with a soft grin, completely unbothered at the fact that you caught him. “That’s beside the point.”

You hummed in response, returning to your task of unpacking. “How long are you staying?” You asked, ignoring the slight flutter in your stomach at the ease of his confession. The Clay you had known could barely say three words to you about something like that without going beet red and walking away. A memory of his mom setting up playdates for the two of you flashed into your mind as your smile threatened to leave with the pang of guilt settling into your shoulders.

“I dunno. I’m just supposed to help him settle,” he answered. You could picture him shrugging behind you. “What about you?” He continued, but part of you figured he already knew.

You made sure to toss your underwear into his line of vision as you continued to sort your clothes. “For the summer. You should stay too,” you responded, trying to hide the meddling tone of your voice. He inhaled quietly, the chair creaking as he leaned back a bit more. You grabbed a few items, turning to walk towards him. His eyes followed your movements carefully, unsure of what you were going to do next.

You leaned over him, setting what you were holding on your desk. You were close enough to him that you could smell the faint scent of his shampoo and practically hear his heart hammering in his chest. “I hear it’s gonna be a hot one this year,” you added coyly as you stepped back to make eye contact with him. His whole body tensed at the little distance between the two of you.

Something fell off your desk, the puzzle pieces seeming to fit together without you even really trying. Both of you turned to look at the object before you dropped to your knees in front of him to grab it. You fought not to giggle maliciously at how easy it was to flip his attitude. He was completely still, clenching his jaw as you looked up at him through your eyelashes. His hands seemed to be glued to the arms of your chair as if any slight movement from him would backfire.

You put your hand on his thigh as you stood up, feeling him instinctively flex under your palm. How fucked would it be if you got with your mother’s boyfriend’s son? How could they be together after that? You thought.

No. Your mind twisted. You wanted this for yourself. A toy; a project for the summer.

“Maybe you can help me pick out a bikini sometime?” You oozed, keeping your body near his.

Much to your dismay, he seemed to snap out of his daze, sending you a small tut of his voice and standing up. “Yeah yeah. Goodnight,” he muttered, waving his hand in your direction as he left you to sneer to yourself, thinking about how simple it would be to make his pants almost uncomfortably tight. Or how good it would feel when he finally had had enough.

And that’s exactly what you set out to achieve.

The following weeks were various forms of subtle flirting, making sure his eyes were watching whatever you did when the two of you were in the same room, and brushing your bodies against each other just to get enough friction to keep him interested.

Yet, even with the subtleties of your actions, things between the two of you began to heat up. Fast.

You had come home early one day, loudly dropping your keys in the bowl by the door to alert anyone who was home of your presence. You knew where your mother and Clay’s dad were, but Clay’s whereabouts were a mystery. Part of you hoped he was home to give you something to do. As you thundered up the stairs towards his room, the soft moans coming from behind the wood halted your steps. A flush of heat burst through your body as you froze, trying to listen to what he was mumbling.

Quietly, you pressed your back to the wall beside his door, covering your mouth as a blush crept to your cheeks, listening to him moan your name in a slur of praises. You clenched your thighs together, trying not to gain any pleasure out of listening to him whimper about you doing God knows what to himself.

You pushed the door open slightly, revealing Clay with his fist curling in his hair, chin raised in bliss as he chewed on his lip, squeezing his eyes shut as his cheeks burned pink with stimulation. The room was warm, the vision of his hand bobbing a fleshlight up and down on his cock doing nothing to cool your already heated senses. He moaned your name again and you spoke up with a soft tsk. “What am I gonna do with you?” You joked.

His eyes snapped open, anger rushing to his face as he saw you. “What are you doing?” He barked, pulling his covers over himself. Your eyes traced over the freckles dotting his bare chest and shoulders.

You wet your lips, taking a step closer. “What am I doing? What were you doing?” You mused with a snide grin. He rolled his eyes, beginning to get up and shove you out but you sat on the edge of his bed, pushing him back into his spot against his pillows.

His teeth clenched. “Get out,” he nipped, making you shake your head. His green irises were still lust-blown, his chest glistening with a sheer layer of sweat. Despite his protests, he didn’t push you away as your fingers hooked around the hem of his sheets, pulling them away from his body and wrapping your hand around the fleshlight. He fought to avoid your eyes, one of his hands moving to settle under one of his pillows, the other tightening around your wrist to halt your movements with the toy. “Don’t fuck with me,” he warned, eyes ablaze with an almost unreadable expression.

You nodded silently, quirking an eyebrow at him as you moved his heavy hand to settle on the inside of your thigh, giving him something to hold onto. “If you’re going to moan my name like that, at least include me,” you jested, pumping the toy in your hand a few times up and down his length. He let a long exhale trickle from his lips, his fingers softly digging into what flesh he could reach of your thigh.

As a moan stuttered from his mouth cautiously, you leaned forward, letting a strand of your spit land in the mix of whatever lube he was using and his cum. His head dropped deeper into his pillows with a groan at the sight and the few movements you gave the toy. You wanted to use your hand, but the voice in the back of your mind was viciously intent on getting him off like the perv he was. “Clay, you’re such a mess for me,” you whispered, your eyes dancing from his cock slipping in and out of the toy up to his eyes as he looked away from you in soft embarrassment.

He stifled another groan, eyelid fluttering shut again as you picked up your pace. Heat pooled in your gut at the sight of the large man getting this worked up at just the thought of you. He had been already so painfully hard and honestly could you blame him. You had been prancing around in next to nothing, cooing his name and rolling over his lap whenever you had the chance. You were almost disappointed it had taken you this long to catch him in the action of relieving the tension you were so dead set on building between the two. Maybe you were more disappointed in the fact that he still had yet to press against you and completely ruin you for the way you had been acting.

His blunt nails were digging into your skin, his hips bucking into the toy as he searched for more relief. Your mouth watered at the sight of him fisting the pillow beneath his head, teeth biting into his lower lip as you worked on him. Your body ached, wishing it was actually you who his cock was buried in rather than the toy. “Such a good boy. You don’t have to be quiet, Clay,” you coaxed with a gentle tone, making him moan at your praise. He uttered your name, his eyes finally focusing on yours as if the embarrassment had finally subsided.

You chewed the inside of your cheek, twisting the toy as you pumped it down his shaft, quickening your pace. You could practically see him throbbing, begging for you to tell him to cum as the fleshlight gushed around his cock. His moans of pleasure were sweet and raspy as if his voice was worn out already from calling out your name before you had gotten there.

Clay pushed himself to sit up, his hand sliding deeper into your skirt as he buried his face in the cook of your neck. Your free arm hooked around his shoulder, continuing to pump him with your other hand. His knuckles pressed against your underwear, dragging against your sensitive core as his lips pressed against your collarbone. You could tell by the shaky way he was mumbling your name that he was close. “You’re so wet,” he groaned into your hair, teeth nipping at your shoulders.

Before the two of you could finish each other off, the front door opened with a loud creak, snapping your attention from each other and seemingly sucking the air out of the room. Your mother’s voice echoed through the house and you jumped away from each other. Clay pushed you towards the door as he pulled on his sweatpants, gesturing for you to go.

You slipped out of his room, trying to bite back the grin on your face, knowing full well that the blush across his cheeks was from you.

“There you are. Didn’t you hear me calling?” Your mother asked, unloading whatever she had bought from the store alongside Clay’s dad. You shook your head quietly as Clay entered the room. She perked an eyebrow at the two of you. “Why are you so sweaty?” She asked him.

He sent her a shrug, grabbing one of the bags and slipping past you. His body left the phantom sensation in your mind of what could have unfolded if you had just a bit longer alone. “I was working out,” he answered nonchalantly.

His father hummed. “Any PRs?”

You could almost scoff at how easily Clay was conversing with the two as if he hadn’t just been balls deep in a sex toy and on the verge of fingering you. His eyes flashed to you almost mockingly. “Nope, not really.”

That night, you were wide awake, unable to get the image of Clay’s body out of your mind. He’d been so needy, almost like he wanted you to find him in such a state. Your core ached at the thought of his breath against your skin, his teeth threatening to mark you, take you as his own.

All that under your mother’s roof.

Your door opened, Clay’s figure slipping into the darkness as he quietly shut the door behind him. Your eyes widened, beginning to protest but his hand clamped over your mouth to silence you. Excitement pulsed through you in anticipation as he climbed over you, his knee sinking into the mattress before he laid beside you as if he was in a hurry. His hand moved. “What the fuck are you doing?” You snapped with a hushed tone. “Our parents are across the hall, Clay!”

He shushed you, looping his hands around the backs of your knees to pull you onto your back again. His hand covered your mouth again, body covering your own as his fingers slipped into your waistband. “Payback,” he whispered deviously. You moaned against his hand as his fingers began to circle your sensitive heat. He wasn’t as soft with you as you were him, maybe that’s what you liked so much. “What the fuck were you thinking, walking in on me?” he groaned, driving one of his fingers into you.

Your body fought to curl around him, hips rising to his touch as his palm gave you more friction. From behind his hand, you whimpered his name, biting down on the skin accessible to you as he pumped his finger in and out of you before heeding to your weak requests for more of him. He couldn’t help but grind his hips against the inside of your thigh as he added another digit, curling his fingers inside of you to coax out more of your noises.

He moved, letting his tongue swipe against your neck, teeth nipping at your earlobe as your dumb mutterings were muffled by his hand. Your fingers moved to knot into his soft t-shirt, basking in the feeling of his body against yours as he pressed a moan into your neck. He picked up his pace as his thumb began to toy with your clit.

There was a soft knock on your door, halting the two of you in your positions yet Clay didn’t stop playing with you. His arousal pressed against your thighs as his fingers continued to coax your orgasm, his hot breath swirling over your skin as he buried his face in your hair again. He moved his hand so you could answer.

“Yes?” You called, voice cracking slightly as Clay reached a sensitive spot deep in your core, his teeth sinking into your shoulder.

Your mother cleared her throat on the other side of the door. “Who are you talking to?” She asked, voice an octave higher than a whisper. Your leg moved further up Clay’s body, driving his fingers deeper into you.

You swallowed a gravely moan threatening to give away your actions. “I’m on the phone, sorry!” You called back, mimicking her volume.

She hummed in a slight disappointment. “Alight. Just keep it down so you don’t wake Clay,” she responded, making you want to laugh as he rutted against your leg again.

After she finally left, Clay’s hand returned to your mouth, stifling what he could of your begging. “Little whore. What if mommy saw you like this?” He groaned, a darkness in his voice that made your toes curl. He picked up his pace, a furrow of concentration urging to break through his sarcastic and devious expression, heavily intent on getting you off from just his words and digits.

You clenched around his fingers, back arching to meet your chest with his as your hands slipped into his hair, finishing on his hand.

The next few days, your legs were sore from the memory of Clay's hands that night, his words in your ear and his lips on your neck. Avoiding your desire to take things between the two of you was next to impossible with the way he’d look at you across the dinner table or bump into you in the hallway, making sure to grab your ass. But despite his obvious advances, Clay seemed to be stepping around sleeping with you during the day, ignoring your flirting and lude hand movements around him.

Which is exactly the reason why you were prancing around in something only an Icing employee would refer to as a shirt while he mowed the lawn. You made sure to lay out in his line of vision as he stopped to talk to one of the neighborhood boys, both of them looking in your direction as you eyed Clay over your sunglasses quickly.

As he spoke, he pulled the hem of his shirt up to wick away the sweat from his forehead, knowing full well you caught a full glimpse of his chest.

Despite being covered in grass with the slight tinge of a sunburn across his nose, he was gorgeous.

You stood up from your perch, walking towards the two men who watched your every step until you were directly in front of them. The man talking to Clay over the white picket fence was a bit shorter than him, his brown hair shaggy and in his grey eyes as he talked, leaning his elbows between the posts. You shook the boy’s hand as Clay introduced him to you, making sure you leaned a bit closer to Karl when he talked just so you could amp Clay up a bit.

His eyes were trained on you as you asked Karl when he had moved in and who he was staying with, your sights focusing on Karl’s as you pretended you couldn’t feel the burn of Clay’s attention. Clay had let your flirting go as far as inviting Karl over for dinner in the future before he stepped in, making some excuse about how the two of you had a dog to feed, gesturing you inside.

“He seems sweet,” you mused, as he stepped into the house behind you. He grunted in response, heading towards the bathroom and avoiding your gaze. “I think my mother will really like him too. Don’t you?” You called after him innocently. You could hear him muttering something and you decided to follow him.

You popped the bathroom door open, making Clay turn towards you lazily as he tugged his shirt over his head, throwing it on the floor beside your feet as the room grew steamy from the hot water. You shut the door behind you as if you were testing waters of your own, waiting for him to tell you to leave.

He wet his lips, unbuckling his belt. “Oh, I think she’ll really like him,” he stated, venom dripping from his voice, irises blown with lust. He took a few steps, pinning you between him and the door behind you, your shoulders flush against the wood as one of his large hands trapped your wrists above your head. “Too bad I don’t,” he muttered darkly before crashing his lips against yours in a warm mess of passion. His tongue slipped into your mouth, your knees weak as he dominated your body like you were just another one of his toys.

He lapped at your moans as if he was finally tasting a sweet candy he’d been craving. Heat pooled deep within you as his hips pressed against yours, grinding against you ever so slightly. You tugged against his hand, groaning at the simple restraint of not being able to drive your fingers into his sun-bleached hair.

Clay took no time slipping his free hand up your shirt, kneading the soft flesh of your breast as his lips left yours, teeth nipping at your collarbones again. He was hungry; the evidence in the quickness of his actions as the denim of his jeans ground against the inside of your thighs.

The shower was messy, desperate even as you clawed at each other, fighting to scratch an itch that had been irritating you since the night you had gotten home. His lips finally on yours as he thrust into you, moans unforgiving and shameless as your legs hooked around his waist. Water drew lines down his face as his jaw clenched while you bushed his wet bangs off his forehead.

Your legs were jelly, only held up by his strong hands as he poured himself into you, biting your skin to mark his signature. Your mind was dizzy and numb as your hands were moved to press against the linoleum wall, your hips dragged back to meet Clay with a sinful moan as he pushed himself deeper into you, hand tangling in your hair as he muttered vulgar grunts of praise and degradation into your ear. You were thankful the two of you had the house to yourselves.

Even over the loud shower, you were whimpering and moaning his name as if it were the only word meant to soothe the burn within your core.

“I’m so glad the two of you are getting along,” your mother chirped happily, causing Clay to side-eye you from his place at the breakfast table. “I was so worried you guys wouldn’t, like when you were in middle school,” she continued.

You hummed in response, gingerly shifting in your seat, the dull ache between your legs reminding you how you’d lost your voice. You’d told your mother it was allergies.

Clay took a sip from his drink, nodding nonchalantly. The sarcasm in his actions was so apparent to you, you wondered if your mother was just pretending to be naive to it. “Yeah, I’m so glad you didn’t still hate me for crushing your fingers,” he quipped, a sly look on his face as you chewed the inside of your cheek.

You wet your lips meekly. “I’m sure you’ll make it up to me still,” you stated, voice rasping enough to fuel his already inflated ego.

tags (cross your fingers so this works)

@karlkitten @pluto-dizzz @more-like-reyna @honk-izzie-was-taken @marrymetheonott @froggyy06 @ghoulandghost @savingpluto @marshmallow-babe @drunkpumpkincake @unstableye @tinyegg @behzzyboo @twist3dtinkerbell @sparkletash @shroomieissmall @maskedmochiii @clubfairy @camerondiaz48104 @victory-is-here @rat-poisin @alm334 @acidluvs @bbigbbrainn @idiotinnit @generallysleepdeprived @sacvf @phsychopathetic @froggerrrr @robinslie @essencee @jemalovesmarvel @sbi-is-my-onlysanity @jenlouvre @victoria-a567 @bunnylotl @thegirlwhowritesawksh-t @carlyferrell @dumb-chaotic-bi-energy​ @quivvyintheclouds​ @sarcasticmichelle​ @book-of-anarchy​ @millavalntyne​ @lightdreamy​ @baddiesforcorpse​ @sunnynapp​ @fantasy-innit​ @rat-poisin​ @wreny24​ @deepestofwaters​ @exenestea​ @indecisivehusky​ @fallxnly​ @skaratjung​ @sap-naps​ @denki-exe​ @angeltears18​ @silvemistxe33​ @andreamalik6​ @kris-stuff​ @sun-fiower-seed​ @where-thesundoesntshine​ @dilfdream​ @esmegregory04​ @itsparasocial​ @mlqcool​ @mcgoddess404​ @chaoscait​ @peppermintkisses​ @speedrunningtherapy​ @lunxramour​ @aoonai​ @loraleiix​  @kiwinxd​ @iheartjames​ @insomniiachild​ @heathledgerismyreligion​ @the-swageyama-tobiyolo​ @joyfullymulti​ @beeandboos​ @bellethebitch​

#dream smut #dreamwastaken smut #dream x reader smut #mcyt smut #mcyt x reader smut #£ anon don't read this

[collecting-stories]

One of the Boys - Rafe Cameron

Request: Hi I’m so sorry to bother you but I was wondering if I can request maybe a blurb or headcanon where the reader is basically the Kie of the 3 main kooks (Topper, Kelce, Rafe) if you want to add maybe a more special relationship can it be reader x Rafe? Just really fluffy supportive/protective friendship between the 4. Like maybe y/n has gone off on Ward and tried to fight Sarah after finding out she cheated on Top, maybe she basically lives with Kelce he doesn’t like being alone & his are absent?

A/N: I made this a headcanon cause I’ve never done one before and wanted to try it out...😬

Outer Banks Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

-You knew there were rumors surrounding your friendship with Rafe, Kelce, and Topper

-Three perfectly attractive guys

-All mostly single

-And you

-Hanging out with them ALL the time

-There were rumors and you’d heard all of them

-Usually that you were sleeping with one of them

-Or all of them

-You’d heard plenty of poly rumors

-And yeah, they were definitely hot enough that anyone of them could pull anyone they wanted

-But that wasn’t you

-Even if you had a massive soft spot for Rafe

-You had known all of them too long and too well to compromise something with a relationship

-You and Kelce met first.  

-Kindergarten.

-Back when he was talkative and energetic and open.

-Feels like a lifetime now but you can still remember being assigned his desk buddy.

-It was a few years later

-After the elementary schools on the Eight combined for middle

-that you met Topper

-Topper and Kelce were inseparable and you had no choice but to be best friends with the blond as well

-It was Top that introduced both of you to Rafe

-Kelce wasn’t always thrilled with the older boy

-You knew your best friend long enough to know when he didn’t like someone

-And he didn’t like Rafe

-But Rafe was friends with Topper and Kelce was friends with Topper and that was that

-You didn’t tell Kelce cause he was having a hard enough time but you had a crush on Rafe

-A MASSIVE crush

-The biggest crush imaginable

-But you swallowed that down almost immediately

-You couldn’t betray Kelce

-In eighth grade Kelce’s parents divorced and his mom got remarried

-Some asshole who made up for his shitty treatment of his family by constantly taking Kelce’s mom on trips

-The divorce was the last straw for his dad and when he walked out he didn’t come back

-Your own parents had never stopped living their couples’ life and you were usually home alone

-Which meant you and Kelce usually stayed at one or the others house

-Sometimes Topper and Rafe

-Not that Kelce was thrilled to see Rafe show up at your house for days at a time

-Once during a week alone  

-With Kelce on vacation with the Thornton’s

-Rafe showed up

-You swore to Kelce when he heard about it later that it was nothing

-Just friends

-But maybe the rumors were true

-Cause you and Rafe were apparently just friends who now hooked up on occasion

-Not that you told anyone EVER

-You were to Topper what Kelce was to Rafe

-More indifferent about each other  

-Until Sarah broke his heart

-When she showed her face again at the Island Club you practically snapped

-Okay  

-You literally snapped

-Like Rafe having to grab you around the waist and haul you off snapped

-Screaming that she was a cheater

-”How fucking dare you show your face here”

-”Go back to your fucking pogue friends”

-A little extreme maybe but you didn’t even realize how pissed you were

-The last time you’d freaked like that was after Rafe told you his dad kicked him out

-Thankfully you hadn’t been in the same vicinity as Ward

-You might’ve choked him  

-Rafe had calmed you down that time too

-”You need to chill the fuck out kid,”  

-”I am chill.”

-You weren’t though

-Rumors were whatever

-People could say what they wanted about you

-You didn’t care if they thought you were sleeping with all the guys

-And frankly it wasn’t a rumor when they decided to gossip about you and Rafe

-But you ABSOLUTELY lost it when they talked about the boys

-Like an over-protective mom or something

-They were your best friends  

-And yeah they were definitely morons sometimes

-But you still defended them

-Even when they were wrong

-You were always willing to stick your neck out for them  

-And you knew they would do the same for you

-

Taglist: @maplelattes22 @poguesrforlife  @freckled-and-daydreaming  @chasefreakinstokes @millie-753 @fangirlwithme @alex12948 @katherine097 @tangledinsparkles @carbonated-beverage @mariofgreengables @damonsalvawhore27 @dopedoodes @dolanfivsosxox @belledutchess @poguelifeeee @faded-blue @parkerpetertingle @thebookwormlife @summer-clouds-and-long-days @jellyfishbeansontoast @minigranger @hoewkeye @love-someone-special @tiredfeels @strangerthanfanfiction713 @the-only-nana @tomzfrog @mozz-are-lla @vindictive-hearts @poguestyleskye @ssprayberrythings @jenahbell @beautyandthebleh @gothackedalready @teenwaywardasgardian @sarahcxmeron @haha-fuck-you-thot @stillbelieve398-5 @rewindlr @queenniccimicci @kissessforharryyy @thedarkqueenofavalon @alytavzla @bqmblebee @linniep @nerdypartytrashpsychic @xxchxrryxx @spencer-reid-is-a-cutie @danielladreaming @obx-saltlife @youngestxhearts @spnobsessedmemes @wowitswondergurl  @mybnkjj @pineappleandcherries @mysterious-adventurer @justawilddreamerchild @rhyetaylor62 @calm-rejects @oh-annaa @aiifandomsunite @x-lulu @ceruleanjj @wicked-laugh @obxwriterfan @allie-mcginn @pcterparxer @literarycharleton @khiaraaa-in-spacee @crushe-s @teamnick @daydreamlilys @collectiveuniverses @activist-af @mdgrdians @buckys-sunflower @vindictive-hearts @copper-boom @talksoprettyjjx @5am-cigarette @smiithys @dontjinx-it @outerbanksbro @mysticsthinking @heavenlymama @rudy-pankow-needs-an-oscar @babymatilda @raekenliar @lemur46 @under-a-canyon-moon @calums-betch @dpaccione

#rafe fanfic #rafe imagine #rafe x reader #rafe fanfiction #rafe headcanon #rafe x you #rafe x y/n #rafe fic #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron headcanon #outer banks imagine #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks headcanon #outer banks fanfic #outer banks fic #obx fic #obx fanfic #obx fanfiction #obx headcanon #collecting stories imagine

[weallpartyatybcpatricksfuneral]

I wrote

gravity falls and marble hornets au! Decided to share this now, just to get it out there

------

"Come on, Dip-Dop!" Mabel shouted. She stood atop a mushroom covered log, looking out into the vast forest. Dipper made his way over to her.

"I'm here, I'm here!" He laughed, holding his blue notebook to his chest. Dipper and his sister had just arrived back in Gravity Falls, after a long eighth-grade year. His strange old uncles, Stanley and Stanford, were conversing with each other as the family went on a woodland stroll to celebrate Dipper and Mabel's first day back.

