#same shit same same shittier night

[foreveralbon]

“my model, my inspiration, my muse, my everything” - ln4

pairing: lando norris x reader

in which lando becomes a stranger’s muse and more

word count: 3.5k

content warnings: swearing, i am not an art girlie so very limited (and crappy) descriptions of artworks enjoy!! <3

masterlist

lando doesn’t want to be there. sure, he’s never going to turn down an invitation to go to the club with oscar and the rest of the team, but is he always going to want to be there? not really.

because between what felt like a shit sprint, an even shittier race and the shittiest weekend he’s ever had with the car in qatar, he’d rather be at home, wallowing in his own self pity, half asleep while watching friends reruns. but things don’t always go his way, so being dragged out of the hotel by oscar and the others to a club he doesn’t want to be at against his will seems quite on brand for lando norris. 

he’s decided to make the shadows his hiding spot, sitting at the corner of the bar where he can drown himself in enough shots and self-pity that it could rival charles’ mood after a dnf with ferrari. he makes it through five shots, seven songs, and manages one pathetic rundown of the race in his head before two bodies slide up to the bar beside him. he’s known max too long to not be able to tell when his best friend is to the left beside him, so he instantly assumes pietra’s to his right.  

“p,” he says, not turning to look at the girl. “do you reckon we can-”

there’s a small pause before an uncertain, “me?” is said in his direction. the unfamiliar voice has him raising his head to see a girl who is definitely not max’s girlfriend staring back at him. it takes him an extra second to register that it’s a very pretty girl staring back at him. 

it probably must be the alcohol giving him a boost of unexpected confidence because it takes just the smallest of glances at her before he’s blurting out, “can i buy you a drink?” 

he can hear max sputter behind him because where the hell did that come from, lando? yeah, definitely the alcohol. 

but her eyes can barely hide her amusement and she can barely contain her giggles, a bubbly laugh that’s music to lando’s ears. “i’m sorry, but i don’t even know your name.”

with his cheeks tinged pink, the man holds his hand out. “i’m lando.”

her grip is strong in his, the rings on her fingers cool against his warm skin. “y/n. you don’t look like you’re having too much fun, lando.” she jerks her head toward the exit, turning back to him with a smirk that has lando’s insides melting. “how do you feel about ditching?”

her hand never leaves lando’s as he tells max he’ll call him when he gets the chance and then she’s leading him out the bar and onto the main street. he finds himself questioning whether he should trust some random girl he just met to take him around in a foreign country but the voice of reason in his head shuts up when she looks up at him with a smile that instantly has his knees weak and his dimples on full display. 

maybe this weekend might not end so bad after all. 

— 

they converse over sodas and shawarma because nothing else is really open at that time of night in qatar, and with every passing minute of their “date”, lando finds himself more intrigued by her than he ever thought could be possible. 

maybe it’s the way her hair falls over her shoulder when she leans forward to listen to him and give him her utmost attention. or it could be the way her eyes soften whenever she makes him laugh. maybe it’s the way her lips curve up into the most beautifully cheeky smile whenever he says something so out of pocket that it makes her head drop down as her shoulders shake with silent laughter. 

“so, what do you do?” 

her question comes as a surprise to lando. not that he expected her to really know, but qatar is a small country and he wouldn’t think much would happen at the same time as the doha grand peix. 

“i’m a formula one driver,” he says. 

“that is so cool,” she gasps. “i wish i could have a cool job like that. i’m an artist, and i guess there’s not much to say about that. i’m in a bit of a slump though, that’s why i came to qatar, for inspiration.”

“and have you found any? inspiration, i mean.” 

“not yet. but if you want, maybe you can be my muse.”

he just laughs and moves the conversation along, but his mind doesn’t stop racing, keeps screaming, yeah, maybe i can. 

— 

lando decides it quickly: he’s had y/n for two weeks and he would go to the ends of the world and back for her. 

after their late night date in qatar, they exchanged numbers after finding out they both live in london, under the promise they would see each other again when they were both back home.

since then, they’d spent hours messaging each other. lando talks about his driver friends, his childhood in karting and his favourite places to visit. she talks about her art, university and her favourite foods to eat. she makes him promise her that he’ll take her all around the world, and he makes her promise him that she’ll never make him eat any foods with fish.  

he tells himself it’s not normal to feel like this, to tone it down a little bit. when, really, all he wants to do is just giggle and swing his legs like a little schoolgirl with a crush. 

“guys, i’m in love,” he announces two weeks later, falling onto the couch of oscar’s driver room in the austin gp.

“are you now?” oscar muses, pushing lando’s legs from off the couch so he can sit down beside him. lando throws him a snarky look but continues talking when he realises the aussie’s on his phone and paying him no attention. 

“no, seriously. her name’s y/n, she’s from england too. she’s funny, kind, smart, talented, artistic. she’s a painter and all that.”

“a painter?” oscar looks up. “where’d you go that you met an artist?” 

lando quickly fills oscar in on the last two weeks, from leaving the celebrations early to their nightly conversations. he even mentions her creative slump, how he’s trying to help find ways to inspire her. 

he doesn’t register the look of affection oscar’s giving him, but when he does, he stutters to a stop. “oi, why are you giving me that look?” 

“i’m glad you’ve found someone, mate.” he stands up and heads toward the door before stopping slightly. “just don’t fuck it up, yeah?” 

the door swings shut behind oscar and lando slumps back onto the couch, a smitten look on his face. “me too, mate. me too.”

and when his phone lights up with a photo of her smiling face taken the night they met, he’s never felt more lovestruck. 

— 

lando asks her to be his girlfriend over the phone in oscar’s driver room in texas. he could’ve sworn his heart doubled in size hearing her laugh out the sweetest chorus of “yes” he’d ever heard in his life. 

he spends the next four weeks leading to the winter break on the phone with his girlfriend - his girlfriend! - and his first day off on a plane to see her. she greets him at the airport, practically jumping into his arms when she sees him.

from the moment he gets her in his arms, he knows he’s never going to let her go. and he quite literally doesn’t the first few days. his hand is glued to her thigh in the car, his arms wrapped around her shoulders or waist whenever he can get behind her, or he’s got a hand in her pocket as they walk around. it’s only until she has to go to art studio that she manages to peel him off her.

“listen, lan, baby,” she says between the kisses he presses onto her lips, “i need to go now, but i’ll be back to pick you up later.”

“but i don’t want you to go,” he whines. she presses her palm to his cheek lovingly before walking out the front door of his london home and leaving him alone.

but true to her word, she’s back a couple hours later, urging him into the car, and when he asks where she’s taking him, she simply says somewhere.

it doesn’t take long for them to pull up in front of a small building, and he doesn’t question it when she tells him to close his eyes before she takes his hand and leads him inside.

“promise me you’re not looking, lan.” her own hands now cover his eyes as she guides him through the building.

“promise, love,” he says.

it’s not until he feels her hands moving away and the creak of a door swinging open that he opens his eyes and is meant with a paint-splattered room full of used and empty canvases. but then she turns his attention to a certain corner of the room, a display of canvases stood on easels staring back at him - it takes a moment for him to notice that it’s his face staring back at him. multiple portraits of close up shots, to him on the podium, to even a formula one car going around a corner of the track.

“i have an art exhibition coming up and i didn’t know what to do, but when i saw you, i just knew i had to paint you,” she explains, following him closer to the paintings. she lets him brush his fingers across the fabric, watches him trail every detail along the curve of his painted faces, the glint of his p2 trophy from his podium in brazil, the shape of the car - max’s, he realises. he tears his gaze away just as she continues talking.

“i know it’s not a lot, and it might seem a bit creepy because i did go through pinterest for a bunch of good photos of you, and i took screenshots of you whenever skysports showed you on screen. but you’re just so pretty, and i really, really wanted to paint you and-” she registers the look he’s giving her, arms crossed, head tilted to the side as his face stretches into a smile so big his eyes squint. “why are you looking at me like that?”

“you think i’m pretty?”

she scoffs and pushes him back, a laugh bubbling out of lando’s mouth as he grabs her wrist and hold her to him. she loops her arms around his neck before saying, “you know, i almost forgot why i loved this.” she pauses, and he gives a look, prodding her on. “but you’ve reminded me why. it’s like being with you makes the world seem different. brighter. better. happier.”

lando wishes he had his camera, wishes he could be a painter like her just so he could capture the pure joy in her eyes and keep it forever, because even if her face in that moment was the last thing he saw, lando’s sure he would die a happy man.

he doesn’t know what to say, so he just kisses her instead, letting her know all he was trying to say with that one sweet motion. and when he rests his forehead on hers, he grins cheekily and says, “looks like i became your muse after all, huh?”

—

the gallery is bustling with noise as he pushes past the double doors into y/n’s art exhibition four months later. four months of late nights and long days, multiple stress breaks and even more mental breakdowns. though most of the work took place during the winter break, lando wouldn’t have traded it for the world, because no matter how he spent it, there was nothing better than being by his girl’s side.

oscar stands to his right, a woah of appreciation escaping his lips as they take in the gallery.

paintings in shades of orange, pink and yellow hang along one wall - her perception of him watches everyone from its place on the wall opposite. oscar and lando stand tall in their own separate large frame, and it’s hard to miss the signature colours of mclaren, but dimmer, almost warmer, a style lando would recognise anywhere as y/n’s having spent so long around it.

the way everyone marvels over his girl’s artwork is music to his ears and he can’t help but flush when people recognise him as the man in the portraits.

“young lando norris,” someone booms from behind him. he recognises y/n’s art professor emerging from the crowd and greets the older man with a firm handshake.

“sir! good to see you,” lando says politely.

he gestures around him. “your girl’s done well, lando.”

lando nods. “she has. i’m very proud of her, i always knew she could do it.”

“have you seen her yet?”

