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jangofctts · 3 years

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Thing for Trouble (boba fett x fem!reader x din djarin) (part one) (part two) (part three) (part four)

Rated: explicit 18+

word count: 7.6k

warnings: threesome, smut, thigh riding, oral female receiving, handjobs, unprotected sex (dont be a deadbeat, wrap that shCMEAT), light choking, throne fucking, vaginal fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, creampies, pet names, sub? din? more likely than you think (also lmk if I missed any tags!)

a/n: yall im sorry this is such garbage but kjkwejh here we be. I hOPE YOU ENJOY THE CIRCUS. thank you to everyone who’s encouraged this so COME GET YALLS MANDO MEAT

There isn’t much when he it comes to Tatooine and fun things to do. There’s pod acing, drinking, Sabaac tourneys, more podracing, gambling and scavenging. Unless there’s a festival or some wild event, you’re stuck with boredom and whatever you can scrounge up for fun in the palace.

Now, don’t get it wrong—if you had it your way, you’d spend every waking hour trialing behind Boba, but you don’t want to smother. Fennec too—while you enjoy her company, you know that half of the reason she sticks around is Boba’s order for your protection. Kinda ruins the fun when you know she probably only tolerates you because she’s being paid to. Eh whatever—doesn’t stop you from tagging along on as she runs errands in town—besides, today you actually have a reason to be here instead of loitering like a lost puppy.

Fennec tells you to be safe and com her the second trouble rears its ugly head and disappears into the weapons shop—muttering about her prized rifle being jammed or something. You don’t know, all you hear is that you have the entire afternoon to yourself to hunt down your oh so elusive prize. Star cherries.

The markets are always vibrant. Jam packed with people from each and every corner of the galaxy, hundreds of booths and stalls selling their wares that varies from foods to jewelry to even bounty services. Tempting as is it is to peruse the sparkly rows of dainty necklaces and rings or inspect the vast array of beige ponchos and manilla undershirts—you have a purpose. A once a year chance you refuse to let go to waste.

The shabby booth is tucked near the end of the street, the mountain of the little red fruits looking comical compared to the withered old lady who sits beside them. She flashes you a gap-toothed smile, the crowfeet wrinkles surrounding her eyes scrunch with the movement. “Ah! I was wondering when you’d show, dear.”

“Hello, Mrs. Feraan,” you greet, bending at the was it to kiss her wrinkly cheek. The old vender was one of the first kind souls you met here when you arrived on Tatooine. In return for a couple compliments or an offer to be the lab rat to test her new recipes for pie or tarts, she hooks you up with the best of the cherries—handpicked with love. “How’s business today?”

She waves her hand in dismissal, her silver rings glinting in the sun. “Same as always, child.”

Eventually you work your way through the pleasantries and a couple, long winded tangents. The sort that only old people can flawlessly spin and keep you engaged. Trials and tribulations to earn your prize—you don’t mind sacrificing a couple hours.

Finally you’re allowed to walk away—cherries in hand and exceedingly eager for your sweet snack. Unfortunately, suffering through Mrs. Feraan’s old childhood laments is not the only bump in the road you have to face.

Granted, it is your fault—not looking where your feet are taking you—

Your temple crashes into something agonizingly hard. You swear you hear a quiet bonk when your skull collides with the mystery material and fucking hell—you probably have a concussion from the force of it.

Unbothered by your probable brain injury, you’re far more concerned with the cherries spilling onto the ground and so, as you flail and dramatically topple over—the brunt of your fall is cushioned by your shoulder. Something pops and yeah, ok, maybe you just tore a ligament but—kriffing worth it for the cherries you miraculously saved from their dusty graves.

Your temper flares as you spot the dirty brown boots pointed in your direction. Maneuvering yourself up so you don’t also get trampled by the crowd, you bare your teeth and put on your best impression of a terrifying force of nature despite the fact you’ve been knocked flat on your ass. “What the fuck—“

The words shrivel up and die upon your tongue as your eyes slide up the stranger’s legs, broad shoulders sporting the shiny armor that twinkles in the midday suns. They then settle on an all too familiar helmet. Well, sorta—you’re familiar with a certain red and green one, not the equivalent of a wearable disco ball.

You squint as the stranger’s head dips to look at you crumpled at his feet. You dust yourself off and point an accusing finger. “Fuck is your problem standing in the middle of the road?”

The stranger quirks their head. “You ran into me—maybe you should watch where you’re stepping.”

The raspy voice is a striking sound. Mellow and silky even as it passes through the vocoder and dresses it in static charm. Some of your anger melts away—maybe this is the friend Boba was talking about—it’d make sense. They’re wearing the same type of armor…

You shake your head and shove down your pride. You don’t think Boba would appreciate you chewing his ear off. “Sorry—you’re right.”

As you readjust your clothes and precious cherries you introduce yourself with a tiny smile. Yet just as you're about to ask him his name he interjects with a step forward. You flinch away but all he does is sweep back a strand of hair from your forehead, revealing a little nick in the skin. You hiss as his fingertips scrape against it--great, an actual head wound. “Are you alright?”

Maker—here you are, after yelling at him and he finds it in him to be compassionate. You wave away his concerns. “Y-yeah--peachy.”

He apologizes with a dip of his head and words soaked in regret and fuck--now you feel bad. You wrack through your brain and search for last ditch attempts to fix this little mishap and settle with a half baked idea. It’s dumb--but hey, if it works, it works.

“Seriously, it’s fine. But I mean, if you’re so worried, how about you walk me home and we call it even?” You propose, sticking out your hand to seal the deal. If your assumptions are right, he’d just be tailing you the whole way home anyway. “I’m headed towards the palace, so if it’s not too much out of your way then—“

He hesitates and interrupts by taking your hand. “Alright. Deal.”

You smile. “Lovely.”

On the return trip, Din is quiet—tells you his name and responds to your conversation fillers with interested hums—but other than that he remains on the silent end. Intriguing with a rounded softness unlike the armor he wears--a man of mystery much like a certain someone who awaits you back home. Well--Din is less grumpy--by a long shot...but still. It’s easy to spot some of their shared similarities.

-=-=-=-

Upon arriving at the castle you part ways with Din before he reaches the throne room--you’re not too excited about showing off your new battle scar yet and while it was an accident, making an entrance with Din will make it far too easy to link the injury with him. Besides, you don’t wanna risk scaring off your new friend if Boba decides to showcase that tightly sealed lid of anger and brutality.

Instead you take the long way around the palace. Soon, muffled voices carry through the long corridors, growing louder as you work your way back from the kitchens. You round the corner, catching glimpses of Boba and your new friend through the pillars that prop up the low ceiling. You don’t meant to spy, but you do so anyway, hesitant on interrupting.

That is...until Boba cocks his head to the side and settles his eyes onto the pillar you hide behind. “It seems we have a little shadow with us today.”

You suck in a breath as your heart skips in a thrumming pace. Boba addresses you by name and crooks his fingers in a lazy motion for you to step out into the light—revealing yourself to the small party of two. “Come here, little one.”

The low light catches off of Din’s helmet with a glittering sparkle when he swivels his head. The tiny, warped figure of yourself reflects in mirror-like pieces of smelted beskar as his shoulders pull tight with recognition. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep the smile that threatens to crack across your face at bay. Boba is no fool—he excels in the subtleties of shifting eyes and clenched fists to hide anxiety or closely guarded information—sickeningly familiar with your own quirks and tells, but—

There’s no reason to reveal Din’s little secret—not yet. Boba called him a friend but you truly have no clue what the depths of that word entailed. Friend could mean anything from a casual acquaintance, to an old childhood bond, and or anything in between. You sigh and brush past him, mentally congratulating yourself for keeping a cool mask of indifference etched into your features. If Din wants to open that can of worms then so be it—you weren’t the one offering to walk random people home.

You step onto the dais and slide your free hand into Boba’s outstretched palm. The worn leather tickles up your forearm and locks over your elbow, silently demanding you to sit on his lap. There’s plenty of room to both sit on the throne but no—Boba prefers you tucked against the cool metal of his cuirass. You grunt as the bowl of star cherries you cradle dangerously dips when Boba adjusts your weight over his thighs.

His fingers pull back a strand of your hair, tucking it behind your ear and then spider along your jawline. The ends of his mouth quirk as Boba pinches your chin between his forefinger and thumb, capturing your undivided attention. “I don’t like it when you lurk in the shadows, little one. You’re allowed to listen.

You huff. “I know—but lurking is fun.”

Boba releases your chin with a scoff. “Foolish, girl.” You dip your chin with a sheepish grin as heat rushes to your cheeks. You briefly forget about the tiny nick adorning your right temple, the only thing you were trying to keep hidden—but Boba is all too quick to notice. “What is this?”

He pushes your hair out of the way of the cut, inspects it, then curls his fingers around your jaw to demand an answer. You refuse to let your eyes wander over to Din—what a dead giveaway that would be—and instead muster up enough courage to hold the weight of his stare.

“I tripped at the markets,” you say—not a complete lie. “It’s just a little scratch—no biggie.”

Boba squints in suspicion and grumbles a soft hm. You feel his chest rise and fall with a deep sigh—he won’t argue about it right now. Not a battle worth his while when you’re keen on keeping the full truth behind a wall of teeth and anxieties. Boba’s hand falls away, gestures to Din who still stands stiffer than a stature, then lays it over the golden armrest. “I’m sure you’ve noticed our guest—“

Din tips his head in acknowledgement.

“The rightful ruler of Mandalore,” Boba continues. “Din Djarin.”

Din Djarin…despite already knowing his name (or half of it, at least) you like the way it rolls off the tongue—like how it’s seemingly made to be repeated and carved into the walls of some ancient script. Your knowledge on all things Mandalorian is…limited to say the least but you know enough about the rumors.

“Isn’t Mandalore supposed to be haunted?” You don’t mean for your words to be a pointy jab to the ribs but regardless, it strikes a tender chord within the Mandalorian. You wince as Din shifts his weight and clenches his palm—a long story. “Sorry—I—I’m sure your home is lovely, all I know about it are dumb ghost stories about evil wizards and laser swords.”

The blood under your cheeks burn red hot. Great. Not only are you a complete bantha brain, you’ve also managed to sound like an impudent child. Boba soothes a thumb over your thigh as you curl into yourself—bastard. He thinks this is funny.

“It’s not my home,” Din responds, albeit tentatively. “Never been.”

Your brows furrow. Alrighty then.

Boba snorts and shakes his head. He mutters something in Mando’a and lazily waves his hand, dismissing the line of conversation entirely. It was turning into a dumpster fire anyway—

With a slow exhale, you remove yourself from the discussion and instead tuck your head under Boba’s chin. The beskar is cold against your cheek but it feels nice against the sweltering midday heat.

Their conversation fades in and out as you rest your head over Boba’s cuirass, listlessly picking through the bowl of fruit for the ripest ones. You sigh—the next cherry you bring up to your lips is intercepted as Boba’s hand clamps around your wrist and redirects it into his own mouth. You don’t find it in you to be grumpy about the stolen treat when Boba’s tongue slides over your sticky fingers. Still holding your wrist captive, he sucks the tip of your thumb into the warm heat of his mouth and curls his tongue around the digit. Your index finger is given the same treatment before your hand is returned. The beginnings of arousal spark to life below your belly, and fuck—that shouldn’t have been so…so…hot.

Din’s smoky baritone fades into background noise as the entirety of your attention zero’s in on Boba’s mouth. You purse your lips and suck in a shaky breath, then return your hand to the bowl to fish out another fruit. You don’t need any guidance this time around as you bring the cherry to his mouth—the crimson juice spilling down your palm and part of your arm as his teeth pierce the fragile skin. You breath hitches as Boba dips his head, catching the bead of liquid running down your arm with the tip of his tongue, then swiping s a slow trail up, and over the lines of your palm. He plants a careful kiss there, then breaks away.

Before you have the chance to reach for another one, Boba plucks a cherry from the bowl and rests it against the seam of your lisp, inviting you to partake in this little game he’s created. A wicked smirk curls over his mouth as you accept—the tart flavor of the fruit spilling over your tastebuds as you chew and swallow. A little wine escapes you as his leather-clad thumb rolls over your bottom lip, bushes past the barrier of your teeth and seats the digit into your mouth—all the way down to the third knuckle.

You hardly notice the moment Din’s voice tapers off into silence—much too enraptured with the taste of leather and the smooth feel of it over your tongue. You gag slightly when Boba’s thumb reaches the back of your throat, then retreats just as slow. The string of saliva that still connects the digit to your wet mouth, drips over your chin and part of your lip, eliciting a jagged, echoey breath that crackles through Din’s vocoder.

Boba grins—something that better belongs on a sneering jackal just about to pounce on unsuspecting prey with needle sharp talons, rather than his face. His eyes drift up to address his guest. “Do you see something you like, Mand’alor?”

Din’s head jerks, averting his gaze to anywhere but the throne. He murmurs a weak apology and shifts his weight to his other leg—acting as if he were to look at you a second time, it’d burn him to a crisp or force him to confront Boba Fett’s wrath. Obviously, neither thing would happen, but Din still remains unsure with his foothold in this situation.

“I see how you look at her,” Boba drawls—not an accusation, just a statement brought to light. Boba’s hand drops to your thigh, the warm weight of it resting just past your knee as Din swallows his nerves and returns his gaze. “It’s alright—a pretty little thing like her is bound to turn heads.”

A blush hotter than wildfire licks up your cheeks as Din nods in agreement. “She’s beautiful…you’re a lucky man.”

Boba’s grip on your thigh hoards you closer to his chest. He is and he’s fully aware of that fact, but there’s no need to admit such a thing when it’s so blatantly obvious. A lull in the conversation creates a palpable tension—nervous energy and a choice to let this is fade into nonexistence or…or breathe life into that flickering ember of unsaid desires.

Your heart leaps into your throat when Boba shatters the silence and addresses you. “You’re awfully quiet, princess…what do you think?”

He’s placing whatever this is into your hand and leaving you to call the shots. You’ve always been a troublemaker and there’s no will or way as to why you’d stop now. You look between your lover and Din as a smile curls over your face. “I think…if he’s so interested—why not give him a show? After all, he did bring me home—he deserves some reimbursement for the trouble.”

Boba’s shoulders jolt with a chuckle. “How chivalrous.” You shiver as he strokes the back of his finger down your cheek. “Fine, as you wish, little one—go play.”

Giddy excitement bubbles through your chest as Boba offers Din to take a seat on the edge of the dais. Din still has an option to escape, to slip through the cracks and pretend this never happened—but stars, you hope he stays. Din takes a step forward, then another—and another until he’s standing before the throne. He studies the raised edge and gingerly takes a seat.

You abandon your bowl of cherries onto the forearm of the throne and slip off Boba’s lap. You drift over to Din, his gloved fingers clenching and unclenching as they rest over his thigh plating. He’s purposefully avoiding your eye as you kneel beside him—still locked onto that niggling fear that this could be some sort of trick or test in resolve.

Smiling sweetly, you skate your hand over his knuckles—guiding his large palm to your waist and then under and up your loose shirt and bra. Din mutters a curse as you place his palm over your breast. “I’m glad you stayed.”

Pleased with his reaction, you peel off your shirt and bra, breath hitching as Din pinches your nipple between his forefinger and thumb. “Same—I think…”

With a bit more bravery backing his movements, Din pulls away briefly, shucks off his gloves and encompasses both your breasts. They’re warm and calloused, riddled with silvery scars that stand out against his brown skin, a storybook of past battles—won and lost—all equally important to the fibers of his being that stitch him together into a whole. His hand whispers down the length of your ribcage, no doubt feeling the thrum of your heart beating wildly against the cartilage and bone. It tickles over the swell of your hips then—

“You said you wanted to give him a show,” Boba drawls behind you, a sharp twinge of hostility lacing his words. “So enjoy the show, Mand’alor, ’nd keep your hands to yourself."

Din recoils at the verbal reprimand and drops his hands speedier than a flash of lightning. You frown and throw a glare over your shoulder. Bastard. Boba quirks a brow and runs his thumb over his lip, the edged sparkle in his dark eyes taunting you into challenging him. You huff and turn a cold shoulder.

“Sorry, Din,” you purr, scrounging up any and all back up plans to keep you both entertained. “Seems my king isn’t as generous I thought.”

Din withers a bit at the catty remark, keeping his lips sealed tight as Boba growls your name in warning. You don’t pay him any mind.

You puff up your cheeks and release the air in a steady stream, as your eyes scrape over Din’s armored thigh. Ok—you can work with that. It wouldn’t be breaking any rules…not technically. You step away, paw at your waistband and let the breezy fabric pool over around your ankles, your underwear quickly joining the pile.

Now bare, you return to Din’s side, his careful inhale distorted into choppy static as you straddle his thigh. He lifts both hands, intending to grab at your waist, but pauses midair. No touching. You lips tilt with a smirk as he clenches his fists and pins his hands to the cool stone instead, an attempt to curb that urge to reach for you. His shoulders knit together when you mold your hand in the gap between his shoulder pauldron and cuirass to give yourself some sort of balance—obviously not used to a soft touch.

You lower yourself and hiss through clenched teeth. It’s fucking freezing. Goosebumps rush up each limb as the wet warmth of your cunt meets the frigid beskar—the chill much colder than you initially expected. It’s one thing to touch the beskar with an open palm and another thing entirely to feel against such an intimate part of yourself. Din’s visor drops to look between your legs as you give your hips an experimental roll.

It’s different. You’re used to hardened muscle and fabric, or your own fingers while pleasuring yourself. Your breath hitches as Din’s thigh twitches, the smelted seam of the cuisse bumping against your throbbing clit.

“Sorry,” Din mumbles, “Didn’t mean—“

“It’s ok,” you smile, rocking your hips to ease into the sensation. “Just surprised me.”

The pace you set is slow, careful not to overwork your nerves as your arousal blooms and metastasizes like simmering coals low in your groin. With each lecherous pull of your cunt against his thigh, the beskar begins to warm to the temperature of your skin—the wetness between your thighs abating the friction and making the surface slippery. A low gasp escapes you once you find the right ridge and angle that just grinds perfectly against your aching clit. Your fingers dig into the cowl of Din’s cloak.

“Shit—feels good.” Like your voice and little moans jumpstart Din’s ability to move, his large hand drifts to the front of his trousers—an already sizable bulge tenting the dark brown fabric. You squeak as Din's leg jolts for a second time, a burst of dizzying ecstasy wracking up your spine with the choppy movement.

You suck in another raspy breath as your attention drops to his hand that cups his cock and palms himself through his trousers. You chew your bottom lip and clench your fist gripping his cowl, still gyrating your hips over the beska as Din hooks his thumb into his waistband and pulls them down, slow as molasses.

Fucking hell—he’s bigger than you initially imagined. Flushed a rosy brown, and half hard already, twitching as Din wraps his fingers around the thick length. Din lifts his head, gauging your interest or disapproval—but kriff—who the fuck would ever be unhappy with that sorta heat he’s packing? You bite your bottom lip, scouring your brain for ideas to convince Boba into letting you taste Din—but your plotting is abruptly cut short.

Boba sits up and off the throne, his presence looming over your shoulder as he lowers to one knee. You shiver and arch your neck, exposing more of your vulnerable throat as Boba runs the fingertip of his pointer finger down the side of your cheek. “Are you enjoying yourself, princess?”

You nod, eyes fluttering shut as Boba opens his palm and cradles your jaw. You groan and roll your head back onto your shoulders as Boba snakes one hand around your hip and jolts you forward and down—disrupting the slow rock with a catastrophic interference. Unrefined bolts of plasma shoot up your spine as desire licks up thighs—you need more.

Boba dips his head and nuzzles into the crook of your neck. You grunt when his teeth sink into your flesh, worrying a bruise into your skin. Boba laves his tongue over the throbbing area, then licks a wet trail up to the shell of your ear, all the while you continue to grind on Din’s thigh. Boba nibbles your earlobe and whispers your name—the sound sweeter than any symphony could ever hope to make. Like smoke over deep water or the surging crackle of energy just before a thunderstorm high up in the mountains.

“You’re allowed to touch…” he says with a rough chuckle. “Go on.”

Your noise of agreement is quickly muffled as Boba interrupts you with a feverish kiss—all open mouthed and breathless as his tongue curls around yours. Your chest heaves for precious air as Boba retreats just as abruptly as it began. With a satisfied smirk ghosting over his lips, he taps you below the chin and returns to his throne to continue observing.

Dropping your eyes between Din’s legs, his cock, hardened to its full glory and held casually in his calloused hand, is truly a sight. Your pulse thrums in your ears as Din rolls his wrist and pumps his length, the velvety skin shifting over what looks like fucking beskar underneath. It strains towards his navel as you watch with wide eyes, mesmerized with the way he touches himself.

Rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, you touch your hand to his wrist. Din shudders like your skin is made of sizzling embers that’s broken off the tail end of shooting star—like you’re something too luminous and dangerous to be handled by someone like him. You lift your gaze, smiling into that darkened void of the visor and gracing him with a toothy smile. “Will you let me touch you, Din?”

He nods and utters a breathy yes.

Fuck yeah.

Din sucks in a stuttered breath when your hand circles around his thick length. His hips jolt into your palm as you slide your fist to the base then all the way back up. Precum beads over the tip, dribbling down and coating your knuckles with sticky wetness. It eases some of that friction as you fall into an easy rhythm, matching your rocking hips with each pump of his cock.

Din’s stuttered moans fill the small space between you, dragging you closer to your release that’s suddenly so close. He whines as you abandon his length to chase after your high, your arousal leaking from your center and dripping down the sides of the beskar. Din takes his cock into his hands, fisting himself to your little show of breathy wines and rough jerking of your hips over his thigh.

Din says your name attached with a broken moan and it’s over—

Everything seizes up tighter than a jaw clamp as your tumble off that jagged peak of searing, white hot pleasure. It’s raw, sparking off like a blade to metal, burning you from the inside out as you cum. Your cunt clenches around nothing, your thighs shaking as you curl inward as if he punched you in the fucking gut. It feels like he did. Maker—the cool beskar against your throbbing clit is like you’ve been thrown to the mercies of an electrical surge.

It doesn’t help either that Din is still pumping his length, hips stuttering as he brings himself to his own euphoric high. The air in your lungs seizes when a fragile groan, light and airy passes through the vocoder. Din rocks his hips into his fist, once—twice and then he’s throbbing and cumming into his hand. Hot ropes of his release splatter up his chest plate and parts of your thighs, his helmet nearly knocking into you as he hunches foreword from the intensity of it.

Too exhausted to keep yourself upright, you smash your cheek against his cuirass, involuntarily twitching as the last little waves of pleasure prickle through the rest of your nerves. You whine as you watch Din move his hand to collect some of your wetness coating his thigh. He brings two fingers stained with your slick to the lip of his helmet, pushes it up with his thumb just far enough to sink the two digits into his mouth. He groans out a quiet fuck, and repeats the action, swiping his fingers through the mess you’ve made and feeding it to himself. Your cunt clenches as you catch a sliver of his pink tongue that twists between his thick fingers.

He groans and rolls his head back onto his shoulders. “Please—can I taste you? Fuck—I-I need my mouth on you.”

Stars—the mere idea of it stokes the dwindling flames into a blaze of want. You look up at Boba and puff out your bottom lip. Pouting and begging hardly ever gets you what you want under normal circumstances—Boba Fett is more stubborn than a rancor—but you hope just this once he’ll be lenient.

Boba holds out his gloved hand—summoning you to his lap without a lick of protest on your end. Din however makes a sound akin to a whimper when you leave him. Boba gathers you in his arms for the second time, the leather a strange sensation as it spiders down your ribcage and around your hips. You can feel his hardness poking into your backside once you settle against him—his chest plate a cold shock to your naked flesh. You shiver and bury your nose into the crook of his neck, poking your tongue out to taste him. Boba’s cock twitches under you as your teeth sink into him with a cheeky nip.

“Is that what you want, little one?” Boba rumbles in question. His right hand glides lower, grabbing a handful of your thigh and squeezing. You groan and keen out a whine of affirmation.

Boba cocks his head towards Din. “Well? You’ve got your wish—don’t keep her waiting.”

Din shakily stands—hesitating with removing his helmet for enough time that you notice the silence that follows. The vocoder crackles as Din sighs. “Do you trust her?”

“With my life.” Boba states it without a second thought. Your heart twists, golden light spilling from your lungs and staining your insides with devotion and fuzzy affection. You press a soft kiss over Boba’s jaw.

“Is she…” Din speaks a word in Mando’a you have no hope to decipher—either no direct translation or he’s purposefully left you in the dark.

Based on the way Boba almost imperceptibly tenses, you guess the latter. Boba responds with a grunt and an unsure dip of the chin. The answer is complicated—that much you can gather…you push it to the back of you brain for now.

Din nods, inhales, and steels his nerves. Plastering his hands around the shiny helmet, he tugs it off with a slow reveal of dark, patchy facial, plush lips and wavy brown hair that falls around his olive skin. And oh, his eyes—soft chestnut brown eyes that hold such ache within them—lost things, broken bones, wearing his wounds like decoration upon his chest. Forged in the flames of war, risen from the ashes with murder and mercy rolled into one.

You wish him a kinder future. One that doesn’t end with pain and a blaze of an unchecked wildfire—the same way how all heroes end up as martyrs.

Though—right now—you can be the beginning of softer things for Din. You smile and invite him closer, a vortex of anxiety peppered with arousal as his eyes flit over your naked body. He sets his helmet to the side with care and drifts to the foot of the throne—fuck, he’s broad. Why hadn’t you noticed that before?

Your mental berating is severed when cool air meets the wet heat of your cunt as Boba hooks your thighs over his knees, spreading you wide as far as your hips allow. Din’s unfiltered moan at the sigh of you, sends a volt of electricity through every vein. Din lowers himself to one knee, and then the other, shuffling between yours and Boba’s legs.

“Can I touch?” He asks, soft brows raising in question.