"Ah Gravity Falls! Looks exactly as I remember it." Mabel smiled, inhaling deeply. The air smelled of moist earth and fresh flowers. Summer had come once again. With Bill Cipher gone, the twins felt much safer roaming the forests. Dipper no longer felt the hair on the back of his neck rise as he stumbled through the birch trees with his silly sister. Gravity Falls was safe at last -- or, as safe as it can be. It's Gravity Falls after all.

"Grunkle Stan, Grunkle Ford, come on! Stop being so slow!" She turned around to face their uncles, who were still a good couple of steps behind the younger Pines twins.

Ford laughed quietly, "We're coming, my dear."

"Yeah," Stan interjected, "We're old, give us a break!" Mabel laughed.

Great Uncle Stanford looked around wistfully, "It's so peaceful out her--." Ford was cut off by a round of harsh coughing. Stan pat his back gently until the coughing stopped. Mabel's smile faded away.

"Grunkle Ford? You okay?"

He took a deep breath. "I'm alright, Mabel. My time in the multiverse must have ruined my immune system; I've been sick quite a lot recently." Grunkle Stan nodded, slinging an arm around Ford.

"You kids shoulda seen this poor, poor soul when he had a cold--by the way he acted, you'd think he was dying!"

"I wasn't that dramatic Stanley--"

"You laid on the couch and said, "Stanley, I'm dying" the second you started sniffling."

Mabel's smile returned and she laughed at her silly uncles. Ford smiled and tried to say something but started coughing harder.

"Grunkle Ford!" Mabel exclaimed, running to his side. Dipper followed suit, his eyebrows raised in concern.

"Sheesh, Sixer, are you okay?" Stan placed his hand on his brother's back. Ford looked up and glanced at the woods for a brief second, before collaspsing to the ground in a violent coughing fit.

"Great Uncle Stanford?" Dipper whispered, reaching out to place his hand on his great-uncle shoulder. Stanley looked paniked as something red stained Ford's sleeve.

"Stanford!" Stan exclaimed, "Oh my gosh!" He reached over to wipe away the blood that dribbled out of Ford's mouth. The coughing fit stopped, only for Ford to look up and stare into the woods.

"He had no face..." Great-Uncle Ford rasped, before falling unconcious in Stan's arms. Stan freaked out, rightfully so.

"Stanford! STANFORD! WAKE UP! WAKE UP!" He shook Ford's body. Mabel had tears running down her face as she kneeled down by her uncle's side.

"Grunkle Stan! What do we do!" Dipper cried, falling to the ground by Mabel. He looked up and around -- Ford had looked up at something right before he collapsed. That couldn't be a coincidence.

Suddenly, Dipper became very aware of the fact that the Pines were being watched. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and he started to drown out Stan and Mabel's frantic words as they tried to stir Ford awake. Then, he heard it -- a twig snapped.

Mabel must have heard it to,for she looked up, and screamed. Dipper's head shot up and he saw the creature too, standing among the trees. It had to have been ten feet tall, maybe more, with a snow white face. The anomaly wore a black suit with a red tie. Dipper's skin crawled as it stared dead ahead, right at the Pines family.

Stan stood up, and backed a step away from Ford before glancing back down at his brother.

"What the heck is that..." He whispered.

In a blink, the creature was gone.

"Where'd it go?!" Dipper cried, searching around frantically. Stan shuddered.

"I dunno, kid. But it's giving me the heeby-jeebys." Stan kneeled back on the ground and tried to shake Ford away with more urgency than before. "Come on, Sixer, Come on! Wake up! Wake up!"

Leaves rustled. The slender creature stood much closer than before, that same straight ahead stare on it's featureless face.

Stan jumped up and backed away, pulling Mabel and Dipper close to him.

"Kids...we have to run..."

"But what about Great Uncle Ford--"

" We'll have to leave him, we'll come back." Like before, the creature disappeared in a second. The Pines started to run. Stan led them around the trees,in a large circle. After a few long minutes of running, they made their way back to where Ford was laying.

But he was gone.

On the ground, where Ford should have been, was a circle drawn in something red -- Dipper's stomach churned, it looked dark enough to be blood -- with an X through it in the same deep crimson color. Right in the center of the X was a piece of paper. Dipper approached it cautiously and picked it up. It seemed to be a page torn out of Ford's old journal.

On it, are the words "DON'T LOOK...OR IT TAKES YOU." besides a crude drawing of the figure the Pines saw in the woods. Dipper's heart caught in his throat as he saw the symbol on the ground repeated all of the page. There was other writing too, crammed on it.

"HE HAD NO FACE HE HAD NO FACE"

"LEAVE ME ALONE"

"NO NO NO NO NO"

"ALWAYS WATCHES"

Stan closed his eyes at the sight. "Oh Sixer, what have you gotten into now..."

- - -

Ford awoke in the middle of the forest, much deeper in than where he can last remember. How did he get here? With a groan, he sat up and placed a hand to the back of his head. Sticky blood remained on his fingers when he pulled his hand away.

Twigs snapped.

Leaves rustled.

Something was in the forest. Ford couldn't speak. He found the words to be stuck in his throat when he tried. The older man mustered up the strength to pull himself off the ground and then stared straight into the face of The Operator.

Normally, he would have screamed. He would have run away, as fast as he could and then skip town to get away. This time, Ford felt a strange feeling of calmness wash over him as the horrid creature stared to speak:

'They're after the pages. Find them. Kill them.'

All coherent thoughts in Ford's mind were replaced by these few words. At The Operator's feet were a yellow hoodie and black and white mask. Two names began to float to the surface in Ford's muddled brain but were quickly replaced with the Operator's voice.

'They failed me. You must not.'

Slowly, Ford stripped himself of his cloak, and put on the hood and mask. The Operator left as quickly as he came, leaving his proxy behind. Ford looked around the forest.

THEY ARE AFTER THE PAGES.

FIND THEM.

KILL THEM.

- - -

"Grunkle Ford! Grunkle Ford!

"Great Uncle Ford!"

"Sixer!"

The Pines called out to Ford. Dipper held the page from the weird circle thing in hand, gripping it so hard some of the charcoal rubbed off on his hands. Mabel bounded over to a tree, where a different page -- this one depicting a forest with the tall slender figure -- was stuck.

"Here's another one!" she exclaimed, waving it in the air.

"That's about...3 now, including the one in the circle." Stan said, taking the page from her and putting it with the other one they had found. "When we find my brother, I'm telling him he's no longer allowed to write cryptic creepy messages anymore." Dipper laughed a little bit. Even in such a dark situation, Stan found a way to make them smile.

That figure hadn't reappeared again, much to the Pines' relief.

"Grunkle Ford! Where are you!" Mabel called, hopping over a rock and into a small pile of leaves, making a loud crunch sound.

Right after her jump, came another crunch sound.

And then another.

And another.

Someone was running.

Dipper looked over his shoulder, to see a masked figure in a yellow hoodie hiding amongst the trees.

"Hey! Who are you!"

The masked man ran over and took the page from Dipper, before running off again.

"Hey! I need that!" Dipper went to run after him, but Stan held him back.

"Don't! We don't know who that could be -- what if they're dangerous!"

"But-but- the page--"

"We've got two others. It's fine..." He looked in the direction the masked man had come from, and shuddered.

"We gotta keep going. Stanford's somewhere in these woods and we better find him before that slender man does."

" Let's hope Masky doesn't come back." Mabel said, scrunching up her nose.

"Masky?" Dipper raised an eyebrow

"Yeah, he needs a name. Duh!"

Dipper sighed and ceded to Mabel's insistance that the masked figure needed a name. The trio continued their search for Great Uncle Ford.

After a while of stumbling around, they came across another page. 'HELP ME' was sprawled across it, including the words 'WATCH THE TAPES WATCH THE TAPES. REMEMBER.'

Dipper handed the page to Stan, and the two sat down to figure out what it means.

"Tapes? What tapes?"

"Maybe Ford means the tapes he took back when he was here?" Stan shrugged, "He's gotta whole box of 'em in his bedroom, but I've combed every second of those tapes to look for a way to start the portal. Ain't nothing there other than him being a huge geek."

"Any other tapes that Ford could have had?" Dipper pondered.

"Nope. I've looked everywhere in that house, kid. I've found everything there is to find."

Dipper sighed and rested his head against the tree. They were no closer to finding Great Uncle Ford.

A scream tore through the silence, shattering it like a baseball shatters a glass window.

And that scream belonged to Mabel. Dipper hopped up and rushed to the source of the sound. Masky was back again, standing over Mabel with a large rock in his hand. She screamed again as he raised the rock over his head. Panic flooded Dipper's body, just like it had when Bill nearly killed Mabel in the Fearamyid.

Stan ran over to the figure and wrestled him back, shouting that he wasn't going to hurt Mabel. But something made Stan stop dead in his tracks.

"Stanford..." He said quietly, his eyes wide in shock as he stared at the stranger's hand. Dipper ran over and joined Stan in the fight (Stan didn't fight as hard as he did before. Was he taking it easy on Masky?)

Dipper and Stan manages to wrestle him to the ground and rip the mask off his face. Stan stared right into the identical brown eyes of his twin.

"STANFORD!" he shouted.

Something black stained Ford's lips and chin. His eyes had a cloudy look to them, like he wasn't quite there. But the second Stan shouted, the cloudyness faded away. Mabel stood back in shock and horror, tears running down her face.

"How the hell..." Ford mumbled, resting his head back on the ground with a small whimper of pain. Stan stood up, paler than the slender man.

"Ford- what- how--"

"Where the hell are we..."

"We're in the forest, where we've been this entire time. You just attacked Dipper and Mabel! Where'd you get this mask and hood from?"

"What do you mean."

"Great Uncle Ford, do you remember what happened?"

"Not after I passed out, no..." Ford groaned and placed a hand to the back of his head.

Stan and Dipper shared a look and quickly filled him in. Ford put a hand to his mouth.

"Oh my God...Mabel, I--" Ford stammered and tried to stand up. Dipper saw red staining the hood of the hoodie and Ford's silver grey hair.

"Grunkle Ford! You're hurt--"

He waved it away. "I'll be fine." He fumbled in his pants pocket for a little hand-held video recorder and pressed the on button.

"Sixer, how is this going to help."

"This has happened before...I need to call Tim--"

"Who the hell is Tim? What do you mean this has happened before?!"

"Old college friend. Anyway, we need to leave, now." Ford looked to a still-shaken Mabel, " Mabel, my dear, I'm so sorry."

"Grunkle Ford...what happened..." She whispered, wiping tears off her face.

"I don't know, my dear, but it won't happen again." He didn't have to verbally add in the 'i hope', but the tone of his voice and look on his face certainly implied it was there, hanging off the end of his sentence.

The four started to walk through the forest. Ford assured them that there would be an explanation when they arrived back at the shack. He was constantly checking the camera. What was he expecting to see? After a long, mostly silent trek through the woods, Dipper started to hear a static sound come from the video camera.

Ford's eyes widened with fear, "Go, Run! He's here!"

"He? Who's he?!"

Ford opened his mouth to the respond but found himself coughing again as the Slender Man appeared once more. It stood behind Ford, completely still. The camera went crazy -- the audio became distorted and full of static until it cut completely.

Finally, it spoke. Dipper had never heard a voice like his. It was undescribable and the pain it brought to his ears wasn't on any scale.

'My proxy...I told you to kill them. You've failed.'

"No, no, no..." Ford stuttered, falling to the ground

"Get away from him!" Mabel shouted, throwing a little rock at the Slender Man's head. It stunned the creature for a brief moment, allowing Stan to pull his brother up.

"Run!" Ford rasped between his coughs. Just like before, he coughed up blood.

The four of them ran and ran, until the unfamiliar trees melted into the enchanted forest.

But the Pines didn't stop until they were inside the shack. After they all took a breath, Ford led them into his office.

"Alright, Grunkle Ford, explain what's going on." Mabel said, crossing her arms.

"Back in college, the flim students asked me to help them on their project called 'Marble Hornets'. Alex, who was the director, cast me as an actor and we started to work on the film. Then, Tim -- another actor -- started falling strangely sick. He spread that sickness to all of us -- to Brian, to Alex, to me. With that sickness came the mysterious appearance of a creature called the Operator."

Ford fished around in his desk for an old journal, much older than the three he kept about Gravity Falls. It was apparently from his time at Backupsmore College. He flipped through it, and showed them an old entry. Dipper read aloud from the page:

"'It is called the Operator. It showed itself to me months and months ago, when was I walking home from the library. Under the streetlight was a tall man in a black business suit. He had no face, and no eyes. I found myself paralyzed with fear for a brief moment, before running in the opposite direction. I mentioned my encounter to the rest of the Marble Hornets cast, but they said they hadn't seen this creature before. After filming, Alex pulled me aside with a video recorder in hand. He handed me a tape and told me to play it when it got back to my dorm. On that tape was Alex encountering the same creature outside his dorm window. Alex and I quickly got together and talked. The creature -- which I later knew as The Operator -- started to stalk us both relentlessly. Alex dropped out and skipped town. Slowly but surely, the members of Marble Hornets disappeared. The project was cancelled and Jay was given Alex's old tapes. After Alex left, I saw the creature once again. It was in my dorm room, standing in the corner. I shouted for help but it disappeared before anyone could do anything. The creature hasn't reappeared since, but I'm still paranoid. I'm going to keep recording everything until I know for sure it's gone."

Chills ran down Dipper's spine. The Operator was undoubtedly the creature they met in the woods. The drawing of it Ford including beside the entry looked identical to the Slender Man they saw out in the woods. Ford put his hands behind his back.

"After that encounter in my room I didn't see him again, until Jay reached out to me about seeing this guy on the tapes. That...that led to," Ford trailed off, seemingly not sure how to go about with the rest of sentence. He shook his head, "Nevermind. That's the past now. It's behind me. I left that area and moved to Gravity Falls where I never saw it again. Until today. Definetly brought back some old memories..." He shuddered.

"Why's he here now?" Stan asked, crossing his arms.

"I don't know. Maybe he's still after me? But that doesn't make sense. Why would he wait until now?" Ford sighed, placing the journal back in the drawer.

"Great Uncle Ford, what tapes do you have? One of the pages we found in the woods said to "Watch the tapes". What does that mean?" Dipper asked, handing Ford one of the pages he found. Ford read it, and dug around in a drawer. He pulled out a dusty old tape.

"This one. This one details my experience with The Operator during the whole..."Marble Hornets" incident."

Stan blinked at it. "How the heck did I not find that! I thought I checked everywhere in this house!" Ford smiled slightly.

"I've got some hiding places you haven't found." Stan was about to ask another question, but let it die in his throat as he tossed the mask to Ford.

"By the way, you were wearing this. Dunno where you got it." Ford held it in his hands, staring at it wistfully before tossing it back onto the table. He pulled off the yellow hoodie but instead of tossing it, folded it neatly and placed it on the chair. Dipper watched as he looked at it for a bit too long before turning back to his brother.

"Please be careful. If any of you start to cough frequently, or if you see The Operator again, please tell me. I know how to hold him off but only for a bit. Now, I have to call an old friend of mine down here. He can help."

"Not so fast, Sixer. You're injured." Grunkle Stan gently pulled Ford over to him and checked the back of his head. "Sheesh. What did you do?"

"No idea." Ford winced as Stan tried to touch his head, "I might have fallen on a rock or something."

They went upstairs so Stan could treat Ford's injury. Along the way, Dipper and Ford talked about what happened in the woods.

"So you can't remember anything when you're...like that?" Dipper pondered.

"Can't remember a thing. It used to happen more often, practically every night. Tim and I came to the conclusion that this dissassociative state is a progression in Operator's Sickness."

"Operator's Sickness?" Mabel raised an eyebrow.

"That's what we call it. It obviously doesn't have a real name, but it's tied to the Operator. Encounter him or someone with the disease is enough to contract it. Which is why I'm so scared of getting you all involved. You've all been exposed to the disease -- from both me and the encounter in the woods."

Dipper tried to hide how nervous that made him. If they all had this disease, what was next? Would Dipper find himself waking up in the middle of the woods, with no memory? Would he fall into a state like Ford?

Ford must have noticed how nervous Dipper was. "Don't worry. The disease can be staved off with pills. Doesn't cure it, nothing really can except prolonged abscene from the Operator and those under his influence, but they certainly help. I'll ask Tim to bring the pills with him if he still has the prescription.

"So who's this Tim guy?" Stan asked, eyebrows rasied.

"Old friend from college. Like I said, we worked on Marble Hornets together. And then him, Jay and I eventually got involved in the, uh, "Marble Hornets" incident."

"What's that?"

Ford shook his head. "I can't explain it all now. Too complex. Maybe when Tim arrives he can help. He'll probably bring another old friend -- Jessica -- with him." The elevator dinged and they were all back upstairs. Golden sunshine streamed through the window as Stan sat Ford down and went to get the first aid kit.

#gravity falls #ford pines #marble hornets #stanford pines #Mabel pines #dipper pines #marble hornets au #crossover au #stan pines

[starbuckie]

Some Quarantine Lovin’  Prologue: It’s Corona Time

Marvel Highschool!AU

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Obscene amounts of fluff, kissing, swearing, kinda a lot of angst

Description: Bucky Barnes is absolutely, no doubt about it, in love with Y/N L/N. He’s loved her since the day he laid eyes on her in the third grade. He loved her when he had his own girlfriend, and when he was barely friends with her for a whole summer. And of course, in his freshman year, they are now stuck together. In a house. During a worldwide quarantine. This should be fun.

Words: 2,110 words

A/N: Hey guys! This is my first fanfic, and I’m honest to God absolutely terrified. I hope you like it, because I’ve been wanting to write since the beginning of quarantine. If you like it, like or repost, and I’m so, so, grateful. Stay home and stay safe y’all!

“Buck, can you pass me the vitamin water?” The boy was stuck in his reverie, looking at the girl next to him with unfocused eyes. Bucky had a tendency to daydream during class about different things, however most of them came back to one person. “Bucky!” The girl, frustrated with him, quickly whacked him in the arm.

“Ow, what the hell Y/N?” Bucky rubbed his bicep where she had so rudely whacked him. The girl chuckled briefly and gave him a warm smile. “What are we doing right now,” he asked, “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Y/N’s smile grew wider. “Yeah, I could tell. Can you pass me the vitamin water? I’m thirsty and hungry, and we still have forty minutes of class.” Bucky rolled his eyes at his close friend and slid her the orange bottle across their shared desk. She screwed off the cap and chugged down half the bottle, while Bucky grimaced then snatched the bottle out of her hands. 

“Jesus Y/N, share with me too, I’m the one who bought it.” The girl just shot another heart-warming smile at him again, making his heart flutter. 

“But I’m the one who snuck you into my room when you couldn’t get back into your own house. I told you that going to creek with Steve at midnight was a fucking dumb idea.” She lightly snorted, and looked back up to the board, where physics problems were scrawled out in blue marker. Bucky thought back to that night two weeks ago. 

He had sat with you, Steve Nat, Wanda, and Sam at lunch, talking about the rumors of the COVID-19 breakout. They had overheard from some of the juniors that the school would be shut down, for only one day, but possibly more. Though it had only been barely a rumor, Bucky and Steve had to take extreme measures in case they wouldn’t be able to see each other for the next few weeks. They were going to go down to the creek behind the townhouses at night, and hang out. Y/N and Sam had immediately laughed at their two dumbass friends, and Nat and Wanda had barely cared. 

     Upset with their friends for being unsupportive, the Barnes and Nobles duo, as the gang liked to call them, decided to go through with their creek plan. They had snuck out at eleven thirty, well after Steve’s ma and Bucky’s parents thought they were in bed, and met outside Steve’s house. They had brought bags of chips, and Bucky had even managed to sneak two cans of beer from his dad’s stash. They stayed there until three in the morning, just talking about high school, and how they were so excited to be sophomores the next year and haze the new freshman. Then the topic of discussion had come to Bucky’s large crush on Y/N, that wasn’t too subtle. 

     “Buck, are you really going to look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t like Y/N?” Steve asked his friend exasperatedly. Bucky rose his gaze from the gurgling water to Steve’s eyes and opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out and he blushed. “That’s what I thought, you idiot.” 

     So Bucky may have had a crush on one of his oldest friends. He had been enamored with her the moment he met her in the third grade with Natasha, until he met a pretty girl named Dot in the seventh grade and dated her until the end of eighth grade. Throughout that period of time, Y/N and Bucky’s friendship was distant and strained, but thankfully they reconnected with the crew over the summer going into highschool. He hadn’t seen her much during June, but when she came back from her acting camp up north, she had grown taller and tanner, with curves that he hadn’t noticed before. All his elementary feelings had hit him like a truck again, and he followed Y/N around like a lost puppy again, which Steve took note of and enjoyed teasing him about. By the end of the night with Steve, he had emptied out his soul to his best friend, making him promise to not tell a single soul. Steve agreed, but not before saying, “You’re screwed, punk.” 

     The boys had started walking back to their street, and when they looked at the time, they saw that it was 3:30, and they needed to get back. They sprinted to their houses, and scrambled back up the pipes on their houses. Steve got in safely, and poked his head out the window to make sure Bucky got in his own house as well. However, the sight he was met with made him laugh instead. Bucky had a panicked look on his face, and a look of realization came over him as he realized that the window was locked from the inside when he closed it earlier when leaving. 

     “Steve,” he whisper-yelled to his best friend, “can I come over for the night?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, hurry up!” Bucky scrambled back down to pipes and ran over to the side of Steve’s house, but as soon as he started climbing, Steve exclaimed, “Crap, crap, crap, my ma’s coming up the stairs, I gotta go Buck. I’m sorry!” His window shut quietly, and Bucky groaned. He pulled out his phone, and checked with the one person he both wanted and didn't want to see. 

     His finger hovered over her contact, her and Bucky’s faces grinning with peace signs held towards the camera. He pressed her number, and her gentle voice picked up. “Hey Buck, what’s up? I thought you were out with Steve.”

     “Yeah, about that…” He told Y/N the whole story of how his window was locked and Steve’s ma coming to his room. Her giggle through the phone was melodic, and he smiled just hearing it. “You are the only person I know who stays up at these unholy hours, reading Sebastian Stan fanfictio-”

     “Hey, you promised we wouldn’t talk about it!” She hurriedly cut him off. He chuckled quietly, and resumed talking.

     “Chill out, doll, no one can hear me. So, can I come over? Just for the night? I can provide cuddles and other services as well.” He jokingly said, wiggling his eyebrows though he knew she couldn’t see him. 

     “Yes, you can spend the night, you dumbass. But you gotta be quiet as shit, because if my parents find you with me in my bed, they’re gonna get the wrong idea.” His face heated up at the mention of that, but nonetheless, he still ran over to her house, a few blocks away. 

The rest of the night had been filled with quiet laughter, cuddling, and finally passing out at around 4:30 am in each other’s arms. 

Finally snapping out of his reverie, he just nodded dumbly until their physics teacher stood up. “As you all have probably heard at this point, the rumors about our school shutting down due to the coronavirus breakout are true.” Murmurs and laughs were audible around the classroom, and Y/N turned towards Bucky with a huge smile. Mr. Fury, clearly frustrated with the class, gets their attention again. “Hey, hey! I’m not done yet. Next week we will be testing online classes on the app Zoom. We are going to see how it goes, and though we hope that we will be able to return to school, the likelihood is that we will not be returning for the rest of the school year.”