“no, i haven’t, actually. i came with oscar, so.”

the older man ahhs, giving him a knowing smile. “well, don’t let me hold you up. go get her.”

lando leaves them with a gracious nod, moving through the crowd to his girl, all the while accepting handshakes from supportive friends and small wishes of “congratulations”, “well done” and “tell her we’re proud of her”. he finally spots her, hair pinned to perfection and dress perfectly hugging every curve of her body, making small talk with a well-dressed couple in the corner of the room.

he catches the exact moment she realises he’s there, revels in the grin that splits her face as she excuses herself. it’s barely a minute between that moment to when she’s barreling into his arms, head furrowing in the crook of his neck as she mumbles, “you made it.”

he presses her tighter to his body. “i wouldn’t miss this for the world, love.”

their moment short-lived though when someone kindly taps on her shoulder. y/n pulls away from him and, with one glance at the woman, turns back to him. “i have to go make a speech, but i’ll be back right after.”

he lets her go with a quick kiss to her lips and forehead and never takes his eyes of her as she makes her way through the crowd to the front of the room, his cheeks flushing when she catches sight of him and blows him a quick kiss. he feels oscar come up beside him, handing him a glass before resting his now-free hand on lando’s shoulder, muttering a low, “simp.”

shut up he shoots back, just as y/n taps the microphone in her hand once, twice, getting the guests’ attention.

“hello everyone, i just wanted thank you all for coming out here tonight. it means so much to me.” she pauses for the ‘you’re welcome’s’ before continuing, “i know i’ve already addressed everyone here and said my thank you’s, but i’d like to mention two more people. oscar, who was patient enough to pose for me for one of my paintings. it means the world to me, thank you, osc.

“and to lando, the boy who inspired me to do all this. if you don’t know who he is, just look around, you’ll find him, he looks really similar to the big guy on the wall.” a chorus of laughter rings out. “without you, lan, i couldn’t have done any of this. thank you for sitting there on facetime so that i could sketch you because i was scared i wouldn’t do you justice from memory, thank you for bringing me takeout when i was stuck in the studio late at night, hyper-fixating on the smallest of details and so much more. i love you, so so much.”

and as the crowd erupts into applause, he just raises his glass in the smallest of gestures to her, and whispers, “anything for you, baby.”

—

it’s later that night when they’re both in the comforting darkness of their room, still tipsy off too many glasses of champagne and each other. he runs a hand through her hair, her naked body warm against his. they’re already so close he can’t even tell where he starts and she stops, but he needs to be closer. he tugs her toward him, bringing her leg over his hip and tucking her face in the crook of his neck before wrapping his arms around her torso. 

“lando, i can’t breathe,” she laughs, but she still furrows closer to him. 

“it’s a great way to go, don’t you think?”

“mmm, the best way.”

“baby?”

“yes.”

he knots his hand through her hair once more, pulling her away from his neck and forcing her to look at him. “you know i live for you, right?”

“do you?” her voice is incredulous, like she can’t tell if he’s being serious or not. 

“only you, because of you. no one else.”

she’s quiet for a moment, only the sound of their even breaths filling the room. and then she’s pressing the softest kisses to his face. his eyes - “my model” - cheeks - “my inspiration” - nose - “my muse” - and then his lips: “my everything.”

“i love you, lando.”

“i love you, too, baby.”

“only me?”

her voice is small and muffled and he can’t help but laugh. “yeah, darling, only you.”

—

author’s note: helloo, firstly, thank you soso much to @disneyprincemuke for encouraging me to finish this mwah <3

secondly, i don’t normally write fics, i mainly write other original works and my main genre is normally thriller and suspense so this is very far off what i normally write. feedback is so appreciated so please don’t hesitate to critique :)

#lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #actually reading it back i kinda like it #liyah writes

[deltaromeo3]

ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴀɴɴᴏʏɪɴɢ ⋆ Lando Norris

pairing: lando norris x teammate!reader

summary: do they really hate each other like they said they do?

requested by: this ask

ツ A/N: should i write a part 2 to this? anyways, i changed it up a little! hope you still like it! let me know if you want to be tagged if theres a part 2? :)

You thought you would get along well with him, but turns out for some damn reason you didn’t. He disliked you and you had no idea why.

You figured you would stop racking your brain on trying to find a reason why he doesn’t seem to like you and just move on with it. So what did you do?

You treated him the way he treated you of course.

★★★

Your rivalry and hate towards each other quickly caught the attention of everyone on the grid, some saying that this rivalry will soon blossom into a friendship, possibly into something more than that.

Your season was going well so far, but you couldn’t say the same for Lando. He had multiple problems with his car and you could just see the frustration bubble up every single time he couldn’t deliver.

If he weren’t so mean and cold to you, you would’ve cheered him up but oh well.

The post race conference were where it hit hardest for him.

One by one, journalists were flaming him, rubbing it to him about the shit year he’s having and the even shittier race he just finished. And he just kept his cool to the shit that was being thrown at him.

You disliked him, sure, but you weren’t heartless.

“Um,” You chimed in to your mic. “I think that’s enough, no? We all understand that Lando didn’t perform as we would like him to, but this shouldn’t be a reason for everyone here to throw all these stupid questions at him. He’s a talented driver and we all know that. It’s just not his year. So, is anyone going to start asking him some real questions? Like how he managed to finish P10 despite having mechanical problems or should I retire and become a journalist instead?”

The crowd laughs at the ending of your sentence. You leaned back in to your seat, not even looking his way. But you knew that he was thankful you said something to stop it… at least you’d hope so.

★★★

Another Sunday quickly came and went. The race was over and this time, Lando managed to finish P3 alongside a Ferrari 1-2. They all went out to celebrate, even inviting you along. You politely decline, deciding to call it a night.

Luckily, the race was in Monaco, so instead of going back to a hotel, you were making your way back home.

It was well into the morning, and you had somehow fallen asleep on your sofa. You awoke to the TV screen displaying “Are you still watching” so you switched it off and headed to the kitchen before making your way to your room.

You were sipping on your drink when you heard your phone ring. Who the fuck is calling at this hour?

It was Charles. Of course.

“Where are you? Amber Lounge?”

This wasn’t a new occurrence. Usually Charles would crash at yours everytime he goes out partying in Monaco. And since he was in no state to drive, you would pick him up every single time.

“Yes! But mon chou-“ He yells. He doesn’t sound that drunk.

You cut him off, “Wait for me. I’ll come get you,” You ended the call.

“She didn’t even let me finish talking…” He looks down at his phone. “Oh this can only go so wrong…” He looks over to the bloke beside him.

You put on a hoodie and took your keys, quickly driving down to the club. As soon as you pulled up, you saw Charles sitting outside. But he wasn’t alone, oh no, he was with Carlos and together they were helping Lando.

You opened your car door, assuming Charles would get in but it was Lando instead. Shocked, you turned over to Charles.

“What’s this!?”

“You didn’t let me finish talking! I was gonna tell you that you’re taking him, not me!” He chinned towards Lando.

You grunt, “You owe me. Big time.”

“Yes yes, I owe you. Have fun. Love you mon chou,”

You rolled your eyes and drove off. Your car was starting to reek of alcohol so you kept the windows down.

“Mon chou,” Lando repeats, giggling to himself. “Charles c-calls you th-that?”

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up Norris.”

You finally made it to your flat after trying to carry the 68kg driver from the garage to the house. You were mentally swearing to yourself for somehow managing to get into this situation.

As he laid on the sofa, you went to the kitchen to get an Aspirin and a cup of water. Not forgetting a set of fresh clothes for him to change into.

You placed the set of fresh clothes and water by his side, leaving him be.

You only took a few steps when you heard Lando calling out your name.

You turned your back to check on him, realising he had somehow managed to get the hoodie stuck on his head.

You laughed at the stupidity but quickly went to help him.

“Thank you,” He says as he kisses you on the cheek. “You are so nice,”

You went wide eye.

Did he just kiss me on the cheek? Gosh how much did he drink?

“Uh- y-you’re welcome. Now go to sleep kay?” You see him nod. You walked off and he calls you once again. You turned to face him.

“Aren’t you gonna join me?” He says, patting the sofa.

“What? No, no. God no. I’m good, thanks. See you in the morning,”

★★★

The sun was shining through your bedroom, meaning it was time to wake up. You made your way to the kitchen for breakfast after brushing your teeth.

You looked over towards the sofa, and to your surprise, Lando wasn’t sleeping on it. You shrugged it off and went to the kitchen to cook but your eyes were drawn to the plate on the countertop.

“made you breakfast. thank you for yesterday. eat up mon chou!” The note read.

You rolled your eyes. You’ll never hear the end of that nickname and you know it.

Deciding that this was a good enough reason to text Lando, you took out your phone to type. He was finally being nice for once….

Was this the start of the “blossoming romance” like what the other drivers said?

#f1 #f1 x you #f1 imagines #lando norris #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x you #lando norris fic #lando norris imagines #mclaren #f1 driver #lando norris x reader #deltaromeo3 #lando norris x driver!reader #lando norris x teammate!reader

[shanbinswf]

LEAVE YOUR LOVER — yoon keeho [repost]

landing page. main masterlist.

pairing: best friend roommate keeho x afab reader

genre: mild angst, mild fluff, smut (mdni)

plot: your best friend and roommate keeho doesn’t take too kindly to how your boyfriend treats you, so after some good food and a few glasses of wine, he makes a proposal. one night with him, and if you feel nothing, he’ll never bring up how shit your boyfriend is again.

wc: 4714

warnings under the cut.

warnings: reader cheats on her boyfriend, reader’s boyfriend is a right asshole (still don’t defend her cheating), mentions of body image and low self esteem, mentions of food and eating, mentions of alcohol consumption and being mildly drunk, kind of drunk sex but also kind of not. technically a part one.

YOU WOULD NEVER SAY YOU HATED YOUR BOYFRIEND PER SAY, BUT HE WAS FOR SURE MAKING HIS WAY INTO YOUR BAD BOOKS AS OF RECENT WEEKS.