Boba lazily raises two fingers in a motion of permission. Your chest tightens at the sight of Din’s boyish grin—warm palms settling over the sharp bend of your knees. His thumbs trace soothing circles over the skin and right as Din decides to swoop down, Boba catches him by the hair atop his head and yanks. Din grunts—the long, arched line of his neck a tempting sight as he swallows. “No marks.” Din’s jaw clenches, but nonetheless, he agrees to Boba’s command.

Boba hums in satisfaction and untangles his fingers from the mess of Din’s soft curls. Din’s brows pinch together for half a tick but smooth out in the next breath. No use being irritated—especially right now.

As directed, Din leaves not a scratch. Instead he scrapes the blunt edges of his teeth along the insides of your thighs, threatening to catch soft flesh between them—but he knows better than to act on the urge. He laves his warm tongue over each freckle or blemish he finds, leaving no patch of skin undiscovered as licks a steady trail to his prize. Din mouths a warm kiss over the crease of your thigh, and smooths his calloused hands over your hips, settling for a moment to trace little circles with his thumbs onto the soft protrusion of bone there. Seemingly satisfied, he then shifts them closer to your aching cunt. His hot breath fans over your cunt as he uses his thumbs to glide through your folds, almost curious with his exploration. He makes a little hum of appreciation low in his throat when the pads of his thumbs part your soaking folds.

You whimper and bury your face into the crook of Boba’s neck, his warm palms a much needed comfort as they tickle down your ribcage, then sweep back up to cup your tits. You cry and arch— Din’s tongue is scalding—like liquid velvet as he dips the tip of his tongue from the base of your cunt all the way up to your clit. Din sucks on the little bundle of nerves, rolling his tongue until you’re crying out, molten pleasure zipping through your abdomen. He grunts as your fingers tangle into his hair—kriff.

Fuck, you need more.

Arching into his mouth, all thoughts are transfigured and molded into a vicious loop—beginning with those adoring brown eyes, the color of freshly tilled earth and the warmth of sunlight over dappled aspen leaves in the balmy summer afternoons. It ends with soft lips—rose petal pink with devotion crystallizing in his mouth like sugar—madness and uncertainty and lovesick desire is all that he is and you’re not sure if you’ll come out of this unscathed.

He sinks two deliciously thick fingers into your clenching hole and curls them, only to retract them a moment later to shovel more of your wetness onto his tongue—as if simply using his mouth wasn’t enough for him. Like he needs to savor every drop of your arousal like the golden ambrosia the gods feast upon in their palaces of cloud and endless twilight.

That frenzied desperation lingers on the edges of his movements like he’s afraid you’ll fade away like a hand through fog—but you’re going nowhere. You’d stay here, suspended in time forever if the choice were up to you.

You whine and arch off Boba’s chest plate as Din strokes and curls his fingertips, plucking little gasps and moans from you easier than breathing. He zeros in on that little spot that makes your leg go all jittery and forces out high pitched mewls that echo through the throne room. You’re careening towards another high, the sensitivity of your last orgasm amping up the influx of pleasure.

“Stars—Din. Close—I’m so close,” you gasp, pulling his hair tight enough that you know it must sting—at least a little bit. He makes no sign that it does, just groans and buries his tongue into your dripping hole, licking alongside his fingers that shovel more of your wetness into his mouth.

Your release zips through your body like a flash flood—quick and fatal that leaves you gasping for air and struggling not to let your head dip below the waves. Your high seeps into each limb until they feel heavier than lead. Fuck—it’s so hard to work through the muddled thought and remember where exactly you are. You groan and toss your head back as Din keeps going.

“Another one—let me—“ He moans, opening his mouth as wide as it’ll go so he can devour more of you. You can feel the mixture of saliva and your own arousal dripping down your cunt and over your thighs, some of it pooling on the throne or onto the floor. Your thighs shake as Din pushes you towards another high.

You squeak as Boba’s palm sweeps up your sternum, locking his fingers around your throat in a loose hold. The tip of his nose nuzzles into your cheek—silently demanding a well earned kiss as his hips rock into your ass, grinding his cock for the barest scrap of friction. You moan into his mouth as Din doubles his efforts, raw and bordering that serrated edge of overstimulation and ecstasy.

Goosebumps rush over your arm as Boba places his lips right beside the shell of your ear. You feel the sticky heat of his breath fan over your throat and shoulder, and the way his lips skim your ear when they move to form the syllables of his words. “Such a filthy princess…”

You clench around Din’s fingers and moan a half garbled, “Boba—“

His weathered palm encompasses the entirety of your breast, rolling your pebbled nipple between his forefinger and thumb. “If only you could see yourself…dripping all over my throne and another man’s tongue.” Boba clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Depraved creature—cum for your rightful king.”

Wildfire chars your insides as it begins in your core and sweeps through your body. Tears prick the corner of your eyes as you buck and squirm in their arms—no mercy as the prickly waves of your orgasm make you hypersensitive to each touch. Even the hold on your hip, while innocent in nature, is blistering as if you suffered from a fever. You shudder as a salty tear rolls down your cheek. Boba catches it with his tongue as your ears pick up Din’s raspy praise—thanking you while spattering reverent kisses up your thighs.

Struggling to keep your eyes open, you do spot the apparent wetness soaking through the front of Din’s trousers. Fuck—he—he came again while eating you out. You whimper and rest the back of your head over Boba’s shoulder.

Your belly flinches under his scratchy facial hair as Din travels up, seizing and worshiping every inch he’s freely given before intercepted. He catches your nipple between your teeth, tugs a bit then moves to the other, lavishing equal attention with adoring lips and sweet whispers. When he reaches your collarbone, you’re boxed in against his chest plate and Boba’s. A blush blooms under your cheeks hotter than stare fire as Din gingerly sucks your earlobe into his mouth and breathes out a muted moan of your name—committing the very essence of you to his memory for the rest of his days.

Your heart squeezes tight like a clenched fist when he mumbles another thank you. Plucking up a smidge of courage, he risks planting a kiss right on the corner of your mouth. You blink—despite the sweetness of the gesture you wince as Boba snarls a curt phrase in Mando’a. Din peels himself away with a minuscule frown and slinks away.

Yet before you have the chance to remedy the situation of wounded pride and territorial jealousy—Boba tightens his hold on your hips and flips you both, so that now your back is smashed against the seat of the throne, a bit crumpled and sorta folded in half. Your hips hang off the edge as Boba holds the majority of your weight, grinding his clothed cock between the apex of your thighs.

“Don’t forget, princess—” Boba barks, slithering a hand up the column of your throat. You breath hitches as he lightly presses his palm down. “—what belongs to me.”

Reaching between you, he slides his gloved fingers through your slick folds and sinks two of them inside of your clenching center. You jolt as his thumb scrubs over your clit, still sensitive and edging towards too much.

“You want me to fuck you here?” He asks, shifting his hold to grip your jaw instead—the rounds of his fingertips digging firmly into the flesh and bone. “Say it.”

You gasp and scrabble weakly at Boba’s shoulders as he grinds the heel of his palm into your clit. “Please, Boba! Please fuck me—I need it.”

Boba folds over you, his breath fanning hot and hungry against your cheek. He devours your mouth with a discordant edge, like he’s trying to prove to the entire galaxy you are unmistakably his despite the fact you’re already wound so tightly around his fingers. Boba wrenches himself free and tears at his robe and trousers to free his thick length, leaking and flushed a rosy brown at the tip. He doesn’t keep either of you waiting as he removes his fingers and replaces them with something bigger.

You both groan as he lines himself up with your entrance and sinks into you, a delicious stretch that leaves you shivering beneath him. “Fuck—so wet for me.”

The first roll of his hips makes an obscene noise that showers shame down your throat, but it’s quickly kicked to the back of your brain as he slams back into your cunt—obliterating all thoughts save for him. Boba’s lip curls over his teeth as he claws at your thighs and yanks them over his shoulder, crushing you even further between the throne and the weight of his body. Each stroke is a liquid fire, tearing you apart at the seems while at the same time stitching you back together and leaving your body begging for more. Like this, it’s as if he’s reaching the deepest part of you, pounding into your cunt and hitting every nerve with deadly precision. Your legs prickle with the stretch as you squirm beneath him, stuck with the brunt of rough thrusts and violent stamina with nowhere to go.

“Bein’ such a good girl for me." He hums into the juncture of where your neck meets your shoulders. He sucks a mark there and tangles a hand in the hair at the nape of you neck, forcing you into a steeper arch. “Maker, you look so fuckin’ pretty stretched around my cock.”

Your walls clench tight around him as you dig your nails into the fabric of his cowl. You voice cracks with airy moans—attempting to work through the haze of lust and respond. All that tumbles from your lips is a pathetic whine of his name—so close to that precipice again.

The friction of each thrust scraping against your clit, the way he fills you and the possessive hand curled over your throat. You wiggle an arm between your bodies and rub the little bundle of nerves in a frenzied half-circle. You wheeze as Boba increases the pressure over your throat.

“Tell me who you belong to,” he demands as devastating ripples begin to spark through your core, a live wire an inch away from a puddle of water. “Tell me—“

“You! It’s you—“ You sob, desperate for another release only he can give. “I’m yours—“

Boba snickers and gives your throat another squeeze. “Cum on my cock.”

There we go.

You seize and cry out, violent shivers forcing your back to arch high off the throne and into his chest plate. It tears through your being, quick and deadly through your core, spreading to every nerve and shredding through it with molten pleasure. Boba’s voice is a gravelly scrape that vibrates next to your ear, sprinting towards his own deserved euphoria. Your climax still boiling through your blood, is dragged out as Boba continues thrusting—an endless echo that leaves you incredibly oversensitive sore. For the next few moments, his thrusts are too sharp, the grip he has on you too abrasive—but then he’s cumming too. A couple more rough jabs and then he’s seating himself deep inside your cunt, his warm release coating your insides with thick ropes.

You’re panting breaths fill the air between you, settling like fresh snow over a silent wood. By the time Boba pulls out, leaving behind a sticky trail of his cum and your arousal over the throne, you’re toeing the line of hazy unconsciousness.

“Such a good girl,” Boba praises, threading fingers through hair and tracing the lines of your face. The the soft drone of his voice mixed with Din’s gentle baritone, murmuring something you don’t catch, casts a dreamy haze over your reality. You’re not afraid that this could back fire and blow up in your face—to move inches from two serrated blades, each seeking for a taste of blood and flesh, is always a risk. But yet, the calloused hands and the sweetness of brown eyes reach through chaos and silence to offer you salvation. You take it with a smile.

You should invite Din over more often…you think, as you slip into content sleep.

taglist: @goldafterglow @djxrxn @velvetmel0n @steeeeeeeviebb @stargazingcarol @ohiobluetip @anxiety-riddled-mando @absurdthirst @thesoftdumbass @huliabitch @max--phillips @silverfish-kingdom @krissology @teaofpeaches @pettyprocrastination @nelba @beskars @jango-fettish @corrupt-fvcker @maybege @auty-ren @legally-a-bastard @bigdickdindjarin @thesparkleslugs @cryptid-candy @mandowhorian @pascaliprincess @mitchi-c @vesperstalksclones @cmakars @cptnbvcks @whewchiles @leias-left-hair-bun @astrochellie @angryares @rise-my-angel @stardust-galaxies @phoenixhalliwell @samhollandssweaters @blue-writes-a03 @hdlynnslibrary @darthadeline @calamity-queen @luxurybeskar @justanotherblonde23 @book-hoardingdragon @fahrenheit-not @princessxkenobi @skdubbs @ben-is-a-hoe @3strogen @chasingdreamer @weebblossom @bobaandthefetts

sorry if I missed you AH!!!!

#well yall im #bucket fucker supreme right here I guess #enJOY #boba fett x reader #boba fett x you #boba fett #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #boba fett x reader x din djarin #din djarin x reader x boba fett #star wars fanfiction #my writing

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stevesharrlngtons · 4 years

Text

picking out the stitches.

roman godfrey x reader

summary: after letha’s death; peter’s departure; shelley’s disappearance; and a brutal fight with subsequent break up with roman; you escape to the empire state for college and a fresh start. though, after thinking you have been given the space to move on with your life, your father’s unexpected death sends you back to hemlock grove. there, you are forced to confront the reason for your pained departure.

word count: 14.1k (oopies)

warning: mentions of an abusive father

a/n: this is a long bitch, with a possible part two (?) if this is enjoyed by you all! (: i hope the length of this makes up for it taking so long lol. also prob ooc roman bc i love him just being soft

please if you read this and like it, know that feedback is greatly appreciated and i’d love to hear any thoughts you have!! also im bad at editing

Tuna, turkey and swiss, BLT.

No option offered sounded particularly tasty. You had come in search of egg salad sandwich, a surprising delicacy from the Hemlock Grove Grocery Deli that you had been craving since your departure months ago. It felt like comfort food, a way to make being back in town bearable.

But the stockboys seemed to be sending you a message: there was no good reason to be back in town, and no sandwich was going to remedy your pain.

“(Y/N)?”

You flinched at the sound of your name as sweat prickled the back of your neck. The last fucking thing you wanted was to be recognized the second you got back into town. Being forced to interact with any of the waspy bitches or rednecks that attended your high school, especially now, seemed like a personal affront punishable with only your meanest of glares and most backhanded of compliments.

But, who you found had called your name was not only a surprise, but a pleasant one. Not a bitch or mouth breather in sight.

“Peter?” Your eyebrows perked up as you said his name, no doubt unable to hide your complete shock at his sudden appearance.

“In the flesh.” He smiled. That same boyish smile that he always gave especially when you needed to see it.

Your body worked on it’s own violation as you shot yourself at him, wrapping him in a tight hug. He thankfully returned the gesture, gripping the fabric of your dress in his fingers to keep you close. Peter pressed his nose to your temple and you buried yourself deep into the crook of his neck. It wasn’t until a voice cleared behind you that the two of you pulled apart.

“Excuse me,” A man holding a wire basket interpreted, seeming less than pleased to have been forced to witness your reunion.

“Sure, after you, sir.” Peter said, theatrically waving the man past.

“Stupid fucker, couldn’t even go through another aisle.” He watched the man leave with a scowl.

“Shut up about inconiquestional people and tell me what the hell you’re doing back in town!” You said with a wide smile while slapping his chest playfully.

“I think that’s a better question suited for me to you, don’t you think? Last I heard you fucked off to N-Y-C.” Peter said, leaning against the display of sandwiches.

“Yeah? And who told you that?”

“Destiny.”

You smirked and rested your shoulder against the display, “She’s got a big mouth.”

“Big mouth? Who cares if she does! New York is a big deal. NYU, even bigger.”

You roll your eyes at the compliment.

“Hey, no, I’m serious! You always were the scholar out of us. Fucking valedictorian while Roman and I barely managed C’s.” He continued.

At the mention of Roman, you sucked in a sharp breath through your nose, eyes breaking from Peter’s only long enough for him to see your pain at his name.

“You still haven't answered my question, you know?” You said, trying to seamlessly change the subject, fiddling with the ends of your hair to keep your hands busy.

“Yeah, well, it isn’t a happy answer.”

“Enlighten me anyway.”

Peter gives a heaving sigh, a signature of his, “Lynda got pinched for some shit and was transferred out here... I followed.”

Your heart sank. Lynda had always been exponentially kind and understanding. To you, Shelley and even Roman.

“Shit, Peter. I’m so sorry. How’re you holding up?” You placed a comforting hand on his forearm.

“As well as I can given the circumstances. I’m staying with D, so at least that’s good.” He gives a forced smile.

“I’m glad you’re with family at a time like this.” You drop your hand and slouch against the display, matching his relaxed posture.

There was a brief pause between the two of you, before Peter spoke again.

“Usually, when one party enlightens the other, they are obligated to do the same.” He leans in ever so slightly to emphasize his point.

“That is usually the deal, yes.”

“So?”

“My dad croaked a few days ago. Heart attack.”

“Holy shit, (Y/N/N),” Peter interrupted, face falling into a concerned frown.

“No, no. It’s fine. He was a piece of shit,” You shrug.

“Still, he was your dad.”

“Yeah, he was my dad who hit me and my mom and loved booze more than either of us.”

“He still was your dad, (Y/N).” He reiterated.

You purse your lips and sigh.

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I have to be all fucking weepy about the whole thing.” You say, grabbing a turkey and swiss from the display and pushing off to walk toward the register.

“No one said you had to be,” Peter appealed as he followed behind you, “But don’t let everything get all clogged up in there.”

He motioned to his chest and you roll your eyes, setting your sandwich on the conveyor belt for the cashier.

“I promise you, the moment he is six feet under I will let all my emotions out. Mainly rejoice and relief.” You sent Peter a smile as your sandwich rang up.

“Four forty, even.”

You reach into your purse, but Peter beats you to it. He hands the cashier a crumpled up five dollar bill.

You give him a glare, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I did. It’s gonna be my lunch too.” He snatched the sandwich from the bagging area and saunters to the exit, leaving you to gather the nickels and dimes.

Parked in a gravel parking lot looking over the lake, you and Peter sat in the cab of his tow truck. Both eating a half of the mediocre turkey and swiss while sharing a warm cherry Coke from the center console in silence. After a brief session of catch up on your lives over the past few months, you were both happy enough to just sit quietly in each other's company. Simply enjoying the comfort of being in the presence of someone you love.

“You ever hear from him?” Peter spoke up, mouth full of bread and slimy meat.

“Who?” You at least have the decency to cover your mouth as you spoke.

“You know who. Don’t make me say his name, you got all squirly last time.”

You sighed as you finish chewing the food in your mouth, savoring what you could of the cheap flavors as you avoided Peter’s gaze. Once you swallowed, you took a long gulp from the Coke can before answering.

“No. He’s been out of my life since that night. Really prefer to keep it that way, too.” You replied clippedly, not wanting to talk about him any more than necessary.

Peter belows a raspberry in response.

You looked over to glare at him, “What?”

“I just find that hard to believe.”

“That I don’t want to see the man who broke my heart?” You snap.

“No, that Roman has been able to keep his distance from you.”

“I thought we weren’t saying his name.” You abruptly look away and out the windshield once more.

“Apologies.”

“You don’t have to sound so sincere about it.” You scoff.

“What happened between you two, anyway? Before I left I could practically hear wedding bells.”

“Destiny didn’t tell you?” You press your lips together firmly, hoping Destiny had just made up a lie on your behalf to tell her cousin.

“All she said was that you and Roman supposedly got into this huge fight and you left a few days after. Nothing more, nothing less.” He explained.

“Yeah, well huge fight is an understatement.”

“Then what happened?”

You sigh deeply, reclining against the headrest and wrapping your arms around your middle for some misplaced search for security.

“It happened a few days after you skipped town. It was his birthday…”

Music echoed around you as you placed gentle kisses along the expanse of Roman’s neck. You ran your fingers through his hair gently, collecting grease and pomade on your fingertips and under your nails as you did. He had an arm securing you tightly to his side, the other had been holding you too, but he had retrieved it to light a cigarette.

After the traumatic week you two had undergone, you didn’t fight Roman much when he insisted all he wanted to do for his eighteenth birthday was drink, watch a movie and have you sleep over. You were happy he at least let you buy him a cupcake to commemorate the day, but wouldn’t see to any more festivities. He told you that now more than ever wasn’t a time to be merry. You didn’t blame him, no matter how much you wanted to celebrate him today.

So, you let him share his birthday cupcake with you in the bottom of an empty swimming pool and hold you in an uncomfortable lounge chair for as long as he wanted. Fortunately, this was as calm as you’d seen him in days and you hoped that continued; at least until midnight.

Roman lulled his head on top of yours and placed his hand on your hip, making sure every part of you that could be touching was.

The sound of a door opening resounded in the distance and the distinct tap of heels on tile followed. You felt Roman deflate next to you as you both recognized who the sound belonged to.

In sauntered Olivia, in a beautiful floor length gown with a sparkler in hand, painting patterns in the dark with the fire illuminating her wicked smile.

“Happy Birthday, my darling.” She chimed, looking down at the both of you.

You and Roman both shifted under her unwelcome gaze, neither responding. You turned further into Roman’s neck and you felt his fingers press harder into the flesh of your hip.

“It can’t be a party with just the two of you, can it?” Olivia said, dropping the sparkler to lay by her side.

“Well, three’s a crowd. So if you’ll excuse us.” Roman waved his hand that held his cigarette dismissively.

“One is the loneliest number, but two can be just as bad.” Olivia replied in a musical lit.

Again, neither of you respond. You busy yourself fiddling with the collar of Roman’s tank top.

“(Y/N), darling, you do look beautiful tonight.” She turns her attention to you after the silence she received. Something Olivia knew Roman disapproved of her doing.

“Thank you, Mrs. Godfrey.” You reply politely, glancing at her briefly before going back to Roman’s shirt.

“Is that the dress Roman bought you some time back? I remember hearing you tell Shelley about it over dinner.” Olivia continued.

“What is it that you want, again?” Roman snapped, making you flinch at his volume increase.

“I have a surprise for you. In the attic.” She gestured using what’s left of the dying sparkler at the ceiling.

“Can’t it wait?” Roman said, wholly disinterested.

“No, it cannot, Roman. It is your birthday surprise and I would like to give it to you now.” Her voice became more stern by the word.

Roman moves to look at you and you do the same. His eyes are inviting you to a conversation Olivia isn’t privy too. An almost psychic communication you’ve had together since the day you first met.

Do we go with her? Or wait her out until she leaves?

Just see what she wants. Once she’s shown you we can get back to doing whatever you want.

Roman pursed his lips before letting out a dramatic sigh, “Fine.”

He got up from the chair before offering you his hand to help you up.

Olivia watched as you both climb the ladder out of the empty pool and onto the landing.

“Let’s get this over with.” Roman gave his mother a firm glare.

He placed a hand on the small of your back and started for the door when Olivia stopped him.

“I’m afraid, this gift is for Godfrey eyes only.” She looked at you with weakly masked distaste.

You felt Roman’s fingers once again probe into your skin, “She is a Godfrey.”

“Not in name or blood.”

“But she will be so it doesn’t matter.” Roman retorted, harshly.

This wasn’t the first time he had alluded to your future together, and at the time, you didn’t think it would be the last.

“Well, she isn’t yet, is she? When she is, then she will be welcome to engage in all Godfrey birthday present exchanges.” Olivia sneered.

“There is nothing you could show me that she can’t-” You placed a gentle hand on Roman’s chest before he could continue.

This fight certainly wasn’t worth it. Especially not over a fucking birthday present.

“It’s fine. I’ll wait in your room.” You offered.

“Off the premise.” Olivia chimed in curtly.

“Excuse me?” Roman spat.

“(Y/N) can go home and see you tomorrow. This gift needs much explanation and discussion.”

“This is beyond fucking ridiculous!”

“Ro, it’s OK. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You smile up at him.

You didn’t want to leave him. Not now, not ever, but never with Olivia.

“I’ll see you later tonight.” Roman stressed.

“Tomorrow would be-”

“Let’s just call it a see-you-soon, then?” You cut off Olivia, never taking your eyes off Roman.

He just tightens his jaw, so tight you’re afraid he might crack a filling. But he nods.

“Fine. I’ll call you.” He says. And he says it with such sincerity that you know without a doubt he will, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He kisses your forehead and you kiss his cheek, not overly keen on giving him the proper goodbye kiss you wanted to infront of Olivia. As you walk away, you spare Olivia a last glance and the look on her smug face is one so self satisfied it made your stomach churn.

Roman never called you that night, or even the next morning. The calls you gave him were left unanswered; texts and voicemails the same.

You would have called Peter, Shelley or Letha to see if they’d heard from Roman at a time like this, but all were depressingly dead ends.

Under the circumstances that you left under the night before, you took it upon yourself to drive to the Godfrey residence and find out what the hell was going on yourself. You didn’t trust Olivia as far as you could throw her, and you didn’t put any heinous act past her.

Your worry beat out any common sense you had to stay away and wait for Roman to come to you.

When you arrived and knocked on the door, several times to be exact, it seemed no one was home. Though, both cars were in the driveway and you knew neither Roman or Olivia would take a cab anywhere. With balled fists you slammed against the wood of the door, kicking your foot against it as well for good measure. You had been in your knocking rhythm so long, when the door finally opened you stumbled forward.

You caught yourself on the knob and looked up to see who answered.

Roman stood above you with expressionless features and down turned lips.

“What?” He asked.

“Don’t ‘what’ me! ‘What’ you! You never called and you haven’t been answering.” You said, straightening yourself out.

“You’re not my fucking keeper,” Roman scoffed and turned his back to walk down the hallway.

Your face screwed up in confusion as you stepped over the threshold into the mansion and slammed the door, then followed him through the house.

“Excuse me? What is up with you?” You exclaimed.

Roman had stopped in the kitchen, rummaging through the refrigerator while trying his best to seem unbothered with tense shoulders.

“Nothing is up. I just didn’t want to call you.” He spoke into the crisper drawer.

“Since when?”

“Since now.”

“What the fuck did Olivia show you? Must have been really messed up for you to be acting like this.” You let a humorless laugh through your nose.

“Or maybe I was just happy to be rid of you and now that you’re back, I am pissed.” He slammed the door to the fridge, its contents rattling inside.

Your surprised expression hadn’t wavered as Roman glared at you, his eyes dull and unfamiliar.

“Ok, so, yesterday you’re talking about marrying me, and today I am some parasite you’re happy to be rid of? Is that right?” You took a step toward him.

“I was never going to marry you, you delusional whore.” His first real hit, chipping away at your weak armour. The armour he had weakened himself with his love and care for years.

“If I’m whore, I’d hate to know what that makes you.” You spat.

“It makes me the fucking billionaire who mistakenly kept around some boring girl with a mediocre cunt.” His second hit.��

“Wow. You’re right, Roman. I am a whore, but I must be an idiot too! To stay with such a man who calls my pussy mediocre when he can’t even fuck me right.” You provoked.

“Fuck you.”

“Yeah? Why don’t you? Because for as long as I can remember I’ve been faking my orgasms just to get your pathetic little prick out of me. Is that why you cry after Roman? Because you know about that weak excuse of a dick between your legs?”