Mr. Fury continued telling the class about Zoom, and instructed the students on how to use the app. Y/N was absolutely elated. For the rest of the year, she didn’t have to sit in hardass chairs at desks, but rather stay in the comfort of her home. It was part of her introverted nature she assumed, but as she saw the frown on Bucky’s face, she began to sport one as well. 

“Hey Buckaroo, what’s the pouting about,” Y/N inquiried. He sighed heavily and looked at her. “James, is everything okay?” To be honest, he was absolutely infuriated and scared of the virus, because it had now taken away his only safe place outside his house. Y/N knew about his family problems, the whole gang did, and they all did their best to support him in any way he needed, whether it was staying over or a homemade meal, but they were always there to help their friend. 

Bucky’s breathing got harsher, so Y/N grabbed his hand under the table and squeezed it. He glanced up, his eyes full of gratefulness and adoration. They both turned back to face Mr. Fury. “Tonight, there’ll be emails sent out to you, and your parents. Okay, pack up and leave, I don’t wanna see your faces for longer than I get paid for.” Y/N and Bucky gathered their things, and hustled out of the classroom.

“Hey Buck, hey Y/N,” Steve yelled from across the yard, “Where are you going next?” Y/N saw her blond friend and pulled him into a hug. Where she couldn’t see, Steve shrugged and Bucky glared at him. She released her friend from the hug. 

“Buck and I just have a free period next, we’re heading down to the library now though. Wanna come?” She asked. Steve nodded, and the trio walked to the library on the other side of campus. “It’s gonna be so weird when we have classes from home. I actually have to clean up my room, and see people from class. It’s a travesty.” She dramatically draped her forearm over her face, feigning sadness. What a fucking theatre kid, Bucky thinks. He just rolls his eyes and chuckles.

“C’mon, there are tons of things worse than just cleaning up your room. I’m gonna be stuck with my fucking family for a week, and maybe til the end of the year.” Bucky dropped his head at his words, and the three students stopped walking. Y/N pulled him in for a hug, running her hands up and down his back in a soothing manner. She knew he was on the verge of having a panic attack, and she hated it. She hated his father for making him feel worthless, she hated the psychopath who killed his mother, and she hated the fact that he has to take care of his baby sister all by himself, because only God knows where was father is at night. Bucky felt tears prick at his eyes, but he strongly inhaled and let it go. He secretly breathed in the scent of Y/N’s hair, the faint scent of her pineapple perfume calming him. She slowly released him from the hug, and he whispered, “Thank you.” With a small smile and nod of her head, they continued walking down to the library. 

Steve and Bucky made small talk about the online workouts for their baseball team, but Y/N was deep in her own thoughts. She hated the thought of Bucky staying with his dad for the duration of quarantine. Hell, she hated the thought of his dad in general. Y/N had known Bucky since the third grade, but he had only opened up to her about their family issues in seventh grade. However, she wanted to be there for him, because, well, she loved him. So, so, much. 

Before they entered the library, she stopped walking and said, “You guys go on in, I’ll catch up with you.” Both the boys looked at each other, confused.

“Where are you going, doll?” Bucky asked. She tried her best to hide the blush rising at her cheeks, but Bucky saw it and smirked. She rolled her eyes and started walking away.

“I gotta make a quick phone call,” she yelled, “I’ll be back faster than you can say cartesian diver!”

“What?” Steve yelled, confused by everything. He hadn’t had the project yet, but he would learn soon enough.

“I don’t know, it was the first thing that came to mind!” And with that, the excited girl made her way to the office to call her parents. Bucky chuckled at Y/N, though his heart was nearly bursting out of his chest with how adorably strange she was. His eyes stared at her retreating form for a while, until he turned around to meet Steve’s smirk. 

“Shut it punk, I don’t wanna hear it.” His cheeks were burning red and his oldest friend just laughed.

“Jesus, you’re absolutely smitten,” Steve said, slinging his arm around Bucky as they walked into the library.

#buckybarnes #fanfic #bucky x you #bucky x reader #quarantine #highschoolau #highschool au #highschool!bucky #reader insert #bucky barns imagine #buckybarnes fanfiction #steve rogers #james buchanan bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #some quarantine lovin’

[yourlocalauthor]

What Goes Around Comes Around

Prologue

Pairing: Topper Thornton x Named Oc

Word count: 2.4k

Warning for the entire series: Mentions of alcohol, le drugs (weed and coke), sex, casual sex/hook ups, sometime ill be having Rafe being a total asshole, slut shaming in the future chapters, and daddy issues, also my spelling mistakes and editing errors.

A/N: So this entire series is basically my entire interpretation of what I’d like to have happen in season 2, so pretty much no canon here just me praying OBX goes in this direction :) 

Josephine Jackson, was basically the Kook princess. Now she wasn’t like Sarah Cameron who was the princess of all Kooks. Josephine was like Rupunzel hidden away in her house. Her father didn’t want her getting exposed too much to the outside world, he wanted his daughter to stay this perfect little angel. He practically forced into her head to stay pure, because no man wanted a girl who wasn’t pure. He made her remember everyday that she wasn’t going to do much in life besides get married and have kids. ‘Just like your mother.’ He’d say. Of course when she was around ten she became a little more rebellious, Jo and Sarah would go leave the house to tag along with Rafe and some of the neighbor kids. Rafe was never happy about letting the tag along, but Ward knew what was going on with Josephine and her family and while he’d never say anything he pitied her situation, so he’d always force Rafe to let them tag along. Those little moments of freedom were everything to Josephine, and eventually that’s where she met Topper. They became fast friends, she actually became fast friends with everyone. All of them were quickly able to bond over the pressures from all their parents.

But Topper, he was different. They spent their time talking about surfing, which she never learned how to but she saw the people at the beach and thought it’d be fun, parents, life, and whatever else their ten year old minds could think about. Months into their friendship, Topper convinced her to let him teach her. He was so confident in it too, it was adorable. They’d meet up on days when her dad was out of town and her mom was too drunk to notice what was going on. The only person she needed to worry about was her older brother, but he didn’t really care what she did. She was a fast learner, she easily picked up how the other people seemed to glide across the waves. She loved it, it was her little moment of peace from life. Everytime her father was gone, she went out to the water, and practiced everything Topper taught her over and over again until it was perfect. She would never accept anything from herself unless it was absolutely perfect. The summer before middle school, she was able to convince her mom to get her a surfboard for her birthday.

Then middle school came. The older she was getting, the more and more she began to hate her father. Everything he did got on her nerves, driving her insane. She was sick and tired of having to stay inside all day everyday, and only going to school. So it led her to sneaking out a lot especially in seventh and eighth grade. On the last day of seventh grade, Topper asked Jo out… if one considered snapping someone, and telling them they thought they were pretty cute asking out. But it was middle school, it wasn’t like it mattered. Their relationship was the type people thought would last a few weeks, maybe less and by the time the end of the school year rolled around everyone would’ve forgotten about it. The type where rumors filled the school, each one getting worse with the longer they were together. They didn’t care though, and if they did no one knew. And then the last day of eighth grade came and they had lasted a year, they managed to survive the rumors, overprotective fathers, and whatever a couple of fourteen year olds had getting in the way of their relationship.

And then the summer before freshman year, one of Jo’s most memorable summers. The summer her father got arrested, the summer she and Topper broke up, basically the summer her whole world was changed. It started off just like every summer before, her birthday on the last day of school, her doing everything in her power to piss off her father, her mom being very drunk most of the time. For the first month she spent most of her time with Topper, her father was on business trips all the time now, and it was easy for her to sneak off especially with her mom. Jo didn’t blame her mom for anything, she knew how hard her father was on her mom. Those late night fights weren't as quiet as her parents thought they were. Jo sympathized for her mom, she knew she was better than drowning herself in a bottle of wine, and while she wanted her to stop, she could understand why. Besides it was easy to sneak out during the day or at night. She spent a lot of time at Sarah’s too, it was easier to leave her house at night, plus it was nice to not be alone.

During the summer, Topper and Jo got closer than before if possible. And while Jo didn’t exactly know what a loving relationship was, or looked like she thought she loved Topper. She didn’t say it though, and she wasn’t sure why. A part of her thought that maybe he actually didn’t like spending time with her, he just felt bad for her and couldn’t find a way to leave. She’d express her concerns to Sarah, who told her she was being dramatic, and how there wasn’t a single girl on the island that Topper looked at like he looked at Jo. Slowly she began to believe it, becoming more confident in their relationship, after all one year was sort of a big deal. It hadn’t exactly registered with her that one year was huge. This entire time it just felt like she was with her best friend, it was like almost nothing was different in their relationship from before, except the hand holding, the pet names, and the one time they kissed on her birthday. But excluding all those factors everything was the exact same since they were kids.

And then the Fourth of July rolled around. The fourth was a huge deal in the OBX, at least for the Kooks. Tons of people came from the mainland, and the figure eight had this huge party at the country club. Typically her dad was in town for the fourth, but conveniently he had another ‘trip’. Jo had begun getting suspicious of her father, but she was also relieved everytime he was gone it was like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. So Jo went to the club with her mom, who had been sober for a couple days by now. She planned on meeting Topper there, he mentioned something earlier that day about sneaking out of the party and she was very excited. The thrill of sneaking out of places, just gave her this rush of adrenaline she craved. So when they left, the two teens made the walk home to Jo’s house laughing at whatever stupid thing was coming out of the others mouth. Once inside the house, they quickly made it up to her room and two hours in, they kissed. It was a sweet, nervous filled kiss, the two of them barely knowing what they were doing. And then things got a little heated… as heated as it could get for a pair of fourteen year olds. The next thing Jo knew Topper was hovering over her, and from her lips fell a simple please.

After that everything went downhill. Not even a couple weeks later after Jo had been having basically the time of her life, her and Topper were practically connected at the hip, hardly ever being seen without each other and then August 18th rolled around. Her father had come back from one of his many sudden business trips, and even being home for a full day he had already wreaked havoc. Her mom and him got into it last night, and it wasn’t just any old fight. It was the kind where glasses were broken, plates thrown, and the earth shattering noise of skin hitting skin. Jo’s father didn’t hit her mother often, but he did. And everytime she did she had to fight the urge to stop him, she remembered the time when her older brother tried stopping him, it didn’t end well at all, it was actually what prompted him to leave a couple days after to live with their uncle. The next day she remembered the bruises on her mom, she remembered the exact moment the cops pulled up when she was helping with covering them up. The loud banging, her father rushing down the stairs, him yelling for her mother, and the sight of him being hauled away in cuffs, the neighbors all watching was forever ingrained in her mind.

Jo’s father was arrested for money laundering ten years, with a plea deal. There was a good chance he could leave in five on good behavior, but Jo didn’t care, the damage was done. The state took everything including their house as evidence. The only money they had was some left over money from Jo’s grandpa on her moms side. It was only enough to get a small house on the cut, she of course had to drop out from Kildare Academy there was just not enough in the budget. Jo thought that after that everything would be over, but then her friends had slowly stopped talking to her. Sarah wasn’t texting her as often, and they didn’t invite her to hang out. The only person who kept talking to her was Topper, until two weeks after they bought the house, one day before school started. He called her up, told her to meet her at the beach, and then he broke up with her. At first Jo thought it was a joke, because surely a year together and losing their virginities together meant more to a person then someone's wealth. But apparently to Topper, it didn’t. And when she realized it wasn’t a joke, she left never wanting to see him ever again. She spent the rest of the night crying with her mom, and then later on FaceTime with her brother and cousin. Then the next day Jo had to show up, like a complete fish out of water.

Jo’s relationship with the Pogues was complicated. In reality she didn’t care about how much money someone had, especially now but she was guilty of bullying them especially in middle school. Everyone else around her did it, her boyfriend, her friends excluding Sarah, and her father. She tried her best to not participate in the harassment, but there were times she did and there was no excuse for it. She knew what she was doing was horrible and cruel, and yet she thought it didn’t matter, it wasn’t like she’d ever be in a situation with them and that’s what made her rest easy about it. But now it had come to bite her in the ass, absolutely no one talked to her on the first day, except this one girl in her art class seated next to Jo named Elle. It was also her first day, and they were both able to make small talk over their dislike for art. Jo later found out that they also had English, and Gym together. A few days later they exchanged numbers, and their social medias. But she was the only one willing to talk to her, but Jo tried not to blame the others. She recognized the kids Topper loved to torment, John B, JJ, and Pope. It was extremely awkward when she was placed on the first day next to JJ in math, but she learned to make due with it. She knew how much pressure was on her mom, and she couldn’t bother her with stupid drama, so she was fine with her one friend and was willing to make due with the situation.

By the time her first year anniversary of living on the cut, things were very different from when she first moved in. Now she could confidently say she was friends with the Pogues, she had finally been able to redeem herself and now they joked about her past. She loved her friends, JJ being her best friend besides Elle. He was her stoner buddy, her surf buddy, her meeting each other in the hotel after hooking up with a random touron buddy, they practically had so much in common that they decided it was best to just do them together. She hung out with them time to time, when she wasn’t out surfing, or spending time with Elle. It was easy for all of them to hang out, John B’s house literally being next door to Jo’s. Her mom had gotten adjusted too. She went to AA meetings, worked as a receptionist at the hotel, and even found a boyfriend. Justin was okay, he made her mom happy and that’s all Jo cared about, as long as he didn’t parent her, she liked him. Time kept passing, putting more distance between Jo and her past life and eventually she just stopped thinking about it. Whenever she saw Topper, she ignored him, unless him and his friends would try to start something, then she’d start yelling at him. Her friends knew somewhat of what happened to an extent, but she never really wanted them to know the full story.        

When Sarah and John B went down, everything changed. For a while everyone moped around, and everytime they hung out it was silent, and then Pope stopped showing up, then Kiara, and then it was just Jo and JJ. Then JJ stopped showing, and it was just Jo. She had Elle, and her cousin but it just wasn’t the same. Elle wasn’t one for surfing, and neither was her cousin. But they were fun to go to parties with, and Jessie could easily get into any party on the figure eight, which was pretty much where all the parties were. No one on the cut felt like partying anymore, Jo didn’t either but it was an easy distraction. Besides, two months of summer didn’t deserve to go to waste, if anything John B and Sarah dying just proved to live life to the fullest. So that’s where it started, a kook party with the scent of booze, weed, and sweat in the air, and one certain blonde kook.                    

@sortagaysortahigh @letsgofullkook @spilledtee @jj-iz-bae​ @sguymon21 @obbx-tings @ampanonyg @delightfullynlove

#obx #obx fanfiction #obx x reader #topper #topper obx #topper outer banks #topper thornton #outerbanks #outer banks #jj maybank #kiara carrera #pope heyward #rafe cameron

[let-love-run-red]

Green

Tag List: @keithseabrook27​ @imaginecrushes​ @but-kairis-not-that-smart @zeuniel​ @bittersweetbooke​ (Sorry one of the tags didn’t work loves)

"(y/n), are we gonna talk, about last night?" Ben asked as the two of you sat in the car on the way to school. Leia had considered grounding him for the arrest but after he explained the situation to Leia she relented and let him off after chewing him out for nearly two hours. But you still hadn't talked to him all morning. Every time you looked at him you thought about how his lips felt against yours and how close you were to, having sex. With Ben.

You just turned to look out the window of Ben's car as he pulled into the school parking lot. He turned off the car and locked the doors before you could get out, the locks retreating down into the door so you couldn't pry them up and manually unlock the door. You sat back in your seat, avoiding his gaze and looking at your hands as you wrung them together.

"(Y/n) you have to talk to me sooner or later. You're staying in my house until your parents get back." Ben said, trying to look at your face. You kept turning away from him. Ben sighed and looked out the windshield.

"(y/n), do you, regret it? Kissing me I mean?" Ben questioned quietly. You turned to look up at him, seeing the red blush covering his pale cheeks that you could just see through his curtain of black hair. You resisted the urge to reach out and brush his hair behind his ears and instead cleared your throat.

Ben looked at you hopefully and held his hand out to brush his hand over your hair, stopping short and dropping his hand into his lap.

"No. I don't regret it." You said quietly. Ben felt a smile cross his face and ran his hand through his hair with a breathy laugh.

"Oh thank god, I was so worried about that." Ben smoothed his hands over his jeans, picking at a stain on his thigh. You did the same with the leggings you'd chosen to wear that day, waiting for Ben to say something else. You didn't even know where to begin.

"I-I'm sorry I shouldn't have brought it up." Ben said as he looked down in his lap. You hesitantly reached over and took his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. He snapped his head up to look at you and gave a lopsided grin.

"We should probably go inside." you said, hearing the bell ring. Ben unlocked the door and jogged around to the other side to open your door for you. You chuckled and took his hand as he helped you out of the car.

"M'lady." Ben said as you stepped out of the car. You smiled as the both of you walked towards the doors.

"So the dance recital is coming up, is the coach going to put you in or no?" Ben asked as he opened the door for you. You figured she would, she had you working with one of the boys on the team to choreograph a duet. You couldn't imagine any other reason she would have you choreograph.

"I think so. It's a tradition that the new members do a duet they have to choreograph, why?" You questioned as you walked down the hall to first period, one of the classes you shared with Ben.

"Just curious." Ben said with a shrug. You looked down the hall and saw Hux standing at his locker, holding an ice pack against his cheek and a bandage across his now crooked nose. Ben saw him too, puffing his chest out and stepping in front of you, pushing behind his back. You came face to face with his patch covered guitar case. You clenched your jaw and dug your nails into your palm to quell your anxiety. You stared hard at the green "Flogging Molly" patch on Ben's guitar case. It was one he didn't listen to often but when he did the whole neighborhood could hear it. You heard the quiet sound of Hux's shoes on the tile as he approached Ben. You heard Ben growl as Hux stopped in front of him.

"Solo." Hux spat. His voice sounded nasally. You risked a glance around Ben to see Hux's very bruised face caused by Ben's forehead and knee. He saw you and took a step forward, only for Ben to plant his hand on Hux's chest and push him back.

"Do I need to break some ribs too?" Ben asked. Hux flinched when Ben touched him, stepping a few feet back.

"Don't ever come near her again. She doesn't want you." Ben growled, reaching behind his back and grabbing your hand. He kept himself between you and Hux as he skirted around the ginger and towards your class.

The rest of the walk was silent as Ben let out a huff and rested his arm over your shoulders. You leaned against him and listened to the comforting jingle of the chain on his belt and the heavy thud of his boots on the tile. Everybody else shied away from those sounds but not you. You knew Ben, and knew what a big softie he was.

"Ben what are you wearing?"  You asked when you met Ben at the bus stop. He was dressed in a pair of black skinny jeans with a chain dangling across his hip. His boots looked like they were two sizes too big, and the black Metallica shirt looked two sizes too small. His guitar case seemed small across his back. He had filled out in the summer between ninth and tenth grade, and grown at least a foot. You however, were still the same size you'd been since eighth grade.

"Clothes?" He said, looking at you. You laughed and punched his shoulder halfheartedly. He gently shoved your shoulder, catching you before you fell over with a laugh. You stuck your tongue out at him, and he did the same. You froze when you saw the silver stud  in the center of his tongue. He laughed at your face. Not a small chuckle they way he normally laughed, an uproarious laugh.

"Ben what the hell?!" You exclaimed. He opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out again to give you a better view of the stud.

"I got it lasf weeken, like it?" He said, his words muddled around his tongue. The stud jumped as he spoke. You didn't know how to react, you never expected Ben to get a piercing, especially one on his tongue. It was weird.

Kinda hot though.

"You look like you have a nail stuck in your tongue." You said halfheartedly. Ben pulled his tongue back into his mouth and tilted his head. He thought you'd like it.

"I'm sure Malarus will like it." You said as the school bus pulled up to the stop. Ben followed you into the bus, sitting down next to you with his guitar case across his back.

"Nah she'll hate it, which is why I got it." Ben said with a shit-eating grin. You raised an eyebrow at him. He and Malarus had been dating since the beginning of ninth grade, he just now decided he was sick of her? This wasn't at all like the Ben you knew.

"Ben are you ok? You're acting kind of weird." You questioned.

"It's high school (y/n), time to remake myself. I want to be a bad ass, I'm sick of people picking on me." He said. You shrugged as the bus pulled into the transfer point. You grabbed your backpack and stood, ready to move to the bus that would take you to your new high school. You followed Ben out of the bus. He let you get into the new bus first and find a seat. He was about to sit next to you when someone in a lime green shirt pushed him aside and sat next to you instead. Ben huffed and landed in the seat across the aisle before standing up again.

"Hey, I'm Elrik." The boy said, leaning towards you with a waggle of his eyebrows. You squished yourself against the window, shooting Ben a pleading glance. Ben tapped Elrik's shoulder. Elrik rolled his eyes and turned to see Ben's angry face.

"Move." Ben said sternly. Elrik rolled his eyes.

"Or what?"

Ben reached down, grabbing Elrik's green shirt and hauling him from the seat, dropping him into the seat Ben had been pushed into. Elrik landed with a heavy thump before Ben sat next to you, propping his guitar case between his knees. He leaned back and threw an arm around your shoulders and fluffed your hair.

You walked into your first period class. Math. You and Ben took the two empty seats at the back of the room, hoping the teacher wouldn't notice the two of you had walked in late.

"Ben Solo, what have you done to my favorite student?" The teacher asked without looking away from the board. He finished the equation he was writing on the board, before capping his marker and turning to glare at Ben.

"She's never late, the one day she is she shows up with you." Mr. Madden said. Ben rolled his eyes so hard you thought they'd roll out of his head.

"I'm waiting for an answer, Mr. Solo." Mr. Madden said.

"You got me Mr. Madden, I've corrupted her. We were behind the school shooting heroin and cooking meth. I finally broke bad, the metal in my mouth finally leeched enough poison to screw up my head just like you said it would, and now I've gone and ruined your favorite student. Oh the tragedy." Ben said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he spoke. You suppressed a chuckle. Ben could always be a little, dramatic. Mr. Madden's face turned a glorious shade of pink as Ben spoke.

"Mr. Solo. Stop speaking like that this instant." Mr. Madden snapped.

"Alright alright. Dude I woke up late and I'm her ride." Ben said, holding his hands up in surrender. Mr. Madden grumbled under his breath before turning to the board.

"See me after class Ben." He growled before launching into an explanation on the problem he'd been writing when the two of you walked in the room. Ben gave you a look and stuck his tongue out again, the metal stud on his tongue catching on his teeth and making a clicking sound. It was a habit he'd picked up. If he was bored or deep in thought he'd drag the stud across his teeth to make a clicking sound. It drove Leia to her wits end, but you never minded it.

"So there's a battle of the bands type thing coming up." Ben said, walking backwards down the hall so he could face you to talk. It was the end of the day and he was walking you to the extra dance practice Phasma had scheduled so everybody could be ready for the recital in two weeks. You tilted your head and urged him to continue. He tilted his head to mirror you, sticking his tongue out and knocking the stud against his teeth again.

"Wanna come? The school's putting it on, I figured I'd do something a little more mellow. It's supposed to be covers of school appropriate songs." Ben said with a roll of his eyes. and putting air quotes around the words 'school appropriate.' You chuckled.

"Sure Ben, when is it?" You asked, stopping outside the locker room. Ben leaned one arm above his head against the wall. He told you the details of the concert and let you get changed while he waited outside the locker room for you. A few girls walked past him, including Rey. She gave Ben a quick nod. Despite being one of your friends, your friendship stopped at the teams you shared. She knew Ben was one of your closest friends however and figured she should be nice to him. Ben gave her a short nod back.

"Hey (y/n), think I could watch?" Ben asked as you walked out of the locker room in a pair of leggings and a tank top. You didn't mind, but you'd have to ask Phasma.