His most recent stunt? You were meant to be hanging out with him over the course of a couple of days at some spa retreat weekend he had planned, only for him to flake out the morning of. He claimed he had some work ‘things’ he had yet to finish, but you knew the truth—he just wanted to spend the weekend drunk with his boys and forget he had a girlfriend back home, something he was seemingly starting to do quite often.

Lucky you hadn’t packed your bags. You had faced one too many weekend getaway trips being cancelled at the last minute for an array of reasons—none of which you believed.

He seemed to forget you both ran in the same circle of friends, though, so you often caught him out in his lies through the social media posts your friends posted with or of him. And the most recent night out? He even had a woman’s arms around his neck while they danced.

Your best friend and roommate, Yoon Keeho, was witness to all the screaming and writhing around you did when you held your phone to your face and read over the shitty messages your even shittier boyfriend send you.

While you couldn’t say you hated your boyfriend—despite being not far off from being able to make the claim; Keeho was less forgiving and very open about the fact he hated your boyfriend with his entire being.

Each time you invited your boyfriend over, Keeho was less than accommodating. He often made sure to push his way to sit between you so your boyfriend was either sandwiched to the end of the couch, or worst case, Keeho always made an effort to make himself as big as possible so he took up more space which more often than not ended with your boyfriend being forced to sit on the singular bean bag chair—the same one you often drunk-made out with Keeho on. A secret your boyfriend didn’t need to know.

Keeho lazed back in his usual chair at the small table you had both just bought and assembled. His fingers gently played with the stalk of the wine glass, and his eyes looked everywhere around the apartment bar at you. “We’ve really made this place our own, don’t you think?” A small, soft smile tugged at his lips.

You nodded your head, looking around also. The place was mostly decorated with Ikea furniture, but you had both chipped in to buy everything—it helped you had similar tastes. You admired the red pull out double bed couch in the living room, and you couldn’t help but feel excitement at the 55 inch TV that decorated the wall which cost… a lot. But it was worth it. It made your movie nights all the more exciting.

“Shame we can’t break the table in,” Keeho’s voice became low, barely audible but as the apartment was silent, you could still hear every word that passed his lips. At first, you didn’t respond. It took a few seconds of the words to sink in. And when they finally did, your eyebrow raised in reaction.

“Excuse me? I plan to eat at the table every meal, every day,” You defended, sitting up straighter. Your knees hit the leg of the table, making it shake slightly. You rushed to grab the base if your wine glass, not wanting to spill any. It was a bottle Keeho bought when you first moved out to live alone, mere weeks before he begged to move in with you as his old roommates were being kicked out of their apartment at that time.

And what kind of best friend would you be if you said no to him?

Keeho’s face deadpanned, and you realised the meaning behind his words rather swiftly. You gasped, but then raised your hand to hide your laugh. You tilted your head back. “Gross, I don’t want to think about my best friend fucking some random girl on the table I eat at!” Your face crinkled as you cringed, shaking your head furiously to try to rid yourself of the thought.

Keeho raised an eyebrow, leaning on his elbows. He leant across the table, and you felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. You had a boyfriend, the feelings you had for Keeho were wrong. But you still couldn’t snuff them out—no matter how hard you tried.

“Who said it was going to be some random woman? I was planning on fucking someone you know quite well,” And while a part of you thought he was insinuating it be yourself, you shook your head and reminded yourself to not get lost in the fantasy. You saw the girls he followed on his social media apps, the ones he often thirsted over (yes, even to you as he thrust his phone into your hand for better view of the screen)—the women who you deemed a total opposite to yourself.

“If you fuck one of my friends, you’re sleeping in a shitty tent on the balcony and I’m selling your room to someone else,” You faux threatened, but the humour didn’t reach your eyes as your chest ached just at the thought of his hands on someone else, ached at the thought of his attention being stolen by someone else—even worse at the idea of it being someone you know and call a friend.

You wanted that. You wanted… him.

Keeho leant back against his seat and brought the wine glass to his lips, tilting his head as he took a sip. He looked elegant, his white shirt sleeves pushed up his arms and his glasses sat on the edge of his nose. You wanted to pounce on him, but ever since you had been friends with him at the start of your college years, you had found great strength and control.

Back then, you always found Keeho incredibly attractive and even considered asking him for a one night stand several times, but when you guys went clubbing and found him in some corner with his hands on a stranger’s ass, you always backed out of the idea. And then you began to date.

Sure, most of your boyfriends never lasted long and some even claimed your friendship with Keeho was suspicious, you had learnt to keep your feelings and desires on a very tight leash over the years. Now your current boyfriend has no fear of you and Keeho living together, and you almost questioned if he would even think twice if he caught you and Keeho napping on the couch in one another’s arms—a common recent occurrence on lazy, rainy weekends.

Keeho placed the wine glass back on the table, his eyes locking onto you. “I never said it would be one of your friends. I just said you knew her very well.”

Your skin tingled, and you rushed to stand. You forced a laugh and pointed to the direction of your bedroom. “I’m going to take a shower and change into some pyjamas…”- Your voice trailed off as your mind flashed with an intrusive thought—begging to ask him to shower with you or wait patiently in your room as you busied yourself to look perfect in an attempt to gain his attention, even if it lasted just a second.

As if he could read minds, Keeho stood and held his wine glass, following behind you. You turned to face him as you reached your door, eyebrow raised with suspicion. “Why are you stalking me?”

“I’m going to watch a movie in your bed while you shower. You said it’s movie night so you have to keep your promises,” He sounded defensive, his lips pouted ever so slightly.

“We literally have a huge TV and pull-out bed in the living room,” You began, but his pout only increased at your words as he found himself disliking them the more you talked. You rolled your eyes and grabbed his face with your hand, squeezing his cheeks to force his lips to stick out even more. “You’re such a big baby, you know that?”

“Yeah, your baby,” He managed to get out, his face daring to turn so he could press a kiss to your wrist. You gasped and pulled your hand away from his face.

“Gross, Keeho germs,” You giggled, then turned to finally throw your bedroom door open.

“That’s not what you said a few weeks ago when you were making out with me and basically dry humping me,” Keeho spoke confidently, and your eyes fell wide as you looked around—as if your boyfriend or any other intruding ears could overhear.

“You promised not to talk about that, I’ve been good lately and I haven’t laid a hand on you in… that way ever since,” You defended yourself.

A part of you often lay awake at night after your drunken escapades with Keeho. He never pushed you away, no matter how much you got lost in the feeling of his lips. His hands always remained polite and on your waist, never daring to move in either direction. Surely any other just-a-best-friend would push you away if you kissed them… right? But Keeho… he never did.

“I wish you would,” Keeho said matter of fact my before he forced his way into your bedroom. He walked to your bed without a care in the word and placed his wineglass on the bedside table your boyfriend claimed his own, then he threw himself on the bed—the same place your boyfriend slept whenever he slept over, which was not often.

A place you wished was claimed by Keeho instead…

Your phone buzzed from in the drawer where you locked it before your Ikea trip, holding it prisoner for fear you would text your boyfriend in a fit of rage or sadness. Keeho noticed your eyes flicker to the drawer, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t you fucking dare give in. End it with him.”

You tore your eyes away from the drawer and made your way to your wardrobe. You opened the doors, then you pulled open the top drawer. Your hand reached in and you felt a pair of your favourite lounge ware, a grey coloured super soft set of pyjama shorts and a vest top with pale pink detailing of lace. You threw a look over your shoulder. “You know it’s not that easy,”

And then you disappeared into your en-suite bathroom.

That was one of the best and worst things about your apartment—both bedrooms had their own en-suite bathrooms. You wished there was a joint one sometimes, so you could relish in the scent of his body wash that suffocated the room when he was finished cleaning after his workouts or a long day.

A part of you also hated the idea, you wanted privacy to get lost in the world of Keeho-dreams—dreams of… an intimate nature. Dreams you felt ashamed to be having. Dreams your other friends assured you meant you were in love with Keeho. Dreams that had you delusional, and defensive over your own feelings at the same time.

The kind of dreams you should be having about your boyfriend and not your roommate and best friend.

You turned the shower on and allowed the room to steam up before you stepped in. The warm water hit you like a wave and hugged your body, making you feel comfortable and at ease. You had to remember he was just in the next room though, and you had to keep your hands tasked on only washing your body.

Once you felt clean, you washed your hair and then tied it back, too lazy to dry it properly. Then you made your way back to your bedroom.

Keeho was lazing against the headboard of your bed, and as he looked from the TV screen to you, you suddenly felt self conscious. It didn’t help that your bedroom had a cool air flowing through, hitting your exposed thighs and making you shiver.

You noticed his eyes looked down your body. Noticed how his eyes lingered a bit too long on your thighs. You rushed to sit on your side of your bed, grabbing a pillow to hide your body behind—and to attempt to gain some kind of warmth.

You smiled at Keeho, leaning closer to him to get a better view of the awkwardly angled TV screen. You silently made note to buy yourself a larger one, as out of you both, only you had a TV in your door. Keeho had a gaming PC, but it was out of commission for movies as one of his friends tipped water over the monitor and broke it—and Keeho has still yet to replace it.

“What are we watching?” You asked, your face closer to Keeho’s than you wished for, but you were doing a good job at controlling your inner urges.

“Some romance movie I think, I let Netflix choose one by random,” He replied, his arm snaking around your side to pull you closer.

Your body soon became flush to the side of his, and you wanted to either get up and run away, or sit on his lap and be even closer to him; but you stopped yourself from doing either option. You decided to rest your head on his shoulder, forcing a yawn to pretend you were tired. You just wanted to be close to him, but you couldn’t risk your friendship… Or relationship at that. The one you kept forgetting you were even in.

You watched the movie intently, inwardly cringing when a kissing scene appeared. Your eyes begged to flick to Keeho, to admire his perfect plump lips that you had last kissed a few weeks ago… you had to stop thinking about him like that—you had to forget your feelings for him and at least try to like your boyfriend for once.