You were being cruel and frankly, spinning lies. But he was hurting you and you wanted to hurt him back.

“No, I cry thinking about all the other guys you let between your legs. Maybe that’s why daddy hits you, huh? Hoping that one day he hits you hard enough to rattle that whore brain so hard it kills you? So he won’t have to live with the shame? Or maybe he hopes if he hits you enough you’ll finally drop to your knees and show him that head everyone in town talks about.” The last hit, and the one that broke you.

You close the last few steps between you and strike him as hard as you can muster across the face, cranking Roman’s head to the side with the impact. The slap rings loudly through the room, so do your sniffles.

“How can you be so cruel? How could you ever say that to me?” You scream through tears.

“Just speaking the truth.” Roman said smoothly, his head still rotated.

“What is going on with you? What happened last night?”

“I came to my senses, that’s what happened. I realized that I was sick of wasting all my time on a miserable little bitch when I could be out fucking real women.” He says through gritted teeth, “Real women who don’t need so much tedious validation from me.”

“Are you done?” You snapped, your throat thick with tears.

“With you. Yes.”

You couldn’t think of anything else to say. Malicious words spun in your head, ready to fire off your tongue and tear him apart, but you knew you would never be able to get them out in one piece. You would stutter and sob and shake and it would give Roman even more satisfaction at seeing you crumble. So, you turned on your heel as fast as you could, holding your hand over your mouth to silence your cries and fled the Godfrey home.

“Shee-it.” Peter said, looking sick.

“Shee-it, indeed.” You nod.

“So, that was it?”

“That was it. I was there barely five minutes when it was all said and done… then I went home, cried my stupid eyes out and packed my shit. It was always the plan for me to do online courses and stay here with him, but, y’know, things changed... So, I left.”

“I know that feeling.” Peter says, giving the river a thousand mile stare.

“I know you do. Let’s not forget you abandoned me, too.” You said, far more harshly than intended. The topic of the break up having brought old wounds to the surface.

A pained expression crossed his face, “(Y/N)... Fuck, I’m sorry. I am. I just… after Letha,”

“You don’t have to explain. I’m sorry I snapped. I forgave you the minute you left, for the most part, anyway.” You shrugged.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” You sigh and look over at him, “If I had been in your shoes I would have hightailed it the second I could have.”

He offers you a sad smile, “But you needed me, and I left.”

“It’s really OK. Because you’re here now. And it all worked out.”

“New York that good, then?”

“Better than good. I’m alone and broke-.”

“And that’s better than good?” He chuckles.

“Surprisingly, yeah. I’m learning and figuring things out on my own. I’m finding things that make me happy without having to worry about anything else. It’s just nice.” You smile as you speak.

“That makes me happy. Man, it really does. All I ever wanted for you was happiness. I thought I had left you with the silver you had left of it.” Peter says, resting his temple to the head rest.

“You did what you had too and so did I. I’m sure Roman did too, in his own twisted way,” You reply, “I don’t want to focus on the past anymore. I am purley looking forward to the future from now on.”

Peter dropped you off at home after hours of milling around the streets of Hemlock Grove in his truck. You kept asking if he had to go back to work, but he would dismiss your concern each time. Telling you that he was spending time with you and he’d worry about towing later. As much as you knew you should pressure him to take you home, you were happy for the company, especially when that company was Peter.

His reappearance in your life was unexpected, but wholly accepted and appreciated. You didn’t know the next time you’d be able to see him again, so you were going to enjoy his companionship while you had it.

Hopping out of the truck and brushing residual crumbs from the turkey sandwich from your dress, you shut the door. The window rolled down and Peter leaned over the console to look at you.

“Don’t be a stranger.” He smiles at you and you can’t help but return it.

“Never again.”

“If you have time, come by Destiny’s before you head back up north. I know she’d love to have dinner.” He proposes and your smile widens.

“I’d love that, I’ll keep you posted.” You start to back up toward your front door.

“And let me know if you need anything, anything at all. I know losing someone is tough.” His smile falls slightly as the funeral is mentioned again.

You knew Peter was worried about you and he had good intentions, but he didn’t know your father like you did. You were going to this thing for appearances and to make your grandmother happy, if you had had a choice you would have rather stayed at school.

“Got it. Thank you, Peter.”

You wave him off and you watch as he double takes to look at you until he is out of sight, only then did you enter your house.

The house isn’t much and it wasn’t the home you grew up in. When your mother finally left your father, she promptly moved you both into a smaller place on the west side of Hemlock Grove that was better suited for your new family dynamic.

It was a dated burgundy one story, with bland beige carpets and no overhead lighting in the bedrooms, but with two bathrooms. That was helpful down the line when your mother began dating again and her multiple suitors would stay for weeks at a time. You never wanted to be alone with any of them, so that meant crossing the boundary into her room to use the en suite was always out of the question.

Your bedroom was somewhere you always found solace and comfort, even now it felt more like home than anywhere in the world. It had a small excuse of a bay window that looked out over a small and shallow creek. One of your mother’s more involved boyfriends had built you a window bench years before underneath it, upholstered in red velvet. You had run your fingers over the soft fabric so many times, certain places were now rubbed raw and threadbear.

Roman used to sit on your bed while you sat on the bench, reading to him from a litany of novels, some for pleasure and some for assignments. He’d look at you and tell you the light from the window haloed you like an angel. You’d tell him he was just talking out of his ass to get you to stop reading and fool around. Then Roman would smirk and shrug, like he wasn’t sure who was more right. His memory seemed to be etched into every detail of your bedroom, unfortunately.

There was the small heart he had carved into your headboard with an unclicked pen, your initials carved around it. There was your small Ikea vanity, that was stained with nail polish from the time Roman insisted he could do your nails better than you could. There was your closet, just big enough to hold you both inside; where you would steal kisses when you first started to sneak him into your room at night. There was the faded paint on the wall in the shape of a rectangle, where a picture frame of you and Roman at your first homecoming together had once been. There was your fucking duvet cover, that you and Roman would hide underneath on bright mornings. Where he’d hold you and kiss you softly, whispering sweet affections until the muggy air between you became thick and he’d push your noses up over the edge of the blanket to take in giggling gulps of breath.

Roman Godfrey had left painful reminders of himself everywhere. There were too many for you to erase fully. His memory was like a Hydra, repress a recollection of his and two more would pop into your mind in its place.

Now, all the bench held your small suitcase that you had packed early this morning for your short trip down to Pennsylvania. Just some toiletries, a few changes of clothes, a black cocktail dress and a few textbooks. Just because your father died didn’t mean your school work would lighten because of it.

While it wasn’t very late, you had been up early to catch your train and hadn’t expected to be out all day with Peter. You excused your premature exhaustion and decided it was best to take a shower, have a snack and then go to bed. Tomorrow was to no doubt try your nerves, so a full night's rest was likely your best option.

After your shower, you slipped into a pair of pajamas and went down the hall to see if your mother had left you any suitable food. She was still on vacation with her current boyfriend and wouldn’t be able to make it back until Monday, a full day after you were set to leave. So, all you could hope was that there was something edible left in the pantry.

Tussling your damp hair in your hands, you padded through the kitchen to try and make something with the odds and ends your mother had in stock.

As you settled on a half eaten bag of tortilla chips and a jar of salsa, there was a knock at the door. Your mother’s car was missing from the driveway and anyone who would drop by unannounced knew she was out of town. Assuming it was a solicitor or a package delivery, you ignored it and continued on with your pre-bed snack. But the knocking didn’t let up.

Begrudgingly, you made your way to the door in the hopes of shooing off whoever was bothering you. Though, when you opened it, you debated simply closing the door like it nothing had happened. To just shut the door tight and pretend that you hadn’t seen who was standing on your doorstep. All six feet four inches of him.

With his back to you and a large bouquet of roses in hand, Roman glanced over his shoulder when he heard the door open. He looked about as startled as you felt when he laid eyes on you.

“(Y/N).” He blurted out, his body swiveling like an owl to face the same direction as his head.

“Roman.” You gave him a forced smile, cursing that you had lost your opportunity to run and hide.

“I, uh, well, wow. I, these are for your mother,” Roman whipped out the bouquet from behind him, “I heard about your dad. I just wanted to see how she was holding up. I know they aren’t close or anything, but y’know, it’s still the father of her child.”

You took the flowers from him carefully, making sure to avoid where his fingers lay on the stems.

“She’s not here, but thanks. I’ll make sure to let her know you stopped by.” You continued your kind facade before moving to shut the door.

But Roman was quicker as he placed a large hand on the wood to keep it ajar.

“I’m sorry for you too, you know? I know how it feels to lose a father. So, I’m sorry.” He said, like he was trying to keep you in his company as long as possible.

“Wish my dad would have eaten a bullet when I was a kid. You got lucky.” You joke, once more trying to shut the door.

And Roman continued to keep it open.

“Well, I know things ended… bad- But! I’m still here if you need me. For anything. Have all the preparations been taken care of?” He asked.

“Yeah, my grandma and grandpa took care of it. Nothing to worry about. But thanks, Roman.”

Roman’s eyes widened and his mouth puckered, the way he always did when he had a million things to say and no idea how to say them.

You began to notice his attire as he loomed over you, with no seeming intention of leaving you or your front stoop alone.

He wore a thick winter coat over a black three piece suit, tailored to perfection. His hair was parted on the right and smoothed down with gel. It certainly wasn’t your favorite look on him, but your input hardly mattered anymore. He wore Oxford dress shoes that were spotless and without a crease. You realized just then that he must have come right from The White Tower to bring the flowers to your mother, and these were his work clothes. These were the clothes and fifty dollar haircut of a fresh faced CEO.

You had known that he was set to secede the throne of Godfrey Industries once he turned eighteen, but you never gave it much thought after you moved to New York. The Roman who haunted your dreams and took residence in your thoughts was always your Roman. The boy who wanted to smoke and dance and kiss and laugh. Not a business tycoon out for blood.

“I didn’t know you would be in town. I would have stopped by.” He said, finally finding words to give him a reason to stay.

“You already have.”

“I know, but I would have made it more deliberate. More to see you and not to just give my condolences to you mother.” Roman explained, his hand still on the door.

You snort, “Yeah, well I don’t know why you’re giving her flowers anyway. She doesn’t like you. Not after I told her everything.”

“Yeah, uh, I didn’t know that.” He laughs uncomfortably, finally taking a step away and relieving your door of his hostage.

“Well, it was nice of you to come by. I’ll see you around, Roman.” It was clear from your tone that this incommodious conversation was over.

Though, Roman still was outwardly ignoring your brusque attitude, “Could I come in? I would love to catch up for a moment? For old times sake?”

“I don’t know if that is such a good idea.”

“I won’t be long, I promise.” He bargained

You watched him for a long moment, debating on what to do. On one hand, you craved his presence. You craved him after just one sighting and wanted him to come in, to talk, to listen, to heal. Because like you said to Peter in the car earlier, you did believe that Roman had done what he had for a reason, it was just no doubt a fucked up and selfish one. You couldn’t hate him forever, you didn’t want to. It would destroy you before it did any good.

On the other, all you could do was hear his voice echoing in your mind, explaining his disgust for you.

But, you wanted to look to the future. You wanted to free yourself of the burden of grudges and hatred. You wanted to forgive Roman, the best you could, and leave him and his faults to fester in the past while you moved on with your life.

So, you pushed the door open wider with the tips of your fingers and walked back to the kitchen, while Roman eagerly followed.

“I’ll have to find every vase in the house for these,” You quietly joked.

“I could buy a big vase to hold them tomorrow and send it over if you’d like?” He was following closer than you would have liked as you searched the cabinets for vases and empty jars.

“No, it’s alright. I think I’ll like how eclectic they’ll look in mismatched glasses.” You said, “And then I could put them all around the house. It’ll be a nice surprise for my mom when she gets home.”

You undid the thick satin ribbon holding the bouquet together and found a pair of scissors to cut off the ends.

“Want me to fill these with water?” Roman asked, nodding to the empty vases.

“If you don’t mind.”

Roman nodded, shedding his wool jacket and blazer, depositing it on a chair. Then, rounding the island to stand next to you to begin filling each receptacle from the sink.

He was closer to you now than he had been in months. You could smell his woody cologne that clung to his skin, mixed with cigarette smoke and the night air. He must have been driving with the top down. You hated that only his scent could send your heart into somersaults and make your hands quiver with need. All you could think about with him in such a proximity was looking up into his green eyes and him looking down into your (Y/E/C) ones. Looking down at you with that stupid fucking smirk. Then with that smirk, Roman would place a hand on your cheek and gently press it to your lips and you would be in heaven.

Anything Roman did to you was heaven.

Expect when he was hurting you. Which you had to remind yourself, he very much did.

“So, where’s your mom?” Roman asked, placing a mason jar next to faux crystal vase.

“In Florida with her new boyfriend.” You commented.

“Yeah, I heard she was seeing someone.”

“You know if he’s any good?”

“Nah, just that she was seeing someone. I keep an ear to the ground to make sure she’s doing alright.” Another glass filled.

“You don’t have to do that, Roman.” You paused cutting stems for a moment to glance up at him.

He was already looking at you.

“I know. I want to. It’s the least I can do.”

You hold eye contact for a few beats, Roman’s eyes boring into yours in that hyponic way that always left you weak in the knees.

“Well, thank you. I appreciate it.” And you both went back to your tasks at hand.

It was obvious that you were more than willing to work in silence, and it was clear that Roman wasn’t.

“So… how’s NYU?” He prompts.

“Good. I really like it.”

“Enjoying your studies?”

“Very much.”

“And the city? Is it treating you alright?”

“Yes, I think after I graduate I’ll stay for a while.”

Roman only hums in reply. Like that wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

“Well, I’m happy to hear that you’re doing well.”

“Thank you.”

The conversation lulls as the sound of water and sheers fill the room.

Roman is chewing his cheek and bobbing his head, and you know he won’t let up his chatter anytime soon.

“I’ve been working at The Tower. I took over a few months ago.” He says, eyes darting to you like he was looking for praise.

“Oh,” You reply like you hadn’t already figured it out, “How’s that going?”

“Fine. I mean, it’s a lot of work. A lot of stress, but I’m glad I’m doing it.” He sounds unconvincing as he rambles on about Godfrey Industries and Pryce’s lab while you focus on the flowers.

“Do you ever wonder what you would be doing if you hadn’t been told your entire life that you would take over Godfrey?” You ask, somewhat out of the blue.

Roman stops talking abruptly, his hands pausing under the tap.

“Not really.”

“Isn’t there anything else you would have wanted to do? Like in a dream scenario in a perfect world?” You elaborate.

Roman seems unsettled by your questioning, like these were things no one had ever asked him. Things he had never even asked himself.

“I think in a dream scenario, I would be rich beyond my wildest dreams. And I already am, so why waste time dreaming?” You can tell he isn’t even satisfied with his answer.

You don’t reply, leaving the subject where it lay in the air to go back to working in silence.

“So...” Roman begins again, refusing to let the conversation die down.

“You seeing anyone?” Roman tries to sound blase, but you know this question lays heavy on him.

You barely withhold a scoff as you set your scissors down to look at him once more.

He double takes in your direction, not wanting to look at you for fear of your answer, “What?”

“I’m just surprised you held off this long without asking the question we both know you wanted to ask the second you saw me.”

“Not really an answer…” he murmurs.

“Not really your business.” You counter.

“So there is someone?” You could hear a twinge of anger in his voice.

“Not that it is any of your business, because I want to stress that it really isn’t, but no. I am not seeing anyone.”

“Oh.” Roman’s lip twitches into a smile that he tries to conceal from you.

“Yeah, oh.” You roll your eyes and finish with your clippings and begin to arrange the rose into glasses.

“Aren’t you going to ask me?” Roman, with his work now over, turns to look down at you, a smirk on his lips.

“Ask you what?”

“If I’m seeing anyone.”

“I don’t care, Roman.”

“Really?” He leans closer to you.

“Well, what constitutes seeing someone, to you? A one night stand? A hooker? An actual multiple date relationship? What is your definition?” You jeer.

“How would you define it?”

“Different from you.”

��Oh come on,” He pokes, “Tell me.”

He was becoming far too chummy with you for your taste.

“I guess I would define it as multiple dates.”

“By that definition, then no. I’m not seeing anyone.”

“But if I defined it by hookers and one night stands?” You inquired.

Roman doesn’t answer.

You can’t help but laugh, “And you said I was a whore.”

The air between you changes, then. It was calm, if not slightly awkward before then, but now it felt tense and uncomfortable.

“(Y/N), I…”

“Don’t.” You reply before he can say anything else.

“But I want to say this, I need to.” Roman persists, reaching out to grab your shoulder.

You shrug off his advance quickly and take a few steps back from him. Roses and vases completely forgotten.

“I need to apologize to you.”

“You need to apologize to me for what, Roman?”

“For that night, what I said-!” Roman starts.

“No. What I mean is, are you apologizing because you’re actually sorry? Because you think that’s what you’re supposed to say to me? Or because you want what you did off your conscious?” You raise a single eyebrow.

“Are you kidding? I’m saying this because I am fucking sorry! I hate what I said to you, it fucking eats me up!” Roman throws his hand in the air as he yells.

“So it is option C.” You replied.

“Jesus fucking- no! It’s not! It’s A! It’s fucking A. You think I wanted to do what I did? Huh? You think I wanted you to leave?”

“Yes, I did. I do.”

“Then fuck you if you think that. Fuck you if you think that I wanted to say all those things. Maybe you don’t really know me at all.” Roman sneers.

“I already concluded that.”

He scoffs.

“Is this why you wanted to come in? Force me into conversation? Ask me if I’m dating anyone, give me a half assed apology and insult me?” You crossed your arms.

“No! No, that’s not why I asked to come in.” Roman shot back.

“Then why?”

“Because I fucking missed you, alright? I fucking missed you and I needed to be near you, even if only for a moment.”

Roman’s voice echoed in the kitchen, his words hanging in the air and ringing in your ears. You could hear them dance in your mind and slide down your back with a chill, taunting you and making your emotions tear in a million different directions.

“Roman, I think it’s time for you to leave.” You say, running your tongue over your teeth.

“No! I’m not fucking leaving. Tell me you don’t miss me too.” Roman took a step toward you as he ran a hand through his slicked down hair, ruining it’s perfection.

“I have to get up early, so I just really think you should go.”

“(Y/N), tell me you don’t miss me and I’ll leave right now. You’ll never see me again, I swear.”

You don’t respond, just cross your arms over your chest. You rub your hands over the skin of your arms, peaking your fingers beneath your shirtsleeves and gripping the fabric tightly.

“Just tell me.”

You meet his gaze as Roman closes the gap between the two of you. He was close enough for you to feel his breath on your skin and the warmth he radiated. An unwarranted chill set through you.

All hope of forgetting the past and moving on was gone, you didn’t care anymore. All you wanted was for Roman to leave. You wanted him to leave so you could wrap yourself in blankets and cry until you couldn’t see anymore.

“Roman, just go.” You whispered, your vocal chords straining to even do that.

“It’s because you can’t say that you don’t.” Roman raised a hand a single finger tracing the features of your face and causing your eyes to drift shut.

He traced your orbital bone and the angle of your nose and your eyebrow and ear. He traced your jaw and your chin and the shape of your ear and stopped to caress your lips.

With each swoop of his finger tip, he was erasing hurt and anguish and pain. He was soothing you and giving you an old form of intimacy that you had craved. He was regaining his sense of self in your mind, reminding you that he could act like he had before that night. He was twining his roots back into your mind.

When his finger finally stopped, you opened your eyes and saw tears had gathered in Roman’s. They were threatening to breech from his lash line as he stared at you with a drumming heart.

“Tell me why you hurt me first.”

And Roman dropped his hand and said nothing for a long moment.

“It’s a long story.” He replies, sniffling loudly through his nose.

“I’ve got time.”

“It’s not pretty.”

“I don’t care.”

You had moved to the dining room for Roman’s story. You both sat on opposite ends of your mother’s old mosaic table that you had both eaten many meals at. It was covered in vintage tiles and you picked at the surrounding grout as you listened to him. You ground your fingernails between the titles, filing them into powder as Roman told you about his birthday and everything that had happened since the night you left him.

Of Letha. Of the child. Of the razor blades embedded into his arms. Of his mother’s tongue. Of the bloodlust.

Of the loss.

“This is some fucking Twilight bullshit.” You said once Roman had gone quiet.

“This isn’t fucking funny, (Y/N).” Roman replied, bouncing his knee and pinching his chin.

“No, it’s not fucking funny at all, Roman. Not even a bit, but it is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard in my life.” You snort a laugh from your nose.

“You don’t believe me?”

“Oh, I believe you. After all that shit with Peter, of course I believe you. Doesn’t make it any less ridiculous.”

Roman raises his eyebrows in understanding with a slight nod.

“So, what? You saying all that shit to me was because you thought you were going to suck me dry, or something?”

“Stop making jokes.” He growled.

“I’m being fucking serious, Roman! What was it?” You stood from your chair to impose over him.

“You deserved better. It would have been too much for you.”

“Oh, don’t be such a martyr, Roman!” You fumed, “Since when have you ever got to decide what was good and what was bad for me?”

“You don’t understand!” Roman pushed up from his chair with such force it tumbled to the floor, “I could barley fucking handle this, OK? I had been living a lie, I had become a monster overnight! I was fucking scared for you- scared for me. What I could do-”

His voice began to quiver and his palms shook as he wiped his clammy palms on his slacks.

“You would either have left me or I would have killed you. I don’t doubt that for a second, and I couldn’t lose anyone else. Not after Letha, not after Peter and Shelley. I just couldn’t.”

“So, pushing me away was the answer?” You asked.

“At the time, yes.”

You just shook your head, and collapsed back into your chair.

“I did it because I loved you.” Roman said, tears streaking his flushed cheeks.

“Stop, Roman...”

“I fucking loved you so much so I made you leave. I fucking love you more than anything.”

He spoke like he was taking his last breath and collapsed to his knees like a dying man, his bones smacking loudly against the linoleum as he crawled to you, tears still leaking from his eyes.

“You have to believe that I’m sorry. I am, I am, I am.”

Roman rested his head on your lap as he wept, his hands clutching your calves.

You felt like you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think or speak. All your mind could comprehend was Roman’s deep and encompassing sadness and his wayward soul.

You could barely grasp the story he told, so it was unimaginable to you how it must have felt to live it. Your heart ached for him so profoundly.

Of course you didn’t agree with what he had done to you, not for a moment. He had resorted to cruelty out of fear and you hated it. It was inexcusable.

But, you folded yourself in half and covered his body with yours anyway, and let Roman cry in your lap. You let him cry out the fear and sadness and the exhaustion he had felt these past months.

You had let Roman cry himself dry before escorting him to the door. He held your hand on the way and you didn’t stop him. When you reached the door, Roman was the one to open it and step out into the cold Pennsylvania night. Though, his hand stayed intertwined with your own as he walked out onto your porch.

“What time is the funeral?” He asked.

“10 AM.” You replied.

His skin seemed to glow against the night sky, his milky complexion contrasting beautifully to the dark nature behind him.

“I’ll be there.”

You shook your head, but squeezed his hand, “You don’t have to, really. It’s going to be long and boring.”

“(Y/N),” He looked at you with a crisp sincerity, “I’ll be there.”

You didn’t know what to say, because you weren’t entirely sure what you should say. You wanted to beg him not to come and make a spectacle at his attendance. You wanted to beg him to come and hold your hand and ward off the demons your father had sewn into your psyche.

“Please, Roman, it’s not a big deal. I swear. I’m sure you have better things to do.”

He pursed his lips back at you, like he was deciding if arguing with you on the matter was really worth it. Or if he would win or not. In the end, he said nothing. Just nodded and glanced over to his bright red Jaguar in the driveway.

When Roman looked back to you, you both knew a goodbye wasn’t needed. Your love-telepathy coming back just for a moment to bid each other adidu for the night. An intimacy you didn’t even know you missed until now.

Roman was the first to step away, pulling your hands apart as he did. You felt each finger detangle from his own, until your pinkies were the only things tethering you to each other. When they detached, your hand fell listlessly to your side and Roman watched you intently as he walked to his car, got in, and pulled from your drive away. Only looking away when he finally drove into the night.

You smoothed the dress over your hips as you smiled politely at guests entering the church. They offered you watery smiles and condolences as they spread out into the pews.

You wanted to spit in their faces and scream. Scream and sink your nails into your skin and tell them that he had painted bruises on your skin and installed his hatred for you into your heart before you were old enough to know it was wrong.

He wasn’t a good man. He was far from it.

But no one who was crying tears for him and shaking your hand knew this, and if they did they didn’t care. He was good at hiding what he did, what he had become.

You felt like your head was in a fish bowl with the more people who entered. Their faces blurring and distorting before you, their words muffled and useless. You began just nodding at everyone’s words, refusing to listen to anything else they had to say about Heaven and God’s good will. You wished you had a good excuse to leave and never come back.

It wasn’t until someone wheeled in the casket that you found your escape from the line of mourners and made your way outside. Because the second you laid eyes on the box of shiny mahogany, your stomach dropped to your feet and bile threatened to spill from your lips.

The man you had hated your entire life, the one who had hurt you, the one who struck you, the one who had belittled you, the man who hurt your mother. That man was dead. He was in that fucking box, seperated from you and the living by a few inches of wood.

That man was your father and he was supposed to love you and now he was filled with stuffing and had waxy skin covered in blush and a heart that would never beat again. A mouth that was sewn shut and would never speak again. To never yell, to laugh, to tell you he loved you.

It was over.

Then why were you so sad?

Maybe Peter was right... maybe you’d even tell him.

As you made your way outside, you sucked in as much fresh air as your lungs could take. You let the cold air chill your exposed skin and the grey skies calm your overstimulated senses. While gulping in the breeze and pressing your fingernails to your palms to ground yourself, you gazed out over the parking lot. It was then, that you shed your first tears of the day.