"I mean, I'll ask coach but I don't think she'd care." You said. You walked into the dance room with Ben on your heels. Before he could take a step on the hardwood floor you turned around and placed a hand on his chest. You pointed down at his thick-soled steel toed combat boots.

"She'll kill you if you scuff her floor." You said. Ben sighed and leaned against the wall to pull the boots off. He held them up next to him with a tight lipped smile. He shuffled into the room in mismatched green socks, setting the boots under the collapsible table in the corner that the dance team set their phones and water bottles on.

"Hey Coach," You approached Phasma at her desk. She was working on cutting the music for the concert but at hearing your voice she looked up with a smile.

"What's up (y/n)?"

"Could my friend Ben watch us practice? He's my ride home and I didn't really want to make him sit in the hall the entire time." You said, jerking your thumb behind you at Ben. He flipped his hair out of his eyes and flashed Phasma a crooked smile. She looked him up and down with raised eyebrows before turning to you and nodding.

"I didn't expect you to be friends with him, but yes he can watch." Phasma said. She finished the song she was working on before standing up and walking to the front of the class. Ben skated to the back in his socks, sliding across the hardwood before lowering himself to sit on the floor in the back.

"Has anybody seen David?" Phasma asked. David was the partner you'd been working on your duet with. Now that you thought about it, you hadn't seen him all day. You hoped he was alright.

"Uh, hey coach." You heard David call from the doorway. You and the rest of the class turned to look at him.

He had his left arm cradled in a sling, and his left leg in a boot. He had a crutch tucked under his right arm and hopped into the room, struggling to balance on his one good leg without the help of his other arm. Phasma's mouth dropped open along with yours. There was no way he could dance with one arm and one leg, and there was no way it would heal in two weeks. Phasma let out a deep sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"David what did you do?" She asked. David let out a nervous chuckle.

"I uh, went ice skating with my girlfriend, and I fell. Very hard." David said as he leaned against the wall of mirrors in the front of the room. You gave Ben a worried glance and he tilted his head at you. You could see his jaw moving as he chewed on his tongue, another habit he had when he was bored.

"Well, I guess you're out of the routines." Phasma said. David flashed her an apologetic grin. Phasma turned to you.

"(y/n) your duet with David was supposed to be in the concert, I can't cut it, the programs have already been ordered." Phasma said. It seemed more like she was thinking out loud rather than actually addressing you. She glanced behind you, a spark suddenly lighting behind her eyes.

"You said your friends name was Ben?" She said as she turned to fully face him. Suddenly every eye in the room was focused on Ben. He shuffled uncomfortably and looked to you for guidance. You simply shrugged.

"Ben, have you ever danced?" She asked. Ben stared blankly for a minute and in the silent room you could hear the stud clicking against his teeth in his mouth.

"I did gymnastics for a few years?" Ben said. You remembered his brief gymnast career in seventh and eighth grade. He'd gotten pretty good at the flips, but that wasn't dance.

"I can work with that." Phasma said. She gestured for everybody to clear the center of the room and for Ben to stand.

"Do a flip." She said. Ben gave her a confused look. It had been years since you'd see him do anything where his feet were above his head, let alone purposefully.

"Coach, come on that's Ben Solo. He just walks around glaring at people. I doubt he can even do a cartwheel." One of the girls in the corner said. She'd been rude to you since you tried out. Rey said she was always rude to anybody outside of her circle.

Ben shot her a glare, then stood from the floor, shucking his leather jacket onto the floor and emptying his pockets on top of his jacket .He slipped his socks off and stepped towards the middle of the room. He turned to look at everybody around him, standing in a perfect ballet third position. He gestured to the room with an exaggerated movement.

"Any requests?" He asked cockily. Nobody spoke and Ben nodded before lifting his arms and throwing himself into a cartwheel, then twisting into a back handspring and finishing with a backflip that brought him to the other side of the room where he landed effortlessly. Phasma let out a snort of laughter before turning to the girl who had previously spoken out.

"He's a better gymnast than you." Phasma said. Ben brushed his jeans off and straightened his shirt that had pulled up to show the smallest bit of his stomach. He walked towards you and held his hand up for a high five. You gave him one before he stuck his tongue out at you again. He'd been doing it a lot more you noticed.

"Ben would you be interested in being in the concert?" Phasma asked him suddenly. You heard a scoff from the girls in the corner and Ben looked bewildered. He hadn't come in the room today with the intent of being in the concert, just watching you practice. He looked between you and Phasma as if begging for an answer.

If you were being honest, you wouldn't mind Ben being your partner. David was nice, but he was lean and there were a lot of lifts in your dance. You were always nervous David would drop you, but you trusted Ben with your life. You knew he would throw himself to the floor to catch you before letting you fall. You hoped he would say yes.

"I mean, why not?" He said, more of a question than an answer. Phasma let a wide grin split her face.

"Wonderful, David can show you the video he had of the duet from last week, and you two can practice all you want. We only have two weeks." Phasma said. She dismissed you and Ben to follow David into the gym to practice the duet and teach Ben the new steps.

#Empressrenwrites #daffodils #ben solo #ben solo imagine #ben solo x reader #x reader #reader insert #Modern!AU #modern!ben solo #guitarist!ben solo #ben solo fluff #ben solo smut #ben solo au #high school au #ben solo x female reader #female reader #female reader insert #angst #fluff #smut #star wars au #the sequel trilogy

[totally-incorrect-theatre-quotes]

Therapy (fanfic)

I’m currently on Thanksgiving break from school and was in a writing mood. So here is a fanfiction about Lydia’s relationship with therapy.

TW: bullying, mentions of suicide*, grief, mourning

*the mentions of suicide is only the canon of the musical, after “Invisible” and before/during “Say my name”

When Emily first died he wanted someone to help him bring back his once happy daughter, he would give anything to just see her smile again, or tell those silly jokes that he never understood but made Emily snort. He couldn’t stand to see the sight of Lydia dressed in black, her eyes always puffy and red. The weeks leading up to Emily’s passing Charles and Lydia were constantly in the hospital by her side. Charles figured that the little time Emily had left she would want to be with her daughter and that eighth-grade English classes came second. Even after the funeral, Charles didn’t force Lydia to go back to school until she said she was ready, he even suggested online school but she insisted she would go back. 

It went alright at first, he saw little rays of the old Lydia peaking through, but after a few days, he got a phone call to urgently come to the school and pick Lydia up. When he rushed to the office he was greeted by a sniffling Lydia hugging herself. She wouldn’t even make eye contact with her father as they walked out to the car. He tried to get the story off of her what had happened but she stayed silent the entire ride home and locked herself in her room. It took a few phone calls to the school for him to find out that a student Lydia had problems with in the past had been harassing her about Emily, and Lydia snapped when the boy started a rumor that Emily had killed herself. Charles went up to her bedroom but there was no response when he knocked on the door, just stifled sobs that were clearly being muffled by a pillow or blanket. She didn’t go back to school for another two weeks.

The school suggested Lydia go to grief counseling, have professionals help her work through all the emotions she was feeling. The school psychologist met with Lydia once a week, and all they were able to tell her was that one day she wouldn’t feel like this anymore. That her mother wasn’t in pain anymore, and that she was in a better place now. None of that helped her, Lydia wondered what better place it was if she couldn’t be with her mother. She started skipping her sessions with the counselor. She didn’t see a point to going anyway, he never listened to her about what she really wanted to say. He even accused her of being selfish for wishing her mother was back, and immature for being angry at the world for taking Emily from her. She lied to her father about it, she knew he didn’t care either so long as she plastered a fake smile on her face he would gush about her progress. It took less than two weeks for him to realize she hadn’t been going, though he never would have noticed if her one teacher hadn’t found her hiding in the library when she was supposed to be with the counselor. Instead of being asked why she didn’t go to her appointments she was given detention and a phone call was made to home.

The school told Charles that they had done all they could do to help Lydia, but he may want to consider outside resources if they want to see actual results. During his brief search for a therapist for his daughter, he found Delia on a facebook page. She sounded perfect, and he hoped that Lydia would be more willing to the idea of seeing a life coach instead of a therapist. He booked a session with Delia and drove nearly an hour out of town to take Lydia there. Delia was like a ray of sunshine. Her positivity bubbling out of her and he couldn’t help but smile when he saw her. Lydia was less than impressed and was extremely hesitant to even go into her office.

Five months later and Lydia still hadn’t made any progress. She hardly slept or ate, her grades were tanking, her teachers called home almost weekly about her lack of focus or outright absence in class. She still went to see Delia, and though Charles had his doubts when he didn’t see any results, Delia assured him that life coaching can take months before any progress is seen. Her methods were ...unconventional, the crystals threw him off but the fact that Lydia had an opinion on them (though it was often mockery) gave him a glimmer of hope that maybe her sense of humor was slowly starting to shine through. However, there was a point when Charles knew that no amount of life coaching would help Lydia. She was being harshly bullied in school, he knew high school could be rough but there would be days she would beg him to not make her go. She would never tell him why but it didn’t take a genius to figure it out. The same boy from the previous year was at it again, starting out with just cruel jokes that when they garnered a reaction from Lydia he would mock her by asking if she was going to go cry to her mommy about it. Charles tried everything to force the school to stop it, but they claimed their hands were tied. The breaking point came when Lydia finally had enough and lashed out on the boy, slapping him in the face. 

She sat in the principal's office sulking and trying to hold back tears while the boy sat in the seat next to her, a bright red mark on his cheek. Charles tried to remain stoic when the boy was simply given a warning to not instigate Lydia. He was dismissed back to class and given a sympathetic look from the principal. Charles asked to speak to the principal alone and Lydia was sent to wait outside the door. 

“Mr. Deetz, your daughter is facing up to a two-week suspension for assaulting that boy. We have a zero-tolerance policy for bullying at this school.”

“Is that a fact? He’s been bullying her for months now, and the school has done nothing about it but tell me my daughter needs psychiatric help. She went to your school therapist, she sees another therapist, but I think the problem runs a lot deeper than anything the school can help.” Charles replied, “Look, it has been hard for Lydia since her mother died five months ago-”

“And we are sorry for her loss but it is not an excuse for violent outbursts.”

“If you would let me finish...I want to give Lydia a fresh start. The school year is ending in less than a month and this summer I’m going to be moving to Connecticut, just to distance her from the whole situation. If you suspend her from school she is going to think that we’re moving as a punishment. Could you just do me a favor and let her off with a warning?”

“Mr. Deetz, letting her go without any consequences would be sending a terrible message to the other students, especially the boy she assaulted.”

“She slapped him! He got in her face and was bullying her and she slapped him. I’m not even mad about it. Give her detention if you have to make a message out of her. I promise you she will not be giving you any more problems this school year.”

He took Charles up on his offer and Lydia got three days of detention and was made to write a formal apology letter to the boy for hitting him. Though the letter was more spite than apology the school accepted it, and her punishment was over. The school year ended and as Charles had promised the family went to Connecticut. 

After a strange first week in the new house, it seemed that Lydia had finally begun to settle into her new life. Despite everything that happened she seemed to be genuinely happy and was even accepting of him and Delia’s relationship. He tried not to be hurt when Lydia would favor the Maitlands some days, but he figured if it was making her happy he didn’t have a problem with it. He stopped hovering over his as much, gave her more freedom, and thought that she was progressing well. It wasn’t until a month later when Barbara asked to talk to him that he realized how not okay Lydia really was. 

“She’s been having nightmares, Charles. Bad ones, every night. She’s been trying to hide them from us. Stuffing towels under her door, muffling her crying with pillows. I had to sit in her bed all night with her asleep in my lap just to make sure she actually slept. I’m worried about her, I don't like that she’s trying to keep this from us.”

“Did she tell you what they were about at least.”

Barbara nodded, “Usually her mother dying, but she said something about how she feels terrible for how she acted, how scared she was when I ...when Beetlejuice tricked her. She told me about how alone she felt in the Netherworld. I could handle her telling me that, but when I tried to tell her it was okay and that we forgave her she started panicking, screaming about how she doesn’t deserve our forgiveness, or how she deserves these nightmares as a punishment. I know Lydia looks up to me, but I am really out of my depths here, she wouldn’t listen to reason at all. I only think she agreed with me in the end because she was going to pass out from the exhaustion of the whole episode.”

“I thought she had been coping better, that’s why I haven’t pushed her towards anything, I didn’t think she needed it anymore. She seems to be happy, especially with you guys. You just seem to understand her better than I can, and I’m her father for god sake. I’ve been at this for months now Barbara and I just feel like I’m constantly letting her down.”

“She doesn’t need perfection Charles, she needs someone to be there for her. I know she knows that we love her, but something is preventing her from breaking through that final barrier and letting us show it. The stuff that happened, it’s not typical. Most fifteen-year-olds don’t live in haunted houses or are technically widows. She has a lot of trauma to work through, and I don’t exactly know how to go about it. I mean I’m a dead...but grown woman and it still took me a while to process the events. I can’t imagine how hard it’s been for Lydia.”

“How hard what has been for me?” Lydia asked, sleepily peeking out from behind the doorframe of the kitchen.

Charles carefully walked over to Lydia and gave her a hug, it wasn’t uncommon for them to hug in the morning so Lydia didn’t hesitate. He rubbed her shoulders and when they broke the embrace he held her hands gently in his, “Honey Barbara told me about last night.”

She couldn’t help but feel hurt when she looked over at the ghost sitting at the table, “I had a rough night. That’s all.”

“I think it’s a little more than that. Look I know I have been far from perfect when helping you with everything that’s been happening in your life. If Emily were here she would know exactly what to do, but I want to help you, sweetheart. We all want to make sure you are okay.”

Anger bubbled in Lydia’s tiny frame, “There is nothing wrong with me! I know exactly what you’re going to say next, dad. You’re going to tell me that you want to send me to some shrink who is going to fix me and make me the perfect happy daughter you want.” she was yelling now, a hint of trembling in her voice as she tried to fight back angry tears, “I’m right aren’t I? You just want me to magically be fixed-”

“Lydia’s you aren’t broken.” he pulled slightly at her arm, guiding her to sit at the table with them, “This isn’t about fixing you, it’s about giving you support and guidance.”

“I’ve been doing just fine, you guys are supportive.”

Barbara chimed in, “I know we support you, but sweetie last night told me that you need more. There is no shame in going to talk to somebody, they can really help.”

“No, they don’t!” Lydia shouted, “All they do is patronize you and tell you everything is going to be alright, or that everything happens for a reason. There is no reason for anything! There’s no good reason that my mom died. They tell me she’s in a better place now? I’ve been there..the netherworld sucks and just knowing that my mom is alone in there, without me. That makes me feel so much worse. Everyone that I’ve seen just makes me feel worse.”

“I didn’t know the school therapist told that to you.” Charles admitted, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because dad, the only time you’d pay attention to me was when I pretended everything was fine. It wasn’t fine, I’m still not fine! I am so sick of not being normal, it’s a constant fight to convince myself that life is even worth living.”

“Honey,” Barbara rubbed Lydia’s hand with her thumb, “Of course life if worth living, why would you think it’s not.”

Lydia couldn’t help but roll her eyes, “You saw me on the roof, you can’t even pretend to know that I’ve felt this way.”

“I never knew that’s why you were up there. I thought that Beetlejuice brought you there.”

“Wait..never knew what?”

Barbara and Lydia had both forgotten that Charles didn’t know about the events that transpired on the roof. Lydia mentally slapped herself for bringing it up, because now she was going to lose everything she had worked for. 

“Before you say anything I’m not..like that anymore. I don’t want to die, mainly because I know what comes next, but it is just so hard to keep trying. Everything feels so pointless. Any slight progress I make, I can’t even be happy about because I know how pathetic I am when I cry myself to sleep at night or wake up terrified from nightmares that I can’t control. I don’t want to reach out to anyone because then you all look at me like” she gestures to them, “that. Like I’m some stray puppy.”

“How come you never told me that you...that you tried to kill yourself?”

“Because I didn’t go through with it. Beetlejuice convinced me not to, and though it was with terrible reasoning, I didn’t end up doing it.”

“If he hadn’t been there, would you have?”

Lydia paused, she didn’t know the answer to that. It was so hard to think back on her mental state back then, she was so blind with grief and betrayal from her father’s new fiance that she wasn’t thinking anything through clearly. She knew now that she wanted to live, but she couldn’t say for certain that if Beetlejuice hadn’t been there that she wouldn’t have gone through with it. 

“I don’t know,” she whispered. She closed her eyes, allowing a rogue tear to go down her cheek as she braced herself for Barabra and her father yelling at her for how stupid she was, and how little trust they now had in her. Instead, she didn’t hear any yelling, she felt arms around her and knew she was being hugged. She opened her eyes and saw her father crying, muttering about how glad he was that he didn’t lose her too. She began to cry as well, nuzzling into the crook of his neck while he just held her. 

“I’m proud of you.” Barbara told her, “Beetlejuice may have been there at the right place at the right time to distract you, but it was you who made the decision Lydia. You were the one who chose to live, don’t forget that.”

“I am proud of you too. You say that you’re small and pathetic, but I don’t think I’ve ever met someone as strong as you. To have gone through so much and to keep going?”

“But what about the nightmares?” Lydia wiped at her eyes, “I just want them to stop.”

“I want to help you, Lydia.” her father said, “I am not the best person for the job. I know you’ve had bad experiences before, and a lot of that is my fault for not listening to you and being so caught up in my own world. I promise that this time will be different. If we go to the counselor and after two appointments you don’t like that...we won’t go back to them.”

Barbara smiled, “I know a great children’s therapist, I went to college with her and she has an office a few blocks away from here. I think she could really help you, sweetie.”

Hesitantly Lydia nodded, willing to try one more time. 

The ride to the office one week later was a strange one. She had been researching online how to connect with a therapist and she had been following some of the advice such as keeping a journal of all the strong feelings she had been having over the week. She held it tight to her chest as they walked in the building, the juvenile paintings on the walls didn’t instill confidence in Lydia that they would be able to help her with her mature problems but she didn’t want to give up just yet. Her father gave her a quick kiss on the forehead when she was called back, she took in a deep breath and followed the receptionist to the room. 

The office was a lot more minimalist than she had been expecting. The walls were a soothing grey color and there was a white couch lined with fluffy pillows on top of them. Next to the couch was a table set up with some strange objects like a square of sand and a tiny rake, a stress ball, a stuffed bear, and a cube with little buttons on it. Lydia observantly looked around the room while she waited on the couch for the therapist to arrive, she admired the bookshelf filled with impressive books and smiled when she noticed a photo of Barbara and who she assumed her counselor was in college. 

“Hi, Lydia sorry to keep you waiting.” a short woman walked into the room and gently shut the door, “My name is Amanda, it’s a pleasure to meet you! Were you a family friend of Barbara’s”

Lydia shook her hand and smiled politely, “You could say that.”

“She was a wonderful woman,” Amanda lamented, “So what brings you here today?”

“Where should I start?”

“From wherever you’d like. We can talk about today, we could talk about last week, we could talk about three years ago. It is completely up to you.”

Lydia took in a shaky breath, “Seven months ago my mother died.”

#lydia deetz #delia deetz #adam maitland #barbara maitland #charles deetz #lawrence beetlejuice shoggoth #presley ryan #sophia anne caruso #dana #leslie kritzer #kerry butler #rob mcclure #alex brightman #beetlejuice #incorrect beetlejuice quotes #beetlegeuse #beetlejuice the musical #beetlejuice fanfiction #beetlejuice fanfic #fanfic #tw: suidice #tw: mourning #tw: death #tw: bullying

[welcometophu]

Not Your Guardian Angel: Chapter 3

Marked Book 3: Not Your Guardian Angel

Chapter 3

[ Previous | First | Next ]

Pels falls into a routine, reminding herself that it’s only for a few days. A week. She can handle that, then she’ll be back at PHU in the life she’s slowly building for herself there.

And maybe yes, she should allow herself to build a little of that life.

It seems like some of it is happening whether she likes it or not. Jess and Shane keep texting, both in their group chat, and in a separate group chat that has expanded to include Hayley and Ángel.

“I’m so proud of you,” Dad murmurs. “You have more friends than you can count on one hand now.”

Pels mutters something rude to him and is thankful that he can’t actually work her phone. She’d worry about what he might do to try to help her move forward in life.

She showers after lunch on Monday because she has to go out and pick up Cheyenne from school. When Mom walks in carrying a pile of clothes, Pels is half-dressed in jeans and a bra, still trying to decide if she’s going to put on a blouse in deference to the house rules, or if she wants to just throw on a hoodie.

As Mom drops what looks like several dresses on the bed, Pels grabs a hoodie and yanks it over her head.

“You didn’t go to church yesterday,” Mom says, as if that has anything to do with wearing a dress today.

“And I’m leaving next Saturday before there’s another service,” Pels mumbles, her voice muffled by the hoodie still stuck on her head. She tries to untangle herself, and mutters a low thanks when Dad turns it and frees her to get her head through it properly. “You know I’m not—” She fails to find the right words. “Peter’s probably happier I wasn’t there.”

“Your father—”

“He is not, and will never be, my actual father,” Pels says firmly. “He doesn’t even like me, so I’m not going to make the effort to like him.”

“He adopted you and gave you his name—”

“Because he had to.” Pels isn’t going to budge on this point. “Mom. I get it. You love him. You love the Church. Cheyenne’s your good daughter. Please just let me be your little not-quite-an-atheist daughter. I have a guardian angel. Pretty sure God’s looking over me whether I show my face in church or not.”

Mom sinks to sit on the edge of her bed, one hand on the pile of clothes. “Dresses and leggings. All comfortable. Not stodgy, as you’d say. In colors that I think you’d like. All I’m asking is don’t wear jeans. You know he doesn’t approve. Dress appropriately while you’re home.”

And try not to rock the boat.

Dad coughs, and Pels shakes her head. He’s standing next to the dresses, and any second now those dresses could go flying into the air, scattered around the room. That’s not what she wants. “Mom,” she says quietly.

“It’s for one week.” Mom rises, smoothing down her own skirt. “Wear your combat boots. I know you will anyway. But he pays for your tuition. Wearing a dress at home, in deference to his beliefs, can’t be that difficult.”

She closes the door behind her, a soft thunk like the lid closing on a coffin.

“She was different when we met,” Dad muses. “I remember her being so alive. Ready to be a part of the world, not withdrawing from it. She’s intelligent, and strong. Why does she…?”

“You remember my grandparents?” Pels mutters. She sifts through the dresses, finding one in a t-shirt fabric of dark maroon, with lighter swirls, and a pair of black leggings. She quickly changes, then laces up her boots over the leggings. “I don’t think Mom was ever really the person you knew. She never has been.”

She yells out on her way to the car, “Mom, I’m taking Cheyenne out for ice cream after school today,” then escapes before Mom could possibly say no.

They arranged this ahead of time. Pels arrives ten minutes after the final bell, pulling into the half circle in front of the school just after the buses pull out. Cheyenne sits on a low stone wall by the stairs, her bangs falling in curls around her face while her long hair is pulled back in a high ponytail. She flushes as the boy who sits with her tucks one of the curls back behind her ear.

Pels supposes he’s cute, in a very eighth grade sort of way. He’s about the same height as Cheyenne, and skinny like a stick. But even from a distance she can see a kindness in his dark eyes, and the gentle way his fingers touch her cheek, like she’s a precious thing to him.

She touches the horn lightly, and Cheyenne jumps up, pulling the boy with her. They grab their things, then both climb into the back seat of the car, like Pels is an actual chauffeur. “Hi, Pels, this is Adric,” Cheyenne chirps happily.