As if right on cue, your phone began to buzz again, and you sighed.

You decided you best pick it up or he would call all night long. You pulled away from Keeho and threw your pillow on the floor, then you opened your bedside table a crack to pull the phone out but to ensure your privacy stayed intact. You knew if Keeho saw what you hid in your drawers, he would never let you live it down.

You rushed to shut the drawers, then you tried to slide the button to accept the call but the second your finger touched the green circle, your phone was swiped from your hands and thrown on a pile of nearby recently-cleaned clothes that needed folding and putting away.

You glared at Keeho. "What the fuck was that for?" You asked, rushing to get on your hands and knees so you could climb over him to get to the phone. But the second your left thigh landed on the bed the other side of his, his hands moved to grip your waist tight and hold you in place.

Keeho's eyes looked angry, and his grip was tighter than the soft lingering touches you were used to. You raised an eyebrow, confused by his sudden actions. He couldn't help himself, and his hands pulled your body to be flush against his. You gasped again, but this time you decided not to question him.

You had given in, and for once, you felt like you weren't the only one pushing your hidden desires onto him.

“Don’t answer his call,” Keeho’s voice was small, almost begging. Your eyes softened, and your hands came to rest on his cheeks. His own eyes softened at that, and his lips turned up into a smile.

“I can’t just ignore him all night,” You replied softly, which Keeho did not seem to take too kindly to. His hands tightened on your sides, your hands moving to hold onto his shoulders to support yourself. You felt like he was going to swallow you whole.

“Don’t you fucking dare try to answer his call, or we are over,” Keeho’s voice was louder this time, but somehow deeper. You blinked innocently, surprised.

“Us? Over? We’re roommates, you can’t just move out because I answered a phone call,” You giggled a little, trying to laugh off his reaction as nothing more than a best friend caring for you—being a little too possessive over you.

“I’m not talking about moving out, I’m talking about how you’re my girl,” He over pronounced the word my, which caused you to tilt your head. He leant his head back against the wall with a sigh, and his hands moved from your sides to your thighs. His hands ran up and down slowly, gently. And your self conscious concerns were slowly coming back.

“What do you mean by my girl?” You asked, pulling your off of his body. You still made no effort to pull away from him though, but from the way you shifted on his lap and received a sharp intake of breath, you knew he was about to say something either very hurtful, or something you had been dreaming about for years.

“You can’t really think of us as just friends, right?” Keeho asked, his eyes closed and face still tilted towards the ceiling. You shook your head, but realised he couldn’t see or sense the motion so you muttered a rejection to the statement. “Exactly, we’re basically a fucked up couple and have been for years. But I don’t want to keep denying my feelings or pushing us apart, which is why I’m telling you not to answer his calls. End it with him, leave him.”

“I’ve told you before, it’s not that simple—” You began to which his head shot back to your direction, and his hand slap your thigh with a slight sting. “What the fuck was that for?” You asked, voice a little too loud, to which he raised an eyebrow. “I can’t just ghost him. I have to end it with him properly, you know I’ve wanted to for a while… I just don’t know how.”

Keeho nodded his head in understanding, one of his hands moving to tangle into your hair while the other thank spanked your thigh rubbed over the pink skin soothingly. “Well we can worry about that later, but how about we have some us time tonight, yeah?” Keeho smirked and even wiggled his eyebrows for added effect.

You laughed at first, but then moved your hands to his shoulders with a serious look on your face. “But then won’t I be cheating?”

“Well…” Keeho began, tilting his head to the side. “If you think about it, from the day we first met, I’ve been claiming you as my girl so technically… you’ve been cheating on me for years.”

You rolled your eyes, the smile back on your lips. “Not sure that’s how it works, but you do you I guess.”

“I’d rather do you,” He murmured, his hand forming a fist to get a good grip on your hair before he leant forward and pressed his lips gently to yours. The all-too-familiar fireworks erupted under your skin, warmth spreading everywhere he touched. You craved him, needed him to survive. It was like you were drowning, and he was your last gasp of fresh air.

You pulled back so you could watch your hands as you slowly slid them from his shoulders, down his chest, then you finally let them find home on his stomach over his shirt. Your fingertips begged to reach under and trace along his skin, but you resisted the urge.

His hand moved up your thigh, the highest it had gone that night, and you flinched. He noticed the action as he had been very intently watching your face and ever reaction to how you relished in the feeling of his body being so close to yours, and he couldn’t help but frown. Had your boyfriend said something to make you fear men touching your thighs? The thought alone pissed him off more than he thought possible.

“You okay, angel?” His voice whispered, and you mumbled something at first which he couldn’t quite catch. “Speak up baby, I can’t hear a word you’re saying.”

“I asked can you maybe…” You sighed as you leant your head forward onto his shoulder, closing your eyes. “I’m a bit self conscious about people touching certain parts of my body and my thighs are one of those places,” You explained.

Keeho turned his head to press a kiss against your temple, his fist in your hair loosening as his fingers decided to gently run through it instead. You realised he was trying to soothe you, and you couldn’t help but smile as you pressed turned your head and pressed your face into his neck.

“You’re so fucking cute,” Keeho whispered before he attempted to pull your body back so he could resume kissing you. Your body grew hot at the compliment, and so you rushed to try to hide his eyes from noticing and so you pressed your lips to his first. But firmer this time.

This time, there was almost a sense of urgency behind the kiss. The pressure was firm and your lips moved against each other faster. His hands moved to your thighs again, but the pressure was barely there, as if he was ghosting his hands over your skin. The sensation felt good, a little too good. So you gasped, and Keeho let out a faint chuckle before he took advantage of the situation and intruded your mouth with his tongue.

When you and Keeho made out, it was always messy. Messy, needy, a mess of all your unspoken feelings in a rush to get out. But this time, there was no rush or any unspoken feelings. You knew how he felt about you, and so you were ready to give into it all.

Your hands daringly moved lower on his stomach, reaching under his shirt. You hadn’t intended to insinuate for him to take it off, but that was how he took the action… and you weren’t complaining. Keeho detached from your lips long enough to quickly unbutton his shirt and pull it off before he found home against your lips once again.

His body was radiating warmth, and so one of your arms moved to wrap around his neck as you tried to pushed your body into his as much as possible. You felt him smile against your lips, and his hand moved higher up your thigh.

Then all of a sudden, hands grip your sides and you were thrown onto your back. You blinked with surprise at the sudden action, looking up at Keeho who now lay between your legs above you. He smiled down at you, eyebrow cocked. “You look a little dazed already baby. Is kissing me that good?”

You nod slowly, too drunk off the feeling of his lips to respond with anything else.

He laughed, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lower lip before he pulled back again. “Then wait until you feel my cock inside you. You’re going to be lost in heaven.”

You laughed and rolled your eyes, the arm that was lazing around his neck moving to his hair to gently tangle in the locks. “You’re pretty confident in yourself, but all I hear are words and no proof.”

Keeho shrugged, his hands moving from your sides to the insides of your knees. “Well I’m more than willing to show you right now if you ask nicely.”

Again, you rolled your eyes to which Keeho tutted. His hands pushed your legs apart and against the bed, this one of them moved to spank the opposite thigh to the one he had earlier. The action caused you to gasp, and you looked down your body to find his slotted against yours as if he was made for you.

“Less attitude, or I’ll have to fuck it out of you,” He threatened.

You pushed your lips closed in a show you were going to listen to his  every word, and he couldn’t help but smile and laugh at the action. He leant down and pressed his lips to yours, but kissing you slowly once again. His hand that spanked your thigh did the same as the other one and earlier, gently rubbing the pink skin to ease the slight sting he had caused.

But then his hands daring slid up your thighs higher, to where the bottom of your shorts sat. Between kisses, you took a sharp intake of breath—one he heard and couldn’t resist but to smirk at. He was relishing in the way your body was reacting to his every touch. God, he wished he had done that sooner.

His fingertips pushed up the bottom of your shorts, delicate and dancing along your skin. You rushed to grab his wrists, pulling back to look into his eyes. “What are we doing?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Well, right now we’re talking instead of kissing like we should be.”

You rolled your eyes once again, earning a slap on your thigh. “Attitude,” He warned to which you let go of his wrists and held your hands up to prove your innocence.

“I meant… we’ve only ever made out before…” Your words trailed off. He nodded in response, then took a few seconds to realise what you were asking. He smirked and wiggled his eyebrows.

“Well, would you like to do more?” He asked, laughing when you gave him a serious, almost stone cold look.

“You know I want to do more,” You replied.

“Well, do I? From what I can tell, I’m the one who has been simping over you all night while you’ve been too bust rolling your eyes or running your mouth,” Keeho responded.

“Please don’t make me get soppy about my feelings right now when your hands are basically under my clothes,” You laughed, Keeho laughing in response before he nodded with agreement. He decided to let it go… for now, he thought.

He leant his head back down, about to shower you in more kisses. You pursed your lips, waiting. But you never felt the pressure hit your lips. Instead, you felt soft lips trail down your jaw, down your neck… You took in a small breath, finding yourself enjoying the feeling as you closed your eyes.

One of Keeho’s hands pulled back from your thigh but instead moved to the front of your shorts, his fingers playing with the strings. He seemed… almost nervous to untie it. You nodded frantically, trying to focus on the feeling of his lips on your collarbones and his fingertips dancing on the inside of your thigh.

He felt the shake of your head so he pulled back and knelt above you, his fingers removed from your skin. His hands both moved to the strings of your shorts, and his eyes remained on yours as he gently pulled the strings. The top of your shorts felt loose, and you lifted your hips in an attempt to help him.

Keeho smiled softly and leant down to kiss your forehead before his fingers reached into the shorts, then he pushed them down your legs and threw them in the direction of the door to save yourself from having to struggle to determine which pile of your clothes were clean and which were dirty.