Because there, all in black leaning against his car was Roman Godfrey, looking right back at you.

He’d come.

Because he cared.

Because he loved you.

You didn’t think twice as he ran down the church steps as fast as your heels could take you to him, needing to feel him. Roman did the same, rushing across the asfalte to you, wrapping you in his arms immediately as you collided with his chest.

“You came,” You sobbed into his button down, “You came, you came, you came.”

“Of course I did.” He cooed, nuzzling close to you.

“I needed you and you knew and you came.”

“I’ll always come, even when you don’t call.”

As you both went back to the church, Roman stood with you to greet people coming in. His hand on your lower back and his grandiose stature and expression keeping people from dawdling too long to speak with you.

The service was bleak and full of lies, but you mustered through it without a scoff or outburst for your grandparents sake. Roman sat next to you the entire time, his arm over your shoulder and his temple resting against your head. He’d occasionally place a gentle kiss to your hairline or stroke his fingers over your arm as a reminder that he was with you.

And you loved him for it.

When it was all over and your father’s casket was being rolled away, everyone dispersed. Some to follow the hearse to the graveyard, some to just go home. You and Roman stayed in your seats. You had decided you didn’t want to see your father put in the ground. Not because he didn’t deserve it, but because you couldn’t handle it. You weren’t sure exactly all the reasons why, maybe Peter would know the answer to that, too.

You both waited until no one was left in the church, just watching the sun gleam through the stained glass windows at the ceiling and enjoying each other's company.

“You alright?” Roman asked once he was sure everyone was gone.

“I don’t know. I’m still figuring that out, I guess.” You said with a half hearted shrug.

“It’s OK. You have time.”

You gave a nod before leaning closer to him, resting your head underneath his own, letting Roman sit his chin on your crown.

“I thought I would be overjoyed when this day finally came… but I’m not. I’m not really happy and I’m not really sad. I’m just here.”

“I think that’s just fine.” Roman replied, rubbing gentle up and down your arm.

“Thank you for being here.” You remove yourself from under his chin to look at him, “It would have been so much worse without you.”

Roman offered you a soft smile and placed his unoccupied hand on your cheek.

You placed your own hand over his and shut your eyes, reveling in his soft touch.

It was so quiet and all you could hear was the sound of your heart in your ears and Roman’s rhythmic breathing.

“What now?”

“I’m not sure,” You open your eyes to see he’s already looking at you, “Where are you going?”

“Wherever you are.”

You smile, “Then take me there.”

As you walked through Roman’s front door, you tried to hide a frown. The old Godfrey mansion had been so intricate and full of character. With crown molding and warm golds and rich browns, and history in every nook and cranny. Roman’s new home… it was sterile and bland and grey. It felt cold even with the hum of the radiator. It felt large and imposing, much like it’s owner. It was the type of home that echoed with loneliness.

“So, what do you think?” Roman asked from where he stood close behind you.

“I like it,” You said, “It’s very…”

“You hate it.”

You turned to face him and he was looking at you fondly.

“I wouldn’t say hate. Just, not my style.”

He nods and takes a step forward, “Yeah, I sort of knew you wouldn’t like it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You always loved the old house. Said it felt like you were in a victorian novel.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest at his memory, “And you always hated it.”

“I wouldn’t say hate. Just, not my style.” He grins at you and you can’t help but smile back at him.

“So, you decided when you moved out you’d make your new place the antithesis of it?”

“Something like that. Anything to erase the memory of my mother.” Roman says this with the cadence of a joke, but his eyes darken at the mention of Olivia.

“I can’t say I blame you.” You reply before he quickly changes the subject.

“Have a seat and I’ll make us both a drink,” He says, gesturing toward his large loveseat in the living room.

You do so, and as you sit down, you admire him standing over the wet bar. He had shed his blazer from his suit on the kitchen table, and through the fabric of his button down (an expensive silk blend from the looks of it) you could so the movement of his broad shoulders and the expanse of the muscles in his back.

The memory of running your hands across the peaks and valleys of his back stuck you. The memory of his smooth skin under your palms made your fingers burn with yearning and twitch with need to reacquaint yourself with the velvet that was Roman Godfrey’s skin.

Roman had finished making your drinks. Both crimson in crystal tumblers. He walked to you and handed you the beverage, which you accepted with a thank you. As you took your first sip of your drink, you couldn't help but smile as Roman sat down next to you on his couch.

“Vodka cranberry?”

“Like I’d forget your favorite drink,” He says, smiling against the rim of his tumbler, “Well, second favorite. I don’t really have the ingredients for a Long Island iced tea.”

“I think this works better under the circumstances, anyway. Drinking a Long Island iced tea after a funeral feels a little morbid.”

“Yeah, but your dad would’ve hated that you were drinking one.” Roman pointed out.

You chuckled, because he was right. Your father hated drinks where the alcohol was masked by chasers and sugar. He deemed them feminine and embarrassing for anyone to drink, ridiculing anyone (no matter their gender) if they ordered one.

“That is true,” You take a pull from your glass, “He would have hated that you went to his funeral, too. Because, well he hated you.”

Roman gives a wide smirk, “I can’t say that doesn't bring me some joy.”

You could count on one hand the number of times your father met Roman during the years you dated. Though, everytime he had, he made his distinct dislike for your boyfriend overwhelmingly obvious. He thought of Roman like most other people in town did. A spoiled, rich, entitled, sauve asshole. But, for your father, he felt like he had a personal stake in hating Roman. He masqueraded like he didn’t like Roman simply for dating his daughter, but he didn’t give a shit about you or your well being. Your father, the pathetic drunk that he was, was threatened by Roman more than any man you had ever met. He was the one person who he couldn’t intimidate and feel superior too, because Roman didn’t feel intimidated or lesser to anyone in the world.

“Me too.”

You both drink in silence for a moment, and you pretend not to notice Roman as he inched closer to you on the cushions.

“Do you remember,” Roman says, swallowing a gulp of his drink, “that time we snuck into that club in Philadelphia? And you and Letha, just got, like absolutely abliderated on Long Island iced teas?”

You smiled at the memory, your lips parting with glee the more you remembered about the night.

“Yes! Oh my God, I had totally forgot about that.”

Roman had paid off some bouncer to let the three of you into some club downtown and it had been a spectacular night. You and Letha were guzzling drinks like it was the end of the world. Roman was only encouraging your recklessness with jokes and bankrolling the bottomless teas. Letha had danced on the bar top while singing you an off key Elton John song while you drunkenly squealed with glee in a hysterical Roman’s arms. You had never seen Roman laugh so much until that night.

You all danced and drank and laughed and smiled. You had all hid in a corner as you had fished out cocaine from a baggy with your pinky nail, and held it to each Godfrey’s nose like you were giving them communion, before blessing yourself.

You distinctly remember hanging off Roman like a kola most of the night. Giving him sloppy kisses and groping him in the crowd with whispered promises of more when you were alone. You remember him smiling down at you and always having a hand on your ass. You remember Letha’s happy screams and giggles and how she was twirling so much on the dance floor she tumbled.

“That was a really good night.” You said.

Roman nodded, “It was. It was one of those rare times I could get Letha out of her shell.”

The mood dipped from happy memories to grief as his cousin's untimely death was remembered. It was written clear as day on Roman’s face that he was far from healed from her passing.

“I miss her, too.” You placed a hand on his.

“Yeah. Life isn’t far, huh?” You saw he was trying to ward off a wash of emotion, not wanting to wallow in her death, because it wasn’t an easy pit to push himself out of.

“No, it really isn’t.”

If life was fair, Olivia would have been long deceased. Roman wouldn’t have ever been coerced to do any heinous acts. Letha would be alive. Shelley would have never vanished.

You didn’t dare bring up his missing sister to Roman, because that pain was almost worse than the wound Letha’s death had inflicted. For the both of you.

You had learned from Peter the previous day that Shelley was still missing with no leads in finding her. You had nodded but said nothing else and he had let you.

You had always been close with Shelley. She was so kind and sweet, and incredibly understanding and thoughtful. You were the only two women Roman truly loved and that bonded you in a way, to be the only ones to have his unfettered devotion. The thought of Shelley, out in the world alone, scared and labeled a fugitive made you sick. You couldn’t think about it for long without your nausea sparking and tears forming in your eyes.

“What I said to you… that night? That wasn’t fair either. It wasn’t fair of me to hurt you like that.” Roman says, his eyes cast down.

“Roman, we don’t have to do this again. It’s fine, no worries.” You said as casually as possible.

“No, but it really wasn’t,” Roman shakes his head and rotates his body toward you.

“I said those things because I was scared, not because they were true. You have to know that.”

You swallow thickly and nod. Rationally, you knew that was true. After Roman had explained to you yesterday the reason for his vicious one-eighty toward you, you knew that he was only being cruel to push you away. But the words still hurt, they were still brutal enough to feel like there was an ounce of truth to them.

“I was wrong, I can see that now, yknow? I was really wrong for all of that,” Roman lamented, “I fucked up.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). That’s what I really want to say, what I really want you to know. And you know me, probably better than anyone in the world, maybe even more than I know myself,” He huffed a laugh, “And you know that I don’t apologize. Because I’m not wrong. I’m just not. I don’t say I’m sorry, not to anyone… but this, I gotta own up to. Because I was wrong for hurting you, pushing you away.”

You listened to Roman with baited breath.

“You were the only person who ever really saw me. Looked into my eyes and saw past the bullshit and accepted me, loved me… and the idea of you hating me forever killed me, fucking killed me so much. But it was better than you sticking around and seeing that all that bullshit was true, and maybe I was even worse.”

“Roman,” You rasped, gripping his hand tighter, your fingernails biting into his skin.

“I promised to never hurt you, to protect you, keep you safe. And I failed.”

Roman had always been protective of his loved ones. He hoarded them like a dragon with gold, prowling in front of them with bared teeth and spitting fury. You still remember the first time he pledged his devotion to you, his undying protection and loyalty.

It was after the first time he had met your father. A dinner at the Godfrey mansion with your parents, Olivia, Shelley, yourself and Roman. It was an evening requested by Olivia to meet the parents of the girl who had bewitched her son.

She had been her typical elitist self, turning her nose up at your middle class parents with joy. You were sure she was vibrating in her seat with happiness that she could feel so superior to your average parents. Likely hoping Roman would see this too, and kick you to the curb.

You mother had been aimable, mostly quiet. You always thought of your mother as a very charming woman, who could talk to anyone no matter the circumstance. But, Olivia would barely let her get a word in, so she took the hint. Though, you could tell Shelley liked her, and that warmed your heart.

The night’s conversation was dominated by Olivia for the most part, regaling the Godfrey wealth and stories of her privileged life. When she wasn’t boasting about herself, your father would be the one to chime in. Either with an offensive comment or with his poor table manners. It was like having a wild boar in the Shangri La and you felt your face heat with consistent humiliation. You could see your mother twitch uncomfortably across from you whenever he would act, and you knew she was in the same boat.

You were already planning your apology to Roman when your father spoke up. You had been too busy stewing in your mortification to follow the conversation being had at the time.

“Well, I tell you something, Roman. This one over here,” Your father stuck his fork over to you, “Isn’t gonna be a good little wife, not like your mother is.”

Your father threw a smarmy grin to Olivia.

“You’re gonna have to wipe her into shape. Always wants to back talk and cross her damn arms and stomp her damn feet at you.”

Your father laughs and nuges your mother with his elbow, like he had made a joke. Like he thought this joke about you as Roman’s meek little wife would please Olivia and your boyfriend.

Olivia laughed along and made a comment about her predisposition to wifehood because of her upbring, while Roman seethed. You could see his jaw flexing and hear the sound of his ragged breaths through his nose. You discreetly placed your hand on his lap, doing your best to calm him, but it did nothing as your father continued to make comments about your disrespectful personality, all with the cadence of a joke.

“Why don’t you go out for a smoke?” Roman said to your father through gritted teeth.

“Excuse me?” You father said, stopping mid sentence and glaring at Roman.

“I said, why don’t you go out for a smoke and cool off? And when you come back, be a little fucking nicer?”

Roman’s eyes bore into your father’s as he spoke. Your father looked furious at this teenage boy’s demand, and you were sure there was going to be a fight. Both men were incredibly hot headed, that this evening might even end in a physical altercation. But, your father just pushed up from the table and left the five of you in awkward silence. Roman relaxed once your father was gone, taking your hand from his lap and intertwining your fingers together on the tabletop. Your mother soon struck up a conversation with Olivia about the antique chaise lounge in the living room.

Roman held your hand for the rest of the night. When your father returned, he stayed silent.

When it was time for your parents to leave, Roman offered to drive you home. Though, the minute both you were out of sight of his home and your parents, he pulled over.

“Roman, I am so sorry about-” You began, but Roman stopped you by placing his hands firmly on your cheeks.

“Don’t apologize. Not for that fucking man.” He said, his tone turning venomous when he mentioned your father.

“The fucking nerve of him,” Roman spat, his hands tightening on your face, “The fucking nerve of him to speak like that about you. And to me! To me in my fucking home. I’m going to kill him, I’ll fucking kill him.”

Roman spoke sincerely and you wondered for a moment if you asked him to kill your father, would he?

“He’s not worth it, he’s not even worth your anger.” You sighed, placing your hand on his wrist and stroking his skin with your thumb.

“He isn’t worth shit. That fucking cunt.”

You couldn’t help but giggle as you watched your boyfriend speak obscenities.

“What?”

“You look very sexy when you’re this mad.”

You could see Roman’s face visibly relax. You knew he was still angry, but your comment had placated him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” You grinned at him and began to lean in for a kiss when Roman stopped you.

You looked into his eyes again and you saw this serious demoaner was back.

“I will never let him say anything like what he said tonight to you again, OK? Never. I’ll never let him fucking touch you again,” Roman came to rest his forehead to yours, “I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again. I will keep you safe forever.”

And you believed him. You believed him more than you had ever believed a single person in your life. There wasn’t an ounce of you in that moment that could argue with him. You trusted him fully.

“Ok.” Was all you could say with the emotion that was brewing from his confession, before he finally pulled you to his lips.

It was the first time you realized you loved him.

“All I have ever wanted is to keep you safe.” He said it with the same vigor and sincerity that he had in his original vow to you in his car on the side of the road.

And again, you couldn’t help but believe him.

“I forgive you.” You really did.

He was swathing you with the salve of love and honesty, healing the wounds he carved into your skin with his earnest.

“You were scared, you had just had your life turned upside down… I get it. It’s OK. I’m not blameless either. I said some nasty things.”

Roman looks up from where your hands are connected and gives you a signature fierce stare.

The weight of his gaze on you feels heavy as he leans forward to set his glass on the coffee table. His eyes never leave yours as he does. As he moves back to the couch, he uses his movement to his advantage to seamlessly reach out to cup your jaw, as he settled back next to you, much closer than before.

Goosebumps bit across your flesh as the feeling of his broad palm engulfed your face and his breath began to fan across your lips. Roman was smooth, he was graceful and agile in everything he did. Everything including the set up to a kiss, especially a long awaited and important one.

Roman glides his middle and forefinger up to cradle your ear, to anchor himself to you before using his thumb on the underside of your jaw to tilt your chin. You blood was rushing loudly through your ears and all you could think of was him as Roman’s other arm came to rest across the back of the sofa and ecase you in his arms. He ran his tongue across his bottom lip before he descended for yours.

And you felt euphoric. A warmth in the pit of your stomach that only Roman would kindle.

Roman nuzzled his lips against your mouth, the tip of his nose brushing your own. Your hands migrated to lay purchase on his shoulders as you let Roman pull you impossibly close to his body. You could feel his heated cheeks against your face and you could feel his racing pulse beneath your fingers as he tipped your face up and opened his mouth into the kiss. His tongue dipped past your lips and you accepted him with a soft whimper.

Your sound of pleasure surged Roman on as he began to kiss you harder. Sweeter. Messier. Hotter. Just like he always had.

Soon, you were flat against the couch cushions, Roman above you as his hands explored your body. Your legs bracketed his hips, pushing the heels of your feet against the tops of his thighs to keep him snug against you. Your hands clutched his back tightly, the very same back you had been craving to get your hands on since you walked through the door.

Roman’s lips detached from your own to drift to your cheeks, your jaw and your neck. To bite, to suck and lick with his sinful tongue. You keened and moaned at his attentions, your back arching into him. The spit he left in his wake met the air in a chilling exchange that cooled your fiery skin.

“My baby,” He said to your skin.

“My girl,” He groaned.

“Mine,” He bit the junction of your neck and shoulder.

“Mine, mine, mine,”

You didn’t want to be present while listening to his possessions. You wanted to let them grip you and own you and continue to make your stomach flutter. You didn’t want to have to tell Roman right now that you didn’t know if you could be his again…

“You’re mine, always, always, always,” Roman moaned against you, his voice pornographically seductive.

“Yes, please,” You didn’t know what you were begging for, but you just knew you didn’t want the feeling of Roman to stop.

“It’s me and you, we’re together again, it’ll all be OK now,” He says before giving you another sloppy kiss.

“Be with me, be here. We can make it work.”

Roman goes back to attacking your neck with his petal soft lips, but you were finally snapped from your the haze of pleasure he had accosted you with.

“Roman, hold on,” You pushed your hands on his shoulder, “Stop.”

“What?” He pulled away from you quickly, chest heaving as he looked down at you.

He looked so boyishly innocent. His lips flush from kissing and his once perfect hair askew from your ministrations. Eyes wide and questioning. He was the most beautiful man you had ever seen.

“I,” You took a pause, “I can’t stay here, Roman. I just can’t.”

He looked like you’ve shocked him, stuck his finger in an electrical socket and watched. Roman pushed himself further up, but still hovered over you.

“What do you mean you can’t stay?” He says your words back to you like they were a personal affront.

“I live in New York now, that’s where my life is. I can’t just leave.”

Roman’s jaw flexes and you watch him swallow.

“What? So, this means nothing?” He gestures between your bodies.

“No, of course not. Of course it means something.” You replied hastily.

But, Roman was already getting up off of you and started to pace the length of his kitchen. You pushed up to watch him with concern.

“I don’t know what you want me to do, I said I was sorry and I am. I really, truly am! So, why can’t you just stay with me? Be with me?” He argued.

“I know you are! I do, but just because I know you’re sorry doesn’t change the fact that I have a life somewhere else now, Ro. I can’t just abandon it.”

“Why can’t you? Just come home!” Roman threw his arms up in anger.

“I don’t want to abandon it, Roman. I don’t want to leave. I like it there.” You move yourself onto your knees as you speak.

“Jesus fucking-” Roman looked away from you and tugs at his hair, “I can’t believe you right now!”

“Roman,” You sigh.

“No! You know what? I have been declaring my fucking love for you for the past two days and that just means nothing to you? Because it doesn’t mean nothing to me.”

“It means something-!” You begin, but Roman talks over you.

“And that, that on the couch, that fucking meant something to me! Because you mean something to me, (Y/N). You always have and you always will.” He’s shouting now, if he had any neighbors you’re sure they would be able to hear.

Your eyes filmed with tears as you watch him.

“And fuck, while I’ve been going on like a bitch about how I love you, how I’m devoted to you, and you haven’t said shit! Not a word.” Roman’s eyes are beginning to wet as well.

“Is that what this is? You don’t fucking love me?” His anger cracks as his voice quivers.

“Roman, no!” You spring from where you knelt on the couch and rush to him, “I do, you know I do. I love you! I love you so much I ache.”

You cry freely now as you try to clutch his face, but Roman brushes you off.

“I love you, I have always loved you Roman. I always will. But,”

“But what? How is that not enough!”

“I need you to love me enough to know there is nothing for me here.”

“Not even me?” His lip quivers.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Your hands shake and so does your breath, “I mean there is not real life for me here. You have The Tower and that’s you life, but what about me? What could I possibly do here that would make me happy?”

Roman says nothing, just swallows a hiccup that threatened to burst from his throat.

“I need you to love me enough to let me leave.”

Roman’s face crumbles into a drastic frown as he fights tears, “I can’t. I can’t do that, not again, I can’t. I can’t let you leave again.”

“Baby,” You choke out.

“No! I can’t, I love you. So, please, just love me enough to stay. I’ll give you everything you could ever want, anything you could ever dream of to make it better here.”

“Roman, I love you. I do, I always will. But, maybe this will be good for us. Have time apart to be our own people. I think it might even be healthy?” You say your last words with a watery smile that Roman doesn’t return.

“I don’t want to have time apart. I had time apart from you and I was fucking miserable.” He states.

The thought of Roman all alone in this house, heartbroken and stewing in pity and anger makes your heart convulse with pain. You thought of all the nights you slept in your dorm room, silent tears streaking your cheeks as you held your hand over your mouth in hopes to not wake your roommate. You wondered if on the nights you cried for him, if Roman had cried for you? Had he cried at all? Or while you were pouring yourself into your studies to forget him, he was fucking whores to forget you?

“Roman, please just… I love you, just please,” Again, you had no idea what you were begging for. For him to let you leave? For him to convince you to stay? All you knew was that this day had been so catosphroticlly emotionally draining and all you wanted was to fall into his arms for comfort.

“Do you want to be apart from me?” He asked bluntly.

“Roman, just-”

“Answer me. Do you want to be apart from me anymore?”

Your mouth was thick with discarded tears and phlegm. All you could do was look at him and hope he understood you. To tell him you didn’t.

His eyes softened and you knew your mental tether was still intact.

Roman takes a step toward you and moves his head to be level with your own, “Then we’ll make this work. I’ll convince NYU to let you take online classes from here, OK? I’ll build them some new buildings - hell! A new campus. I’ll be their new biggest donor, their new favorite fucking person. I’ll give them whatever they want as long as they give me you in return.”

“I can’t ask you to do that, Roman.” You look down at your feet.

“You’re not asking. I’m offering.”

You pierce your teeth into your bottom lip and look back up at him. Back at Roman with his pink, glossy eyes and hopeful gaze.

“I love the city…”

“Then we’ll fly up every weekend, no exceptions. I’ll buy us a loft in the heart of Manhattan.You can design it to your heart’s content. Make it will feel warm and old and us. The opposite of this place.” Roman says quickly like he knew that would be your next rebuttal.

You gasp a sob and close your eyes tight. You feel Roman close the distance between you both and cup your face in his large hands.

“And we will figure the rest out, whatever else is holding you back. We’ll find you your dream job or your passion or whatever you want.”

You crack your pulsing eyes, to see Roman’s face now streaked with tears.

“Just tell me you’ll stay.”

You knew this was a risk. You knew he was a risk. You knew leaving New York and NYU sounded naive and utterly foolish to someone on the outside of your and Roman’s relationship. You knew that you would fight with him, that you would get angry with him, that he’d work too much and that he would have to reschedule trips to the city. You knew you would get irritated with each other and you’d say something snarky and Roman would say something mean. You knew there would be nights you went to bed angry and days where you gave each other the silent treatment. You knew it would be hard. Most things involving Roman were. Expect loving him.

You knew that even with all the bad that came with a relationship with Roman, it was eons better than being without him for a moment longer now that you had him again.

You had wanted to look to the future, to forget the past and forge a new way for yourself. Truthfully, you still did. But maybe you could start over with Roman by your side? Wash away the pain of his indiscretions and learn and grow and heal together? You hoped you could. You hope you weren’t letting your overwhelming love for the man in front of you cloud your judgements.

So, you placed your hands on his neck and watched his face turn hopeful and said:

“Ok.”

i really wish i could say i loved this, but i am really on the fence about if this story is even good at all? it was better in my head. but! i hope you enjoyed it anyway and pllsss if you did, gimme some feedback <3 it makes me happy :-)

#i still have other one shots in the works so hopefully those are better than this!#also prompts will be opening soon (:#roman godfrey #roman godfrey x reader #roman godfrey imagine #roman godfrey imagines #roman godfrey fanfic #roman godfrey fanfiction #roman godfrey x you #hemlock grove fanfic #hemlock grove fanfiction #hemlock grove imagine #hemlock grove imagines #bill skarsgård x reader #bill skarsgård fanfiction #bill skarsgård imagine #bill skarsgard imagine #bill skarsgard x reader #stevesharrlngtonswrites

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hargrove-mayfields · 3 years

Text

You’ve Set my Soul to Dreaming Pt. 2

Billy can’t believe he’s doing this.

Can’t believe that he’s pulled up outside of 8253 Loch Nora, a gift box in his passenger seat, unwrapped because that would look like he cared too much, a lit cigarette fogging up his windows, and a sense of dread settled heavy in his heart.

Just because Harrington bought him the fanciest thing he’d ever had the pleasure to own didn’t mean he had to return the favor, right?

Wrong. Because it wasn’t just your typical, ‘I’m loaded, and you’re dirt poor, so let me get you this novelty that costs more than you have in the bank because I'm better than you’ from Steve, but something more like a peace offering.

A peace offering from the loser of the fight, which made Billy look like even bigger an asshole than he already was.

Like, it was bad enough that he’d even beat Steve up in the first place, but then to just ignore his attempt at reconciliation and keep up the machismo shtick? Even he was better than that.

So he’d fretted for a week about what a rich boy would want, and shoveled sidewalks for old people and flirtatious mothers to be able to afford it. Not that the Hargroves didn’t have enough money for a dinky little gift, Billy just wasn’t allowed to spend his father’s wages on anything less than necessity.

Christmas presents for some boy definitely didn’t fall under that category.

In the end he decides on giving him a flask, decorated with similar filigree to that on the zippo, only it’s much more cheaply made. He hopes the sentiment is still there, because he knows Steve can put alcohol away faster than you can say chemically dependent teenaged washup. After all, just a few nights ago at Jenny’s Christmas Party, he saw him drink a whole bottle of vodka in under a minute.

Besides, regardless of whether or not it’s something he needs or cares about or is just going to throw away, it’s just to get even, this isn’t some life changing gift exchange. No sweat.

Maybe Billy has that all worked out in his head, but then he’s got another problem. He can’t decide on how the present is going to get to Steve.