“Hey,” he says, with a quick bright grin, braces flashing on his teeth.

“Young love. It’s so cute,” Dad murmurs. Pels is thankful that no one can see her roll her eyes at him.

She glances up at the mirror. “Cheyenne, you have to tell me where we’re going. I don’t actually live here.”

Cheyenne flushes brightly, carefully withdrawing her hand from Adric’s so she can lean forward and point, directing Pels the few blocks until they reach the ice cream place. A sign in the store boasts “13 Flavors Made Fresh Daily” and as Cheyenne opens the door to get out, she says, “It’s not that they only have thirteen flavors, it’s that they make up thirteen fresh huge things of ice cream every day. So sometimes they have flavors from a day ago, if it’s one that’s not as popular. And sometimes they run out early, especially in the summer. They do all kinds of crazy flavors, and they have this big sundae that you can share and win a prize if you finish it in a half hour.”

Pels is pretty sure she’s seen a place similar to this everywhere she’s lived, including in Unity, by PHU. She tails along behind Adric and Cheyenne, who hold hands loosely in line, their shoulders lined up and just barely touching. Cheyenne tilts her head slowly until she just leans against him, and she makes a little squeak when he lets go of her hand and puts his arm around her shoulder instead.

“All it takes is letting yourself make a connection,” Dad says as Pels lines up behind them.

She crosses her arms and glares at him. “Not my thing,” she mutters. “Cheyenne’s good at all that shit. Like keeping in touch with people she went to school with two states ago. She gets how people work.”

“You could,” Dad says.

It’s not that Pels doesn’t want to. It’s always been such trouble. The moment she’d start to understand someone, her family would pick up and move, and she’d have to start all over again. “I’ll leave it to Cheyenne.”

“Leave what to me?” Cheyenne asks cheerfully, as Adric steps forward to place an order. “We’re sharing a sundae,” she whispers, as if it’s a scandalous thought. “We each picked two flavors and a topping, and I said it’s okay if he gets nuts on it, as long as they’re peanuts. And whipped cream. We have to have whipped cream.”

Pels blinks. “That is the most disgustingly cute thing I have ever heard and I have been watching people fall in love for a semester and a half.” She shakes her head, trying to clear her mind while ignoring Dad’s snicker. “What’s good here?” She waves at the long line of ice cream behind the glass counter.

“Depends on what you’re in the mood for.” Cheyenne looks up at the board, where flavors are handwritten under dates. Her tongue peeks out as her brow furrows thoughtfully. “They have Apple Strudel, and honestly, that is one of the best flavors ever, even if we’re not getting it in our sundae today. Cherry Delight is all dark chocolate and sour cherries, or if you just want chocolate you can go coffee flavored with a Mud Slide or decadent with Death by Chocolate or if you really want to just fall over in a chocolate induced sugar coma, there’s the Chocolate Mountain. It’s a sundae with a base of Milky White—which is a milk and white chocolate swirled flavor—then Mud Slide on top, and the peak is Death by Chocolate. And it’s covered in homemade hot fudge, and chocolate whipped cream.”

“That sounds evil.” Pels has a feeling she’s going to overdose, so as she steps up to request it, she adds, “In a to-go container, just in case I can’t finish.” When the girl behind the counter laughs, she gets the feeling she’s not the only one to ask that.

Adric and Cheyenne claim a table, and sit on one side of it, their knees pressed together as they lean in, poking at the sundae with their spoons and stealing bites of it while giggling. Adric eats with his left hand, while Cheyenne uses her right, and their other hands lie on the table between them, fingers tangled together.

It really is disgustingly cute.

She lifts her phone and takes a picture of the two of them—Dad standing behind them, gazing out the window, doesn’t show in the image. Then she opens the chat with Jess and Shane and tries not to overthink it as she types, My little sister has her first boyfriend and they are adorable.

She presses send, then turns her phone upside down on the table.

She’s digging at her sundae, eating the Milky White flavor first in spoonfuls covered in dark chocolate fudge and whipped cream, when her phone buzzes. She starts to pick it up, but catches a flurry of movement out of the corner of her eye. A large fake ice cream cone drops from where it hangs in the bay window, the point hitting the sill with a thud before it falls over with a loud crash. It tugs on the curtains decorating the sides of the windows, pulling them down in a clatter. Adric jumps up, his back to the window and his hands out, but the decorations never even come close to their table.

Or anyone’s table.

Because Dad’s the one pulling them down, and shoving them back into the window in a mess before they can hit anyone.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Pels snaps. “What the hell?”

Cheyenne makes a small noise. “Is this—one of those things?”

“Are you okay? It didn’t hit you, did it?” Adric sinks back into his seat slowly, one hand on Cheyenne’s shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, everyone.” The girl from behind the counter is there, pushing between their table and the window, walking right through where Dad stands guard. Dad’s gaze is fixed on something outside, and he ignores the girl who stands half in the same place as him. “Are you all okay? Let me just get this cleaned up and make sure it’s stable. I don’t know what happened.”

All around them the people closest to the windows are packing up to leave, except for their own table. Adric watches Cheyenne, who is staring at Pels. And Pels is glaring at Dad, waiting for some kind of an explanation.

“Pels?” Cheyenne says quietly.

Right. Shit. Cheyenne had asked a question. “Yeah,” Pels mutters. “It’s one of those things. Which means we really ought to get out of here because God only knows why it happened, and I sure as hell don’t want it to happen again.”

There’s dust on her skirt when she gets up, and she brushes it off so Mom doesn’t figure out that they’ve had an Event. When she goes to take a step, her chair slides in her way and she stumbles, grabbing onto the table before she trips. “What?” she snaps.

“Just wait a minute,” Dad says, his hand out.

Pels makes a show of looking at the bottom of her boot, like there’s some problem that caused her to trip. It gives Cheyenne and Adric time to get something to put the remains of their sundae into, and Cheyenne puts the lid on Pels’s sundae as well.

“We can go somewhere else to finish up,” Pels says under her breath, not sure if she’s talking to her sister or her Dad. When he nods, Pels motions for the other two to follow her.

She hangs back while they get in the car, standing by the closed door with Dad behind her.

“Peter was outside,” Dad says quietly. “You know how he’d feel about Cheyenne on a date.”

“It doesn’t matter. As long as I’m involved, it’ll be my fault, not hers, and that’s fine,” Pels mutters. “Just leave it. You don’t need to interfere.”

“It’s possible that I’m trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need your protection,” Pels snaps. She yanks the door open and slides in, slamming the door behind herself. It doesn’t do any good—Dad’s in the passenger seat by the time she has her seat belt clicked into place—but at least it felt satisfying.

“Is everything okay?” Adric asks from the back seat. Cheyenne is digging a spoonful of ice cream out of their shared to-go cup, not meeting Pels’s eyes in the mirror.

“Yeah,” Pels says as she starts the car. “Everything’s going to be fine. But we probably shouldn’t stay out too long. I think Mom said that Peter would be home early tonight, and we’re having dinner together.”

“Who’s Peter?” Adric whispers.

“My Dad,” Cheyenne tells him, setting her spoon down. “But that still wouldn’t be for hours. He’s at the church now.”

Pels doesn’t say anything, figuring Cheyenne will eventually get the point. She starts driving, not sure where she’s going, but it gives her sister time to finish sharing her sundae with Adric in the back. She’s sure hers is melting, but that’s fine, it’ll taste okay as ice cream soup. “Let me know when you’re ready for me to drop Adric off.”

“It’s okay, my folks know I was going out, and they aren’t home anyway,” Adric says.

“Pels is right. Mom will be wondering where we are with the car,” Cheyenne says quietly. “But I think we’re okay for now.”

Pels uses the time to explore this small town downtown area. She realizes that the small stone church on one corner is probably Mom and Peter’s church, which would explain why he was out walking. But there’s plenty more to explore as well, and she drives by a large library that looks like it’s expanded since it was originally built and is large enough to hold both traditional books and space for online and group activities. If she has to come back in the summer, she could apply for a summer job, maybe. That’s assuming Peter’s ministry doesn’t take him somewhere else before PHU is out for the year.

Dad is blissfully silent as she drives, the only background noise the murmur of Adric and Cheyenne’s quiet voices in the back. Pels keeps a loose eye on them, but they remain adorable and cute, and nothing to worry about, their fingers linked on the seat between them. The part where they sit gazing at each other and smiling is almost sickeningly adorable, but Pels can put up with it, if it makes Cheyenne happy.

After a while, she coughs quietly, and Cheyenne looks up, cheeks flushed.

“Go back to the school,” Cheyenne says, and Pels thinks she might be able to manage that without explicit direction. “If you go to the street just past it, then down behind the school, Adric lives on that street. He usually walks in the morning.”

It takes a little more direction than that and one missed driveway and subsequent u-turn before Pels is parked in Adric’s driveway, watching them hold hands, foreheads close, as they say goodbye at Adric’s door.

When Cheyenne returns, she opens the front door and slides into the passenger seat as Dad moves to the back. “I have a secret,” she whispers, as she looks down and clicks her seat belt in place.

That’s not what Pels was expecting. “Is this going to be the kind of secret where I have to give you a very stern big sister lecture?” She tries to keep her tone light, but her heart is hammering in her chest.

Cheyenne looks up, eyes wide. “No. God, no. Pels. Gross. This doesn’t have anything to do with Adric. It’s a totally different secret. But.” She chews on her lip.

Pels wants to give her time to talk, so she pulls out of her parking space and gets on the road. She makes sure her GPS is up and running so she can find her way home later in this unfamiliar space as she just starts driving, aiming away from the house.

“It might’ve been my fault,” she says softly. “What happened back there.”

Pels blinks. She shares a look with Dad, reflected in the mirror. “In the ice cream shop? When things started moving around?”

Cheyenne nods, staring down at her hands. “Possibly. Sometimes things happen when I get… um… emotional. Usually I can control it, though, and I’ve been practicing, I swear, because I know that Talents can be a way for the devil to get in, but I don’t feel like I’ve got a devil in my heart. I just. I can move things without touching them.”

Oh.

“Wow.” Pels exhales hard, gripping the steering wheel too tightly. “Nearest park?”

Cheyenne points to a spot on the GPS screen that looks a couple of blocks away. Pels focuses on getting the car there and getting parked, so she can look at Cheyenne.

“Hey,” Pels says softly. “I promise you, what happened at the shop wasn’t the devil in your heart, and it wasn’t you. And Talent isn’t good or evil on its own; it’s all about the people who have it.”

“You said you’re Talented,” Cheyenne says. “But it’s always so—”

“Yeah, well, I’m not Telekinetic. Exactly.” Pels grabs the spoon sitting next to her covered cup of slowly melting ice cream. She holds out her hand, the spoon on the flat of her palm. “Show me,” she says.

She’s aware of Dad leaning over the seat, watching, but he doesn’t reach out. The spoon wobbles against Pels’s palm, then slowly lifts. It turns lazily in the air before Cheyenne reaches out and grabs it.

She worries at her lip with her teeth. “See?”

Pels takes the spoon back and sets it on her palm again. “My turn.” With a soft huff, she looks at Dad. He picks up the spoon and waves it about before he sets it back on her palm.

“You said you’re not Telekinetic.”

“I’m not,” Pels agrees. “And I’ve actually told Mom this, but she doesn’t listen. You know how my Dad died before I was born?” When Cheyenne nods solemnly, Pels points the spoon at the back seat. “What you can’t see is that he’s sitting right there, and that he is annoying as fuck most of the time.”

“Rude,” Dad says.

“You shut up.” Pels jabs the spoon in his direction. It occurs to her that as long as they’re sitting still, she can eat her cold ice cream soup, so she opens it up and takes a soggy bite. Yeah, it’s still good.

Cheyenne looks from the back seat to her. “You’re haunted,” she says slowly.

“I call him my guardian angel, which pretty much says that he can’t possibly be the devil, right?” Pels points out. “He’s been around since I can remember, and he’s always taken care of me. When things happen? It’s been to make sure worse things didn’t happen. Or to stop other things from happening. He has absolutely no tolerance for bullies, and I’ve been bullied a lot. On the other hand, when shit gets weird around me, I tend to get bullied more, so that backfires.”

She swallows another gulp of almost frozen ice cream drowned in melted whipped cream. It’s rich, and sweet, and so, so good. It helps calm her. She turns her wrist to face Cheyenne. “This is partly his fault. He shoved me into Shane’s lap.”

“I bumped you and you knocked into him,” Dad counters.

“Tomato tomahto,” Pels says curtly. “Point is, I wasn’t going to touch him until you got involved.”

Cheyenne blinks several times rapidly. “Why?”

“Care to field that one, Dad?” Pels asks, as if Cheyenne would be able to hear him.

“It was the right place for you to be.” He sits back, his arms crossed, eyebrows raised as if he dares her to contradict him.

“He thought it was the right thing to do,” Pels translates, even though that’s not exactly the same thing. “So he did it. Dad is not known for forethought or impulse control. I’m sure there’s a reason for why he acts and reacts the way he does, but I have no idea what it is. And Mom never believes me when I try to tell her.”

“So you have a secret by default, and I have one on purpose.” Cheyenne smiles slightly. “Thank you for listening to me.”

“Hey, I’m happy to.” Pels sets down her cup, reaching for Cheyenne’s hands instead. “We’re sisters, and we’ll stick together. But you can’t let Peter know. It’s possible that Mom would be reasonable, but his ministry is absolutely against Talent.”

“I’ve noticed,” Cheyenne says dryly. She tosses her head, ponytail swinging. “Didn’t I say I’ve got the devil in me? I’ve paid attention. He’d try to exorcise me.”

“Mom tried that with me,” Pels confides. “Didn’t work.”

“Did she really? I don’t remember that.”

“I think I was about your age, so you would’ve been what… eight?” Pels tries to remember the details, but it’s all hazy in her mind. She shakes her head. “I don’t remember you being there. Maybe you were at a sleepover or something. You’ve always been better at making friends than I have.”

And that makes her wonder… “How did you get to thirteen years old and I never knew you had a Talent? Did you just Emerge?”

Cheyenne’s gaze slides up, her expression innocent. “I just figured it out recently, but I think it’s been around all along. Like. It’s kind of easy to do things when other things just move to make it easier. But I didn’t really figure out what was going on until a couple months ago when I got really upset and all the pictures in my room started rattling. Then I knocked a mug off my desk because I got scared, and then I got more scared because I didn’t want it to break and everything just stopped. Froze. The pictures all clattered back into place when I grabbed the mug out of the air and then I realized I’d done it. So I started practicing.”

“You know you can talk to me any time, right?” Pels says. “Because you’re my sister. And now it looks like it’s you and me against the world. The two Talented demons. Okay?”

Cheyenne snickers. “We’re so demonic, aren’t we?”

“Absolutely.” Pels exhales. “So, there’s one thing Dad does well, and it’s that he’s a great early warning system. Peter was walking around outside the shop and Dad didn’t want him to see you and Adric earlier. So be careful about that, or that secret is going to be out.”

“No more downtown dates,” Cheyenne agrees. “But still.” She lets go of Pels to launch herself closer, throwing her arms around her and hugging her hard. “Thank you for taking us out. You really are the best big sister influence.”

“Aww,” Dad murmurs.

Pels holds on, because out of everyone in the universe, Cheyenne’s the one she’s going to protect first. “Any time. Anything you need, okay? I promise.”

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Brooklyn’s Sweetheart Chapter 2: Diamonds Are Forever, Those Boys Ain’t

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Chapter Summary: They say diamonds are a girl’s best friend, but can diamonds keep her company all summer at Martha’s Vineyard? She didn’t think so. 

Word Count: 4,336

Warnings: Language, drinking, eventual smut

Masterlist / AO3

The next morning, Y/N sat at the kitchen table, eating the Eggs Benedict their chef, Rita, had made, when her father walked in.

Obadiah sat down at the kitchen table and stared at his daughter. “Good morning.”

“Morning, Daddy,” she greeted him, her voice light.

“What do you want?”

It was his way of apologizing for the night before. They’d been through this enough times that it was now a routine.

When he yelled at her during her celebratory end-of-eighth-grade-sleepover, she got a brand-new MacBook out of it. When he screamed at her homecoming date in sophomore year, he gave her a St. Bernard puppy. When he cursed out her coach at her state qualifiers swim meet the year before, he bought her a white gold and diamond tennis bracelet. 

She wore the bracelet now, and the dog, a Sweet Good Boy named Hermes, sat at her feet, looking warily up at her father. Hermes and Obadiah had quite the hateful relationship.

Hermes was just a good judge of character.

“I want Steve and Bucky to come with me this summer.”

She had thought about it all last night, knowing her father would come to her this morning with a peace offering—more like a way of buying her forgiveness. And she knew what she wanted, which was to spend the summer with her two closest friends since childhood.

Every summer, her father sent her off to their vacation houses. The cabin in the Adirondacks, the beach house in the Hamptons, the cottage at Martha’s Vineyard. Each time, she was accompanied by a small entourage—people to keep her safe and to keep her from being bored, because of course her parents weren’t about to spend the entire summer with their daughter.

Steve and Bucky had gone with her on several of these trips but had made no plans to be with her for this summer, which was outrageous to her because they were the perfect pair to keep her both safe and entertained. 

She was headed to the cottage in a week and she wanted her favorite boys to be there, no matter if one was not speaking to her and the other had forced a very interesting kiss on her the night before.

So maybe the kiss she shared with Bucky had prompted this whole idea, but she sure as hell couldn’t ask her father for only Bucky to come. That would be suspicious. And she did miss Steve, so she hoped this would give her the chance to smooth things over with him.

Even if he was a big dumb blond hunk of meat.

“That’s all you want?” her father asked suspiciously, expecting the other shoe to drop.

“Yes,” she nodded. 

“Really?” he stole a piece of toast from her plate, and she glared at him. As he chewed, he said, “You know, diamonds are forever, those boys ain’t.”

Simpering, she quipped, “Whoever said diamonds are a girl’s best friend hasn’t met Steve and Bucky.” Then, “A new Balenciaga bag would sweeten the deal. But mostly I just want them with me for the whole summer.”

“Sure thing, sweetie, whatever you want.”

As their weekly mob meeting later that night finished up, Obadiah broke the news to Steve and Bucky. It worked out well for Obadiah. He hadn’t known who he was going to send with his daughter to protect her until she made the decision for him. Stark had taken an interest in the Rogers kid for some reason, had big plans for him over the summer, but he had managed to talk Stark into letting him go at least for a little while.

 “You two will be accompanying Y/N this summer,” Obadiah said with an air of finality, “Your job is to keep her safe and happy.”

That had always been their job. To anybody remotely concerned, that was Bucky’s and Steve’s sole purpose for being alive.

They hadn’t been doing that good of a job of it for the last few months—at least not the “keeping her happy” part.

The boys didn’t argue—not to Obadiah’s face. They didn’t have a death wish. 

“You’re leaving in a week for Martha’s Vineyard.”

Tony sent them a look that told them he approved of this and they had no choice in the matter, before he exited behind Obadiah.

Sam waggled his eyebrows at them. “Make sure to pack your swim trunks, boys. Oh, and you’ll have to find a guard-dog-friendly beach. Pets allowed, and all that.” He snickered as Bucky flipped him off before he exited the room. 

As the last two in the meeting room, Bucky and Steve looked at each other. Bucky’s gaze was pleading—Steve had barely spoken to him the entire day, and when he had, it had been clipped statements that simmered with an angry undertone. Steve’s gaze now was even angrier.

“What the fuck, Bucky?”

That was all Steve said before leaving.

Bucky had no idea why Steve was so mad—aside from the obvious fact that he kissed Y/N. Even then, Bucky thought it was hypocritical of Steve to be mad over such a thing considering he had also kissed Y/N last year. Bucky had told Steve as much earlier, and Steve only responded by getting even angrier.

Bucky made his way into the kitchen, where everyone was gathered for the big family dinner they always had every Sunday, right after the official weekly meeting. Tonight, Tony’s chefs had prepared a variety of Indian cuisine for them.

He spotted Y/N on the other side of the kitchen. She had just come in from the backyard with Peter Parker, Tony’s boy, and she was barefoot. Bucky started to make his way over to her but Steve got there before he did. Peter scurried away when Steve made eye contact with him.

“So,” Steve said, sidling up to her right by the kitchen table, effectively trapping her between him and the table. “Martha’s Vineyard, huh?” His voice was hard, slightly annoyed.

She looked up at him with that sweet smile. Her lips were glossy with lip balm and she smelled like the sun. “Yeah, I thought it would be fun. Are you excited?” 

He sighed her name, exasperated.

“Hey,” she said before he could say anything else, “I’m wearing the necklace you got me. Thank you, it’s perfect. I love it.” She hooked her thumb around the chain and showed him the gift he got for her birthday. It was a silver locket, an engraving of the sun on the front.

His eyes softened when he saw that, and he smiled at her genuinely for the first time in a year. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I’m not sure what pictures I should put in it, yet,” she said, fingers opening and closing the latch of the locket with a little snap. “Maybe we’ll take some good photos at Martha’s Vineyard.”

He hesitated before asking, “Why did you want us there this summer?”

“I miss you guys,” she answered earnestly. “You never spend time with me anymore. And next semester, I’ll probably be at NYU, maybe. And then I’ll never be around and I’ll never see either of you.”

“Sweetheart—”

“I just want one summer with you guys. Is that too much to ask for?” Her puppy dog eyes hit him in just the right spot.

“No,” he sighed, giving her a small smile, “No, it’s not too much… It’ll be fun. We’re excited.”

Y/N parted from him then, squeezing past him to make her way into the living room to talk to Wanda and Pietro Maximoff before dinner started.

Bucky came over to Steve and Steve sighed. “I couldn’t stay mad at her.”

“You don’t really have a reason to be mad at her,” Bucky pointed out, “Not really.”

“I know…” he turned to Bucky, eyeing him. “Do I have a reason to be mad at you, Buck?”

Bucky shrugged. “I told you, the kiss was an accident. Doesn’t mean anything.”

 “Yeah… Okay… Sorry for bein’ an ass.”

“S’okay,” Bucky clapped him on the back. “I’m used to it by now.”

Steve laughed and punched at Bucky’s shoulder, and then dinner was called.

A week later, Steve and Bucky were packing their suitcases into the SUV for them to get ready to go on the six-hour trip to Martha’s Vineyard. They had gotten a late start and probably wouldn’t be there until it was dark. 

Steve drove and Bucky rode shotgun, dictating the music the entire drive—much to Steve’s and Y/N’s chagrin. She sat in the back with Hermes and chattered with them both about nothing for the first half of the drive.

They were already behind schedule, and it was only made worse when Bucky and Y/N demanded they stop for a bathroom break about three times each—Steve was seething by the last time. He calmed down when she came back from the gas station convenience store with a bag of M&M’s for him—his favorite candy.

They had stopped for a late lunch at a pizza place in Boston—and had gone 40 minutes out of their way for it. Between the three of them, they had devoured three pizzas and a whole basket of garlic knots. It had sent Y/N into a food-induced stupor. By the time they were pulling up to the Stanes’ cottage, she was fast asleep, using the dog as a pillow.

He and Steve carried all the luggage in before they contemplated waking her up. 

“Let her sleep,” Bucky said, “She’ll probably be out for the rest of the night.”

“I’ll carry her in,” Steve said as Hermes jumped out, “Can you get the dog?”

Bucky obliged. He let the dog go into the fenced-in backyard.

The cottage at Martha’s Vineyard wasn’t so much a cottage as a 6-bedroom converted-barn-turned-luxury-mansion overlooking the water, complete with a big fancy backyard and a pool and access to the beachside and a private dock. Bucky was always blown away every time they visited and this time was no different.