His fingers moved back to your thighs, resting on the soft inside. Your breath hitched as the self consciousness came back in waves. You looked around for your pillow to try to hide your body once again, and Keeho seemed to catch onto your feelings without you even expressing them.

“Baby,” He whispered, leaning down to brush his lips against your ear. “You look so beautiful, how did I get so lucky.”

You smiled at his words, your hand coming to rest on the back of his neck as your fingers found home to tangle into his hair.

#p1h #p1harmony #p1harmony scenario #p1harmony smut #p1harmony keeho #p1harmony imagine #p1h keeho #p1h smut #p1h keeho smut #keeho smut #yoon keeho

[genericpuff]

Scamlords is at it again.

A few nights ago, there was a sudden blow-up in the /r/webtoons server showing a new announcement from Snailords -

For anyone unaware, Death : Rescheduled has been on mid-season hiatus since October. And it's now, and only now, that Snailords has suddenly decided the comic is ending after it returns, but readers can get an extra 20 episodes... if they fork over $1k in merch sales.

Now, this could be a lot worse. They could be threatening not to return to the series at all unless their readers hand over money. But considering it's practically just one degree away from that, it's still pretty nasty. Not to mention, the further they divulged in their reasoning around this "idea", the more confusing it got.

They also even revived their @snailordsrant account on IG which, for those of you who were there and can recall, was the same account they used to put one of their own fans on blast over some very mild criticism.

None of this makes any actual sense, for several reasons:

1.) I literally fail to see how getting $1k in less than 24 hours is worth shoving in an extra mini arc of 10 episodes if you don't even have it planned out. Why do that to your audience or to yourself? Why drag things out just to scrounge up an emergency $1k? Why not just be honest with your audience and run a GoFundMe or just say , "Hey everyone, I've run into some financial troubles, I would really appreciate it if you could FastPass my newest episodes or donate to my Patreon or buy some merch so I can cover the costs". It's really telling that this shithead doesn't have enough confidence in themselves or their audience that practically worships them that they have to resort to this kind of underhanded shit to get the money they need. I wanna make it clear that this is NOT like a Kickstarter stretch goal or anything that incentivizes readers to support their work, they're instead holding the length and future of their series over their audiences' head (which they've done before) for money. That's not an incentive, it's an ultimatum.

2.) Maybe I'm misreading / being stupid (someone pls explain if I'm missing something here) but I literally don't see how their comment about working 50 hours a week explains why they're suddenly getting their fans to pay out $1k worth of merch in less than 24 hours. For anyone who doesn't know, $1k per episode is an example Webtoons uses in its post discussing how they pay out creators (this came after the platform got called out 2 years ago for paying creators too little, there are undoubtedly creators getting paid less). And yet for some reason $1k is apparently the difference between 10 episodes and 20? How does that add up? And is the bit about them wanting to buy boba supposed to be a joke? Where's the punchline here?

3.) They say they have writer's block and they want to use the money to "motivate them", but then just a few slides later they say 10-15 episodes is what would make them the "happiest" so which is it? Do they want to write 10 episodes or do they want people to pay them to write 20 episodes so they can draw the fluff scenes that they apparently want to draw? If you have an ending planned out, why rush it or drag it out depending on how this "fundraiser" goes? Why not just write the ending you want to write that will serve your story best? Why shove in an extra mini arc that you don't even have full confidence in writing and then try to compare it to a "super expensive cake"? What are you doing? Speaking as someone who's had trouble getting motivated in the past, suddenly getting a month's rent worth of money to do it doesn't necessarily solve that, it just turns up the pressure, and if you're not someone who deals with pressure well, then you're more likely to wind up just burning out entirely rather than fulfilling that goal.

4.) The fact that they did, in fact, hit their goal just makes it all the shittier to think about because their audience is mostly made up of teenagers who worship the ground that they walk on. It's horrifying that they keep pulling these stunts with their audience, and getting away with it to boot - and Webtoons, as a company, keeps enabling it by allowing it to happen by hosting and promoting people like this.

Anyways, there's already a lot going on here that's sketchy, but then... they went and deleted their posts. At the time of this happening (as I was there to witness it all play out in real time) I assumed this meant that they had hit their $1k goal - especially as they had been showing their progress on their IG and they were already at $900 after just a couple hours - but it gave me a sinking feeling seeing them delete it because they had also been called out by some brave readers telling them that it wasn't exactly a good look to essentially blackmail their audience through their own content into giving them money.

Snailords deleting it gave me a stronger impression of "burying the evidence", especially now that they had the money. By all accounts, they could do whatever they wanted now.

So what did they decide to do?

. . . Huh?

Okay, take a second to actually think about what Snailords has done here. Because I know some of you will go "oh, it was for charity all along! that was nice of them!" but . . . I don't know about the legalities of collecting donation funds under false pretenses, but morally speaking, it's a really shitty thing to do. They stripped away the choices - limiting them to three - of what their readers could donate to, and what I think their readers don't understand - due to being mostly teenagers - is that they're tax-exempt individuals and they just unknowingly gave Snailords an easy $1k tax write-off. You really, really shouldn't collect donation funds like this without being honest, it's just a shitty thing to do, especially after you've already collected the money. It mostly just comes across as damage control on Snailords' part to make it seem like they were always planning to donate to charity, when in reality, if they wanted to donate to charity, they would have been honest about that at the start. Again, even if they wanted to do that from the start, it goes to show how little confidence they have in themselves or their audience that they have to stoop to methods like these instead of just doing it honestly.

And do you really think Snailords will actually do those extra episodes? Or donate that money? This is the same asshole who has manipulated their readers for money not once but twice, and now seems intent on doing it a third time just for the charm. This is the same person who practically sabotaged their own comic, Freaking Romance, because they apparently didn't like the romance genre and may as well have only done it for clout / views / etc.

What was especially odd - and I found this out from folks who actually read Death : Rescheduled (I do not) - was finding out that it wouldn't make sense for D : R to end in as many as 25 episodes, because apparently, the plot has basically just gotten going.

So it does seem like this is foreshadowing that D : R will wind up just like Freaking Romance, rushed into an ending that wasn't expected. And this, of course, has the people who read their work confused because D : R was supposed to be Snailords' passion project, their magnum opus, the project they wanted to do. So them holding the timing of an ending that shouldn't even be happening yet for ransom contradicts that original intention. Really, it just goes to show that Snailords has no passion, they're just in it purely for the money, to a degree that I can't even cheer them on for being a hustler because it's missing the honesty and integrity.

And of course, every single time Snailords finds a way to backpedal and take his audience for a ride, they hop right in without a single thought for themselves.

And no, none of this is to hate on the readers directly, I hold Snailords entirely responsible for this - they have an audience of impressionable, naive, gullible teenagers, and they know it, and take advantage of it every chance they get. It's why they weren't just honest about wanting to collect money for charity from the start. It's why they resorted to basically holding their own comic's progression for ransom during its midseason hiatus. It's why the deadline was 24 hours and why the posts are now gone.

Thankfully the Internet does what it does - any evidence that Snailords was trying to bury is now all over reddit, and hey, just for good measure, here's a post on Tumblr that's been sitting in my drafts for days now, days after people have already seemingly stopped talking about it. Don't let anyone bury or forget about the stunts Snailords is pulling on their audience, with a platform that they've been consistently given by Webtoons, because that's what they want you to do.

#snailords #webtoon critical

[dariaslookalike]

Needing Miller pt I

Summary: It's a shit hole of a world that you're living in, and it gets even shittier when you're ambushed in your sleep. It's a slippery slope that leads you from being tucked cozily in your sleeping bag to joining the raiding group lead by the most infuriating (and intimidating) man you've ever met. You need to survive, above all else- either in this group (without smacking its leader over the head), or in the world alone after somehow escaping. Easier said than done, when your mind loses all sense of focus, tactics and skills the second that Joel Miller rolls up his sleeves and shows his godforsaken forearms.

Warnings: Violence, swearing, adult language, mature themes, eventual smut, female protagnist, no reference of y/n

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 6.6k

A/N: I posted this on AO3 under the same username, feel free to give that a look. I'm excited to be posting this cause its been sitting in my drafts FOREVVEEERRR but i'm also not going to be updating it on a regular schedule- uni and life blah blah blah

Next Chapter: Pt 2

-----------------------

You know something is wrong before you wake up.

There’s a shift in the air. A warm, humid breeze puffs against your cheek. You squeeze your eyes tight, trying to savour the little bit of rest you can find here. It was a miracle to find a mall like this; abandoned, free of infected, and a safe place to spend the night.

But your gut sinks and there’s a sudden sense of dread that settles on your shoulders now, even in your half-asleep state. You’re tucked into the corner of an abandoned clothing store. The racks were mostly picked clean, or otherwise moth-eaten, but you had found some coverage behind the counter. You had laid your sleeping bag down and could only imagine it before the outbreak; girls younger than you standing behind the register, tiredly scanning item after item as some middle-aged woman goes into a drabble about her day. But the corner was still quiet and safe; more than you had been awarded in your recent weeks.

So why was there a breeze?

Your hand inches down and grips at your knife, tucked into your jeans. It was uncomfortable and prodding to sleep with, but right now you were more than grateful you had kept it beside you.

You open your eyes and are met with a row of crooked, yellowed teeth and wide eyes. The man’s face is pressed up against the floor and he grins at you, his nostrils flaring when your eyes meet his. You can see every dirty pore of his face, every cold sore littered around his mouth.

You scramble back, trying to put some distance between the two of you so that you can rip your hand out of the sleeping bag and stab him through his grinning mouth. He laughs, and it sounds bubbly and excited. You glance around quickly and see another man, standing off to the side. Not as if he’s on the lookout, but as if he’s simply overseeing his friend; supervising his fun. His face is hollow as he looks at you. Uncaring. You feel nauseous.

The man is wiry and everything about him is thin. The angle of his shoulders, the concavity of his neck, the tight pull of skin around his face. He shifts himself into a squat, and his hands snake out, gripping you by the shoulders. He pulls you up, and his bony fingers dig painfully into your shoulders, his rotten mouth fanning across you.