If he should just leave it on the porch and bolt, if he was going to ring the doorbell and hand it right to him, or if he would just drive right on down back to Cherry Lane and keep the stupid hip flask for himself, and pretend the whole thing never happened so he could move on with his life.

He loses the chance to choose when the double doors to the house are pulled open, and the silhouette of the one and only Steve Harrington appears.

It would be more than weird to drive away now when he was obviously already parked outside, and even weirder to just sit in his car until Steve goes back inside, so he sucks it up, grabs the box off his passenger seat, and steps out of the Camaro.

Rounding the front of his car and taking a few steps toward the porch, Billy decides to toss Steve the box without so much as a muttered ‘heads up.’ They’ve been playing basketball together for two months now, and he knows from experience that Steve’s surprisingly good at dodging fists, so he’s pretty sure he’ll catch it.

And he does, if not a little clumsily, with a stupid, shocked look on his face. Billy might even say he almost looks as dumb as the sweater he was wearing, which had a Christmas tree crocheted into the center and was at least fifty percent tinsel.

If his head was screwed on straight, maybe Billy would’ve even said ‘Merry Christmas Steve, thanks for the beautiful fucking zippo I use it every day, sorry ‘bout the face’ but it wasn’t, so instead, what he said was actually more along the lines of,

“Save your donations for the red kettle Harrington.”

And then he thinks he’s out of the woods, thinks the lack of an answer is the symbol he needs to put this drama behind him and pick a new pretty boy to pick on, but just as he pops the Camaro’s door, Steve finally lets his response tumble out of his mouth.

“Why don’t you come in, Hargrove?” Steve turns the box over and over in his hands, nervous as he tries to get out what he’s going to say. “Nobody’s home, and I made a bunch of cookies. Got some spiked eggnog too.”

And, it wasn’t like Billy’d rather be back at his own house right now, that was actually the last place on earth he wanted to be, so he wasn’t beyond entertaining the notion.

He isn’t easy though, he’s not the type to just, waltz on in to some McMansion looming over him just because he’d been asked so politely. Especially not when the circumstances of this specific circumstance were the way they were.

“Whatd’ya put in it, the eggnog?” It’s a stupid question, just a way to stall until he can come up with an excuse to go in the mansion by his accord, but the answer, well, it’s not much better.

“Chicken Cock.” Steve says it with such an air of nonchalance that Billy isn’t sure he’s heard that right, but then again, the people down in the Midwest referred everything with weird nicknames that he’d never even heard of. What was puppy chow anyways?

He can tell there’s a bewildered look on his face, though it gets overtaken by a slightly humored smile as he asks. “‘Scuse me?”

Blame it on the bitter cold if you please, but a flush appears on Steve’s cheeks at the realization of what his words might sound like to somebody who had no idea what he’s talking about. “I-It’s a spirit, it’s really strong and- why don’t you just come try it, yeah?”

Its cute, but Billy needs one last attempt at casting out the line before he gives in and accepts Steve’s offer. “Real smooth, Harrington, but I gotta get back to the festivities at home.”

“Sure, ‘cause you're totally the type for that.” Steve rolls his eyes in a sort of false annoyance before he starts on his mockery. “Bet you sing carols, and bake cookies with your little sister and tell stories of your favorite Christmas memories around the Yule log and-“

“Alright, Harrington. Since you asked so nicely.” He couldn’t keep saying no with Steve practically begging him to come inside, so, stepping up onto the stoop, Billy scrapes his boots against the porch rug to knock off the snow so he can go inside. “But I’m outta here by midnight, alright?”

With a smile, Steve steps aside to let Billy through the door. “Deal.”

Ornate woodworking and fancy wallpaper goes unnoticed, because the first thing Billy notices about the Harrington mansion is that it is an absolute disaster. although he would expect a cleaning lady to have come through and kept the place all nice and pristine like you see in the magazines, there was shit everywhere.

Piles of bubble wrap and newspaper stuffed into plastic containers, wires and strings and tape all over, a power strips and thumbtacks, and suddenly Billy realizes something.

“This your attempt at Yuletide cheer, Harrington?”

For a moment he looks at Billy confused, but follows his line of sight to the heaping boxes of decorations scattered throughout his living space. “Oh, no, I just didn’t finish yet.”

Billy can’t help it when he blurts out, “It’s Christmas Eve.”

Steve nods dumbly, something that should at this point be his registered trademark. “Uh-huh.”

“And all your decorations are in a pile in your living room?” Even Billy knew better than to wait until the last minute to get things done, and Harrington always seemed so on top of everything, regardless of if he was doing it right, so it was kind of jarring to see him in such a disheveled mess the night of Christmas Eve.

Steve says, in a tone so casually condescending, “Seems that way, yeah.”

“Didn’t leave enough time between your panty raids to get it done?” Snark is met with snark, but, because of the circumstances, there’s not the typical edge to it that would be expected from the two of them.

“I manage my escapades perfectly fine, thank you.” Steve toes at a box heaping with ornaments and labeled with the words ‘to throw out’ written in cursive on the side. “My parents just think decorating is too undistinguished, so I’m only allowed to have them up for a few days.”

“Right.” Billy agrees like he understands, but he really doesn’t. How can sprucing up your house with a bunch of fancy and expensive trinkets and decorations be any worse than leaving it empty and barren? Rich people. “And how, exactly, would they know if you put them up early?”

Tossing a strand of garland that had previously been draped over the back of the chaise, because of course they have a chaise in their first living room, Steve says, “Shut up and help me put them up then.”

So he does. He untangles giant knots of tinsel, of lights and of icicles, and unwraps all of the Harringtons’ precious glass ornaments for Steve to put on the artificial trees (he’s allergic to pine) in the entrance hall and the dining room.

He puts up the glass stocking holder and hangs the silky, designer stockings, which, judging from the faded fabric and the peeling letters written in red glitter glue to spell out STEVEn, are from a time when Ruthie and Stephen Sr. still darkened these doors. Alongside them on the mantelpiece, he hangs a handful of Christmas cards from Steve’s random relatives up on a thin piece of ribbon.

The banister of the grand staircase is wrapped in miles of scratchy garland, enough that they can hardly see the wooden finish underneath, and matching wreaths are hung in the windows and on the doors.

Just to prove how rich they were, the Harringtons also have a rather extensive collection of those ceramic trees, not the type you make yourself, but the expensive ones you can order from Avon and other designers Billy can’t even pronounce the name of, and they’ve put one on just about every surface that is close enough to an outlet for a plug to reach.

There are so many extension cords run through every room, Billy’s worried that Steve might end up burning up in a house fire, but it’s worth it to see the twinkling lights reflecting on blank white walls, the soothing colors brightening up a space he could imagine was typically devoid of life.

And in the end, having wrestled with dusty old decorations to transform Steve’s house into something so, so pleasant? spirited? entirely unfamiliar to someone like him? he thinks he’s earned the hard whiskey he was promised at the door.

Hours go by, and the two of them are sitting in the center of the giant French Country rug, a cotton and silk substitute for the Persian Steve turned out to be allergic to, backs against the coffee table and more than a little tipsy.

Leaning back on his elbows, Billy lets his head fall back, his sprayed curls fanning out over the mahogany surface, where they have a bayberry candle burning out of the top of an empty bottle of Stephen Sr's liquor of choice.

Blinking slowly up at the ceiling, the blur of the colorful lights making him dizzy, he asks, “So, how does this work, without your parents here, d’ya just, buy your own presents and put ‘em under the tree yourself?”

“Nah. They mail them to Miss Hetty the help, and she brings ‘em to me in the mornin’. 7 a.m. sharp.” He pops the p on the “sharp” like he’s proud to admit he has a nanny at almost 19 years old.

“The help. Think that’s somehow more depressing.” Billy ignores the way Steve’s eyebrows furrow together and his quiet, mumbled out, “Rude.”

“Don’t think I have much room to talk though.” He sits up again so he can look at Steve. “Your zippo’s the only thing I’m gettin’ this year, ‘cept for maybe a-a good backhand or two after Susan gets her family photos.”

A smile cracks across the other boy's face as he lowers his voice, sounding all too excited to say, “Guess that makes us a couple-a misfits then, huh?”

And Billy can’t help the laugh he lets out at that god awful reference, true as it may be, and it's with a smile on his face that he says, “God, you are such a cheeseball, man.”

“Hey! I saw an opportunity, and I had to take it.” There’s a smile equal to his own on Steve’s face, as he laughs at what he said with Billy, and the moment passes.

In the silence that follows, they sit just like that, appreciating their moment of camaraderie that they know is going to come to an end soon, as the grandfather clock chimes for another hour gone by, the bayberry burns down another few centimeters, and the headachy feeling of too much alcohol starts to set in.

It was nice to not be surrounded by faux affection and suffocated by the fear of stepping out of line, but like all good things, Christmas Eve must come to an end at some point, and so it was that, around quarter to twelve, Billy makes his first attempt to stand on drunken feet.

Based on the fact that he doesn’t immediately fall on his ass, he’ll probably be alright to drive, not that he really has much of a choice, so he grabs his keys off the coffee table and announces his departure.

“It’s been real Harrington, but duty calls.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks man.” Steve waves Billy off and leans forward, letting his forehead come to rest against the surface of the laminated hardwood, obviously more affected by the whiskey than the other boy.

But Billy finds himself cemented to the spot, fingers fiddling with the buttons on his denim jacket as he tries to get together what he wants to say, because he still hasn’t properly apologized.

Not that it’s something he’d normally do, but some things can’t be fixed with Christmas Decorations and cinnamon spirits. “Look, I’m sorry, about the, the fight and everything Harrington, I just-“

“S’okay.” Steve tries to look at him, but he's barely able to sit up anymore. He’s got an arm slung over the top of the coffee table to keep himself upright, and his words slur to be almost unintelligible as he tells Billy, “Already forgave ya.”

“But, I don’t- you shouldn’t-“ Taking a deep breath through his nose to collect himself, Billy continues, “How did you know I deserved that?”

“Chalk it up to the Christmas spirit.” Accenting his words with the slightest shrug of his shoulders, Steve smiles a knowing little grin and says, “Go on home, Billy.”

“Right, I’ll, see ya round then.” He starts to walk away, taking steps made shaky from the alcohol in his system, but from behind him he hears Steve say softly, “Wait.”

Turning around, he raises his eyebrows to show Steve he’s at his attention, and Steve, eyes glossy and cheeks as red as the big man’s suit, looks him right in the eye (and the heart) to tell him. “Merry Christmas, Billy.”

“Yeah, you too, Harrington.” The softness in his tone feels like a betrayal to himself, and he thanks the lord above that Steve is too drunk to hold it against him.

One last look over his shoulder, and he sees Steve face down on the coffee table again. Chuckling to nobody but himself, he thinks that maybe the flask wasn’t such a bright idea after all.

Shutting those heavy double doors behind himself and getting back in the Camaro, while his hands shake and his heart races, is a strange feeling to say the least.

Just up and walking away from the most genuine expression of compassion he’d ever experienced, knowing that, with what’s waiting for him back at home, he’s not going to ever let something like this happen again, makes him feel like he should just go running back in there, forget about curfews and abusive fathers so he can pursue this, this whatever with Harrington, but he knows that isn’t really an option.

Knows he’ll get too attached if he doesn't leave now, that nipping that growing feeling of acceptance, of forgiveness, of warmth in his heart three sizes too small, right in the bud before it turns into something more wicked and ruins a perfectly good Christmas Eve, is the best possible thing for the both of them.

This was just an apology, righting the obvious wrongs that had taken place in November, and nothing more.

Because having Steve Harrington three sheets to the wind and showing him the slightest bit of compassion wouldn’t be enough to break him down, no sir. This was Billy Hargrove after all, he didn’t let trivial things like throwing away potential friendships bring tears to his eyes, not in a million years.

Or that’s at least what he’d like to think, but in all reality he does, shows up back at his own, completely average house back on Cherry with red rimmed eyes and it doesn’t go unnoticed when he walks through the front door.

So Billy spends the night just as he expected he would; a bruise forming on his cheek, wide awake in his bed, while visions of Steve Harrington danced in his head.

Read also on ao3

#haringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #story by EJ!#ej writer #this one is a lot longer than part one #in case y'all didn't notice I refuse to post things unless they are complete #and sorry if my midwesterness is extremely prevalent in my writing #i feel like this reads like a hick wrote it for sure #oh well I guess #hope y'all like it anyways!#totally posted these out of order but im too lazy to fix it and i know nobodys probably gonna see these anyhow so im leaving it

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imyourbuddie · 4 years

Text

Kiss Under The Mistletoe(3x10 Coda)

Buck has the mistletoe.

Eddie’s not sure how he feels about it.

Buck dangles the bundle above Hen’s head and leans in to brush a soft kiss on her cheek. Eddie’s insides does something funny, and he’s not sure if he should run and hide or bolt across the room and hip check Hen and take her place.

He does neither. Instead, he watches as Buck prances, prances, over to Athena and Bobby, waves the mistletoe around like some sort of trophy, and demands kisses from them both. On the cheek, of course, but the slither of something cool and unsavoury under Eddie’s skin makes him think his brain hasn’t quite gotten the memo.

Buck grins, his teeth so white they’re blinding, then twirls his way to May and Harry, earning himself two more kisses, before catching up with Chim and Maddie. Buck holds up the mistletoe, and Chim and Maddie laughs as they each plant a kiss on both of Buck’s cheeks.

A petite blonde woman taps Buck on the shoulder. Eddie doesn’t recognize her. Maybe she’s with the group home Karen invited. She smiles up at Buck, her thick curls cascading down her back as she leans up on her tippy toes, and her cherry red lips brush the corner of Buck’s mouth. Buck blinks, surprise evident in his wide eyes, but by the time he gets his wits about him, she’s long gone.

Eddie’s stomach does a flip-flop, and he doesn’t notice the death grip he’s got on his cup until the plastic snaps. Shit .

Buck shakes his head, his cheeks rosy even as his lips curl into a faint little smile. That cold thing pools in Eddie’s stomach and turns sour.

The rest of the evening sees Buck clinging to his little bundle of mistletoe like it’s his new favourite toy, and people coming up to him and showering him with kisses. Some on the cheek, some on the lips, and every kiss is like a kick to Eddie’s gut.

But he can’t just walk up to Buck and kiss him. There’s no way Eddie can plant a platonic one on Buck and walk away. Not after his feelings for his best friend have been building ever since they removed that live round from that guy’s leg together, snowballing until Eddie’s careening out of control, stuck in the middle and dragged along for the ride.

Dinner comes and goes, and of course, Buck sits with Eddie and Christ. Buck brings Chris his present, and Buck hovers wherever Eddie looks. Close enough that Eddie can see the mistletoe poking out of his pocket, wilting around the edges, but still so far out of Eddie’s reach.

Why Buck’s still hanging onto that thing even though he’s kissed literally every person at the party is beyond Eddie. Well, every person except him. And Eddie should feel relief, should be grateful that he won’t be accidentally outed by an innocent gesture like kissing under the mistletoe. But he’s so far from happy even Chris noticed.

“Daddy? What’s wrong?” he asks.

And Eddie wants to kick himself. “Nothing, mijo. Just tired.”

“Does that mean we have to go home?” Chris sounds dejected, his smile a little forced, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out Chris is looking out for him. When did Eddie become this person who needs his son to protect him? When did he become so fragile?

“No, we can stay a while longer if you’d like,” he says and ruffles Chris’ hair. Chris beams, his eyes turning into slits. His mouth move, but before he can reply, Denny comes by and drags him away, no doubt to play with the new train set Karen got him.

Eddie scrubs a hand down his face and takes a deep breath. He needs to clear his head, get himself out of this ridiculous funk before his abuela notices. Slipping away from the festivities is easy with so many people crowded in the lounge and kitchen. Cool evening air greets him as Eddie pushes through the backdoor of the fire house, and for the first time that night, he breathes easy.

It’s a beautiful night with clear skies and just nippy enough Eddie wishes he’d grabbed his jacket. He finds a spot by the engine bay door and sits, leaning his head against the side of the building. The cool air helps clear his head. One breath in, one breath out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

He’s no less agitated, but at least his hands have stopped shaking. Eddie stares up at the sky, wishing he could see past the glow of the city that seems to never sleep, wishing he could see the stars he knows are up there.

So he could make a wish. One small, selfish wish where he can call Buck his.

Eddie chuckles, the sound humourless and a little desperate. After all this time, all these signals he thinks Buck’s given him, Eddie’s still too afraid to reach out and take what he wants. Too afraid to make the same mistakes he’s made with Shannon.

Buck’s his best friend. Could he risk ruining that for something he’s not even sure is actually there?

“Yo, Diaz.”

Eddie startles, his head snapping to the sound of that familiar voice. “Buck?”

“Thought you don’t answer to Diaz.” Buck smirks as he eats the distance between them in long strides, a blanket draped over his arm.

Eddie can’t help but notice the long lines of Buck’s legs. Christ, the guy’s all legs, and Eddie never knew he was a legs man until now. “I don’t.”

“Uh huh.” Buck plunks down next to Eddie and spreads out the blanket over them. Eddie shivers, but he’s not sure if it’s from the cold. “What are you doing out here all by your lonesome?”

“Who says I’m lonely?”

“You just did.”

Eddie sucks in a sharp breath and looks away, his cheeks burning. Shit. Why does he have to be so defensive? Now he’s talked himself into a hole he’s not sure how to crawl out of. So he stops talking, and silence descends upon them like dust.

Buck shifts next to him, drawing his legs up and pulling the blanket to his chin. His bare arm brushes against Eddie’s, and the dry heat of his skin scorches hotter than any fire Eddie’s ever run into. Somewhere in the distance, a car alarm blares and a dog barks. Someone shouts in Spanish, and Eddie chuckles.

“What did he say?” Buck asks, his voice a little hoarse.

“It’s not for polite company.”

“Since when am I polite company?” Buck turns and pins Eddie with his stare.

Eddie swallows under the weight of all that blue, and his mind blanks. Spanish, English, he can’t think straight when Buck’s staring at him with so much intensity. He should say something, anything, but his tongue’s stuck to the roof of his mouth.

Buck leans closer, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, and Eddie can’t help tracking that small movement. Can’t help but wonder what that tongue tastes like, what Buck tastes like. Buck shifts closer, inch by agonizing inch until his nose is a hair’s breadth from Eddie’s, and something green creeps into the edges of Eddie’s vision.

“Mistletoe?”

Buck grins, and before Eddie realizes what’s happening, Buck’s lips press against his.

Fireworks explode behind Eddie’s eyes, and that pathetic, startled moan can’t possibly be from him. Calloused fingers stroke along Eddie’s jaw, then Buck’s warm palm cups Eddie’s cheek with incredible tenderness.

Eddie presses a hand to Buck’s chest, and the erratic beating of his heart seems to match Eddie’s. Buck opens up to Eddie, and Eddie doesn’t need a written invitation to finally, finally savour the taste he’s been yearning for so long.

The press of Buck’s tongue is electric, and the heat of his mouth and the softness of his lips are beyond anything Eddie’s ever dreamt of. Eddie pulls back, but he’s barely pulled a breath before Buck’s on him again, and this time, the kiss is anything but chaste.

The blanket slips and Buck crawls into Eddie’s lap, strong thighs on either side of him. Eddie’s arms slip around Buck’s torso, fingers curling into the fabric of Buck’s uniform, and Buck grins before licking into Eddie’s mouth.

Eddie’s drunk on the taste of Buck’s mouth, the weight of Buck’s body. Drunk on the heat of his skin and the scrape of his nails along Eddie’s scalp. Everything about this moment is incredible, and Eddie believes a little more in Christmas miracles.

Buck pulls back and leans his forehead against Eddie’s, his blue eyes lust-blown, his lips kiss-swollen and glistening. His hair is disheveled, and Eddie can’t remember when he did that. They stare at each other for a long, loaded moment, their chests heaving together and slowing down in time until they both finally stop panting.

“Fucking finally,” Buck huffs.

“Hm?”

“Been waiting for you to kiss me all night.” Eddie blinks. His face must be doing something stupid, because Buck throws his head back and laughs, the sound throaty and rich and full of mirth. “Figured at some point I just gotta take matters into my own hands.”

Eddie chuckles and shakes his head. He picks up the forgotten bundle of mistletoe and holds it over their heads. “I’m glad you did.”

Their lips meet once more, and this time, Eddie’s never letting Buck go.

#buddie #buck x eddie #christmas kisses #buck has the mistletoe #eddie gets all jealous #kissing outside the firehouse #my writing #3x10 coda #coda #911 #911 on fox

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purplesurveys · 3 years

Text

1147

Have you ever overflown a bathtub? Hmm, I can’t remember ever doing that.

Why did you ignore the last person you ignored? My new manager, Kata, messaged me a bunch of links to EXO’s videos to get me into them – I looooove that she’s friendly and we vibe super well so I have a feeling will be close soon enough, but I’m still a bit shy so I ignored her for a bit while I was thinking of a reply haha. I’ve since gotten back to her, though.

What's your favorite pizza place? Yellow Cab’s pizzas have never failed me. Mama Lou’s is good too, but they don’t deliver to my area so I haven’t had their pizzas and any of their food in over a year now.

What was the last stupid thing someone talked you into believing? That we can stay friends. I believed it for a while and it was so mentally and emotionally deteriorating for me, so I did the right thing and let go instead.

What's at the top of your to do list in life? Save. I’m superrrrr frugal with my money and hate spoiling myself. I’d rather enjoy everything in the future once I feel like it’s right to settle down.

What's a song that would describe your life at the moment? What Type of X by Jessi. Maybe not my life, but the song certainly matches my mood these days.

Do you ever scream at inanimate objects? Occasionally, if they’re not working or if I accidentally hurt myself with them.

What was the last thing that you shared? I just had lunch delivered to Angela’s place as a surprise, if that counts. I got her chicken wings and these chocolate chip cookies she’s always wanted to try. It feels really nice surprising people with gifts; I might start making it a habit :) I have to credit my director Bea for it - she’s been having food delivered to mine and Kata’s places recently and I just want to pay it forward.

What smell/s can you absolutely not stand? Fruits. We constantly have a stock of oranges because my parents and sister like having them after dinner, and the smell is nauseating. Spoiled food is also high up on my list, and the general smell in Manila is also very foul. Go to other places in the Philippines if you’ll ever visit!!!

Do you ever eat leftover pizza cold? Yessssssssssssssss. Idk why but I find it really good? like even if I eat it straight out of the fridge.

Where are you the most ticklish? The sides of my stomach and around my neck.

Would you put your life in danger to rescue someone? Someone absolutely important to me, yes.

When you're wanting a midnight snack, what do you normally get? I usually don’t really like the snacks we have in our pantry so unless I already had food delivered earlier in the evening I just let the hunger fade because I don’t like having food delivered that late anyway.

Which cartoon character would you want to keep as a pet? Buster from Toy Story. Or Maximus from Tangled but in dog form, because I don’t know how to care for a horse.

What color best represents you? Something peaceful like off-white, or a pastel shade.

Do you like marshmallows? I hate them.

What is your favorite flavor of candy cane? I also don’t like candy canes, or candy in general. Too sweet and I can always feel how unhealthy they are whenever I have to have them.

Do you have any shoeboxes full of old photos/letters/other memorable stuff? My mom has several plastic bags filled with photographs over the last few decades. As for me, I don’t own any memory boxes; but recently, I’ve been sticking up notes from my friends and co-workers up on my corkboard.

Are you in any way double jointed? Nope.

Have you ever considered a career in music/acting? Never. I never liked singing in public and I’ve never considered acting.

When was the last time you felt seriously embarrassed? A few days ago when I accidentally turned my camera on during a work Zoom meeting while I looked completely unpresentable. Luckily I knew I clicked the button and immediately un-clicked it, but my video still showed up for like 0.001 seconds lol.

Have you ever liked a song, looked up the lyrics to it, then hated it? I don’t think I’ve gone so far as to hate it. I have felt slightly disturbed upon hearing the lyrics of some songs I’ve taken a liking to though; and Cherry Wine by Hozier certainly ticks off this box.

Which is worse for you: being hot, or being cold? Hot, which is why living where I do doesn’t work with me well for the most part.

What would be the icing on the cake for you this Christmas? Get nicer gifts for my loved ones. I was able to get everyone presents last Christmas, but given that I had just received my first-ever salary then, I wasn’t able to go all out as much as I would’ve liked. I’d love to spoil my loved ones even more for next Christmas.

If you had the opportunity to live forever, would you take it? Probably, as long as I was guaranteed to live comfortably. I’d love to see how else technology can continue to improve.

Have you made someone happy today? I hope so, when I got Angela food earlier.

Do you generally watch a lot of television? I do watch my favorite shows a lot, but not on television. Most of my content I already consume online.

If your bedroom walls could talk, what would they most likely say? They’d probably go over all the shit I had to go through and the ensuing breakdowns they’ve had to watch from me over the years.

What's your favorite Christmas song? It’s Beginning to Look A Lot Like Christmas, because it makes me feel festive.

Did you ever really believe in Santa Claus? Only for a brief moment when I was introduced to the concept, but kid-me never bought it because he never showed up.

Do you like the band Relient K? I’ve heard of the band name but I’m largely unfamiliar with them.

Have you ever seen a movie that was better than the book it was based on? Maybe, but for the most part I usually find the books to be better.

Do you like quesadillas? Yes, omg and with jalapeños and cheese *chef’s kiss*

Did you like the show Invader Zim? Nope.

Do you think tomorrow will be a good day? I feel like I’ll be sullen because it will be Sunday again, but I still plan on making the most out of it.

Do you ever talk to yourself? A lot.

Whose butt did you last slap? Idk, probably my ex.

Do you think that chivalry is dead? I don’t think so, but I also think it’s a bit outdated.

What's the greatest/most influential song you've ever heard? That’s a lot of pressure on a song... as much as I don’t really like The Beatles, I’d say Hey Jude has been pretty influential.

What's the weirdest thing you've seen in a grocery store? Not sure. If I had thought something I’ve seen was the weirdest thing ever, I would’ve taken a photo.