He stood in the backyard admiring the black waters while Hermes did his business.

“I set her on the couch,” Steve said, startling Bucky.

Bucky looked back to see Steve on the porch, taking a seat on the porch swing that faced the ocean. He walked over, taking a seat next to him. Their arms brushed together as they settled in.

“Here,” Steve said, handing him a bottle of whiskey. “They’ve got this place stocked with liquor but no food. We’ll have to make a grocery run tomorrow.”

Bucky grunted in response as he took a long drink. It had been a long day, and truthfully, all he could think of doing right now was going to bed. Instead, he stayed up with Steve, ready to relax on their vacation after the last stressful few months. 

Tony had taken Steve under his wing, mentoring him into a more important place in the mob. It was the start of something big, Steve kept saying. Bucky was excited for his friend, if not a little jealous. But Steve deserved it, he knew; Steve was always the more determined of the two of them, always the more ruthless one.

So tonight, Bucky welcomed the respite. As they chatted and ribbed each other over the bottle of whiskey, it was like nothing had changed.

The conversation had turned to Steve and Peggy, and Steve was saying, “Yeah, Peg’s great, but I dunno. She doesn’t really get it.”

“Get what?” But Bucky had a feeling he knew what Steve was talking about. He took another swig of whiskey before passing the bottle to Steve.

“The mob, the life we live. She doesn’t know the half of it, and if she did… She wouldn’t stick with me through it.”

“You need someone who already knows our life, Stevie. Someone who understands.”

Steve was quiet for a moment before saying, “Someone like Y/N?”

Bucky stiffened. That hadn’t been what he was going for, but Y/N was on the back of his mind when he said it. She had been on his mind since last week. He laughed it off. “C’mon, Stevie, you think Stane would let you have her?”

“Stane’s been thinking of who to marry her off to,” Steve said after a long drink. “Only reason he’s letting her go to NYU is ‘cause he hasn’t had any good contenders yet.”

“And you think you’re gonna put in an offer?”

Steve scoffed. “No. I’m dating Peggy, Buck. C’mon.”

“But if you weren’t?”

Steve looked beside him to find Bucky already staring at him intently. They made eye contact, the air between them tense. Finally, Steve shrugged. “I’m not sure, Buck. Maybe I should be askin’ you the same thing.”

“Does it look like I’m ready to settle down and take a bride?” he asked, giving Steve and incredulous look. Steve laughed and looked down at his lap, shaking his head, doing that bashful thing even when Bucky knew he wasn’t bashful at all. “Besides, I wouldn’t do that to her.”

Steve knew what he meant. Tying her to the mob, for as long as they both shall live. Mob wives were much more involved than the children of the mob, and they both knew Y/N was too sweet and innocent for that.

Steve’s smile fell away and he nodded, thinking it over. “Yeah. I wouldn’t want to either.”

They had both had quite a bit of whiskey by now, and Bucky was feeling brave. “Tell me about when you kissed her, Stevie.”

Steve’s eyes widened and he looked at Bucky with a shocked expression. “You know about that?”

“Yeah, she told me the other night,” Bucky answered, taking the bottle from Steve as he was about to take a drink. “’Fess up, punk. Don’t avoid the question.”

He let out a long sigh, his shoulders drooping, hands braced on his knees. “Fine. But you can’t tell anyone.”

“Who the fuck would I tell?”

Steve swatted at his knee. “I don’t fucking know, just keep your mouth shut about it. Got it?” When Bucky nodded, Steve continued. “It was the end of last summer when we were all in Southampton. She snuck out with some of her friends to a party one night, and I caught her coming back late. I was just startin’ to lay into her about it when she started crying—and not her usual crying when she’s bein’ a brat, you know?”

Bucky knew. She got real teary eyed sometimes when they caught her doing something she shouldn’t have been, specifically when Steve started yelling at her. But usually she took his scolding with a stiff upper lip, unless he was being really unfair.

“She starts sobbing, and I can tell something’s really wrong. So I hug her and coddle her and eventually she tells me that some guys at the party were makin’ fun of her because she’s a virgin.” Steve clenched his jaw, remembering the way she blushed when she told him, the way she looked down and whispered it like she was ashamed of it. “And so I’m trying to tell her there’s nothing wrong with that, and she tells me she’s never even kissed anyone, and how is any guy ever gonna like her if she doesn’t even have any experience.”

“So you kissed her?” Bucky asked, remembering Y/N had said that he had offered.

Steve shook his head, laughing a little. “I don’t know what came over me. She was just so sad, and you know I have a soft spot for girls when they cry.”

Bucky knew very well about Steve’s weakness for people when they cried—not just girls. He and Steve had experimented in bed plenty of times and if there was one thing they had found out, it was that Steve loved it when Bucky cried. It really got him going for some reason.

“I wouldn’t call it a soft spot…” Bucky muttered, earning a punch on the arm. Steve still laughed about it good-naturedly.

“She was lookin’ up at me, all doe-eyed, and red, and sad. Kinda like how you used to look at me, Buck.”

Bucky looks at him, surprised, and memories of their times together flash through Bucky’s mind. They were each other’s firsts, stumbling their way through puberty and coming-of-age and the discovery of teenaged sexuality together. It wasn’t until after he experimented thoroughly with Steve in many different ways that he became the Lothario he is today. He feels his cheeks heat up at the images his brain conjures of them together in bed, touching and kissing, dry-humping each other until Bucky came in his pants.

“Yeah, like that,” Steve said, looking at him with a fond smile, something dark gleaming in his eyes. And truly, Steve thinks Bucky looks wonderful right now, all flushed and shocked and exactly like he did when Steve fucked him for the first time when they were 16.

So maybe Steve has a type for innocent young things who blush a lot. That’s why he was trying to stay away from Y/N. Maybe that’s why Steve had always felt like Peggy was wrong for him but staying with Peggy was such a great distraction for now.

“So I couldn’t help myself,” Steve shrugged. “I asked. I didn’t just force myself on her.” Part of Bucky feels sheepish at that, because that was exactly how he kissed her the night of her birthday, forcefully, predatorily. The other part remembers how nice it was every time Steve forced himself on Bucky in the heat of the moment. “I asked if she wanted me to kiss her just to see how it felt. And she said yes. So I kissed her.”

“Did you like it?” Bucky asked. He couldn’t help it.

The blush on Steve’s cheeks surprised Bucky. “Yeah, I guess I did. But don’t you ever tell anyone that.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. As if he would. “If you liked it, why’d you ignore her afterwards?”

“What? I didn’t!”

“Don’t bullshit me, Steve. You can’t bullshit me, I see right through you, pal.”

 Steve looked down. The red hadn’t faded from his cheeks. “I dunno. I liked it too much, maybe. Stane would kill me if anything happened between us.”

Bucky got it, then. Steve liked it, and he needed to put distance between them to stop himself from taking things further.

“And then I found Peggy, and I just got too busy with Tony. So Y/N and I stopped talking as much.”

Bucky thought about this, but in his tipsiness, his dazed mind kept wandering back to how he kissed her. He kissed her like Steve used to kiss him, and he wondered if Steve kissed her the same way.

“How was it, Stevie?” he asked, a question that had been on his mind for a week now. “How was the kiss?”

Steve smirked knowingly. “Nothing like how I used to kiss you, that’s for sure.”

Bucky remembered their first few times together, sweet and tentative, innocent explorations. Steve had kissed him kindly then, but they had both quickly found out they liked it when Steve took charge. When Steve was rough with him, showed him no mercy.

But Bucky only liked it when Steve did that to him. None of the other men or women he had been with were the same in that regard. He only trusted Steve to take that power away from him, knowing Steve would never hurt him.

He supposed Steve liked the control aspect of it. As for Bucky, he needed that control whenever he was with anybody else.

“Guys?” they heard from the doorway after a brief silence. Hermes, who had been lying at their feet dozing, immediately got up and trotted over to where Y/N was standing, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

“Hey, sweetie,” Steve said, “You just wake up?”

She nodded and padded over to them, Hermes following her loyally. Her feet were bare and she was still wearing her clothes from earlier, leggings and an oversized sweatshirt with her high school’s mascot on the front. Bucky thought the sweatshirt had belonged to Steve once, or maybe him—or maybe both, he couldn’t recall.

She took a seat between them and slumped down onto Bucky’s shoulder. “I’m tired,” There was a little pout on her lips, puffy and sleep-swollen.

“Then go back to bed,” Bucky told her, draping his right arm around the back of the bench, letting her rest her head on his chest.

“Can’t fall back asleep.”

“Are you hungry?” Steve asked, ever the doting mother hen. “There’s not food in the kitchen, but maybe we could go pick something up.”

She shook her head. “I’m still full from the pizza.” 

“Well, we’ll go for an early breakfast tomorrow,” Steve said, “Any place you want.”

“Okay, Stevie,” she said, smiling up at him sleepily. 

Steve couldn’t help himself when he swung an arm around her shoulders, pulling her to rest on his chest instead. She went willingly, cuddling into him. Bucky sent him a look, and Steve raised an eyebrow back—a little like a challenge, one that Bucky did not accept. Instead, he yielded to Steve, resting his right hand lightly on Steve’s shoulder, feeling the need to be close. Her legs came up to rest on Bucky’s lap and she just sat there with them, enjoying the night. 

Just like old times.

“Are you guys staying with me for the whole summer?” she asked, her voice muffled into Steve’s unusually large peck.

“I dunno, doll, is that what you asked your dad for?” Steve asked knowingly.

She shrugged and buried her face deeper. “Maybe. Doesn’t mean he’ll keep his word.”

“We’re here until further notice,” Bucky said. “Steve might get called away occasionally.”

“Because of Tony?” she asked, her voice small.

“Yeah,” Steve said, pressing his lips to the crown of her head in a kiss, “But you don’t need to worry your pretty head about that.”

“Okay.”

“Now, doll,” Bucky started, placing his left hand on her calf. She glanced at him from Steve’s chest. “Are you gonna behave with us this summer?”

She blushed, but a smirk fell across her face. “Of course I will, Bucky,” she said in a tone that implied the exact opposite.

His hand slid up to her knee. “Not gonna go getting into any trouble with all the teenage hooligans on the island?”

She rolled her eyes. “Why would I want to get in trouble with them when I could get in trouble with you guys, instead?”

Steve’s arm tightened around her shoulders in a way that was just a little bit threatening. “Now, Y/N, listen to me,” he said, using his serious voice, “Your dad wanted us to keep you safe. You’re not gonna go around making trouble for us. Got it?”

“I guess,” she whined. Steve didn’t like that.

His hand came up and cupped her jaw, tilting her head up forcefully so she looked at him. “Don’t be a brat,” he said, a warning in his tone, “You’re gonna be a good girl for us or there’ll be consequences.”

“Steve,” she pouted, the whine still in her voice.

He grit his teeth, and his fingers squeezed her jaw just hard enough for her to get the message. “No complaining, baby girl. Now you say ‘Yes, Steve’, so I know you understand.”

“…Yes, Steve.”

He let her go, and she tried to pull away from him but his arm around her shoulders anchored her against him. Bucky’s hand moved from Steve’s shoulder to her head, stroking his fingers through her soft hair to sooth and reassure her.

They were all silent then, like they often were after Steve scolded her. It was a familiar dance for them. When she got bratty or if she did something wrong, Steve would reprimand her sternly, while Bucky sat by and watched. Then, both Bucky and Steve would calm her down so she knew they forgave her. It worked to correct her misbehavior every time, but it took all three of them.

With Steve rocking them gently on the porch swing and Bucky running his fingers through her hair, it didn’t take long to lull her back to sleep.

Steve carried her upstairs to put her to bed, and Bucky followed, turning down the covers and tucking her in. Hermes curled up on the bed at her feet, settling down and dozing off right next to her. 

Steve had already placed their luggage in the rooms they would be staying in, all their rooms side by side in the same hall.

Bucky followed Steve to their respective bedrooms, and they lingered in the doorways.

“Do you think I was too hard on her?” Steve asked. They spoke quietly in the mellow darkness of the night. Bucky could hear the waves crashing on the beach out back.

“Nah,” Bucky reassured him, “She can take it. Plus, it’d be nice if she didn’t act up during this trip.” He could hope she wouldn’t, at least.

Steve nodded. “She gets so ballsy on these vacations when her dad’s not here.”

“Well,” Bucky said, clapping him on the shoulder, “If she gets like that this summer, you’re here to put her in her place.”

Steve looked at him, dark eyes glinting. “Damn right,” he said, voice low. Bucky couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but Steve’s tone of voice sent a shudder through him. “We should get to bed,” Steve said finally, breaking up the tense atmosphere. “I’m waking you both up early tomorrow.”

Bucky groaned, “Ugh, c’mon Stevie. Let us sleep in.”

Steve grinned, “No chance, Buck. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Bucky said, his voice soft as he watched Steve retreat into his bedroom, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

He let out a deep breath, rubbing a hand over his face. It was going to be a long, intense summer, he could already tell.

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fic #dark!steve rogers #bucky barnes fic #dark!bucky barnes #fanfiction #mcu #stucky #stucky x reader #brooklyn’s sweetheart

[ask-the-good-creeps]

You can open up if you'd like

TW: SUICIDE ATTEMPT MENTIONS. DEPRESSION MENTIONS. MENTAL HEALTH MENTIONS. DO NOT READ IF THESE THINGS COULD NEGATIVELY AFFECT YOU.

 Okiedokes, mi amigos. The following story happened years ago, but it still comes up in my mind a lot; and I feel like sharing the experience may benefit someone going through a rough patch and/or yield a bit of insight to y’all about why I think the way I do. If you decide to read further, please read it to the end.

 So, this story begins with my first year of university. I was nineteen years old, fresh out of the Arizona foster care system, and had a history of mental health issues (official diagnoses from the psychologists I saw was PTSD, Anxiety, Depression, and Bipolar Disorder Type II – all of which triggered and fed into each other) that I was medicated for at that point in my life.

 Things were going well for the first year…I made friends, I joined clubs and events, had an on-campus work study job, and was pulling decent grades in my classes. Then, the year ended and summer rolled around. I volunteered to spend my summer on-campus as a Resident Advisor for the university’s honors outreach program (where we brought 7th-9th graders to the campus for 2-week programs to give them a taste of college life and encourage them to come to us after high school, pretty much).

 To anyone on the outside looking in, things looked like they were going great for me. In my eyes, everything was going great. Except for one thing…my grade hadn’t posted in one of my classes for the semester, and I didn’t do to well on the final (in my opinion). I was slightly worried that I was going to fail the class – looking back now, that was a ridiculous worry because I was doing great in the class and the professor was a really cool dude that usually didn’t fail students unless they put in literally zero effort throughout the semester.

 But, I worried nonetheless.

 Even then, it didn’t feel like a big deal to me…what I didn’t realize is that subconsciously it was the straw that broke the camel’s back for my mental health.

 You see, being in foster care as a teen is Hell. Especially in Arizona. One of the things they drill into the heads of teens in “the system” is that we’re absolute failures who will drop off the map and end up leading miserable lives after we age out of foster care (probably because they don’t teach us the necessary life skills to survive outside of their care, but I digress…that’s another story for another day).

 In the group homes, I was the kid that stayed out of trouble and got straight-A’s in school. I was the kid who never smoked, drank alcohol, or tried drugs not even once in my life. I was the one that kept climbing and got accepted into university on full scholarship after high school. So, I was the one that all those adults of the foster care system used as an example…the one who had extremely high expectations on their shoulders as a result.

 So, when the grade for that class finally posted online and was not an A like my other classes (it was a C), it was the end of the world to my mind. I didn’t realize it when it happened, but seeing that grade made a thread of stability quietly snap behind the scenes where I couldn’t see it.

 As a result, I had a rogue thought.

 Now, when it comes to my thinking patterns, there is always a clear…well, pattern. If I’m thinking about my Great Aunt Vickie’s cat, for example, I can recognize that I started thinking about her because I thought of a funny cat story that was something similar to what Vickie’s cat did; and I can recognize that I thought of that funny cat story because I saw a cat meme on the internet yesterday; and so on, and so on, until I find the real-life stimulus that triggered the whole line of thinking.

 Rogue thoughts are a whole different matter entirely. Unlike my usual thinking patterns, these rogue thoughts just show up without any noticeable stimulus or previous thinking…and that makes them dangerous for someone like me, who has learned to control my depression through CBT and recognizing when my thought patterns are starting to get too negative for me.

 I returned to my apartment in between summer outreach programs (we had a few days to recoup between each 2-week session) and that’s when the rogue thought in question appeared.

 “Kill yourself.”

 That was the thought. It was not linked to any depressive thinking patterns, it was just there. It didn’t feel like a big thing, just another item on my to-do list for the short break I had. Had I been more used to rogue thoughts and encountered a similar one to this in the past, I would have thought more about it.

 I would have recognized that this thought may have popped into my conscious line of thought out of nowhere, but seen that it had deep roots in my subconscious thinking.

 But, I hadn’t had a rogue thought like this in the past.

 All of my previous suicidal ideations had patterns to trace back to in my conscious mind that allowed me to work through most of them without incident.

 So, I sat at my desk and started writing out a suicide note. It was very casual in tone, like a friendly farewell to my friends and family as opposed to being a depressing final record. I planned to jump off my apartment balcony the next day. After careful consideration, I decided that I would prefer my body to stay in one piece (my apartment was on the eighth floor, after all) and I opted to overdose on my medication instead.

 I had a little garden at my window, and I set the note there. I sent a quick text to my father that simply read, “My plants know the reason why.” I was prepared to take the pills…then my father called me.

 He was concerned, but I lied and said that I was just spouting random nonsense with the intent to confuse people (easily believable, as my catchphrase at the time seemed to be, ‘the pancakes fly at midnight and the waffles swim at dawn’ for some reason). He asked multiple times if I was alright, to which I always answered affirmatively. Then, the call ended.

 I went to my room and laid in bed. I put in my headphones and turned on my music. Then, I swallowed ten of my prescription pills (which I was only supposed to take one of every 24 hours, for reference). After that, I swallowed a literal handful of melatonin tablets I picked up OTC, because I didn’t want to be awake for the damage the prescription meds would do to my system.

 I laid back in bed with the music going, and passed out fairly quickly. However, the melatonin wasn’t enough to keep me unconscious as my body started trying to purge the pills in an act of self-preservation. I couldn’t open my eyes because every time I did, the room spun. I was throwing up a lot, and at one point when I leaned over the bedside to get it on the floor instead I lost my balance and faceplanted onto the ground (which I found out later had led to a broken nose). I didn’t even feel it, just the pain my insides were going through as I faded in and out of consciousness.

 Here’s where it gets interesting, reader. It was night by now, and the lights in my room were off. The livingroom light was on and it shined in through the crack under my closed (and locked) bedroom door. Even if I could open my eyes, it wasn’t enough light to see by.

 Yet, it wasn’t my eyes that detected anything. I felt a presence in my room with me, there in the dark. It felt like I knew this person, as if they were a close friend, despite the fact that I had no idea who they were. I remember asking this person,

 “Do I still have enough of the poison left in my system to kill me?”

 To which I received their reply:

 “No. You’ve coughed enough of it up. You’re going to be alright.”

 I cracked my eyes open ever so slightly and saw a flashing blue light shining up at the ceiling every so often. It was a notification light on my phone, which I had left plugged in to charge on the dresser next to my bed.

 My goal here was to die, not to suffer. Since this person there with me insisted I wasn’t going to die, I reached out with my eyes still closed a couple times. I managed to grab my charge cord and pull my phone off the dresser and to the floor next to me.

 It took a couple tries to dial emergency services (911) because I couldn’t keep my eyes open very well, but eventually I got an operator on the line and managed to briefly explain why I called in between bouts of vomiting.

 The paramedics came in. They asked me what I had overdosed on, how many pills I’d taken, and when I took them. I answered with the name of my med, that I had taken ten times my normal dose, and that I didn’t check the time but it was still light out.

The paramedics didn’t believe me at first. One of them told me it was almost light out again now, and that taking that amount of that med meant I should not be alive still, let alone able to express semi-coherent thoughts. They didn’t believe me until they picked up my pill bottle and saw how many were gone.

 I was taken to the hospital and spent a few days recovering there. I had my eyes closed and was in and out of consciousness the whole time, so I’m still not sure exactly what they had to do to keep me alive (though I don’t remember getting my stomach pumped, and I think I heard someone say something about charcoal).

 On my third day there, I started to think on what happened and realized something. I still didn’t know who had been in that room with me. The paramedics had to get a key from the front desk when they arrived and go through two locked doors (my front door and my bedroom) to get to me. My apartment was on the eighth floor, so someone coming in through the (also locked) window was out of the question.

 I didn’t recognize the person’s voice, so I chalked it up to my brain treating me to reverse psychology through an auditory hallucination to keep me alive. Though, that is just a theory.

 So, dear reader, you’re probably wondering why I decided to share this story. Well, it’s not really the story that I wanted to share, but what I learned from the experience.

 I learned that suicide is not a proper course of action, no matter the circumstances. 

I learned that we cannot die before it is our time – the universe will intervene. 

I learned that I have plenty of people who care (though very few of them know why I was in the hospital in 2015). 

I learned that stress is not to be taken lightly (subconsciously I had been super stressed about my C-grade and the implications that I was a failure because of it, and also because of everything loaded on my plate) and it must be handled in a healthy way. 

I learned how to say ‘no’ to avoid putting too much on my plate.

 Most importantly, I learned about freeing myself from the expectations of others. You see, my friend, you will meet many people throughout your life that are important to you that have expectations of you. Family, friends, teachers, mentors, and so on…and you may be worried about disappointing them, as I once was. But please understand that only your own expectations for yourself truly matter, and if you try to please everyone else you’ll end up in a really tight spot. Learn to let go of what they want and pursue your own passions and dreams (preferably before you end up going to university for a major you aren’t even fond of, like I did).

 Lastly, If you feel or think in any capacity that suicide is something you should do, I encourage you to think twice, and reach out openly and honestly with what you’re experiencing to someone you trust in your life or to a Mental Health/Suicide Prevention hotline. If you feel like you have nowhere else to turn, I’m here.

 As someone who almost became a statistic, believe me…I understand.

[howrry]

when you need me

a/n: here’s that slowburn i mentioned. there WILL be a part 2 so don’t hound me on it!!!! i promise she’s coming!! enjoy :~)

w/c: 5.1k

warnings: sfw! brief mentions of violence

***

Harry and Y/N were friends for exactly one summer.

Y/N and her family moved in next door to Harry when she was seven, and her parents were delighted to find out that the boy was the same age as their daughter. Sure, at the time of the move, Y/N wasn’t intensely attached to any of her old friends or her old home or her old school, but it was good to have someone to ease her into the new life.

The two clicked immediately. They played every day that summer, either swimming or playing cops and robbers or drawing on sidewalks with chalk. They rode bikes around the neighborhood, and shot basketballs in the hoop that belonged to the teenager down the street, and explored the small forest behind their home for squirrels. He taught her cool card tricks and she taught him how to make perfect chocolate milk without using an overwhelming amount of chocolate sauce.

It was a match made in heaven—up until a few days before the beginning of classes, the last time they would've openly called the other a "friend". It wasn't that when the summer ended, they'd had some big fight or randomly stopped talking to each other; it just... wouldn't have been logical to remain associated once the school year picked up.

They’d been playing in a sandbox at the local park that day. Sure, they were a little old to be playing in a sandbox, but the only people there were a family occupying their usual spots on the swing set. Harry dug around in the sand forming both holes and piles around him while Y/N drew pictures with a stick.