His voice is croaky and uneven, but he leers closer to you. “I’m gonna have so much fun with ya. Love it when they get that scared look on their face.”

You blanch, and feel your breath get caught in your throat. But damned if you give into his weird, kinky reverse psychology. You struggle, kicking out to him, and it does little more than shuffle your sleeping bag further down. He chuckles at your feeble attempt but you don’t stop. His hands pin you to the wall, but you’re almost thankful for it- it lets the sleeping bag tug down unresisted while you remain upright. He just smiles and it makes his face crease in a way that reminds you of a worn, leathered shoe.

“Look atcha. Pretty face. Can’t wait to see what those pretty lips do.”

He squeezes against the clothed flesh of your breast. He groans, and pushes himself forward, rutting against your leg. His hand kneads against your breast harshly. Your arm is finally out enough that you can wrench it free of the sleeping bag material, and you manage to kick it completely to your feet. He doesn’t notice, instead entranced by his groping.

But he fucked up. Let your shoulder go to be a pervert. Stupid fucking raider.

And then your arm is raising and your fingers are clutching the knife so tightly and your arm is swinging down and your muscles tense with the amount of force and your hand angles the blade for his neck.

But his eyes dart over at the last second and he stops chuckling, instead swinging himself to the side. Your knife misses his neck, but you follow it through regardless, driving it home into his shoulder.

He cries out in a twisted combination of pain and fury, and his hand drops from your breast. You see his friend advance closer, hands reaching to his jeans, where a gun is shoved into the side. The man in front of you snarls, not even bothering to tell him to back off with words; but his friend gets the message, and drops his hand, stepping back. Deeming you not a threat.

You dig the hilt in deeper and kick out, boots connecting against his shin.

He whips back to you, and spittle flies out of his mouth as he huffs in pain. But his other hand still pins your shoulder, and in a second it readjusts to your throat, squeezing against the column of your neck. His eyes are somehow wider, and you can see the red veins surrounding them.

You’re forced to abandon the knife in his shoulder, and instead both your hands come up to claw at his hand. He laughs, and reaches up, twisting the knife out of his shoulder in a pained yell. You want to tell him he shouldn’t have done that. Stupid fucking raider. That he might bleed out now if you were lucky enough to nick an artery. But instead, you bare your teeth and your hands reach out, clawing at his eyes when it proves futile to attack his hand. His fingers squeeze tighter at your throat and you suck in your last breath.

He’s going to kill you, says a small voice in your head.

He angles his head back just far enough that your hands can’t dig into his flesh and the strain makes his neck look taut and ready to snap. You’re starting to get lightheaded. He laughs again, and you kick out; but this time it’s weak, frenzied and doesn’t land with the direction or force as before.

He’s going to kill you. Stupid fucking raider.

The bloodied knife is in his hand and he angles it up, digging the tip into the apple of your right cheek. The hand at your throat relaxes, and you realise it’s for the same reason his friend didn’t intervene. You weren’t a threat. You gulp down air and it brings back focus to you. You dig your fingernails into his forearm but he doesn’t even flinch as you draw blood, and gouge your nails in deeper. He just shows all his yellow, rotting teeth in a grin.

“Thought we could have some fun.” He moves his face closer, sneering. “But you’re a fucking bitch with this fucking knife.” He digs it in, and you feel blood dribble down your face. “Gonna make sure you’re just as fucking ugly outside as you are inside.”

He digs it in deeper but his eyes stay trained on you. You realise he’s waiting for you to start begging. To start pleading for yourself, for your skin, for your face. To convince him not to maul you and assault you and kill you.

You spit on him and it lands across his nose and cheeks. “Fuck you. I’ll still look better than you, you inbred piece of shit.”

He drags it down your face and you hate the satisfaction in his eyes when you cry out. You feel it slice through tissue and he drags it from your right cheekbone down the length of your face, and it’s such a searing, precise pain that throbs throughout your whole face; he could have been stabbing you in the eye at the same time, and you wouldn’t have been able to differentiate. You can feel the tip of the blade scrap against your teeth and gums and blood fills your mouth and your lips part, letting blood flow out instead of choking on it.

But then a shot rings out. And the hand at your throat falls and the knife is wrenched out of your face.

You can feel your own blood gushing down your cheek but there’s something warm and wet splashed across the entirety of your face. You crumple to the ground, and your hands press themselves against your cheek, trying to halt the bleeding. You can’t even think, don’t even know why you’re trying to stop the blood flow when there’s no way you’re making it out of here alive. He was going to have his way with you and he was going to kill you and his friend was going to-

Your eyes flick across the floor, and travel up his pair of jeans, to his bloodstained shirt, to his face that’s half missing. It’s a bullet hole in the same manner as an asteroid being played in a darts game. There is no precision or clear entry or minuscule crater. His face is torn apart in a mess of red and flesh and wet and his one eye stays on you, unseeing. Your spit is still flecked across his cheek.

You lean over and vomit, and it’s a horrible mixture of bile from your empty stomach and red from your cheek. It stings against your wound, an acidic pang.

Someone’s talking and you’re reminded of the man standing to the side. But it’s two voices. Your ears are buzzing.

“What did I fucking tell you about the girls? What the fuck did I say?” Commanding. Brutal.

“I-I’m sorry Joel.”

A thud. “I asked you a fucking question. What did I say?”

“T-to not touch 'em. To not think about it.”

“‘should blow your fucking head off. Look at your friend-” You can see in your peripheral that the man’s head is clenched in the newcomer's hand, and twisted in your direction. There’s enough force that he could have had his neck snapped, but he simply stumbles and looks over towards you.

“You think for a second of doing the same as him, and I’ll wrench your skull off with my bare hands. Now get the fuck out of here. Don’t come back.”

And then there’s silence.

The man still stares up at you. His head has become a puddle on the floor. He’s missing half of his face, and you think the other half is splattered on you.

You stare at him.

Can’t stop.

Stupid fucking raider.

He was going to kill you.

His chest doesn’t rise and fall. He’s not gasping for breath. Your cheek is a searing, blinding pain, and you wonder if he felt anything while it happened.

The red of his face drips onto the tiled floor. It spreads out, and soaks into the corner of your sleeping bag that’s crumpled to the floor. You can see his brain but you can’t rationalise it with the diagrams you had seen of a pink, fleshy oval. It’s red and dripping and chunks of it are hanging out and it looks more like a splattered, bruised tomato than some scientific drawing.

You should be standing up. Running. Sprinting until your legs give out. Wiping his blood off your face. Stopping your bleeding. That’s what the voice in your head tells you. You’re vaguely aware that the man- Joel, says the small voice, is still in the room with you. That he might be worse than the man now soaking into the floor.

But you stare at him. Can’t stop. He was going to kill you.

It’s like the world dulls when the other man crouches in front of you. Your ears don’t hear anything. Your eyes only see the red veins of the man in front of you, blooming out as he drains onto the ground. You feel lightheaded and the throb of your cheek and sting of your bruised neck fade into the background.

And then a hand touches your chin, which is wet with…you’re not sure. Your blood. His. Tears.

He- Joel, the voice in your head hisses- tilts your face to him and your eyes are wrenched away from the man on the floor, and instead, you meet brown ones. Crows feet creep out at the corners. There’s a notch in between his eyebrows as they furrow. His nose is strong and carved and his jaw is square. He says something and you don’t hear it, instead eyes dropping to the movement of his lips.

And then the world rushes back in.

Your ears are filled with the noise of your heavy, ragged breathing, you feel the bright, stinging pain in your face, and you can smell the iron spreading from you and on the floor. And you don’t know how but your knife is back in your hand. It’s still red. You don’t care. Instead, your pulse is thrumming in your neck and you feel it drip down your face. And your muscles are all screaming at you in support and that voice in your head is a rapid chant of yes yes yes yes. And there’s adrenaline filling your chest, and you growl, eyes twisting and you lash out like a rabid animal, your teeth gnashing and your knife swinging down in a high arc and this time you’ll make it count, you’ll make it land, you’ll fight and you’ll scream and you’ll kill and you’ll-

Your knife doesn’t even make it halfway through the air before a hand grabs your wrist, stopping all motion with that one action; like screeching a train to a halt.

You growl, and it comes out guttural in your heavy breath. You bare your teeth and taste your blood. You angle the knife down, tilting it so that the bloodied edge digs into the large hand grabbing your wrist. You see blood start to drip down his wrist and you force more pressure into the hilt of the knife. Slice it through tissue and tendon and bone. Create that searing, precise pain.

You carve a nice wound into the hand, but then with only a flex of tendons, Joel squeezes your wrist so tightly that your bones groan against each other. Your hand involuntarily flexes and the knife clatters to the ground beside you.

Your free hand snakes up, aiming to gouge out his eyes. He huffs, and again, easily grips your wrist in his hand.

You bite back your cry this time, and snarl. “I’ll fucking kill you.”

It comes out garbled, and blood drips from the inside and outside of your cheek, but he understands. He scoffs. It’s not perverted or desperate in the way the man’s was; it’s genuine disbelief. His voice rumbles out from him, deep and unyielding. “And how are you gonna do that?”

Stupid fucking raider.

You use his grip against him, his resistance to let go of your wrists. You force yourself forward, and his tight hold on you means that he falls back, and lands against his back with a dull oof. You raise your elbow as high as it can and slam it back down into his sternum. You slam your knee down, and it connects with his crotch; you hear him groan beneath you painfully. You go to kick out at him, knee him in the crotch again until his grandkids are screaming for you to stop, but his thighs cage you, and tighten around both your legs. You stretch your fingers out like claws and rack them down his neck, drawing lines that bloom in red. He adjusts his grip, and his hands easily envelop yours completely.