What is true love to you? Sacrifices.

Do you like chocolate milk? YES, lactose intolerance be damned.

Have you ever bought yourself a present on Christmas? Not yet. I hope to be able to this year!

Have you ever been on a mechanical bull? Nope, but I’d definitely get on one if I find one here.

Do you prefer to pull off band-aids slowly or quickly? Slowly. Actually, I prefer running water over it until it just slides off.

Have you made a mistake in the past week? I am constantly making tiny mistakes at work.

What was the last weird thing you said to someone? Idk, I feel like all the conversations I’ve had recently didn’t involve any inside jokes or general weirdness.

Have you ever met any bands/band members before? I got to work with one - Redd is the drummer for a local band but he’s since resigned to work with another company.

Have you ever sat on a copy machine and made copies of your butt? No. I’ve never even used a copy machine.

Are you a camera whore? Not at all, I hate posing for the camera.

Have you ever purposely dropped someone's toothbrush in a toilet? Never even considered it.

What kind of mood are you in right now? A little sad because it’s the weekend and I can’t even do my weekend coffee shop trips anymore because Covid cases are experiencing another surge (9000 cases a day!!!), protocols are everywhere again, and my parents already told me I can’t go out...those moments were my rare time alone where I can take walks and reflect and whatnot (and not to mention experieince air conditioning for a few hours), so it sucks to have to be stuck at home again. There’s not much to do at home to begin with, so now I’m just stuck in a cycle of taking surveys and finding videos to watch on YouTube.

What was the last thing someone told you that had you at a loss for words? I was ranting to Andi about how I started despising Diane from BoJack Horseman the moment she flipped out over Mr. Peanutbutter gifting her an entire library. I get where she’s coming from, of course, “understand people’s love language” and all that; but I felt like the very hostile reaction was super uncalled for and it reminded me a lot of my relationship with Gabie – I liked giving and giving, but it was either 1) never enough or 2) apparently the wrong way to show her love, and I was always the one punished for it in the end. I told Andi that because of my experience with her, I don’t even feel like giving a library (metaphorically speaking) to any future significant others anymore because of how hard I had it with her.

Anyway, they gave me some advice about it and in the end they told me, “One day, someone will tell you, “Thank you for your library.’” It was very beautifully put and I struggled to find the words to reply.

What's something that always makes you smile, regardless of what’s going on? I’m not sure there is such a no-fail thing.

What was that last thing that you bought online? Food for Angela.

Do you enjoy riding around town looking at Christmas lights? Yeah, but the general mood for last year obviously wasn’t super festive and there weren’t as much lights, so it’s been a while since I’ve seen my village all decked out.

Is there someone that you're mean to for no good reason? No, that’s terrible.

What was the last thing you got out of the freezer? The coffee ice cream that I bought from Leigh yesterday! It’s crazy fucking good and I already feel a repeat order coming through.

Are you currently reading anything? No.

What's a good book you'd recommend? I don’t read anymore. I know child/teen-me would be very disappointed.

#survey #surveys

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deans-baby-momma · 4 years

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Rebel Without A Cause-Part 2

A/N: Hope you all enjoyed the PG-13 Chapter 1. Because this goes straight to X-rated from here on out. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya! LOL

As Dean pounds into the random cunt beneath him, the sounds from around the room mixes with her moans. Glancing up, Dean sees a multitude of bare-assed bodies littered about, all in various stages of the exact act he is partaking in. Their hotel room is filled with people having some sort of sex.

Sam, his younger brother and bass guitarist, is kneeled on the floor in front of a chair, his face submerged between the legs of some brunette; Cas is sprawled on one of the beds with Meg, his wife and the band’s keyboard player, bouncing on his cock. Other random strangers were placed throughout the room, participating in the nightly orgy that the Winchester Sex Bombs always hosted. Fucking random people around a bunch of other random people fucking always helped the band come down from the high of a great concert.

Dean thrusts into the pussy his dick is buried in when he feels a familiar touch on his shoulder. The whisper in his ear causes his cock to harden even more. “How’s she feel, brotha? That pussy squeezing your prick tight? You go’na let me have a taste?” The Cajun accent sending shivers through his body.

Dean groans as Benny’s hand slides down his back and grips his ass. Pumping into the girl once more before pulling out, Dean turns to Benny.

“You want that used up hole or you want this?” Dean asks as he wraps his hand around the base of his cock. He smirks as he watches Benny quickly crawl backward off the bed and get down on his knees. Guiding his cum-slick, condom-covered shaft to the Cajun’s lips, Dean chuckles. “That’s what I thought. You’re a cock slut for this, aren’t ya? You want to taste her? Lick it off my dick.”

Benny parts his lips and slides his tongue out to stroke the head. His eyes roll as the tang of the woman’s pussy mixed with the cherry-flavored condom hits his taste buds. The lead singer of the Winchester Sex Bombs watches as his best friend and the band’s drummer continues to lick some random girl’s slick from him.

“Goddamn Ben!” Dean whimpers as he places a hand on Benny’s head. “Open up.”

Benny drops his chin and allows Dean to slip between his lips.

“Fuuuuck, your mouth is like heaven,” Dean growls as he pumps into his friend’s face. A scoff comes from the top of the bed, catching Dean’s attention. The whore sits up on her elbows, wide-eyed at the sight before her.

“Sorry sweetheart. You'll get yours in a minute,” he uses his free hand and jams three fingers into her used cunt. “There. Fuck yourself on that.”

Dean gazes down at the man sucking his dick. Whoever would have thought that when he became friends with ‘the new kid that talked funny’ that a few years later he would be balls deep inside the man’s mouth. Dean tries to remember when it all changed but his train of thought derails as he feels his balls tighten, signaling that he was close to cumming. “Ben, I’m gonna shoot my load,” he warns, expecting Benny to pull off and jack him off. Instead the big man hollows his cheeks and sucks. Dean yells as he shoots ropes of cum into the flavored rubber.

He sits back on his haunches and watches as Benny leans up and forwards to finish cleaning him, licking off every drop of the girl's juices. Dean hisses when Benny runs his tongue over the sensitive head.

“Finish her off,” Dean says as he pulls his fingers from the stranger’s pussy and licks them clean. “I need a smoke.”

Jumping off the bed, Dean barely pays any mind as Benny takes up residence in the same pussy he’d been fucking. He pulls the loaded rubber off and tosses it in the trash bin. They shared a lot, Dean and Benny. From childhood memories to drinks to random hook-ups. Some of those hook-ups left unsatisfied but the two best friends always ended satiated.

Dean sat on the balcony of the hotel, his flaccid, used, sticky prick hanging between his legs. He looks out at the night sky as he lights the joint that had been left behind.

“Dude, have some modesty!” Sam admonishes as he and his lady of the night join Dean moments later. Sam wearing only a pair of boxers but the short brunette’s body was covered with the shirt Sam had sported earlier. Dean looks at the two of them and silently studies them. They are so different. Sam, with his 6 foot 4 inches of height and his date….well she would be lucky if she tipped the scales at an even 5 foot. Sam’s shirt practically swallows her but Dean could tell she is built under it.

“Why? You think your girlfriend will see my dick and forget about you?” He asked, turning his attention to the girl. “Sweetheart, is my brother enough man for you? He thoroughly fuck you or does that little pussy still need to be wrecked?”

Dean felt his member twitch at the thought of pounding into the girl who was trying, and failing, not to look at his groin area.

“Fuck you, Dean!” Sam said as he sits down in the other chair, pulling the girl into his lap. “The only thing I’m sharing with you is that,” Sam replied, pointing at the lit roach pinched between his brother’s index finger and thumb.

THREE HOURS BEFORE

Dean finishes off his drink before pulling on his trademark leather jacket. Tonight, he and his band were in some no-name city on the east coast, on the line up with other up and coming bands to rock the house at. A variety of headline acts were on the venue but Dean knew his band and their music would bring the house down. Winchester Sex Bombs were the best of the whole program.

A knock on the door alerts the lead singer and lyricist that it was time to head backstage and join the rest of his band. Slipping into his boots, Dean opens the door and exits his room. He follows the PA toward the elevator.

“Packed house tonight,” the man informs him. “I haven’t seen this many people here since the Boss took the stage.”

Dean just smiles at the shorter man. He was used to hearing that they were packing stadiums and arenas as much as Springsteen used to, when he toured. But Dean’s dream was to surpass all those and break attendance records.

The elevator doors glide open once the metal box stops its descent and Dean can already hear the crowd. The third act of the night is on stage and they are next. The masses sound riled up already and it makes Dean eager to get out there and knock their socks off! It did seem to be a full house, just from the reverberation. Dean’s smile grows as he thought of all the possibilities for the after-concert festivities that the Sex Bombs always engage in.

“Sounds like a fun crowd,” Cas says. His wife, Meg standing near the curtain, peeking out at the horde of fans. She turns and heads toward them, her dark eyes smiling.

“Man, this is the largest event we’ve ever been a part of,” she gushes and she grabs Cas’ hand and interlocks their fingers. “Can’t wait for them to hear our new material!”

“Yea we’re gonna knock their socks off with ‘Let’s Get Carnal’”, Cas chuckles. “I still can’t believe you wrote that.”

Dean shrugs and gives his best friend a toothy smile. “Can’t take all the credit,” he responds, as the drummer walks up with two beers and hands one to Dean. “Benny co-wrote it.”

“Eh, I jus’ give ya th’ beat. You’re the one who wen’ all vulgar with th’ lyrics,” Benny answers. “But these folks are gonna lose their shit!”

The house goes wild when they take the stage. Dean stands behind the mic stand as the rest of his group take their places with their instruments. Sam begins the beginning chords of the first song in their set as Dean prepares to launch into the lyrics.

Halfway through the second song, Dean eyes a blonde in the second row who looks like she could be a good time. Signaling their manager, Crowley McLeod, Dean points her out knowing the man would work his magic and the girl would be in his room waiting for him after the show. Dean continues to observe the girl as she dances to his songs. The way her lithe body moves, he knows she'll be a good time later tonight.

@pink1031 @spnbaby-67 @winecatsandpizza @joseyrw @kricketc28 @tftumblin @markofdean79

#dean winchester #SUPERNATURAL AU #dean winchester au #rockstar!dean #reporter!reader #rockstar!dean x reporter!reader #dean x ofc #lil bit of angst #lil bit of fluff #whole lotta smut #smutapalooza #e'erybody be fucking

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theproofinthisong · 4 years

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50 questions you’ve never been asked before

the great @flamboyant-louie tagged me so here i am! thank you angel!

1. what is the colour of your hairbrush? basic black bitches.

2. a food you never eat? meat that is cooked rare. just thinking about it i’m disgusted. most cheeses i hate too, i only eat the ones that have no taste lmao. it’s purely personal but i can’t understand why you people wanna eat something bloody or rotten and smelly lol.

3. are you typically too warm or too cold? too warm hands down. there is not too much warmness in my book tho, i think kindness is really one of the most important things in the world. but i do think i could have used some coldness in the past, considering i gave too much second chances or trust to people who didn’t deserve it.

4. what were you doing 45 minutes ago? watching a documentary about families of disappearing children. really heartbreaking.

5. what is your favourite candy bar? bounties without a doubt. snickers come next with kit kats.

6. have you ever been to a professional sports event? if you’re thinking NBA matchs or something like that, no. only straight people do that for fun. i did go to a dance competition once and it was awesome.

7. what is the last thing you said out loud? considering i’ve been in lockdown for two months i’m starting to speak out loud to myself lol. it was along the lines of “well, he’s right” watching the documentary.

8. what is your favourite ice cream? mango, litchi, banana, pear, coconut, peach, cookie...too much of them really.

9. what was the last thing you had to drink? had to drink? this disgusting thing supposed to help me with my stomach aches.

10. do you like your wallet? i don’t have a wallet sorry.

11. what was the last thing you ate? some homemade french quiche i did myself.

12. did you buy any new clothes last weekend? nope because everything is closed :( i miss it though. come to me summer sales.

13. the last sporting event you watched? the finale of world cup 2018 which we WON...i’m not even kidding.

14. what is your favourite flavour of popcorn? it used to be salty now it’s just sugary. never tasted any other flavour but i’m curious.

15. who is the last person you sent a text message to? my mom!

16. ever go camping? once in a true camp 6 years ago during a festival it’s a great memory. last time i slept in a tent was for one of my friends’s wedding tho :)

17. do you take vitamins? almost never.

18. do you go to church every sunday? i never did and i’m not interested in doing it now. i’m not religious and my parents never educated us in that way either.

19. do you have a tan? it’s may and we can’t go out so nope :(

20. do you prefer Chinese food or pizza? chinese food for sure!

21. do you drink your soda with a straw? i sometimes do. takes me back to my childhood!

22. what colour socks do you usually wear? white. i prefer black but i own more whites. super interesting ik.

23. do you ever drive above the speed limit? don’t have a driver’s license and it’s for the best. if i did i would never because i’m too scared.

24. what terrifies you? i had many phobias before: slugs, blood, spiders, creepy crawlers...only one that stayed is heights. i can legit go into paralysis when i’m in crisis mode.

25. look to your left, what do you see? my phone!

26. what chore do you hate? ironing.

27. what do you think of when you hear an Australian accent? that it sounds cool as fuck and a bit funny too.

28. what’s your favourite soda? coca cherry.

29. do you go in a fast food place or just hit the drive-thru? i go in. only used the drive-thru twice. the real tradition to me (understand going with friends during the night) is going in.

30. who’s the last person you talked to? my mama <3

31. favourite cut of beef? rumsteck.

32. last song you listened to? part of your world reprise by auli’i cravalho.

33. last book you read? all 1657 pages of the misérables. true masterpiece.

34. favourite day of the week? friday usually!

35. can you say the alphabet backwards? if i focus yes, otherwise no.

36. how do you like your coffee? i’m team tea but either completely black or with a tiny drop of milk.

37. favourite pair of shoes? my black boots with little silvery pearls all over it. very harry. it’s not the one i wear the most tho!

38. at what time do you normally go to bed? depends if i have work the day after. in that case it’s between midnight and 2.am. around 4 during the weekend and free days. the lockdown wrecked my time schedule and it’s more...between 5 and 6. I KNOW.

39. at what time do you normally get up? 8.30 when i have work, 11.00 when i don’t and now... 13 p.m or worse lmao.

40. what do you prefer, sunrise or sunsets? sunset bitch always.

41. how many blankets are on your bed? one rn but it’s usually two.

42. describe your kitchen plates? just white. wish i was more original and fancy.

43. do you have a favourite alcoholic beverage? i love lots of alcoholic beverages my favorie fancy one is pina colada and favorite casual is either cider or beer.

44. do you play cards? i suck so bad at them and i just don’t enjoy them that much.

45. what colour is your car? i have no car lol.

46. can you change a tire? not at all.

47. what is your favourite state/province? favorite place i went to (and there are still many to go)...it’s a tie between london, new york, rome and lebanon.

48. favourite job you’ve ever had? i love my current job as a librarian! it was always my goal so yes!

49. how did you get your biggest scar? i don’t have big scars but it’s this one on my thumb when i burned myself cleaning the oven. so clumsy.

50. what did you do today that made someone else happy? listened and supported my mom through phone even if i wish i could do more!

that was cool! i tag anyone who wants to do this!

#about me

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linguisticswithlester · 5 years

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What is the Name?

Rating: NR

Word Count: 2775

Warnings: None

Summary: A curly headed barista becomes smitten with a new quiffed customer that comes into the coffee shop. Taking a chance, he makes a bold move that results in a battle of cute nicknames and feelings that could lead to a new adventure.

Written for the 2018 Holiday Exchange!

Read on AO3

Christmas time always proved to be a busy time for a small coffee shop in the middle of London. The outside was rundown a bit and the inside had a homey feeling to it but, the patrons seemed to enjoy it. The shop wasn’t that modern and the employees had their opinions on making it seem more “2018.” However, the owner didn’t seem bothered by the suggestions. One barista however, enjoyed how the business remained consistent throughout the years. He was the one wearing an all black ensemble with a red and black flannel tied around his waist; his purple apron clashing with the plaid. His hair was brown with honey that shone through in the sun. It curled around his eyes and his shaved sides started to twist around as well with every week that a hair appointment was missed. His brown eyes matched his hair and they held a longing for something exciting to happen.

Serving coffee to the everyday customers became tiring after a while and the barista was aching for something to happen that would give meaning to his days and maybe make waking up in the morning something that he wouldn’t dread. Then the bell above the front door rang.

Ding.

In walked that something.

The curly headed barista turned his head towards the door to greet the mysterious man that was gracing the small coffee shop floor. The barista headed for the register and waited for the man to make his way up.

“Hello,” the barista choked out. The man standing in front of him was nothing short of beautiful. He hasn’t seen a man that looked quite like that and pulled it off so well. The man was pale white and it looked like the sun has never tanned his skin. His hair was dark, perhaps dyed but, it complemented his fair completion well. He had a sharp nose with cheek bones that most would pay for. His bright blue eyes were hidden by thick black rimmed glasses that sat on the bridge of his nose. He was tall, not taller than the barista but, then again he was tall himself. The stranger was wearing a bright orange jumper that most people couldn’t pull off but, he was wearing it well; on the front it had a festive cactus.

The barista let out a little chuckle at the thought of the jumper in front of him which caused the man to raise his eyebrow. The barista cleared his throat.

“What can I get for you on this fine day?” The curly haired man asked while trying not to look like a complete idiot. The man in front of him was mystifying and he wanted to get to know him beyond his customer service spiel.

“Yeah, um could I get the hot chocolate? Without the cream?” Said a voice that was much deeper that the barista was prepared for; it suited the man.

“You sure can.” And now for the question that the barista actually cared about, “And what is the name?” He tried to say it as cool as he envisioned it sounded in his head but, it came out a little higher than anticipated. He rolled his eyes at himself and continued to look forward at the man in front of him.

“Yeah, it’s um Phil.” The man said as he shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels.

He paid for his drink and found a spot to sit to wait for his beverage.

While the barista was preparing the hot drink, he continued to think about the man now named Phil. It suited him; however, it is not what he would have pegged him as. He seemed quirky and cute. A funny novelty jumper with the order of a hot chocolate. How innocent was this man? He looked like he would get upset over the idea of virtual baby badgers getting hurt in their natural habitat and the barista’s heart warmed up with the hot chocolate. Leaving the cream out, he realized that he forgot to write the name on the customer’s cup. Looking around to make sure that no other co worker was within eyesight, he quickly wrote down a name in sharpie on the side of the take away cup.

***

“Phil!” He called out pretending to look around the shop as if he didn’t know where the man had taken a set. He saw Phil get up and walk towards the counter. He walked with such a force that it intimidated the barista and yet, he could tell he was nervous.

Maybe he will ask for my number?

Oh god!

What if he’s straight?

oops.

***

Phil made his way to the counter to collect his drink from the cute barista that took his order. His curls looked like waves and Phil wanted to learn what secrets they held.

“Thanks,” He paused looking down towards the baristas name tag, “Dan.” He said as interesting as he could make it.

He took his drink and headed back to his seat. He pulled out his phone to continue his riveting game of scrolling through Instagram. He went to pick up his chocolate when he noticed that his name looked way longer than the usual four letters that it takes to spell it. He picked it up to inspect what was written.

“Mr. Cinnamon Bun”

Oh mY GOD! What the hell?

Phil’s stomach was filled with butterflies and his cheeks have no doubt turned to a deep crimson. He wasn’t one for cute nicknames but, he would make a exception this time. He continued to drink his order and he thought about what to do next.

***

Dan’s stomach was hanging above his head. He had never been this bold in his life and quite frankly, he was wishing he hadn’t been. He didn’t know what came over him but, Phil’s whole being was something that Dan wanted to get to know more of. Granted he could have done it in a more subtle way, he thought it was pretty clever. He kept looking over at the table in which Phil sat to see if he had noticed the name yet and every time he looked over, Phil was on his phone.

Damn.

Dan was about to give up hope that Phil was going to notice the name when the man started his way to the counter. He sucked in a deep breath and held it.

“Hey, thanks for hot chocolate. It was probably the best one I’ve ever had.” Dan’s face was deepening and he could feel it. “I’ll see you later… pumpkin, “Phil said as he slid a tip into the jar and walked away with his hips swaying with every step.

And with that one utterance, Dan knew he was smitten. He watched the man walk out of the shop and he had no idea how anything was going to top his week, let alone his day.

***

The days leading up to Christmas, Phil always managed to find his way back to the coffee shop. Each day he would get something new by letting Dan surprise him with a drink of his choice. They were growing closer and Phil always looked forward to being able to talk with Dan and see him and that smile that always accompanied him. Dan always looked like an excited puppy dog when Phil walked through the door.

Today however, it was really slow at the shop and Dan was hoping that he would get a chance to have an actual conversation with Phil that only had minimum interruptions. He knew Phil was coming in today, like he always does, but he just didn’t know when. The last couple of weeks, he has been rushing to get all his cleaning responsibilities done and anything else that his boss might throw at him before Phil would come in. He wanted to spend as much time as he could with him. Today he was going to ignore the butterflies that unsettled his stomach and see if Phil wanted to go to see a movie this weekend. He knew Christmas was next week but, he might not have the nerve to do it any other time.

***

He was wiping down a table when the doorbell rang and in walked Phil. He was wearing a light pink shirt that looked like it had anime characters on it from what was visible. He was also wearing a navy blue coat that had faux fur around the hood. Dan thought that that coat suited him very well and he couldn’t help that his breath hitched when he saw him. His stomach accumulated more butterflies and over walked Phil.

Dan put the towel he was using in the front pocket in his apron and met Phil in the middle.

“Hey Cherry Blossom.” Dan greeted Phil. It has been a ongoing challenge between Dan and Phil on who could call the other the most cringeworthy “cute” couple pet names without laughing. So far Dan has had more wins; Phil has a hard time not cracking when Dan fully embodies the name he was given for the day.

“Hey Pudding.” Phil said back as he set his stuff down at a table. He looked up to meet Dan’s eyes and a smile spread across his face.

Dan took that as a crack, “AH HA! I win again Lester. This Dan VS Phil isn’t turning out to be challenging for me. You’ve got to step up your game man.” Dan started to slowly spin in a circle as if being surrounded by applause.

“Oh shut up you buffoon. I could win if you would just stop being so damn cute every time I meet eyes with you..”

Dan stopped spinning and met eyes with the older man again; cheeks heating up.

They’re relationship so far consisted of complimenting the other; making sure they knew how beautiful they looked that day while at the same time, making sure they threw a few good insults in there as well. They always called each other pet names and whenever they could talk they always acted like a couple that has been together for years; it just felt right. Although, they could never have a full conversation because of that fact that Dan was always working. Customers were always popping in and out needing something.

Phil looked around and noticed that today was actually quite slow. “This might be the perfect time to ask Dan to go to dinner with me this weekend,” he thought to himself as Dan looked at him with his doe eyes. He was fully aware that Christmas is next week but, he wanted to see Dan before the holidays. He didn’t know exactly what their relationship was but, he hoped he was reading the signals correctly.

Dan got taken away before their conversation could make it to anything actually important so Phil took out his laptop. He started replying to some emails in regards to his work to try to keep his nerves down to a minimum. Dan was cute and adorable; he was everything Phil always talked about having in a boyfriend. While Dan looked like the complete opposite of Phil, they were actually suspiciously similar. Dan liked dark colors and only wore according to those; it contrasted nicely to Phil’s bright and obnoxious wardrobe. He mess of curls balanced out Phil’s poker straight quiff. Hell, even their hair naturally grew to the opposite sides. However, they were both very socially and politically aware. Dan claimed that he was a master at Mario kart and he loved to brag about it and that was one of Phil’s favorite games to play. They both loved watching movies and staying inside to browse the internet. Pajamas and netflix sounded like the perfect day for them and just being in each other's presence made them feel at ease.

“A match made by Cupid and brought together by fate...,” he thought to himself as he tuned out his uninteresting emails, “...or maybe these cheesy nicknames are just getting to my head.”

He did a comical shake of his head and started to focus on his emails again.

***

“Okay stud-muffin, I’m on break today because it’s slow in here so I’m all yours for a full fifteen minutes.” Dan said as he interrupted Phil’s reading. He pulled a chair out from the table and sat down next to Phil. His purple apron was wadded up in his hand and rested on the table.

“Well, I guess I better have something entertaining to provide you with then, babe,” Phil replied as he shut his laptop thankful for the well needed and highly anticipated break from adult responsibilities.

Dan’s face flushed with “babe” and Phil noticed. Dan had this rosy patch on his right cheek that turns red when he gets warm and it was definitely on show after that. Phil was enamored with it and wanted to place a light kiss on him right there. This battle of “who can say the best name without laughing” has become the one thing Phil looks forward to during his days.

Dan’s eyes widened and he felt his face deepen in color. Phil always seemed to know what names to say that would make Dan melt. Babe wasn’t something revolutionarily groundbreaking but, it was the little things that made Dan swoon. Although, Dan was sort of disappointed that he was going to have to make another move first. This whole challenge is fun and all and it makes the work days go by fast but, Dan really thought Phil would catch on to the fact that Dan wanted to go out with him. Nonetheless, his gut was ready and his time was now.

“Hey Phil I-”

“Dan, I was wo-”

They both looked at each other.

“No, you go ahead Phil,” Dan offered hoping his courage would still be as strong in a few minutes.”

“Oh... well I was just wondering if you maybe... wanted to get, um dinner with me this weekend? Saturday maybe? If that works for you?” Phil asked with a shaky voice. He rubbed his hands together and took a breathe.

He did it.

“Oh my god, did Phil just ask me out? Oh my god.” Dan’s heartbeat got faster as he processed what he was just asked.

“I know that it’s close to Christmas and everything so if you already have plans don’t even worry about it,” Phil added soon after, looking down at his lap.

“Oh no! I don’t have any plans. I would love to go to dinner with you on Saturday.” Phil let out a sigh of relief. “I was just a little surprised you asked because I was just about to ask if you wanted to see a movie this Saturday!” Dan’s heart was racing the fastest it ever had and he was sure his face was redder than a stop sign.