“Look what I found!” he yelled, holding up a little earwig he’d dug out from the sand. He waved it in her face, to her disgust.

“Gross, Haz.” She backed up and almost stumbled back out of the sandbox.

Harry laughed and tossed it back into the sand, where it burrowed itself. “You’re such a girl sometimes.”

“Because I don’t want you shoving bugs in my face?”

“Tommy and James like bugs. They think they’re cool.” His gaze dropped down to the sand where he began to mimic her drawing.

Y/N paused for a second. “Well I’m not Tommy and James, am I?”

Harry narrowed his eyes at her. “So… you don’t want to be friends with them when we go back to school?”

“Not really. I don’t like bugs. I like…” She scanned around the park. “Flowers. And art!”

He laughed. “I guess we’re just different people at school. What are we gonna do?”

She thought it over but didn’t answer. “It’s getting late. Let’s start walking home.”

The two strolled back to their homes, kicking rocks and not saying much. Once they’d reached their front lawns and the street lights flicked on, she broke the silence.

“Just because we can’t be friends doesn’t mean we can’t say hi.” Such a simple conclusion. “And we’re pretty helpful to each other.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I taught you how to shuffle cards.”

“Exactly. Let’s make an agreement.” Y/N had been watching some Law and Order episodes when her parents weren’t around. They mostly bored her (since she was far too young to understand what was going on) but the legal parts of the show enticed her. “Let’s just be there for each other when we need it.”

“Like when we’re in trouble?” he asked, brows furrowing.

She giggled. “Yeah. But just in general too. If one of us needs help, the other will do what they can.”

Harry nodded, staring past her. “Sounds fair. Shake on it?”

The two shook hands and went inside their homes, with no idea what can of worms they’d just opened. ***

The first time the pact is utilized, it's for a jar of dewberry jelly.

The school year had arrived, and Harry and Y/N had almost no contact other than a brief ‘hello’ whenever the two ran into each other during the day. He hung out with Tommy and James who laughed too loud in class and threw dodgeballs really hard in Phys Ed. She made new friends with girls in art class who put stickers on their binders and gushed about fashion. Their agreement went unused for a very long time—two years to be exact, but it’s not like a child is gonna find themselves in deep trouble at every turn.

Y/N's parents were still in bed asleep one Saturday morning and she really wanted some toast. It was quite an easy breakfast to make for a 9-year-old by herself, up until she went to open the jar. Nothing. Not even a budge. It was almost ridiculous how much she was struggling to open the stupid lid. She even tried going on Google for tricks on how to open a jar: tapping the lid with a knife, running it under hot water, using duct tape, etc. No dice.

The idea of waking up one of her parents for help flashed over her mind, but stirring them before noon after a whole week of hard work just seemed evil. She had no other option but to ask Harry for help.

She grabbed the jar and ran next door, using the knocker to alert them of her presence. Gemma opened the door, one headphone in her ear and the other dangling. She scanned Y/N, and before the younger girl could even open her mouth, Gemma turned around.

"Harry, your friend is here!" she called and drifted back in without inviting her in. Fortunately, he appeared in the doorway before Y/N could realize how awkward the situation felt.

"Oh, hey, what's up?" he asked. Instead of answering his question, Y/N just shoved the jar into his hands.

"Please help me! I just wanted some toast but the jelly doesn't want to get eaten!" she whined, crossing her arms in a huff.

He inspected the jar a bit before laughing and popping open the lid with ease. When he handed back the jelly, their fingertips brushed together but he pretended not to notice. "Enjoy your toast."

"Thank you!" And she went off with her opened jar, skipping back to her house.

***

The second time, he needs her.

It's been two or three years since the jar fiasco, and Y/N had started to get an inkling that she wouldn't be seeing much of Harry anymore. If he could go so long without needing her or even acknowledging her in the hall, maybe that was the end of the two of them. The long amount of time without H had somewhat given her closure anyways.

Her mother had already gone to bed and she should have as well, but late-night reruns of Full House were so much more appealing than sleep. Y/N could feel her eyelids get heavier and heavier and she almost drifted off right there on the couch before there was a tap on the living room window looking out into her backyard.

She nearly jumped out of her skin, but when her eyes adjusted and she realized it was just Harry, her shoulders relaxed. As quietly as she could, she opened the back door and guided him inside, holding a finger to her lips so that he’d remain silent. Y/N took him to the dining room, an area far from her parents’ room so that they could talk freely.

“What’s wrong?” she finally asked, eyeing the backpack draped over his shoulder.

“Mrs. Williams is gonna fail me if I don’t get this project done,” he breathed, setting the bag on the table. “It’s a collage piece, and I’ve tried to do it m’self three times now and I ruin it every time. You’re an art genius, can y’help me?”

She smiled at being called an art genius. Sure, Mrs. Williams gave her an A on every piece and she even won an award at the local art competition for her stop-motion movie on a butterfly hatching, but she wasn’t Van Gogh. Still the compliment rang in her ears and the pact itched at the back of her mind. “Of course.”

It was a simple assignment, using magazine clippings to make a collage about anything they wanted, and Harry picked football. He pulled out several magazines, most of which had been cut out of already (presumably for his first three attempts) but there was still enough left to make a coherent project.

As Y/N got to work, he stared at her. “You’re not using enough glue,” he noted as she arranged David Beckham in the center of the cardstock.

“Who’s the art expert, again?” she snapped. The cutout stuck perfectly and he hummed in deflation. “I see why your first three projects didn’t work,” she joked, making a little smile appear on his lips.

As Y/N finished up the cutting, the two of them could no longer contain their yawns and Harry began rubbing at his eyes with his fists. "Do you ever think that we shouldn't be this tired, at this age?" she asked, breaking the heavy silence lingering over the dining room.

Harry unceremoniously dropped his chin into his palms, watching her work. "I think we'll be thinking that for the rest of our lives."

***

Y/N hated being late.

First there was the issue of wasting other people’s time, then there was the whole show about feeling awkward when you did arrive. This was all her history teacher’s fault—he was so freakin’ deaf he didn’t hear the warning bell and griped at the students who tried to pack their bags or leave. Once he’d realized what time it was he griped even more about how nobody told him it was time to go (they did; he just didn’t hear).

So, she somehow had to make a five minute journey across her campus in negative two minutes. Easy peasy. Y/N had no other option but to book it, until she unfortunately ran smack into Cara, one of the mean girls in her year.

“Watch where you’re going, spaz!” she whined, even though Y/N was the one who crashed onto the floor. Two other girls stood behind her, one of whom was named Lacey and the other was just some bitch who copied Cara to get ahead.

At the beginning of eighth grade, the secretary at the front desk of the school chose a few students each class period to help her with filing and giving notes to teachers and so on. Cara was one of the students chosen which virtually gave her the free pass to wander around whenever she wanted. Her friends, not so much, but if Cara told you to do something, you did it, even if it meant skipping class.

Y/N scrambled back up without apologizing, adjusting her bag and planning on walking away and ignoring her. Unfortunately, Cara stopped her by stiff arming her. “What’s the rush?” she hissed, a malicious smile curling up. Her eyes fell down to the ground. “Nice shoes. Do they come in women’s sizes?”

Okay, she was just trying to psych Y/N out. They were plain black Doc Martens, for crying out loud—it’s not like she was in steel toed work boots. “Are you done?” Y/N asked, unamused.

The grin on Cara’s face dropped and was replaced by a grimace fit for a cartoon villain. “Now listen—” she started, ready to chew the other girl out, but was interrupted by someone behind Y/N.

“Fuck off, Cara, or I’m telling the headmistress that your clown posse is skipping class thanks to you.” It was Harry, of all people. (Why he wasn’t in class either was a whole new can of worms, but Y/N chose to be grateful.)

She huffed out of her nose, realizing she was backed into a corner. Cara shoved past Y/N and slammed her shoulder into her, her goon squad following behind hot on her coattails.

Y/N breathed out a very appreciative thank you to Harry, and when he nodded at her, she went back on her way to her class, now with negative 4 minutes.

***

Y/N’s first mixer party was a night to remember, to say the least.

It took ages to convince her parents to let her go, but in her defense, both her mom and her dad were going to parties at 15. Plus, that was in the age of serial killers and before cell phones, so she definitely had the upper hand in that argument. Besides, it’s one party, what’s the worst that could happen?

Someone in her geometry class had invited her, and the same day she went to get a new flowy top from H&M to wear there. One of her art friends, Jenna, had already gotten her license and drove the two of them to the party where things were already in full swing once she’d entered.

It was a very mild kick back. It was a lower attendance than she’d anticipated, but the main point of reference she had were those crappy teen movies. The only thing people had to drink were those Smirnoff Ices that have almost no alcohol and a ton of sugar in them, which totally repulsed Y/N. Guess it’d be a sober evening for her.

After a few hours of chatting with people (that she would just talk to in school anyways) and listening to music, Y/N was about ready to call it a night. She excused herself from the host’s living room in search of Jenna when she felt someone tug at her arm.

It was Tyler, one of the centers on the school basketball team. “Y/N, hey! What’s up?”

She was totally caught off guard. Tyler was reallygood looking and didn’t usually spend his time around the art students. “Oh, um, hey. I was actually about to—” she started, eyes drifting to where he was holding her elbow still.

“Leave?” he finished, flashing a pearly white smile. “No way, it’s so early! Actually, I wanted to talk to you.”

A pit formed in Y/N’s stomach. What could Tyler want with her? Her eyes narrowed, but she figured she’d probably regret leaving more than finding out what he wanted. “Sure, what’s up?”

“In private, I meant.” He gestured towards the back porch, which eased her mind. If he was just trying to get handsy with her, he’d take her to a bedroom—not outside by the pools where everyone could see.

“Okay,” she finally agreed, letting him guide her outside into the yard.

The backyard was large and well taken care of. The pool had lights that changed colors, and all of the furniture matched the mahogany color of the deck, fence, and pool shed. A black grill looked like it had never been touched and the grass was a beautiful shade of bottle green.

“Are you having a good time?” he asked, breaking the ice and shoving his tanned hands into his pockets.

“Kind of. Not many of my friends are big partiers so this scene is pretty new for me,” she admitted, eyes dropping down to her shoes.

“That’s why I was surprised when I heard you were coming.” His hand came out from his pocket and lifted her chin up so that they were making eye contact. “I figured it was my only chance to tell you how pretty I think you are.”

Y/N was, how you say, shook. Her eyes widened and she squeaked out a “really?” before being alerted by a noise coming from the pool shed just a few feet away. “Did someone just laugh?” she asked, head snapping over to the shed in question.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Tyler claimed, trying to get her attention away from the shed to no avail.

“No, I swear I heard a laugh,” Y/N absentmindedly insisted, leaving Tyler to go yank open the doors of the shed.

What happened next was in light speed. The doors flew open to reveal Cara and Lacey, the former holding a 5-gallon bucket and the latter a cell phone as if she was filming. Before Y/N could even get a dazed ‘what?’ out, Cara had dumped the contents of the bucket onto Y/N. Ice water.

She let out a shriek at this, frozen in every sense of the term. When she could feel her feet beneath her again, she spun around to see Tyler laughing his ass off along with the girls.

“I almost couldn’t do it!” he yelled, clutching his stomach.

“Thanks, Ty,” Cara purred, going to loop an arm through his. “You earned that $20 fair and square.”

Y/N didn’t stick around for any longer. She didn’t want to go back in the house in the state she was in, and everyone had probably seen what happened anyways. Rather than face even more humiliation, she did the only thing that came to mind: run.

Y/N could text Jenna later. She ran and ran and ran until she was home, but rather than go inside and cry her eyes out in bed, she found herself at the base of the oak tree next to Harry’s window.

She frantically shimmied up the tree, pausing only to wipe tears out of her eyes. Her knuckles collided with his window and for a moment she wonders if it was too loud. Then the thought of Harry not hearing the knock at all flashed through her mind, and she was left wishing she'd hit it even harder.

The room brightened just a little bit, as if he'd turned on a lamp. She perked up at this, leaning forward but keeping her balance in the tree. He pulled aside the dark curtains and opened the window carefully.

"Y/N?" he asked groggily. "What are y'doing? Why are you soaking wet? Y'scared me half to death." She opened her mouth to explain but her eyes just welled up and she felt her face turn pink. "Wait, are you crying? Get inside." He lifted the window even higher so that she could tumble in gracelessly. Without asking any more questions, he pulled her into a big hug, where she sobbed quietly into the crook of his neck. It took a moment to get the sad out of her, but once she was ready to let go, his hug lingered for a half-second too long.

So there she sat, on his bedroom floor, covered in cold water and trying not to shed any more tears then she already had. Harry handed her a fluffy towel and she wiped her face off before starting to babble. "I'm sorry it's late, and you were probably sleeping, but it's been a really - hic - long and rough night and I just needed someone. I know I needed you last and it's not my turn but I didn't know who else to go to—"

"Wait wait wait, what did you say? Your turn?" he asked, holding a hand up and completely halting her babbling.

She nodded, wiping at the mascara running under her eyes. "I mean... yeah. The past eight years we've switched off who gets the next favor. You helped me last time when Cara and those other girls were picking on me, and now here I am again."

His eyebrows were knitted together in sheer confusion. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said slowly. "It's never been on a turn system. Whenever you come to me in a time of need, or vice versa, we help each other." Y/N nodded, feeling dumb. "Besides, you didn't cometo me that time. I was just in the right place at the right time. Even if we were doing turns—which we're not—it's still technically yours anyways."

He was trying to make her laugh, and it worked. Her wobbly and blotchy face broke into a cute smile without her even trying, and Harry always found an underrated beauty in a laugh after a good cry.

"Now, do yeh wanna talk about tonight?" he pressed gently, sitting on his bed and offering her a spot next to him. It was hard explaining what happened without crying again, but once his hand started rubbing up and down her back, it was easy to relax and tell her story.

He was disgusted with what he’d heard, of course. “I’m so sorry about that Y/N,” he stammered, unsure of what to say. “You don’t deserve those kinds of people in your life, not now and not ever.”

She smiled and it was totally contagious. “Thanks H.”

“Do y’want me to get you some of Gem’s clothes?” he offered. “Yeh look like a sad puppy, shiverin’ and all.”

Y/N shook her head. “No, I think I’m just gonna go home. I can tell my parents I fell in the pool. Thank you for listening, and everything else. You’re a great friend.”

She returned the towel and left the same way she came in, Harry making sure she safely got to the ground before she ducked into her home. Something felt strange for a few minutes afterwards and Harry couldn’t put a finger on it until he was tucked into bed and drifting out.

That was the first time she’d called him his friend in eight years.

***

Fuck, my laundry!

Three universal words that will have anyone throwing themselves out of their bed late at night to go dig through a washing machine and pray it hasn't been so long that the clothes need to be rewashed.

Y/N was one of these people, on a night where she should probably be out with friends. It was Saturday night, but that meant tomorrow was Sunday and the day after that was Monday and that meant her stupid Calculus homework would be due. Who said that senior year would be a breeze? She wanted to kick their ass.

Fortunately, the clothes were fine, and on the way back to her room she was imagining how she was going to backflip into her bed and knock the hell out for nine hours. Just before she went upstairs, she saw a shadow in the corner of her eye fluttering outside the front door.

Her blood ran cold. Her parents were long asleep at this hour; if this was some intruder, she wouldn't be able to make it over to their room and have them awake quickly enough. Her mind scrambled over dozens of plans and ideas (all of which ended with the intruder totally catching her) before something really surprised her.

A knock at the front door.

Umm... people planning on breaking into your house don't knock. Well, they do, but only at two in the afternoon when they're checking if someone's home, not when it's well after midnight. She tiptoed to the door and peered through the glass to see none other than Harry.

She swung the door open instantly. "Harry? What are you do—?" She stopped when her eyes adjusted and finally was able to see that he was notin good shape.

Harry's hair was mussed up, lacking its usual composure. He wasn’t able to stand up straight without leaning on the column, like he was drunk as hell. One of his eyes had a purple smudge under it and his nose trickled a tiny amount of blood. His arms were covered in scratches and bruises, but the most pressing issue was what seemed to be a paper towel soaked in blood he was holding against the side of his torso.

"Oh my God!" she whisper-yelled, guiding him inside and taking him upstairs to her bathroom. She sat him down on the edge of her tub and dug through her cabinets for a first aid kit.

Y/N didn't ask any questions. She washed her hands, found a clean rag, wet it with warm water, and rubbed a tiny bit of soap on it. Harry was still sitting with the paper towel, which she tossed in the trash can immediately.

"Can you... uh..." Y/N trailed off, gesturing weakly towards his black t-shirt. He nodded, understanding exactly what she meant, and slowly reached up to the back of the neck on his shirt to yank it off his body. He hissed when he was able to lower his arms, and she got straight to work cleaning up his wounds despite his whines.

She'd never been this close to his skin before. That was kind of a weird sentence when she thought about it, but it was true. It was tanned and firm, and a few inches above the cut on his side were the ripples of the serratus muscles. Nice.

Once the cut was cleaned up, it was clear to see that it wasn't bleeding nor had it been very deep in the first place. To be safe, Y/N used an alcohol pad to sanitize the wound once more (which Harry was not a fan of, since he didn't see her pull out the packet nor have time to brace himself) and bandaged it up with a Band-Aid bigger than the palm of her hand.

Harry watched her intently while she tended to him. He noticed how when she focused really hard she always pursed her lips, just like she did when she did his art project. Everything she did to him was delicate, as if getting his ass beaten was enough excitement for one night. Even just her stepping back to admire her handiwork and cocking her head was so... gentle.

"Hmm... you're pretty," he goofily mumbled, making her head snap up. As soon as it was out in the room, he shook his head and ran a hand down his face. "God, sorry about tha'. I think I'm still a little drunk."

"Wow, the first boy who compliments me immediately takes it back and blames it on being drunk. Just my luck, right?" she joked dryly, cleaning the bloody rag and rewetting it with fresh warm water.

He stared at her. "Wait, are yeh serious? The first?"

Y/N paused, staring down at her hands. "I mean... does my dad count?"

Harry laughed at this but only for a second before wincing from the pain. He figured she wasn't counting that skeez who'd tricked her back when she was 15. "Then I take back taking it back. You're beautiful and caring, and I really appreciate you--ah, fuck-- doing this for me."

She'd started dabbing at the dried blood from his still-sensitive nose. "Thank you, Harry. That means a lot." Y/N further inspected his nose, gingerly feeling it and holding the rag below it to prevent any further bleeding. "Doesn't feel like it's broken. Think it's just a little sore. In a day or so you'll be right as rain." Her focus moved up to his black eye, and Harry didn't breathe while she let her thumb ghost over the thin skin. "This doesn't look that deep, either. I'll get something to cool it down, and if it still looks bad, I'll give you some makeup to cover it. Be right back."

She left him alone in the washroom but returned quickly with two little boxes of apple juice. "Why'd y'get two?" he asked, taking them from her.

"So you can drink one. You looked parched." She went back to cleaning the remaining blood from the rag and hanging it to dry on the towel rack. Once the bathroom had been reorganized and Harry had finished his juice box, she sat on the lid of the toilet. "So... if you don't want to talk about it, that's fine, but... can I ask what happened?" She waved a hand around his entire body.

He snorted. "Honestly, whenever I think about it, I cringe a little. It's so cliché."

"How so?"

Harry inhaled through his bruising nose sharply. "So m'at this party with my mates, right? I didn't know a lot of people there, so I was just trying to mind my business and have a pint or four. I'm sitting in the corner of this house near the front door and I see this girl trying to leave. She's totally wasted, and it kind of looked like she was calling an Uber. I tried t'keep an eye on her 'cause, y'know, world's a dangerous place. Just as she's about to leave, some guy comes up to her. Looks real mad. Demands that she go home with him, which she protests, says her ride is there. They kind of argue while she's going out the door, so I got up to follow 'em." Harry paused to roll his neck side to side, one pop one each side making the only sound in the bathroom. "Out on the porch, he's practically got her in a bear hug. I go into panic mode and start yelling at him.

"I'm yelling at him 'get off her' and 'what's your fuckin' problem' and stuff till I catch his attention. He shoved me, I shoved him back, then it's kind of a blur. Guess he got a couple in on my face before one of his buddies joined in on kicking my arse. I got knocked down and I landed on somethin’ rough which is what cut me up so bad." He gestured towards the bandage on his torso.

"Jeez, Harry," she breathed out, eyes like saucers.

"I know. The girl managed to make it out to her ride while all this was going on. Some other blokes pulled the fighters off me and I didn't know what to do. I grabbed some paper towels from a gas station t’stop the blood and came straight here.” Once he’d finished explaining, his gaze dropped down before adding a soft, “Didn’t know where else t’go.”

She nodded. “I appreciate that. I’m glad you’re okay and I’m glad that girl is as well. The universe will reward you for this for sure.”

He laughed at her ominous remark. “Little weird, but it’s not like I expected normalcy from the art expert.”

Y/N guided Harry back downstairs after giving him a big shirt to change into. “I’ll wash this and give it back as soon as I can, okay?”

He nodded and stopped at the front door. Harry looked down at his little Florence Nightingale, decided to do the one thing he’s wanted to do for almost ten years now, and leaned down to plant a kiss on her lips.

For a second, she was pliable and willing, and he thought she was about to deepen it, but instead she pulled him off. “I need…” she started, dazed. “I need you to forget that just happened.” Then she opened the door, pushed him outside, and closed it in his face.

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles fan fiction #harry concepts #harry styles masterlist #permanentcross #majorharry #harryforvogue #jawllines #haroldloverboy

[collecting-stories]

Homecoming - Connor Murphy

A/N: It’s just more indulgent Connor fluff

Give me one last hope of holding water in my hands, give me one last chance and I’ll be your man. I’ll be Your Man, Passenger

\\\

Connor let out a loud yowl, surprising you enough that you fell off the couch. The theme song to CSI continued as Connor fell back against the couch cushions, laughing at you. “Oh my god,” he squeezed his eyes shut as they teared from laughing so hard.  

“It’s not funny.” You whined, laying yourself flat on the floor, feet brushing against his as you stretched out across the carpeted basement of the Murphy household. “You scared the crap out of me Connor.”

“Sorry,” he replied, still laughing. He laid the joint he had been smoking in the ashtray on the coffee table and laid himself across the couch so he could see you, his hair hanging down as he leaned over you. “It’s a catchy tune.”

“It’s not that catchy.” You huffed.  

Connor reached his hand out, one foot going on the ground as he pulled up to a sitting position. You got yourself the rest of the way up and climbed on the couch beside him, taking the joint from the ashtray.  

“Hey, that’s mine!” He smiled, grabbing at you, “you said you didn’t want one!”  

“Yeah that was before you fucking stressed me out.” You joked, moving down the couch so you were out of his reach.  

Saturday night was the designated weekly hangout for you and Connor that had been established during the summer of sixth grade and had not changed since then. You had only ever missed two Saturdays, once because it was your grandmother’s birthday and once because Zoe had a recital. Otherwise you were always together on a Saturday night. It was always chill, watching some stupid movie or marathoning as much of a show as you possibly could. His mom would come downstairs every two hours, pretending to check the washer/dryer or claiming she needed something from the back shed as she slipped out the sliding glass door. A couple times she even sent Zoe or Larry down though Connor’s dad could’ve cared less what his son was doing so long as he wasn’t doing anything destructive. Even Cynthia had stopped trying to say something about the weed.  

Connor nabbed the joint back from you with ease, leaning back against the other side of the couch as the crime show played on.  