You stare down at him huffing, and struggle in his grip, like a mouse caught in a snake’s hold. You jab anything you can into him, your elbow back in further, your hip into his thigh. You land blow after blow and you’re sure they’ll bruise by the way he hisses and groans. But he’s stronger than you and his hold tightens around you, squeezing in until you can’t move at all, instead pinned against him. Now that he knows you’re resistant, he doesn’t let you move an inch.

His broad, thick legs squeeze against your own so that you’re lying atop him, while he holds your hands painfully between the two of you. His hand is pouring out blood from where your knife sliced, and it seeps over your hands, sticky and wet and reeking of iron.

Joel scoffs again, and you think it’s the most annoying sound you’ve ever heard.

“Real impressive- first time I’ve seen an elbow jab be used as a killing blow.”

His drawl is Southern; smooth and honeyed, which almost sweetens his mocking words. You’re going to tear his throat out with your teeth.

He looks up at you, and his eyes almost soften. But then his face morphs into something tense, something rigid and he shakes his head. “‘M not gonna kill ya. Or hurt ya.”

You laugh, and your hair falls with the movement, spilling to frame your face and hang over the man beneath you. Your blood drips from you onto his cheek. He doesn’t move to wipe it away.

“Exactly what your filthy fucking raider friend said. We’d have some ‘fun’.” You lean down, eyes wide, and you chuckle, trying to not let the pure fear seep through. His grip is so strong on your hands that you know he could splinter your bones right now if he wanted to; he stops you from leaning closer to his neck as you planned, and you gnash your teeth. “I’ll bite your fucking dick off if you put it near me.”

You expect him to scoff. Maybe slam you into the floor, push your face into the puddle of the last man who hurt you. Break your hands.

Instead, he lets go of you. Loosens his legs against yours.

You stare down at him for a moment, shocked. But then you scramble back, so quickly you almost slip, until your back is against the wall. You reach out, gripping the hilt of the knife you lost in the palm of your hand.

You sit back on your haunches and breathe heavily, eyes trained on the man in front of you. His eyes don’t leave yours but he sits up. Draws his legs in closer. Pushes to his feet, and crouches, mirroring you.

You both stare at each other, and you can feel his attention on the knife in your hands, the tension in your shoulders. You take in the reddish lines down his neck, scratched down the surface. Your blood on his cheek. His blood dripping off his fingers. You force yourself to swallow. You tried stabbing him once and he easily stopped you; it won’t take much now that he’s expecting it too. You force yourself to still your breathing. Force yourself to place the knife beside you, on the floor.

He nods at the action and raises his hands, palms facing towards you. An act of surrender too.

“‘M Joel.” He says, and it’s so simple that it leaves you blinking for a few seconds, waiting for him to continue. But you realise he’s waiting for you to introduce yourself, and you do so. He whispers your name under his breath, as if verbally committing it to memory.

“I meant it- ‘M not gonna hurt you.” He tilts his head and spits against the dead man on the floor. “That fucker’s always been a problem.”

A problem. His words from earlier rush in; reminding the other man that he had warned them about girls. You run your tongue along your teeth. It tastes coppery. “You’ll let me leave?”

He nods again, slowly, as if you were a cornered animal. You suppose you were. “‘f ya want.”

You nod slightly, and the movement makes you aware of the wet drip from your cheek, and the dried splatter across your face.

He sighs. You knew there was going to be a ‘but’. Stupid fucking raiders.

“You’re gonna run into bad things out here,” His tone is matter-of-fact. “Fuck knows where you’re going, but others won’t be as kind as I am.”

You gesture your head to the body between you two. “As kind as him?”

“Worse.”

“So what? You’re telling me to get off your turf, turn around and don’t look back?”

He shakes his head again and huffs out a breath as if all this talking is tiring him. “No. I’m telling you to join us.”

You blink. Your cheek still drips and the pain at your neck still stings. You scoff, and your hand itches for the knife at your side. “So I can be your group’s whore? I said I’d bite anything you put near me.”

“We don’t do that to women. Or girls.” His eyes dip down to you at that, taking you in, assessing you. You wondered if you looked like some dirty street urchin. “But I’m one man down, and you clearly have some fight in you.”

You clench your jaw, ignoring the sting of your cheek. “I don’t trust you.”

He stares at you and tilts his head to the man beside you, his tone sharp and biting. “You think he trusted me? ’M not going to be your fucking friend.”

He pushes to his feet so suddenly and quickly that you flinch back, hands gripping the hilt of the knife beside you instantly. His eyes track the movement, and his lips tug up the smallest amount as if you proved his point. That you would still fight.

He huffs and rolls his eyes as if it’s the most obvious choice in the world. “Leave. Stay. I don’t give a shit, but it’s going to be the best deal you get out here. ‘Specially before you bleed out.”

He points at his own face, mirroring the wound on your cheek. And then he turns and steps over the dead man, and walks away. You watch his form; the broad expanse of his back. The muscled tone of his thighs beneath his jeans. His full height now that he was standing.

You could run the other way. Forget about his warning and keep heading east, not that you had a place in mind. Maybe he was bluffing- maybe there was no one else here, and he was banking on you not questioning it…Except you had seen the evidence of raiders as you advanced here. You weren’t stupid enough to not recognise tracks kicked into the dirt, or the rubbish left behind or the corpses that weren’t decayed by years, but were newly rotting.

You could listen to him, and just turn around; pray you didn’t run into any groups you had somehow avoided and go back to fucking FEDRA and everything you tried to leave behind. Or…stay. Stay with the stupid fucking raiders who split your face open but have someone to look out for you; someone to take watch while you slept, instead of just crossing your fingers and hoping that would be enough- because it clearly wasn’t.

Fuck.

You curse yourself. Reach out, and wind up your bloodied sleeping bag as quickly as possible, shoving it into your bag. Sling your pack across your shoulder, and stand up. You shove your knife into your jeans.

You look down at the dead man. There is an unholy halo of blood, blooming around what’s left of his head, that edges onto the toe of your boot.

You walk past and kick him.

It’s not hard to find Joel. He’s leisurely walking down the hall outside; as if he knew you were going to chase after him. He doesn’t turn when you come up beside him, but he talks, his low voice grumbling out between the two of you.

“I’ll get someone to have a look at that. As…an apology for what happened back there.”

Your cheek thrums in pain, and you nod. Can’t exactly expect a bouquet of roses for nearly getting assaulted by one of his henchmen. Some good stitches and antiseptic would be the next best thing. You reach up, and press the cuff of your flannel into your cheek, reminded that you should be putting pressure on it. You try not to swallow the blood in your mouth too much. You wonder how bad it’ll scar.

“Thanks. I guess.”

He nods, and you walk like that through the mall for a bit. He’s leading you back to the entrance you realise, and you have to quicken your pace to keep up with his long strides. You look up at him. “So..are we going to talk about schematics?”

He glances down at you, eyebrow furrowed, and scowling. “You’re not getting a fucking badge for joining.”

“No.” You scoff. “I mean you said we had a deal. What are the strings attached?”

“Strings? This isn’t a business deal. You join. You do what I say. You’ll get fed, protected, the works.” His eyes are stony as he looks at you. Not glaring at you but glaring nonetheless. “Better than what FEDRA can fucking offer.”

There’s a beat between the two of you where he awaits an answer to a question he never asked. Finally, you nod.

“Okay.”

He nods and faces away from you again. Joel’s peace is short-lived when you tsk, speaking up once more.

“What about the rest of the group?”

Another unspoken question, but he reads it loud and clear in the tense of your shoulders, the blood still dripping down your face, the pain as you speak each word and try not to catch your ruined flesh in your teeth. Would you be safe? His Adam apple bobs and he slows, coming to a full stop. He faces you fully, and you clutch the strap of your bag, barely breathing. The glint of a gun is at his waist. You didn’t see it earlier in all the commotion, but now it draws your attention. The same gun that shot your attacker; his man.

You’re reminded that he could kill you easily now. Gun or not. He didn’t sound like he was exaggerating when he threatened to rip off that other man’s head.

“If I say no one’s touching you, no one’s fucking touching you. That’s it. Now shut up.”

He turns and walks more briskly now, and you have to actually jog a bit to catch up after standing there dumbfounded. Rude. Arrogant. But…he was going to keep you safe. Had shot someone- no, not someone, but shot one of his fellow raiders to keep you safe when you didn’t even know him.

He was the only thing standing between you and the rest of the people in his group; the only thing standing between you and the other raiders you had narrowly avoided, combing over the area; and more importantly, the only person standing between your gaping wound getting infected and septically killing you.

You were fucked.

You swallow and remain silent at his side, passing through half-empty shops to get to the mall’s entry. The hallway broadens up into a large foyer, where a water fountain sits, desolate. An abandoned food court surrounds it, tables and chairs cleared out to one side. There’s a group standing at the fountain and you falter. Maybe you should just leave. Run while you still can. Face what’s out there.

But Joel turns beside you and casts a knowing, disapproving look at you as if he could tell exactly what you were thinking. You clench your jaw, ignoring him, and continue forward.

The group talked excitedly, loudly, as if it didn’t matter who heard them. Some of them sit on the lip of the fountain while others stand and talk. The chatter dies down when Joel walks up, and all eyes turn to him.

But their attention is torn, and you feel eyes rake over you; taking in your ruined cheek that’s bleeding down your neck and onto your shirt. Your small statue. The rigid tense of your shoulders. The stained knife in your waistband.

Joel notices and rolls his shoulders, the same way a lion stretches its paws out; a show of power and restraint. “Terry’s gone.”

All the eyes drag back over to him, and you see a man in the back visibly pale. The same man from earlier. Standing guard. Your stomach curdles, and you inch closer to Joel, trying to hide slightly behind his broad form.

Joel tenses when he feels you brush against his arm but he's not obvious in reacting when he sees the same man. You think that, if you weren’t a centimetre from him, you wouldn’t see the rigid still of his shoulders or the flick of his gaze over the faces, that lands and stays on the man. You can hear his words and wonder if he’s rethinking them too. Don’t come back.