“Great minds think alike!” Phil laughed. “...I guess I’ll pick you up at 6 on Saturday and then we can officially start out date?” Phil said more as a question than a statement.

“Our date,” Dan repeated in his head. “ Wow” .

“That works perfectly.” Dan said with a wide smile, the one that only appears for Phil. He looked down at his watch. “Ugh, I would love to stay and chat about our date and how you are going to spoil me in gifts but my break is almost over so I best get back to the counter but,” Dan got up and ran his hand across Phil’s shoulders, “I’ll see you Saturday.”

Dan started to walk away but, Phil called him back.

“Oh, hey boyfriend?”

Dan turned around to face Phil with a look of excitement mixed with puzzlement on his face.

“Does this mean that I win this Dan vs Phil? I mean I did just make my name a reality?”

Dan walked back to where Phil was sitting and leaned down to be eye level with the man.

“You wish, baby. I’ve got plenty other names that I have yet to use. Better keep up old man.” He closed the gap between them and placed a soft kiss on Phil’s cheek. “See you at 6 tomorrow, you absolute spoon.” Dan whispered in his ear leaving Phil’s neck cold from the absence of Dan’s breath. He walked away for good this time, swinging his apron back and forth.

“Cinnamon bun to boyfriend,” Phil thought to himself as he leaned back in his chair with his hand laying against the skin that Dan had kissed, “I like the sound of that.”

#phan fic #au #phan #coffee shop au #dan vs phil #pet names #or nicknames #i still dont know what the proper term is #oof

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heartfulofsighs · 5 years

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Baggage Claim Pt. 3

Description: Seunghoon back from a business trip only has a mind for growing his company. You are in the middle of running from the by the book life that was drowning you. When a minor inconvenience sets you in his path will you be the reason he eases up? And could he be what you need to get serious again?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

I guess I spoke too soon about deadlines lol I wrote a double length part this time since I missed two weeks. This story is really giving me a lesson on pacing and I’ m glad I decided to use my bias to do it. Thanks to everyone for feedback and even taking the time to look at these. And @negrowhat thanks to you always. About 4k words

He ate his cold cereal and looked at his refrigerator like he had for the last two weeks. He had grown use to your picture hanging there. Bright smile greeting him every morning before he went off to his office. He was sure it wasn't a good idea. He was sure he should take it down and either throw it away or some how get it back to you. But how could he do either? He had gone back and forth in his mind about calling you. You would find him creepy...he was sure you would want nothing to do with him. Because what would he say? "Hey, sorry but my idiot friend opened your bag and your card fell out. I have this picture of you..." He couldn't think of a way to phrase it. He supposed he could call and be blunt. He crunched away wishing he had never found the picture in the first place. Wishing that Mino had never touched the zipper.

Every morning he had the same mental battle but he had yet to take it down. He walked by it as he left his apartment. There was always work to keep you off his mind. His firm was doing good. He only needed Seungyoon to sign everything so he could get started on his campaign. He already had ideas for it. Something nostalgic, something that would make the niche company big. At the office he went straight to his door. Everything was as he left it, clean and organized. He sat down, ready to work when Mino casually strolled in. “Morning busy bee.” He said as a greeting. Seunghoon barely acknowledged him with a nod. “Sit down,” Hoon instructed as he got his computer started, “did you hear anything from Seungyoon?” He asked. Mino sighed, “I heard he went to another agency for a meeting.” Hoon stopped moving. He looked up, “which one?” He asked. “Yg.” Mino stated. They shared a look and Mino couldn’t fight his smile, “I’m sure they’ll make us look better.” He reasoned. Yg was a big company. But lately they were woefully unorganized, clients had been leaving the company left and right. Complaining about a lack of creativity and missed deadlines. It was going down but still posed a threat to them if only because of its size. “The only thing they can promise him is connection. They do have a lot of those.” Hoon said. “True.” Mino granted. He leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling, “There’s a sort of industry get together tonight.” He started. Hoon turned back to his computer. A get together meant a party. Mino always tried to frame it as a business opportunity. ‘Networking’ was his favorite word. “We should go.” He said. “Why?” Hoon asked, “You just want an excuse to drink.” He said. “Don’t make me sound like an alcoholic...this is a legitimate networking opportunity. It’s being hosted by a big media firm.” He said, “it would make sense for us to go. Schmooze a little see what other potential clients we can meet.” It wasn’t a bad idea. He just didn’t like parties. It was tiring to have to make conversation, to act interested in things that he wasn’t usually interested in. Mino was much better at them. His personality was fluid. He could adapt himself to people in a way that Hoon envied. Mino made it seem genuine, he imagined that if he tried to act like him it would come off as fake. He wished the idea of an industry party wasn’t so annoying to him. “Think about it.” Mino said as he stood, “also I emailed you some art for Seungyoon. I had an idea last night after I talked to you.” He shared. This made Hoon feel better to a certain extent. He leaned back in his office chair and stared at the ceiling. “What time is the…get together?” He asked. “7 I think, it’s two blocks over, on a rooftop.” Mino said. “Fine I’ll go, but I don’t want to spend all night there.” He spoke while he spun lazily in his chair, “and please don’t leave me to make small talk.” He warned. “Ok, ok. I promise.” Mino played annoyed but he was smiling, “I promise to do all the talking. You just be the face.” He urged. Hoon left it at that. If he didn’t give into his friend every once in a while Mino tended to get unbearable. He went back to his computer and started checking emails.

The last two weeks had transformed you. Your mood was sky high, the crushing feeling had almost completely left your chest. You had been all around the city. Visited local parks, gone to a few museums. When Cherry didn’t have jobs to do she accompanied you. Playing photographer with no complaints. Your phone was filled with shots of you and her exploring. She took you to her favorite places, and gushed about her family. She never mentioned much about friends but it didn’t much matter to you. You learned her father owned the building she lived in and that he had put her in charge of running the Airbnb. The garage doors below you two were actually two whole other apartments that were usually rented for the summer. She promised that once summer rolled around that you two would take a trip to a beach town. It was everything you wanted it to be. Except today your new friend was sick. You sat on the edge of her bed as she sniffled and coughed. “I hate so much to ask you,” she paused to sneeze. You waited as she dabbed at her nose. “This staffing place makes us find our own replacements. And ordinarily it wouldn’t matter to me I always get called for jobs...but I’ve been dying for a call back from this company cause they pay so well and you get to keep all your tips.” She explained. “Tips?” You echoed. “What exactly do you do?” You had never asked her before. She always left the apartment in regular clothes. But your mind was running wild, a stripper? “Oh, I never told you?” She asked between coughs. You shook your head. “I get called to staff events. I’ll serve drinks or bartend at private parties, or networking events. It’s fun.” She sniffed, “I get to meet a lot of people, and the pay is pretty good.” You let out a sigh of relief. Serving drinks at private parties for good pay didn’t sound like a bad deal mainly because it seemed like something you could do. But you still hesitated. “I don’t have a work visa though.” You pointed out. She waved that worry away, “these companies never check stuff like that. They just call a name and look for a body to say ‘here’ then they cut the check and mail it the next day.” “Don’t you have...friends you could call?” You asked quietly. She closed her eyes as a particularly hard set of coughs racked her body. She shook her head. “I decided on a new start for myself too…” She finally got out. “I’m not the same person I use to be.” The last sentence seemed to be the end of that topic. You swallowed and nodded. “I’ll go for you.” “Oh my god! Thank you so much!” She erupted. She was so loud a whole new set of coughs and sneezes stopped her celebrating. You patted her back until it passed and then she was hugging you. Germs be damned you thought darkly. “I really really appreciate this so much.” She said. “It’s not a problem...it’ll be fun.” You said. “Exactly!” She agreed, “you’ll meet cool people and get good tips.” She pointed out. It took a slight effort to pry her off. But once you were clear you got up to make her tea. She needed to rest and you needed to make sure that you wrapped your mind around what you had just agreed to.

“So when you pour the beer, make sure you say the tagline, ‘magic in every bottle!’” The man speaking seemed to want to be anywhere but standing in front of you and two others. A tall girl who you were certain was going to get all the tips. She was model gorgeous and paid very close attention to everything the man was saying. The other person joining you at the booth was a man who you were sure was sailing by on looks alone. He would suck up the tips that the girl standing next you didn’t get. Leaving you with...at least an opportunity for people watching. “Stand behind the booth. You don’t have to walk around. It’s free booze they’ll be flocking to you guys...you each get a tip jar, and you each get to keep any tips in your jar.” He looked down at his clipboard and cleared his throat. “Any questions?” He asked, glancing up quickly. You all three shook you heads. He smiled for the first time and sighed. “Alrighty then, see you again at 9:30pm.” He said. He turned on his heel and walked away with incredible speed. You looked at the booth you were suppose to be manning. The backdrop of the it was mostly blue, with a smiling blue genie coming out of a larger than life beer bottle. You sighed to yourself, “well I don’t mind being off to the side.” You said pointing to the left jar that had ‘tips’ written across the front. There were three jars and the model pranced her way to the middle. “I’ll take center stage.” She said with a little laugh. You squinted at her name tag, Rita. The man rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. He ran his hand through his perfect hair and strolled to stand behind the jar on the right. You went to your place figuring time would pass soon enough and you would be back with Cherry.

He truthfully had forgotten about the ‘networking gathering’. His mind was wrapped up in a project. He wrote and rewrote copy, then sat with Mino and discussed the best places to put the adds. It was for a smaller account, a company coming out with fresh organic juices. He had originally marked the deadline much later but there was an organic food festival coming up and he wanted to get ads out beforehand. Mino drew up art, that they scanned and emailed to the company for approval. The copy went next, then emails back and forth about placement. Before he had known it the sun had set and his eyes were burning from looking at his computer screen. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed at his eyes while he sighed. “So you ready to go?” When he opened his eyes Mino was standing in his doorway, a mischievous smile on his face. “Did you get an email back from the juice place?” He asked in response. “No,” Mino waved his hand back and forth in the air dismissively, “we’ve done all we can for them today...clear that from your mind.” He pushed. Hoon shook his head, “Mino.” “I’m talking about the rooftop thing...you ready to leave for that?” He asked more forcefully. “Let’s wait just a bit, I don’t want to miss their response.” Hoon said. He also didn’t have the mental energy to make any sort of small talk. He didn’t want to go at all. “You get the emails on your phone.” He whined. “Listen, I hate to say this but I can’t sit in this office any more today. We’ve been trapped all day. Let’s please go out.” Mino looked like he was ready to dig in for a fight. Every so often he got like this, demanding that they did something other than work. Hoon rubbed at his face. “Stop stalling, let’s go.” He demanded. Hoon dragged himself up with a groan. “You are the only person I know, who needs to be forced to have fun.” He added as Hoon walked passed him. He followed nagging all the way, “you would be blind if it wasn’t for me dragging you away from that computer screen.” “Ok, ok,” Hoon acknowledged him with a pained face. “I’m up, we’re going...stop nagging.”

They walked to the building with the rooftop terrace in relative silence. He had his hands in his pockets and a frown on his face. His phone hadn’t buzzed and he was beginning to worry. They needed an approval so they could start buying ad space… “Fix your face.” Mino warned in the elevator. He glared at him then stuck out his tongue. Mino rolled his eyes, “listen, no one, is gonna wanna do business with a sour pus. Fix your face.” He said. Hoon rolled his shoulders then his neck. By the time the doors dinged, he had fixed a mostly pleasant look on his face. The deck made use of the small palm trees planted around the edge by hanging white twinkling lights. There was a fountain in the center white and invoking luxury. All around were different booths manned by bright smiling people. All trying their best to bring attention to their products. Besides them small groups of people formed little circles talking amongst themselves. There were waiters milling around with trays of hor’ devours and the dj was playing atmospheric music. Nothing loud enough to drown out conversation. Mino rubbed his hands together as they walked out of the elevator. “Doesn’t this look nice?” He asked. “I guess I’m not staying all night..an hour tops.” Hoon said. Mino stopped walking, “two hours.” He bartered. “Fine.” Hoon grumbled. He followed behind his friend, dragging his feet as he went. Mino led them from group to group. Introducing them and making small talk. He wanted to be home. Instead he was trying to hand out business cards and not appear grumpy. He saw his opportunity for a break when Mino mentioned getting a beer. “I’ll grab it!” He said quickly. His friend eyed him but didn’t argue. He strolled off, avoiding waiters and waitresses. Trying his best not to catch anyone’s eye. His long legs carried him to the blue booth with the smiling Genie coming out of a beer bottle. There was a small line of people in front of it. This would take up plenty of time. He smiled to himself, weirdly thankful for the gimmicky genie. He took step after step forward his mind naturally thinking of better taglines then, “taste the magic in every bottle.” He wasn’t paying as much attention as he should have been. He stepped to the front of the line and looked up. “Good evening, can I see your ID please?” He gazed at you, his mouth stuck open in shock. You on the other hand didn’t seem bothered. In fact you leaned forward a small smile on your face. “Well well well, if it isn’t the suitcase snatcher.” You said, then you laughed and held your hand out. It took him a moment to realize you were still waiting on his ID. He pulled out his wallet and then yanked it free, gaining some of his composure back. “I didn’t snatch your suitcase...we switched.” He asserted. You nodded while you scanned the card for his birthday. Once that was done you gave it back. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you. It was almost like you were glowing. Your smile was close to the one he had been looking at on his fridge, not quite as bright but still beautiful. He opened his mouth to mention the picture, then thought better of it. There wasn’t a way to bring it up without him sounding weird. Maybe later, he could always come back to the booth. “How many do you want?” You asked. He watched you push some of your hair off of your face, “one beer or?” You waited politely as he took a little bit too long to answer. “Two.” He finally said. He didn’t like beer, in fact he had an annoying allergy to most alcohol. But he asked for two anyway. You nodded and pulled the bottles from under the counter, “I’m guessing you’re here for business?” You asked. He nodded. You popped the tops with a bottle opener. “Two genie beers...I’m supposed to say ‘magic in every bottle’ but it’s a little lame.” You said with a laugh. “A little.” He agreed. He noticed the tip jar. There were two other people at the booth. Their jars looked healthy, nearly full. Yours could be better. He reached into his wallet again and dropped money into your jar. “You don’t have to,” you said with a slight frown, “it isn’t a big deal.” He reached forward and grabbed his beers, “fair is fair.” He said. He didn’t want to walk back to Mino. He wanted to talk to you at the genie booth. “Have fun networking.” You said. “I’ll try.” But he knew it would be a futile effort.

He hovered near the booth. His eyes straying to you. When Mino was finished with his beer, Hoon was quick to suggest he go and get another one. “Go to the shortest line...and make sure you give her a good tip.” He added. Mino snorted, “a tip? For beer?” He rolled his eyes and pushed him gently towards the booth, “tip her for the smile then,” he added. “That other girl’s smile is more my type. It’s nicer.” “It is not!” Hoon snapped. He was insulted on your behalf. He pushed Mino harder, “go to the shorter line and tip that girl. The other girl has enough.” He pointed out. “What are you the tip police?” He asked in confusion. Hoon rolled his eyes, annoyed that Mino was giving him such push back. “Just do me this favor ok? Get a beer from her, and make sure you tip.” He said. Mino finally strolled off. He watched the whole time as Mino walked up to the booth and leaned forward to talk to you. You took his ID and made small talk. You nodded along to whatever Mino was chatting about while you pulled the beers from under the counter. He waited anxious until he pulled money from his wallet and put it in the tip jar. Mission accomplished. Now all he had to do was take his beer and walk back. But in true Mino fashion he lingered. You leaned on the counter talking to him and your smile was more subtle. Mino said something that had you looking up and finding Hoon in the crowd. Then just as quickly you were looking back down at his friend. He was suddenly envious, Mino was probably smooth talking you, something he could do extremely well. He tapped his foot, waiting for Mino to come back. The two of you chatted for a bit longer before he took his beers and made to leave. He strolled up a pleasant look on his face. “So that’s the girl who you switched suitcases with.” He stated. Hoon balked, he opened then closed his mouth. Mino looked incredibly satisfied. He sipped his beer and then cleared his throat. “She asked me how I knew you…” He said slowly. Hoon tapped his foot harder. His nervous energy was out of control. He had no comment. His mind couldn’t form one. He had come up to the party completely wrapped up in thoughts of work. Placing ads, worrying about email responses, all the things that were chiefly important had been mentally pushed aside. “I told her we were friends and business partners, wanna know what she said next?” Mino was very much enjoying himself. He sipped more beer and waited. “What did she say?” Hoon asked. He shoved his hands into his pocket and tried not to glance in your direction. “She said that you two switched bags, and she wondered if you were always that serious.” He said. He exhaled, serious wasn’t too bad. He expected you to say pushy or something along those lines. But serious wasn’t exactly negative. He rubbed his chin. “I think she likes you.” Mino said, “you should go over there and talk to her.” “She’s working,” he countered. He pulled his arm out of his pocket and looked at the time, “it’s been two hours,” he stated. Mino rolled his eyes. “Are you serious?” He asked. He knew the answer. Hoon was completely serious. “You stay here and mingle, but I’m going back to the office for a bit.” He said. For once Mino didn’t argue. He looked at the blue booth and caught your eye again. You smiled, there was no one in your line. No one to distract you from him. He swallowed but fought the urge to walk over to you. He had work to do.

When the party finally ended you were tired. Your tips were nowhere near Rita’s or Samuel’s but you had much more than you thought you would. Now all you had to do was take the bus back. Cherry had warned you away from the train. “At least the bus stops are on streets with moving traffic, not underground or elevated. It’ll be safer.” She said. So you walked to the stop that your phone indicated. You had your earbuds in and hummed along to the song playing. The stop was empty but well lit. You sat on the bench and sighed. You didn’t want to think about him but Seunghoon popped back into your mind. You had watched him after he left your booth with the beers. He seemed almost a little nervous. He fidgeted and immediately gave his bottle away. Instead of disappearing into the little crowds of people trying their best to sell themselves he stayed in eyeshot. He glanced your way every now and again. Then his friend had come over. His tall friend with the rich golden tan skin and a perfect smile. You could tell he was more relaxed. “My friend tells me I have to tip you well…” He had said. You couldn’t resist asking how the two of you knew each other. Business partners, and friends. You leaned forward on the counter, eyes flicking to Seunghoon while you spoke, “you know he and I accidentally switched suitcases not too long ago.” You had shared. Mino’s eyes widened and then his face had turned knowing. “I see.” was all he said slowly. “Can I ask you something?” You began, finally handing him the beer. “Go for it.” “Is he always that serious?” Because you were genuinely curious. He was serious at the coffee shop, and even though he had been a bit surprised to see you at the party. He had kept the mostly serious feel to his eyes. Maybe it was the party in general and not you? You bit your bottom lip and continued to wait. The bus felt like it was never coming. The longer you waited, the colder it got until you were holding your arms against your body. You looked down the street and didn’t see any signs of it. There were cars on the street, but not many. You shivered and seriously considered the taxis that passed every so often. You decided to give the bus just a bit longer, then you would get up and wave one down. You leaned forward studying the oncoming traffic that was slowing at the light. No bus again. You leaned back and sighed. “Hey!” The voice had you ripping your earbud out. The car stopped in front of the light had it’s window rolled down. Seunghoon was staring out at you. “Do you need a ride?” He asked. You had all of moment to decide what to do. The light was going to change. A smart woman would shake her head and wave him on. But there was something that was making you defy that smart side. Something that had you power walking to the car and setting your hand on the handle. “Yeah, I do.” You said. He popped the locks and you plopped in moving a little to fast to be graceful. Once you were all settled in with your belt buckled you sighed, “it was starting to get so cold.” “I could stop if you want?” He began. You looked at him and he was smiling to himself, “I could get you some hot coco?”

#winner #yg winner #seunghoon #lee seunghoon #deputy lee #fanfic #sfw fanfic #baggage claim #Baggage Claim Series #thanks for bearing with me #hope you all enjoy

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legends-of-direbear · 6 years

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Rules:

Post the rules

Answer the questions given to you by the tagger

Write 11 questions of your own

And tag 11 people

tagged by the amazing and brilliant @pheuthe

1. Which three fictional characters are your all-time favs? The Witch from Into The Woods; Willy Wonka (from the books, not the movies); Kaylee Frye from Firefly

2. If you could keep any pet (mythical creatures allowed), what would it be and what would you name it? I would get a phoenix from the Harry Potter universe-- healing tears, can carry you around, are super-loyal, with super-longevity. I’d probably rename it like every ten years something Pokemon-themed (Charizard, Clefairy, Jigglypuff)

3. Which book(s) changed you in some significant way? “The Year of Living Biblically” by AJ Jacobs gave me a whole new perspective on religion-- both how ridiculous it was and how inspiring it could be.

4. Which songs are you currently listening to? “Ours” Taylor Swift, “Perfect” Ed Sheeran, and the Heat/Snow Miser song from “The Year Without a Santa Claus”

5. What is the one place you consider the most beautiful or worth seeing in your country? Lake Tahoe, where the water is //really// blue, and the area is postcard picturesque year round. Also, I guess Maui, because it is amazing in it’s perfectly cliche way.

6. Which (strange?) flavor do you have fond memories of? Garlic Vanilla Ice Cream!!! Tried it at the Gilroy Garlic Festival, and it was absolutely amazing! It was also free and situated next to like a dozen giant garbage bins, which should give you a hint about how well it went over with general audiences.

7. Ok fuck-marry-kill with characters from question No.1, except it’s ‘best friend’, ‘parent’, ‘significant other’ as options. oooooh...I guess I’d go in the same order-- Best friend would be The Witch (bc everyone needs a snarky bff), parent Willy Wonka (to encourage and support your creative side), and I’m not married, so I would totally take Kaylee in a manly fashion, because she’s pretty.

8. What is the most profound/influential thing a member of your family has ever said to you? "Everyone has their own bag of rocks.” It’s a really simple/obvious message, I know, but it helps to keep in perspective that no one’s life is as perfect as it looks like from the outside, and the things that weigh you down are just as valid as the things that are weighing down others.

9. Tea or coffee, and what is your ideal cup? I’m not really into either. I drink tea if I’m sick, or coffee if I’m desperate to stay awake, but mostly I drink hot chocolate or soda or water. I love those to-go thermoses that have the pop caps so you can not spill them everywhere as you run around like a crazy person.

10. Which Hogwarts house do you think you’d be sorted into? And which one would you pick if you could? (for non-HP fans: is there any faction/house in any fictional universe you really relate to?) I think I’d be a Ravenclaw, which I’d also probably choose as well. I’m creative-minded, and I love the sciences, as well as putting a lot of value into knowledge and education. I’m also a big trivia fan, and love to sit around discussing the specifics of unimportant things. I don’t really consider myself particularly brave, ambitious, or fair-minded (and I suck at finding things), so if I was going to place myself, I still think Ravenclaw would be a good place for me.

11. Do you wish you had someone to talk to about some specific interest of yours? What is it? I love to sit around and discuss inane details that go into established or self-created universes (like how much money Star Labs probably lost/still loses to lawsuits annually, or how anyone on Burn Notice thought Michael Weston could leave the business when he was physically/legally incapable of leaving Miami and all of the govt bad guys knew he was there, or what was really going on between Arya/Sansa during S7), but I’ve never met anyone that was willing to brainstorm for more than five minutes.

Alright, tagging

@snarkysnartes @nowwavingnotdrowning @eaion @scarletarchers @bitchypan @olivarryflarrow @gabesshorty @sophiacfandom @scarletspeedshits @kyeklark @tinyarmyofqueerfolkwrites

and your questions

What is something you’ve never tried/done that it seems everyone else has?

What is a mundane talent/skill you wish you had (ie wiggling ears, tying a cherry stem into a knot with your tongue, etc)

If you were a skilled assassin of any genre (supernatural, sci fi-fantasy, thriller, etc), what would be your weapon of choice?

Is it easier to point your toes inwards toward each other or outwards with your heels together?

If you could magically be a master in one style of dance, which would you choose and why?

What movie/business/literary/etc franchise really just needs to stop existing, and what should replace it?

What are your thoughts on Nutella?

Which Game of Thrones House or Kingdom do you think would suit you best, and why?

If you could pitch and cast a movie that was guaranteed to be picked up by execs, what would be the basic plot or driving trope, and who would star?

What is a word people often use to describe you, and how accurate do you think it is?

What’s your version of “cleaning”?

#answer #ask #thanks Pheuthe!#this was fun!#me

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sincerelybubbles · 4 years

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Wake Up (Damien/Darkiplier)

Overview: Paige Brooks was a simple minded person. She did what she needed and keept her nose out of other people’s business. Of course, it is only self preservation, as she didn’t want others to be poking around her life, her secrets were far to big and dangerous. Yet, she can’t seem to keep to herself when a letter arrives from an old friend, one she thought would never speak to her again, inviting her over for a celebration. Drawn to the idea, she forgets that others from her past will be there as well, and she gets herself tangled into a mess she doesn’t think she can handle. A “Who Killed Markiplier” fanfiction, Damien/ Darkiplier x OC

Warnings: I think fuck is said like once or twice? And obviously all of the things mentioned in wkm, of course.

Word Count: 1.8k

C H A P T E R •F O U R•

William:

"How can you be so flippant?" Damien's voice was loud and accusatory.

"Flippant! I’m taking this matter very seriously!" I rebuttaled, letting my anger seep through my voice.

"Oh don’t give me that horseshit! I know you hated him, but, god damn it, he reached out to you!" I felt the urge to laugh at his statement, aside from the anger bubbling in my stomach.

"Oh what do you want from me?" I growled, leaning towards him slightly. Mark really was a bastard, taking my friendship and ruining that as well.

"Well I want you to care!" He sounded like a child, begging me to do something I never would. I couldn't care about that ass anymore, not after what he did to me. Still, I couldn't lie and say that a part of me wasn't still mourning about the loss of Mark, not the one who was laying over on the floor, but the child that was my best friend, the one who I would never think would take what he took from me.