“Are you going to homecoming next week?” You asked, clicking the subtitles on so you could follow along better.  

“You’re joking right?”  

Three homecoming dances had been spent in Connor’s basement playing video games and watching TV. Not to mention the eighth grade formal, freshman dance, sophomore prom, and junior prom. You had zero interest in ever going to any of those stupid dances but lately your mom had been bugging you about not “missing out on the high school experience”. That and Evan had asked if you would go with him to homecoming because he wanted to go to be more social this year. You were already planning on going with him and Jared to the football game on Friday and even agreed to walk in the parade with Alana. Not something you might normally do but you were trying to let loose a little and you had a dress hanging in your closet waiting for you. The only problem was you would have to break your standing date with Connor.  

“No, seriously,” you replied, “I was thinking about going.”

“Isn’t it on a Saturday?”

“It is.”  

You watched the way Connor’s jaw tightened and his fist clenched, sure signs that he was mad, though typically those were tells directed at other people, not you. But now he was pissed at you. He placed the joint in the ashtray and grabbed his phone off the coffee table, pausing the show. Just like that all the air seemed to dissipate out of the room.  

“Connor?”

“I can’t fucking believe you.” Connor said, “who’re you going with?”

“No one, I just, wanted to go.” You shrugged.  

“You just wanted to go? All the fucking sudden? How convenient.” He snapped.

“I don’t think it’s a big deal Connor, it’s just a dance. We can hang out after or something...on Sunday if you want?”

“Oh, are you sure? You might have some fucking party to go to!” He got off the couch, heading to the stairs as if he was going to leave his own basement.

“Connor.” When you called his name he turned and walked back over, the only thing separating him from you was the coffee table and you felt strangely thankful.  

“You’re a fucking shit friend you know that? You act like this is all so fucking important to you and ‘oh Connor we have to get together we never miss it’ but then you just fuck off to other plans. It’s okay to hang out with me as long as you don’t have a better fucking offer!”  

“That’s not true and you know it!”  

“Just get the fuck out of my house!” He shouted.  

“Are you serious?”

“Do I look like I’m fucking kidding?”

-

Connor didn’t speak to you for the rest of the week. Despite the multiple texts you sent him Sunday through to Friday afternoon you heard absolutely nothing from him. He avoided you in school, going out of his way not to sit by you. It was a new form of torture that you had never expected to experience. Connor had never been this mad at you before. Small arguments that were easily sorted through but never massive arguments that led to such a blatant cold shoulder. You wanted to be stubborn, to wait it out until he realized that he was the one in the wrong. He should be begging for forgiveness and groveling at your feet but the more time progressed the more you were afraid that he would never put his pride aside to admit that he was wrong.  

So on Saturday night, instead of getting dressed up to go to Homecoming with Zoe, Alana, Evan, and Jared you were at the Sheetz near your house, getting Connor’s favorite milkshake and a small bag full of candy. The Murphy house was dark aside from the living room. Cynthia was at the door almost immediately after you knocked.

“Not going to the dance tonight?” She asked, looking a little relieved to see you, obviously unaware of the blow-out that you and Connor had suffered the last time you were at their house.

“Too many people, maybe senior prom,” you replied, “is Connor home?”

“He’s in his room.”

You carried the goods up the stairs of the Murphy house hold, arriving at Connor’s closed bedroom door. You couldn’t hear anything but ever since Cynthia had gotten him those noise-cancelling headphones he never blared his music. A compromise between the two of them. When you opened the door the room was dark and as your eyes adjusted you could make out Connor laying in bed. He hadn’t moved so you suspected he had his eyes closed.  

You shut the door behind you and ran your hand along the wall, flicking the light on. “Connor?”

No answer.  

Nudging the end of the bed with your leg you tried again, “Connor?” You repeated.  

His eyes opened slowly, his face already annoyed though it changed to surprise rather quickly as he scrambled to sit up, ripping his headphones off and tossing them down on the bed. “What are you doing here?” He clicked on his phone, checking the time.  

“It’s movie night.” You shrugged, holding out the milkshake for him to take.

“Yeah but...”

“You are always my first choice Connor. I’m sorry I made you feel like that wasn’t true. But even though I’m here right now that doesn’t mean you’re forgiven. You treated me like shit.”

“I was just pissed.” He replied, sipping at the shake.

“It’s not an excuse for the way you talked to me. I’m here because I love you and I needed to make sure you understood that. That you’ll always come first. But next time you talk to me like that no milkshakes and apologies okay?”

A ghost of a smile appeared on Connor’s face and he nodded. “Okay.”

“CSI?” You asked, biting on your lower lip, suddenly nervous as you stood in his room coming down from the adrenaline high you’d worked up to confront him.  

“Yeah,” he stood up but before you could start walking out of the room he wrapped his arm around you shoulders and pulled you close, kissing your forehead. “I’m a little bummed you didn’t come over in your dress.”

“Don’t push your luck Murphy!”  

-

In which Emily writes whatever she wants. 

#Connor murphy x reader #Connor murphy imagine #Connor murphy fanfic #Connor Murphy fanfiction #Connor Murphy au #deh fanfiction #deh imagine #deh fanfic #deh au #dear Evan Hansen imagine #dear Evan hansen fanfiction #dear Evan hansen fanfic #dear Evan hansen au #collecting stories imagine #cs discography series

[artificialqueens]

Bad Girls Club (Branjie) Chapter 6 - Joley

ao3 link

[June 6th, 2018]

“Tradition or not, this shit gonna get our asses busted one of these days, and I don’t know about y’all, but I’m trynna haul ass outta this zip code as soon as I can.”

“God, who invited Captain Buzzkill?” Vanessa rolled her eyes. “You as fucked up as we are, Silk. So, shut up and grab a box.” She passed a box of snap poppers to Silky and A’keria and kept one for herself. Glancing over her shoulder, she opened hers up and took one of the small, wrapped spheres between her thumb and finger. “On three.”

In stage whispers, the three girls counted down from three before throwing the little balls at the stairs of their high school, giggling as the loud snaps filled the otherwise quiet night – well, quiet for that part of town, anyway. Despite the complaints, it was still one of their most cherished traditions, dating back to eighth grade when they set off the poppers at their middle school the night after the last day, ringing in the start of the summer.

The girls were so caught up in their celebration that they failed to notice the police officer walking up behind them until he cleared his throat to get their attention.

“Seriously, you guys?” He pinched the bridge of his nose as the three teenagers scrambled upright in a haphazard (and fruitless) attempt to save face. “Alright, you know the drill. Davenport, Ganache, Mateo, into the car.” And they were left with no option but to comply.

While the process was always the same, the outcome varied based on multiple factors – the type of crime, the time of day, whether or not Officer Watts was fighting with his wife – but everything was added to the books, so to speak. Tonight, it just seemed like he couldn’t be bothered to do more than go through the motions, bringing each girl home and walking them to the door, so their guardians knew just where they’d been.

Vanessa was the last stop and the officer dropped her off to her mom with the repeated normalcy as any sort of scheduled custody exchange. “Say hi to Kimberly and the kids for me!” she called out as Officer Watts returned to his patrol car.

“Don’t try to buddy your way out of this, Vanessa. I’m getting real tired of this bullshit.” Her mother’s tone was as sharp as her glare, punctuated by the sound of the door slamming shut. “I see that police car come down this block more often than the ice cream truck! It’s like you’re not even trying to better yourself.”

“Better myself?” Vanessa scoffed and rolled her eyes. “What is this, My Fair Lady?” She calmed herself as quickly as she had snapped. “Sorry, sorry… but I promise we ain’t done nothing wrong, just hanging out.”

“Hanging out doesn’t get you brought home in a cop car. Don’t you ever stop and think about your future? How you gonna apply to college with a permanent record like that?”

The sudden silence that followed filled the room with a solemn sense of unease. Vanessa sat down on her couch and picked her dog up onto her lap. “Can we stop pretending I got a chance of going to college, Mom? We both know I’m not cut out for that.”

Her mother’s expression softened as she sat beside her on the couch. “Mija, I wish you could see the potential in yourself that I see in you.” She wrapped her arm around her and held her close. “You are not a lost cause, and I’m not giving up on you.”

[Present Day]

“Do you think prison’s actually like Orange is the New Black?” Vanessa asked, her gaze drifting from A’keria to the grass beneath her, ripping a handful of it from the ground and aimlessly scattering the blades.

A’keria quirked her brow. “Why you worried about it? The whole point of this shit is us getting clean records, so we don’t go to prison.” After a moment, she sighed and rolled her eyes. “Is this about the whole prison wife thing you think Brooke Lynn was talking about?”

Vanessa looked away as she answered. “No…” She chewed on her lip. “Not just her. You really think this shit is gonna stick? That we’re gonna go to college and get on the dean’s list or some shit? This whole thing is just so they can pass the blame onto us when we fuck up and land in jail for real.” As she finished her rant, she noticed the expression on her friend’s face. It wasn’t quite anger or sadness, but it made her chest tighten. “What?”

“I just didn’t think you, of all people, would give up on yourself.”

“I’m not!” she quickly defended. “I’m just being realistic.”

A’keria turned and cornered her into eye contact. “Are you? Or are you setting yourself up for failure on purpose, so you don’t have to get out of your comfort zone?”

Vanessa huffed and crossed her arms. “Since when are you into psycho-ana…psych-analy-a…” She gestured vaguely. “You know, dissecting my brain and shit.”

“It don’t take fuckin’ Einstein to know you’re being ridiculous. Look, I’m not saying I’m not gonna drink or smoke or do hoodrat shit after this, but we got a chance at actually having futures. And if you’re gonna sit and act like none of this ever happened when we get back home, you’re a hugehypocrite for being mad at Brooke Lynn for wanting to go back to the good life she had.”

It was rare for Vanessa to be at a loss for words, but she had no way to argue what had been said. It would be a conscious choice to go back home and get in trouble again, and she would be disappointing everyone that cared about her. So, maybe she couldn’t fault Brooke for longing to escape from this situation, but it didn’t resolve how she felt about her or even in general. She lay down on the ground and stared off into space while the sun warmed her skin. “I don’t know what to say to her.”

She nodded slowly. “I knew it would come back to that. You give so much of your heart so easily, Vanjie. You set yourself up to get hurt. Hell, you might still have a shot with her if you actually stop and think about what you say instead of shooting off at the mouth.”

Vanessa pushed herself back up, shaking her head. “Nah, not with how I’ve been. She probably thinks I’m psycho now.”

A’keria shifted to her side to properly look at her. “You won’t know if you don’t talk it out. Just… Don’t slip back into your old habits.”

“What old habits?”

“Really, bitch?”

[September 3rd, 2018]

“Okay, the suspense is killing me, so I’ll bite. What the hell is wrong with Vanjie?”

Silky rolled her eyes before looking in Vanessa’s direction. Their friend was sat at the other end of the lunch table, pouting with her arms crossed, but also looking sincerely solemn and crestfallen. “Oh, that girl she been hooking up with all summer dropped her ass ‘cause she has a boyfriend.”

A’keria let out an exaggerated groan. “I told her. Didn’t I tell her? I said, ‘watch yourself with her, she ain’t in it for the long haul,’ right to her.” She sighed and shook her head, deciding to save the well-earned ‘I told you so’ for later. For now, she needed to be a comforting friend. “Alright, c’mere baby. It’s gonna be okay,” she soothed and wrapped an arm around her.

“She got me fucked up, man,” Vanessa’s voice trembled as she spoke. “She really went and said she ‘never felt like this before’ and now she’s gonna act like I don’t exist. Who does that shit?”

“Straight girls,” Silky chimed in, which got a small laugh out of Vanessa – much to both of her friends’ relief.

With the tension lifted – at least for the moment – Vanessa pushed herself up to her feet. “I’m not gonna stay stressing over this, okay? I’m good, fuck her and her greasy-ass boyfriend.” And with that, the school bell rang, and they were all off to class.

Silky walked with A’keria, trailing a few steps behind Vanessa. “Do you actually think she’s done stressing over this?”

“Not a chance.”

Much to their chagrin, A’keria ended up being proven right not a full three days later.

All it took was one house party with just enough alcohol and Vanessa was making out with her summer fling off in a corner. She had one hand up the back of the girl’s shirt, the other tangled through her hair – it was as if nothing had changed at all.

Until it did, ten minutes later.

“Where are you going?” Vanessa asked, not about to be left high and dry without putting up a fight. “It was just getting good,” she added with a discontented huff.

“My boyfriend’s here,” the ex answered in a calloused tone, reapplying her lipstick without looking in Vanessa’s direction. She fluffed up her hair and sauntered off, wrapping her arms around some lanky, awkward looking guy and effectively acting as though Vanessa ceased to exist.

A’keria got up to collect her friend. “This time I’m not holding back the ‘I told you so.’”

[Present Day]

“Are you still giving me the cold shoulder?”

Vanessa shrugged it off. “There’s a lot worse I could be giving you. Don’t push it.”

Brooke Lynn sighed and pushed herself to sit up on her bed. “Baby, I can’t fix anything if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.” She pouted and reached out to grab Vanessa’s hand, swinging it slowly.

This wasn’t fair as far as Vanessa was concerned. How was she supposed to maintain her tough resolve when Brooke was giving her puppy dog eyes and a soft, pink pout? Her weakness was being used against her – it had been at least two days of freezing her out and she had been starting to get lonely anyway. She bit down on her lip and looked down. “I’m not trynna have this heart-to-heart yet. I know you ain’t about it, so the time has to be right.”

“Then let’s not talk.” Brooke noticed Vanessa wasn’t resisting her hold anymore, so she pulled her closer and closer until the smaller girl sat on her lap. “We don’t have to talk, just let me take your mind off it for a while,” she cooed as she started to place soft, slow kisses from her shoulder all the way up to her jaw.

The temptation was undeniable and nearly every part of Vanessa’s body was urging her towards Brooke. And at first, she gave in. She straddled her lap with her arms draped around her neck. Their foreheads rested against each other, lips just barely touching before connecting in a kiss. And another one, a deeper, languid one. For a moment, she was perfectly at ease. There was no yesterday or tomorrow to weigh down her mind – there was only now and only them in a dream of their own design.

Then she woke up to the sinking feeling that this was too easy. Not every problem could be solved by kissing pretty girls, no matter how hard she may try. She pulled away, standing up. “I can’t do this right now. It ain’t even you… I just…”

“You just what?”

Vanessa was shaking her head as she backed away. “You wouldn’t understand. Sometimes it’s better to not do enough than to do too much. That’s how you end up in this shit hole.”

[June 24th, 2019]

It was the dead of night, a time where – in many places – everything would be quiet and calm. But this was still Los Angeles in the early days of summer, when the weather was nice without the balmy heat making the air hazy, the kind of heat that made walking feel like trudging through a thick slime.

The ability to walk quickly and move nimbly was imperative for Vanessa and A’keria – down one from their usual trio with Silky away visiting family in Mississippi. It would’ve taken a lot more than that to quash Vanessa’s plans.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me. I swear to god, if the police don’t kill you, I will. It’s like you’re trying to invent a new level of stupid shit to try to get away with and—”

“Shh!” Vanessa elbowed her in the ribs. “We’ll get away with it if you shut the fuck up.” And with that, she had effectively tuned A’keria out as they kept walking to their destination. “Alright, this is it.”

A’keria hesitated. “You sure? Cause if it ain’t—”

“It is. Now, do you want the eggs or toilet paper?” She held up a carton of eggs in one hand and a roll of toilet paper in the other, offering up both options.

After a moment of disgruntled hesitation, A’keria sighed and grabbed the toilet paper. If Vanessa wasn’t going to come to her senses, she would at least pick the lesser of two evils on her end.

Of course, when the police arrived it didn’t really matter who was throwing what – vandalism was still vandalism. But Vanessa sat upright and indignant as she was escorted into the backseat of the cop car. Just as the car was pulling away, she stole a glance out the window, at the girl who had ignited the anger in her that drove her to revenge.

She looked indifferent – mildly annoyed at most. This infuriated Vanessa to no end. “Look at her, she don’t even care. What the fuck?”

The other girl sighed with her head against the window. “Now do you see how ridiculous you’ve been? You got your ass all worked up over some bitch that don’t give two shits about you. I keep telling you it’s gonna land you in a damn mess and look where we are now. We could catch a real charge for this, V.” She took a deep breath, willing herself to calm down. There was no point in them fighting on top of everything else. “Just once I wish you’d think things through before you act, channel that passion into something useful.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “Listen, I’ll take the whole rap for this. It was my fault – you tried to talk me out of it.”

A’keria shook her head with a soft smile. “Nah, they caught me red-handed too. Besides, we’re still ride-or-dies no matter how foolish you act.”

[Present Day]

“Hey… Vanessa, right? Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

Vanessa was undeniably caught off-guard when the hot, tattooed blonde that’d served her lunch plopped herself down beside her at the table. She blinked, taking a moment for her brain to connect to her mouth. “Um… Sure, what’s up?”

“You see that girl over there? With the blonde ponytail and the kicked puppy expression?” Kameron cocked her head in Brooke Lynn’s direction. “Every time I look at her, she’s looking at you. And I mean looking at you. So, I have got to know – is something going on between you two?”

That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? Vanessa looked down at the table for a good few moments before facing the girl who didn’t seem annoyed or jealous – just genuinely curious, which she supposed alleviated some of the anxiety the question could’ve caused. “You could say that,” was what she decided on. “But it’s complicated, you don’t want the whole backstory or nothing.”

Kameron chuckled, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Listen, I know complicated. And I know Brooke Lynn. I promise, nothing you could say about her would surprise me.”

It certainly wasn’t the response Vanessa was expecting, but it did explain the nonchalance Kameron had. “It’s not even her. I mean… it’s kind of her. But it’s me too. I got a… bad habit of getting real intense if I start to catch feelings, and she’s got this whole life to go back to, and I shouldn’t be mad at her for wanting to go back to her normal life…”

“So, what, she told you to fuck off back into the hood?”

Vanessa laughed, but it was a laugh filled with embarrassment and a hint of self-realization. “No… I just been avoiding talking to her about it since I’m, you know, real and emotional and shit, and she’s all closed off cause she’s a hornet.”

“Do you mean WASP?”

“Like it matters. It’s like we’re speaking different languages half the time anyway.”

Kameron tilted her head and pressed her lips together, going absolutely silent. In actuality, it wasn’t more than a minute or so, but with Vanessa unconsciously holding her breath, it felt like ages. “What if I go talk to her for you? You know, serve as a middleman or something.”

“Oh, no that’s not a— oh, okay, you already going. You ain’t even listening to me.” She hid her head in her arms on the table. “Well fuck me, I guess.” It wasn’t like the situation could get any more awkward, she figured.

Meanwhile, Kameron seemed as cheerful as she had been while serving food when she perched herself across from Brooke Lynn at the otherwise empty lunch table. “Long time no see, huh?”

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #lesbian au #teen au #bad girls club #joley

[aka-willow]

Dance with a Devil on Your Back

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Words: 822

Characters: Willow Wren, Jessica Jones, Trish Walker, Peter Parker, Marty Fields, Kate Gray, Ned Leeds

Prompt/Tag: “I think your cat has unlocked the secrets of the universe and is judging us for being stupid.” “I’m too sober for this.” “I just ironed these pants!”

Summary: Willow and her gang have their graduation ceremony and the summer of reckoning begins.

Timeline: June 2015

Song: Shake It Out - Florence and the Machine

A/N: it’s been a chill few chapters......... but willow’s own investigation is about to start soon so

—————————————————————————–

We didn’t have to be at school until nine the day of eighth grade graduation, also the last day of school before summer vacation. All of us, Peter, Ned, Kate, Marty met up beforehand for an early breakfast and then walked to school. It was a warm summer morning, the hazy kind, where you can tell the day that follows will be hot. We stopped at the bodega near the school, looking for snacks to bring to the ceremony.

“Hey guys, did you know the Jello isn’t vegetarian?” Ned asked, reading off a Jello cup label.

“Why are you bringing Jello?” Peter asked.

“More importantly,” I asked. “There’s meat in Jello?”

“Gelatin,” Kate piped in. “Gelatin is made from animal parts, Willow.”

“Huh,” I said.

Marty and I were on drink duty, standing in front of the two refrigerators. I stared down at Marty’s carefully pressed khakis and wondered if I should have gotten more dressed up. It was hard to find a summer dress that hid the wings well. Impossible, actually.

“Hey, you missed a spot,” I said, nodding at Marty’s carefully pressed pants.

“Are you serious?” Marty asked. “I just ironed these pants.”

“I’m joking,” I said. “Chill.”

“Do you think I look all right?” Marty asked. “Like—”

“I mean you look fine,” I said. “Why?”

“Well, I was thinking of asking Annabel to hang with us this summer.”

“That’s it?” She and Marty had been Snapchatting a lot recently, and I was surprised that they had never hung out outside of school. “So, like, are you guys…”

“No!” said Marty, quickly, as Peter looked over at us from the counter. “No,” he said quieter. “I just think she’s cool.”

“Wait, Willow, can you grab Gatorade from over there?” Peter asked.

I held up a bottle. “This one?”

“Is that a red one? Yeah.”

I was snapped back to our drink mission and tried to forget about Marty and Annabel. I really hope I don’t end up spending this summer third-wheeling with Marty and this girl.

We pooled our money at the register and spent five minutes trying to figure out how to get everyone compensated with the limited number of bills we had. The bodega cat sat next to the register and blinked once as we shuffled dollar bills between us. “I think your cat has unlocked the secrets of the universe and is judging us for being stupid,” I said to the man behind the counter, a fairly familiar face after all the after-school stops we made here, and he just shook his head.

“It’s mathematics,” he said. “You can’t do math? Graduating eighth grade and you can’t do math?” He laughed. “Stay in school, eh?”

We got to the school with a few minutes to spare, the others splitting off to find parents and family. Marty had made it clear that it was best if I stay away from his mom, and while Peter invited me to come say hi to Aunt May, I still felt like an outsider among all these families. I wish my siblings were here. Even just a few of them. Even just one.

The ceremony itself flew by, and in less than an hour, I realized I was about to complete my first year of school ever. Just as the assistant principal launched into a final speech riffing on Oh The Places You’ll Go, my superhearing picked up a low voice from the back of the gymnasium. “I’m too sober for this.” Whomst the fuck?

I swiveled around and saw Jess and Trish standing in the back row, up against the wall, watching the ceremony. They came? They came!

As soon as the last speech finished and we had our diplomas in hand, I ran over to them, and I realized I was beaming.

“You guys are here!” I exclaimed.

“Your principal really likes the sound of his own voice,” Jessica. She gave a half-smile. “Congratulations, by the way. I had my doubts…”

“No,” admonished Trish, giving Jessica a playful shove. “She’s a smart kid. Here,” she said, handing me a small bag. “Graduation gift.”

I peeked inside, pushing away the tissue paper, and pulled out a miniature pair of binoculars. “For me?!”

“So you can stop borrowing mine,” said Jessica. “How are they?”

I peered through them and stared around the crowd in the gymnasium. “Awesome,” I said. “There’s a guy over there with his thumb all the way up his nose—these are great! You guys, thank you!” I strapped them around my neck, deciding to wear them the rest of the day, like some private eye necklace.

In all the families there that day, I had felt a little lost, until I took stock of everyone there who cared for me. Jessica. Trish. Marty. Peter. Ned. Kate. Six friends. Six more friends than I had when I arrived in New York City.

So, I’d say it was a pretty successful school year.

#ww writing #willow wren #jessica jones #trish walker #peter parker #marty fields #kate gray #ned leeds