"Just because I’m not weeping like a child doesn’t mean that I don’t care." I said truthfully. I just didn't care about the Mark he had lost today. I cared about the Mark we lost years ago.

"I can’t believe you. You come and find me when you pull your head out of your ass! Excuse me." Damien left, pushing a figure out of the doorway to leave.

"Damien, I don’t-! Oh! Ah, good to see you again! You were quite the rapscallion at last night’s festivities. But you’re probably here to help the detective with his “investigation of murder”." I noticed the person Damien pushed to leave was Y/N. A new face that I was growing welcome to see. I ignored the thunder that struck in the background, "anyway, I’ll help you; I’ll tell you what happened to our dear friend Mark." I mimicked Marks winny, arrogant voice.

"'Oh! Look at me! My name is Markiplier, now! Forget all my friends or the people who helped me along the way! Just look at my money! Oh, I need to pay people to be my friends! Ha-ha-ha! You like me? Too bad. Oh, glug-glug! Oopsie poopsie. I can’t hold my booze. Gotta go off to the little boys’ room. Who wants to join me? I’m gonna go there upon my stairs. My house has more than one staircase. Oh, look at me and how great I am! Oh no, I’m falling. Aah, I’m dead.'And that’s what happened. Probably, anyway. So, if you need to corroborate this story with anybody else just be on your way and investigate the entire house. Go now, I’ll be here when you’re done." I dismissed Y/N and sat down, holding my head in my hands. I couldn't believe what was happening. He already tore apart our friendships once, and now that sicko had to go and die, just when we were getting to be close again. And to put the cherry on top of the cake, now I was feeling remorseful. I had shoved the sadness deep inside of me, the part of myself that missed the people who I used to be closest with, my dearest Paige and Mark. Paige. I shot up, leaving the room swiftly to find her.

I wandered a bit, but couldn't find her. Remorse and guilt pooled in my stomach, I fought to keep it at Bay. Mark deserved to die, he was an ass. Paige was strong, she'd be fine, I'd find her later. She'd be fine.

I took a deep breath and discontinued my search, climbing the starts to the bedrooms.

Paige:

I sat outside on a bench, staring out into the garden, tears falling down my face in an endless stream. It was quite cold, I knew that in the back of my mind, but I couldn't bear to even put more then two percent of my thoughts on that fact. I couldn't even feel the cold aside from on my numb lips and cheeks. My arms, legs, hands, feet, everything was hot hot hot. Y/N had tried to talk to me, see if I knew anything. They sat and let me talk for five minutes about nonsense memories before giving me a sad smile and leaving.

"Paige." I looked up to see Abe, notebook in hand.

"Hi" my voice cracked more times then should've been possible on that small word. Abe sat next to me and pulled me to his shoulder.

"I ways forget that he was more then just a friend to you. He was family." I nodded, and Abe pulled away much to my appreciation. I didn't want to hurt him. "I know that this is really tough, but I need to ask you questions." I nodded, running my fingers under my eyes. He asked me a few questions about last night and what I thought happened. He filled me in on what he had found out about the death. His talk about rectum temperatures made me think that he fingered Marks ass, which was extremely gross, but the image of it made me take my mind off of the fact that my closest cousin was dead inside of the house that I practically grew up in.

Abe left not long after that, going to meet with Y/N and try and figure out what happened.

I sat there for who knows how long before standing. I pushed my hair out of my eyes, then made my way to the garden. I trailed my hands over the plants, letting my mind wander to my dream. My brain was to tired to think of the current situation, so I focused on the dream. It was oddly familiar, and unlike most dreams, every detail was etched in my mind.

"Paige." My name was merely a whisper on familiar lips. I turned to see Damien, cane in hand, eyes full of tears.

I wanted nothing more to run into his arms, to weep at the loss of my last blood family member on this Earth. I wanted nothing more then to sob and tell him through a choked throat how much he means to me, how much he had been there for me.

I drew closer to him, his name dancing on my lips. I drew in the breath to utter those three syllables, but the air I drew went to feed another emotion. With a sob and no breath in my body, I collapsed on to the ground, holding my head in my hands.

I was hot. Hotter then last night, hotter then I had been in weeks. Damien said my name, this time not a whisper, but a shout. I held up a shaking hand. He couldn't come near me.

I couldn't hurt him again.

A wounded scream tore out of my body, and I shook with the effort to restrain this awful curse.

Hot hot hot.

Burning burning burning.

I tried to remember to breathe.

I swallowed back the pain, bitting my lip to stop the tears. Mark was gone.

Mark wasn't coming back.

useless... you spent your last moments with him yelling at him. you shouldn't have left. you're nothing. you'll never be anything. at least... not by yourself you won't.

get up. stop this nonsense. you're weak, but it doesn't have to be this way.

I imagined a cool river flowing over me, only to open my eyes to see that it wasn't my imagination, it was real water.

The fire was gone, and I sat drenched in it's place.

I was empty. Out of flame, out of passion, only full of sorrow and depression.

I was lifted from the ground, and I turned into the arms supporting me.

They said comforting words in a baritone voice, calming me. I sobbed and cried out. My body hurt, my bones ached. My heart felt as if someone had stuck a syringe deep into my chest and sucked out the inside of my most vital organ. It still thumped in my chest, following the melody of the strong chest I was leaning upon, but every other purpose it used to hold was gone. I saw no reason in letting my heart do anything aside from pumping blood.

I looked up through wet lashes at Damien, who was taking me upstairs, who was muttering sweet sentences of solemn, sinking words, speeches that were sent to console me. I silently thanked him. I was grateful for him, but my heart squeezed painfully at the thought of his kindness. Every word wrung out my already worn heart.

I was placed on to my bed and left for a moment. I perceived no time passing, it could've been weeks before Damien came back, but logic told me it was only minutes.

Gently, he instructed me to undress while he went to the washroom. When he shut the door, I did as told, putting on the dress Damien left out that used to by my mothers.

It was a black cocktail dress to rival my party dress, it fell to my knees. Lace covered the entire top, a peach slip protecting my purity. Form fitting and soft, it still smelled of my mother.

I glanced at my own dress on my bed, burnt and ruined.

Fatigued, I say down carefully. I still ached.

A faint knock sounded at the door and I called out a weak invitation in, my vocal chords stressed and tired after my fit.

Damien entered with a damp rag and bandages. Gently, he took my hands and cleaned the burns, wrapping them tightly up my arms to my elbows. Then, he slid black gloves over the bandages.

"Thank you Damien." Talking hurt, and so did my heart, but I had to tell him this. He opened his mouth to speak, but my soft soprano beat him to it. "You're all I have left now, aside from Will." A tear slipped from my eye down my cheek. Damien lifted a gentle hand to my cheek and tiled my head toward him.

Gently he leaned closer to me, kissing the tear away with the same love a father might have to his daughter as he kissed her head over breakfast. A sort of protective aura filled the air as he hugged me gently.

"I will always be here for you. I promise."

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sesshomarou · 5 years

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hey i saw u said u lived in south korea for a year (this is not the same anon from where u commented it) but how was it living in another country? like how's the whole process of moving there and getting a place?

for me i stayed in a goshiwon (고시원) which is a fairly small room in a dorm like building but some rooms have private bathrooms. the one i was in had a communal bathroom and kitchen which i didn’t mind, it was only 280,000 won a month, which is about $260 USD, but they can range from $200-$600. renting a studio apartment is much more expensive since security deposits (also known as key money) usually go from $5,000-$10,000, with the rent being anywhere from $500-$900 a month. since i was a student i only needed a small place so naturally i stayed at the cheaper goshiwon. there’s a website called goshipages where you can look up some options if you want to do that and contact the landlords through email (what i did), as for other apartments there’s many rental agencies that speak english, korean, and chinese you can message on kakaotalk!

as for living there, some tips i have and things i noticed: at the minimum, know how to read korean, that way you can read road signs and subway stops. knowing basic phrases like yes, no, thank you, i want this, can really help even if you aren’t fluent. get t-money card at a convenience store, you can either put money on it there or use the machines in the subway station, which have an english option. there’s no real need to drive because the public transport is so good, some taxis will even take the cards (but i don’t trust the taxis unless i’m with a korean person from personal experiences). download kakaomaps or naver if you know korean, google maps is extremely outdated and doesn’t work! you will also need to file for an Alien Registration Card if you stay there for longer than 90 days, there’s tutorials on how to do that online. WATCH OUT FOR SCOOTERS THEY DONT OBEY MAN OR GOD they will drive up on the sidewalk and zoom past you with no concern for your life. the streets are super uneven so watch out when you walk, ive seen people who were born there fall HARD. move out of the way of older people, don’t talk too loud or on the phone on the bus or subway, give up your seat for older or pregnant people, hold on while on the bus you will fly across the aisle bc they also don’t obey traffic laws, be respectful and know you’re not in your own country and generally do research on how to act~

now the fun stuff- clothes are sooo much cheaper and cuter; the fast fashion places like Hongdae are really good for finding clothes, but beware if you’re larger, they may not have your size. the food is all delicious and extremely cheap, you can live off of $8 a day if you really need to! if you’re in a program or working be outgoing! don’t just stick around other foreigners, it can be awkward making friends with locals but it’s very rewarding, i have tons of people to see when i move back! Myeongdong is more like outlets but there’s cafes and street food and is worth a day trip to walk around and see all the shops! the Dongdaemun Design Plaza is like an architectural and art museum where they have seoul fashion week twice a year, it’s also where those LED white roses are that you see all over instagram and tumblr! it was one of my favorite places and the exhibits always rotate! the Banpo Bridge park and Yeoido park are by the Han river and are very popular for a reason, the river keeps you cool in the summer, the bridge lights up and does a water show, and during the spring there’s a cherry blossom festival! last my absolute favorite place is Insadong, the area built around Gyeongbukgung, the palace and original city capital. there’s tons of traditional korean souvenirs, you can rent hanbok to wear, go to the palace and the hanok village, and go to a traditional tea house! the architecture and nature there is so gorgeous!

moving there is just like moving anywhere, it’s stressful, airports suck, immigration can take forever, and carrying three bags of luggage up four flights of stairs was painful. but i wouldn’t change a thing about my year there, there were times when i really wanted to leave and see my family, i missed my cat, i missed american snacks, but i made a lot of friends and tried new things out of my comfort zone, it helped me adjust. i’d wanted to go since i was 14, and over the time i was there i finally found a place where my heart is happy and i feel like i belong. i stopped taking my depression medication and i had so many fun experiences. it will be different for everyone and not every person ends up liking it or staying, but i promise living there is worth it if you’re willing to adapt, be respectful, and try!

#long post /#sorry this is probably so much more than you needed lol but if you have any other questions specifically just message me again!#south korea #seoul #anon

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omgnsfwisnsfw-blog · 5 years

Text

NSFW #02: For Fun!

“Say Hey, EWC Faithful! We’re here with you at the lovely Crystal campground in the majestic Ouachita National Forest in Arkansas.” “We’re going camping, and you’re going to watch.” Indeed, NSFW was camping. A large two person tent was set up and just visible to the left, and framed right in the center of the shot were Bishop Church and Mike McGuire, sitting across from one another beside a large, cheerily crackling campfire. The evidence of their dinner sits atop a small cooler: hot dogs, tofu dogs, stadium mustard, ketchup, buns. Chocolate and marshmallows for s’mores. The night sky is star-flecked through the towering trees, and in the background are the sounds of rustling leaves and the babble of a nearby but unseen creek. It was a good campsite. This had been a good trip so far in general, marked by a good beginning: a Fourth of July party held at the magnificent estate of their good friend (and as far as they were concerned, the heir apparent to the EWC Undisputed Championship) Natalie Young. There had been a moment that, while perhaps not exactly pleasant, had lent some serious emotional gravity between the three of them, and though the unpleasantness had dissipated, the strengthened bond hadn’t. After the evening’s festivities they’d been wished a safe trip and, much to Mike’s delight, she got a kiss goodbye that’d set her in an outright giggly mood for hours afterward. Mike pulled a speared marshmallow away from the fire, sandwiching it between two graham crackers with a piece of Hershey bar before taking a bite. Bishop held a small assortment of notecards, and Mike had some of her own sitting on the log beside her. “As you can see, our efforts to save some cash on this cross-country roadtrip we’re doing have gone critical mass. We are Now Sleeping in the Fucking Woods. But since we’re camping… you wanna hear a scary story?” She leaned forward, her face illuminated by the flames in an eerie manner. “This is a story of a man. A man who surrounded himself with people he called his friends. But little did he know that these people were not what they seemed. They were… FUUUUUCKING HYYYPOCRIIIIIIIIITES.” Raising her arms up, she wiggled her fingers to convey spookiness. “Our story begins on a most jingoistic of evenings and our hero had just introduced a most marvelous of notions. He would captain a squad of five like individuals. They would bring forth a new era.” John looked down at the first card in his hand and read it aloud: “This is not a Revolution. We are not taking some grand stance against corruption or apathy or any other "cause". This is not about The Future. This is about right now. This is about bringing some fun back to the EWC. Too many competitors are wound up tighter than the blunts Smokey Jones rolls.” He tossed the first card into the fire. “Only it turns out, this little newly formed group of ragtag misfits, Freaks and Geeks, if’n you will, has a really fuckin’ interesting idea on what constitutes ‘fun’. And just to prove that we ain’t just spinnin’ this tale out of our asses, we did our homework. And we took fuckin’ notes. Let’s start with everybody’s favorite stoner, shall we? Smokey Fuckin’ Jones.” She brushed the graham cracker crumbs off her hands and picked up the first card off her small stack. “James Larson, you carry all the tools for success, but have done nothing more than play games with the likes of it. I say, you sacrifice yourself one last time. Sacrifice yourself to me in the middle of the ring and lie down on the mat for the three count and I will take you back to the top of your game.” She looked at the camera with a slightly tilted head, lips twisting into an inquisitive frown. “Let me preface this with saying I don’t mind a bit of the wacky tobaccy now and then. But I, no sane person, really, goes off and demands human fuckin’ sacrifice or whatever in the name of legalizing it.” Following her partner’s lead, she pitched the card into the fire before picking the next one up, holding onto it for the time being. “Now. I don’t think Cletus literally means human sacrifice. But in nearly every one of his bouts, he has made the ultimatum that if you don’t join him in The Promised Land, he’ll make sure you regret it.” “Y’know, for fun!” “Anyway, I’ve already spoken at length about Orianna Johnson. She is spry and cheery. She is only eighteen-years-old. Look at the jubilation she expresses in her every word. Happy statements to Lavender like:” Next card. “You’re about as sharp as the leading edge of a bowling ball aren’t you?” “Which is funny considering just weeks prior she stated:” "With the admiration of many, you've gained mine as well, and my respect, Lavender. You'll never hear me bragging about how I can go out in the sunlight and not be afraid. I won't rub that in your face like others have. You may not realize it, but you've won far more in life than your win/loss record in the ring says.” Whoosh. Into the flames. “A little condescending. We all have some quotient of snark these days. But Mike, there’s just something strange about this.” “You’re right, partner. I mean, I’ve seen that promo and rewatched it a couple fuckin’ times because it was so goddamn weird. She says somethin’ about the well deserved admiration of the people or some shit like that, and then, boom. She’s talking about something else out of the blue, in a different position than she was a second ago.” “Maybe she flubbed. When we started this whole ordeal, I certainly didn’t feel comfortable with all of this. Still makes me tense but I can deal with it. But yes, maybe it’s a promo cut together with the best takes. Or maybe…” “...given Little Miss Teen EWC’s track record on talking shit, she said something so fuckin’ untoward that even she couldn’t leave it in. Cuz if she did? Everybody’d know just what an ugly, rotten, two-faced little snake that girl is. And we can’t have that. She’s just a CHILD, right? Kids will be kids.” “Youth isn’t an excuse for being needlessly cruel. Although, this is just speculation. But we’ve got plenty of tape of how she views those of a lower station than her. Orianna Johnson: Dehumanizing others by referring to them as ‘it’ and the destruction and theft of private property.” “Y’know, for fun!” She looked down at the card she’d picked up, pursing her lips a bit. “Now, this one seems like a breath of fresh fuckin’ air, especially comin’ after the lovely Miss Johnson. Steve Barnes. Superhero. Would be fuckin’ bully killer. I quote.” “I am sick and tired of men like you in this business. They are everywhere, thinking they can do whatever they want, to whoever they want, whenever they want. Today that stops. Men like you are nothing more than schoolyard bullies; and I hate bullies. So, from now on, wherever there are men like you, I will be there. You want to keep coming at people like you just did, I will be there to stop you. My name is Steve Barnes...and I AM IRON MAN!” “Nice words. Would be an admirable cause. Problem is? You really really suck at it. Let’s look at the night you said all this. Sure, you came out, beat up on Collateral Damage, and why wouldn’t you? Beating up Draco Lazarus is fucking fun. There are few faces as outright begging to be punched as his. But where the heck were you when Az was getting shredded by a bunch of masked fuckers? I don’t recall Tony Motherfucking Stark bein’ all selective about his superheroism. Matter of fact…” She winged the card into the fire Frisbee-style and folded her arms, smirking a little in spite of herself. “...we’re doing a better job than you. Not that we’re out looking to be the Avengers, heh, the Guardians actually suit us way better if we’d even want to go that route. But how many instances of fucking shenanigans have Draco and his cronies tried to pull lately? And who’s usually there to beat his ass? Here’s a hint: NOT YOU.” “You certainly had your chance last Monday. Twice. You had a chance to make another grand statement. Instead you opted to say nothing whatsoever. When Mucho Grande! were the victims of another assault from Collateral Damage, where were you, Iron Man? If you’re going to virtue signal, at least live up to it.” “So much for having no cause except for ZOMGOD FUN, huh?” She paused. “Hey Church. You got one more card there. That who I think it is?” “Yes.” John tapped his last index card against the palm of his hand. “A familiar adversary. Kendrick Kross. Mr. Lutter’s tag team partner in our upcoming encounter. Two men who prior to this alliance were embroiled in a heated contest. But now there are no agendas and it’s all about entertainment. What does Kross really think about that?” “I truly have a love and respect for Nostalgia, he is someone that I can call a friend, he has his faults just as everyone else, one of them is having to please his followers, the Sentimentalists...what is the point in that? Why should you fight and please the Sentimentalists when all that you should want and need to do is fight to please yourself, that’s one of his faults that will get him in trouble one day, and that day will be at Scars and Stripes.” John’s hands are now empty as the last card joined the rest. “His plans were put on ice that evening.” “Yeah, unfortunately, Cherry Garcia decided to give him the fuckin’ cold shoulder.” They glanced at each other for just a moment, giving simultaneous slight snickers at each other’s dreadful puns. “But it makes me think, Mike, our cool friend essentially said that he does this for himself. That his leader’s selflessness will cost him one day. When do you think that will happen? Maybe in Oakland?” Mike nodded grimly. “Yeah, I mean, calling your tag team partner naive and prone to fuckin’ backstabbing don’t exactly harbor an atmosphere of trust, and as we can tell you, if you don’t have trust in a tag team, you’re fucked with a capital F. U. But I guess in your book, maybe if he’s that gullible, he deserves it, right?” “Although, if I were Mr. Lutter, I wouldn’t take much of what Kross says at face value. I happen to remember that his evaluation of me was of little worth. He has the habit of deriding every individual he comes across with backhanded compliments that culminate in him trying to run them out of the business. Friend or foe.” “Condensation and backstabbing. Y’know, for fun!” Silence except the crackle of the flames. John raised a finger in the air as if to correct her but then he withdrew and nodded in agreement. “You know, you’re right. He would technically do that as he defrosted.” Mike blinked, and then broke into wild cackles, falling backwards off the log she was sitting on. “Ooof. I’m okay.” Picking herself up, she sits back down, brushes herself off, and clears her throat. “Anyways. You may notice by now that we are fresh outta notecards. That’s because, well, we ain’t got nothin’ bad to say about Nostalgia. He ain’t a hypocrite, far’s we’ve been able to see: he’s the only one in this whole bunch who actually believes in his own fuckin’ mission statement. You’re a good dude, Nos. You’re a lot of fun, and you’re real fuckin’ talented. But when we got your manager out of a spot, and you asked us to join your group? We said we’d get back to you… an’ now we’ve got our answer.” “No. Not because of you. I like you. Mike likes you. You’ve been nothing but kind to us. You’ve said complimentary things about us. Here’s the thing. If we joined you, we’d be quoting ourselves all through the night.” “We’re just not like you. We don’t fuckin’ fit in your box or anyone’s. Do we like to have fun? Fuck yeah we do. But unlike what you said you guys are about? We DO stand for something. We’ve said it all this time, and if you missed it you haven’t been fuckin’ paying attention. Nuh-uh. We’re not freaks, or geeks. We’re us, and ain’t nobody like us.” She paused a moment, a dreamy little smile flicking over her face. “Cept for maybe Miss Natalie. She’s so fuckin’ cool, and strong, and smart, and she’s got the prettiest fuckin’ eyes, and it was so awesome of her to invite us over for the Fourth for that party…” “I enjoyed Natalie’s pie.” Mike sat up, suddenly looking slightly irked. “Hey, I thought you liked MY pie best! I mean, you ate a bunch of it before we left the house. Eh, on the other hand, maybe it wasn’t that great after eight hours in the car.” John looked directly at the camera. His words would be followed by thousands of fingers clacking away at their keyboards. “You both had me licking the plate clean.” Mike’s hand flew to her mouth, perhaps stifling a snicker, and her emerald eyes glinted merrily in the firelight. “Anyway. Don’t take what we do to you personal, Nos, but take this right now as a warning that we’re givin’ you as friends. I’d keep an eye on the company you keep. They may be playin’ along with you just long enough to swipe something you have that they fuckin’ want.” “Storytime is over.” John stood up from the log. “Coming up, Freaks and Geeks makes their official debut in the tag team division against us. Mike, lots of folks around here like history. NSFW stands before you and well, we don’t have a shot at the tag team gold. You train and train in the hopes of reaching the top and sometimes it just doesn’t happen no matter how much you wanted it to. Tell them, Mike, what does NSFW do when we just fall short?” “We pick ourselves up, fuckin’ reload, study up, and do better next time. We don’t run to the back and sob like little eighteen year old girls. So we’re not number one contenders right now. We will be. We said we’re gonna be fuckin’ Tag Team Champions, and we stand by that, no matter how many times we gotta start over. And you guys’ll be as good a handhold in our climb back up the mountain as any.” “And believe me, we aren’t marginalizing you two. Champions. Main eventers. Bonafide megastars. And here we are: the upstarts. That’s the nature of this business. Not fun. Notsports entertainment. Ask the Madison brothers what sports entertainment has ever done for them.” Mike got to her feet as well, standing with her arms folded at her partner’s right hand.“That’s where fun gets you when you don’t stand for shit. Goofing around, smoking a bowl, and lighting farts on fire. Is that what you really fuckin’ want, Nos? Is that all you want out of this business? It’s clearly not or you wouldn’t have fuckin’ main evented the year’s biggest goddamn show.” “That goes for them all. Kendrick Kross said because I didn’t know why I was here that I’d wash out. You know what? You were right. But as I stand before you with my partner, you’rewrong.” John put an arm around Mike’s shoulders. His hand hesitated for just a moment before he rested it on her bare shoulder. “NSFW. That’s what matters. That’s our cause.” “We believe in us. And not just us. We believe in our friends. We believe in every fuckin’ person out there who takes those four letters to mean somethin’ besides ‘Not Safe For Work’. We fuckin’ stand by that and nothin’s gonna budge or break us. Can you Freaks and Geeks say the same? I don’t fuckin’ think you can. It’s right there in your motto. You don’t stand for nothin’ but fun, and we already pointed out where that fuckin’ leads.” There’s a pause then, almost if Mike was very reluctant to pull away. But she did (though she was almost too slow about it) and strode over to the tripod-mounted phone, bending down, almost staring right through it at the people she was addressing. “See you in Oakland. I hope for your sakes you find a better fucking conviction than ‘FOR FUN’ before then.” The camera clicked off. After that, John and Mike set to tidying up the campsite- dousing the fire with water from the creek and stirring up the ashes, putting the food away in the cooler and out of the reach of hungry, mischievous raccoons, throwing their garbage into a sealed trash can not far from their campsite. All that done, they tucked into their tent for the night. It was one of those comfortable silences, little sound but the chirp of insects and soft rushing of the creek, the tent illuminated by the dim light of John’s Kindle as he finished the chapter of The Natural he’d been in the middle of. Mike smiled. He’d really gotten the hang of using it, just as they knew he would. They could only imagine the size of his digital library. Their voice softly broke the silence. “Hey, Church. I’m glad we did this.” John clicked off his book for now. “Me too.” Perhaps a struggle, John rewinded past everything, through all of the ugliness and told them: “Used to go camping all the time. In better days.” “We can keep doing it, you know. If you want. I kinda like it better than seeing the same fuckin’ hotel room insides every night.” Mike propped their cheek in one hand, and as if realizing they forgot to take it off, removed their hat, setting it beside their pillow. “If you liked it before, I wanna give it back to you.” “Maybe it isn’t necessary.” John’s back was to them. He nestled his head into the pillow. His tone was drowsy. “Mike. I don’t know how to put this but I feel like I’ve come back to life. And all of this, this can be what I like now.” “Yeah… I can see what you mean.” They closed their eyes. There was something dancing on the tip of their tongue, but it was colliding and conflicting with other things, growing affections, even. Things they felt. Things they wanted to say. It was unlike them and they found it frustrating, stewing on their words this way, but they were unable to just spit it out. It tied itself in knots, rearranged itself, and finally came out in something both completely different and exactly the same as what they’d originally had in mind. “John? You… know I’d never hurt you ever, right? I’d drop fucking dead first.” Silence. “...Church?” No sound but a soft, easy, contented cadence of breathing. They smiled, shook their head, and bedded down as well. Maybe it was for the best. “G’night, buddy.”

#archive

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