He tilts his head down to you and you hate the swivel of eyes, how everyone is now permitted to look at you. The man’s face at the back hardens.

You wonder if he’s staring at the splatter of his friend across your face. Or the ragged gouge in your cheek- he was now the only one here who had seen your face unmarred. You hate that thought.

“She’s with us now. Anyone thinks of following Terry’s footsteps-”

Joel’s hand moves so fast you don’t register it reaching down to his waistband and coming back up until his gun is firing again. The man at the back drops in a spray of red and you shudder out a breath, eyes wide. The noise leaves your ears in shock and everyone takes a step back, some swearing and other’s hands going over their heads.

“And you won’t live to regret it.”

You swallow, and your stomach folds in on itself. Jesus. And Joel said he was kind. What the fuck had you agreed to? Who had you agreed to?

The other men nod, and you realise it’s subordinate. A curt response to their boss. Joel. The leader of this group of raiders. Joel, who had just killed two of his men- one for hurting you, another for disobeying him. Some of their eyes flick back to the now-dead man, whose head is pooling out on the floor.

Joel scoffs. “Deal with that.”

He gestures at two of the men. They spring into action, not questioning him for a second. Joel turns his attention to another man, standing closer to both of you.

“Ryan. Patch her up.”

The man, Ryan, nods. Joel steps away from you, and you almost step with him, not wanting to be left here. But you still yourself. Force your legs to remain planted. Don’t let these strangers think that you need someone to protect you. He walks away, back into the mall as if he wasn’t finished with whatever had dragged him there in the first place.

Ryan walks closer to you. He’s wearing faded jeans and a military-style jacket; all pockets and thick material. He offers you a thin-lipped smile; an acknowledgement and nothing else. You don’t return it.

He gestures his head towards the fountain. “Sit. I’ll see what I can do for you.”

You give him a short, curt nod, but don’t turn your back to him or anyone. Everyone watches you warily. But when you sit, and Ryan shoots a look over his shoulder at them all, that has a flash of Joel’s authority, the conversation gradually returns.

It doesn’t even get interrupted when the body is dragged away. You don’t look. You brace yourself against the edge, hands gripping the tiles. You look up at the man in front of you.

“You ‘re a doctor?”

His lips tug, and he reaches over, grabbing a backpack set near the fountain. “Something like that,” he mutters, riffling through the bag. “I was before the outbreak. Haven’t been one for a long time.”

You nod. He looks to be in his thirties. He must have been just out of med school when the outbreak hit; fresh, probably still doe-eyed and hoping to make a difference in the world of patients.

“Doctor to raider. Crazy pipeline.”

He sighs and looks down at you. You see gauze and a sewing kit in his hand. “Yeah. Did Terry do this to you? Did he…do anything else I need to look at?”

You swallow. Shake your head. “No. Didn’t get that far before Joel found me. He just,” You tilt your neck to the side, exposing the now purple marks on your skin. You wonder how much blood is stained against them. “Choked me too.”

“Told him he was gonna find out if he fucked around.” Ryan huffs angrily, muttering to himself. “I can’t do much for your neck.”

He places his materials down and instead grabs a rag from within the bag. It looks clean enough, at least. He dampens it with his water bottle and then passes it over to you. You wipe it across one side of your face but don’t bother touching the still-flowing wound. You swipe it down your neck, and finally across your hands; you think most of it is your blood, dried against your skin, but your eye catches the toe of your boot. Where you had stepped in Terry, or what Joel left of him.

Ryan takes back the rag and draws his eyes back to yours. His hand reaches up, pressing against the skin of your neck. You flinch back before forcing yourself to relax; he was an examining doctor, not an opportunistic pervert. Hopefully.

“He didn’t do much damage here. It’ll feel worse but then the bruises will fade. As for your cheek…” He tilts his head and bends at the waist, inspecting the torn flesh better. “I’m gonna have to stitch you up. It’s starting to clot which is good but it’s straight through.”

“Yeah. I can taste it.”

Ryan’s lips don’t curl at your statement, instead, he nods in understanding. He rifles in the bag again and produces a large bottle. When he opens it, it smells like the tea tree oil that your mother used to keep in the bathroom cabinet.

“Nature’s antiseptic- it’ll work fantastic at cleaning and keeping out infection, but it’s going to hurt like a bitch and I don’t have anything to give you.”

Did you just look so pathetic and bruised up that he was taking pity on you?

“Can’t be worse than being stabbed in the face, right?”

He shrugs and it does nothing to fill you with confidence. He opens the bottle and pours out some onto his hands and the needle in his grip, sterilising them in a mock imitation of surgery conditions. You force yourself to turn from him, expose your wounded cheek to him.

You don’t know how you sit still. The first stitch is piercing and stinging and brings the throbbing attention back to your cheek. You can’t look at him, so you focus somewhere in front of you; count the cracks in the tiles and the amount of squares. By halfway, you’re not resisting the tears streaming down your face, or wiping the blood that’s dripping down to your chin again. You feel like you’re going to throw up again and acid rises at the back of your throat.

When he finally pulls back and cuts the thread, your hands are shaking. Then he slathers antiseptic across the stitches, taping gauze across them and you think you might pass out.

You must look like you’re about to because Ryan’s bloodied hands reach out to steady you. You blink, hazily and couldn’t smile at him now even if you wanted to.

“Thanks.” You say, but it’s muffled from how little you move your lips. Everything in your face is pulsating. He nods and gives you a worried look.

“You should lie down. You’re gonna be in a lot of pain, and if you can sleep through it, you should.”

You cast a glance around you. In the whole process, you hadn’t realised that the sun had settled and night had fallen in the skylights high above. You can count them now; there are five other men here, all ranging in age, some close to yours, and some older than Ryan. They’re split off in separate groups close to the fountain. Three of them sleep to one side, while the others sit around an open fire. It’s jarring, to see a bonfire in the centre of a shopping mall, even though the world has ended. But there’s no Joel.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll just sit here.”

Ryan’s eyes crinkle as if he knows what you’re thinking. “I won’t let anyone get near you if that’s what you’re worried about. You can trust me to stitch up your face, you can trust me to do that, right?”

“Why?”

You bite your lip, eyebrows furrowed. You don’t bother asking much else. He knows what you’re asking. You’re a raider. I’m a girl you don’t know. Why are you being kind?

He nods, and his lips tug down. “I was a doctor. Swore to protect and to heal. And, I know Terry isn’t a good representation of it but… this is a good group.”

“Good?” You ask, cheek throbbing. “Does my face look good right now?”

Ugly. Inside. And Out. You shake away the words, and stare at Ryan’s face, ignoring the tears swelling in your eyes again. He chews his cheek and looks at you earnestly.

“Terry was bad. Everyone here,” He gestures with his hand towards the rest of the group. “Knows to not fuck around with Joel’s rules. He said not to go after girls. He said you’re with us. So I’ll watch over you, but you’re safe either way.”

You nod slightly, sighing. You glance back to Ryan, voice quiet. “Does he…do that a lot? Shoot people to prove a point?”

The man doesn’t flinch at your question and just shrugs. “He’s brutal. It’s what’s made us survive for this long. If he says something he means it; following through just shows everyone that he means business. Don’t get it in your head that just because he dealt with Terry, or brought you into the group, means that he’s kind, or that he cares about you. You’ll be doing your part, just like the rest of us. ”

You nod but still have to bite back the sting of his words. His eyes meet yours as if he was still examining you. Your part. What part did you have in a raiding group?

His expression softens.

“I’ll keep watch over you.”

He stitched up your face, so you feel inclined to believe he wouldn’t let his handiwork go to waste by letting you get shivved in your sleep. And you’re not going to sit around and wait for Joel, especially now that he wasn’t simply your gun-slinging saviour; he was the leader, the killer, the brutal man in charge. You wonder if you should regret joining him; regret the feeling of debt for his two dead men.

But you just nod and slide off the water fountain until you sit on the ground, where you can roll out your sleeping bag.

Ryan stays true to his word, and remains by the fountain as you slip into your sleeping bag, and turn on your side so that your bandaged cheek doesn’t touch the fabric. You try not to think about how Terry’s blood is dried on one corner. You settle with your back to the fountain, not wanting to expose yourself to the rest of the group just yet.

The pain is throbbing. Your wrists and hands and whole body hurt from when you grappled with Joel earlier. You feel exhausted from the rush of adrenaline, the loss of blood, the horrors of the day.

You slip into an uneasy, pained sleep.

#joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfic #joel miller fanfic #raider!joel #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #dariaslookalike fic #raider!joel x reader

[luvsturniolo]

Hi do you think you could do a nick x male reader where the reader has been sad and nick surprises him with a date in the backyard and gives him a kiss as they just like lay under the moonlight

ー ★ !! starkissed

pairing : nick sturniolo x male!reader

synopsis : described in req ^^

a/n : okay i’m really hoping that this isn’t bad because i don’t want to portray these characters incorrectly. if u have any constructive criticism feel free to lmk !! also, i aplogize that it's kinda short.

wc : 0.9k

you've had a horrible week so far. well, nothing specific happened to make it shitty, but there hasn't been a single positive thought run through your head recently. every bone in your body feels exhausted and you're sick of it. you want to feel normal. you want to be happy. but you just cant like your mind is going agianst you – trying to make you upset. and if so, it's definitely working.

your boyfriend has noticed your change in demeanor and has been trying his hardest to cheer you up. he's gifted you with flowers ; snuck into your room at night for cuddles ; surprised you with your favorite snacks ; etc. but nothing's worked. and you feel even shittier knowing that your bad mood makes him feel responsible.

the last thing you want is for him to think it's his fault that you're upset. because it's not his fault! and you wish you could explain to him why you're sad, but you can't. you can't even explain to yourself why you're upset. god, you're so incredibly sick of feeling like this.

as you lay in your bed, trying to take a nap, slow music blares through your headphones. you're wearing your comfort hoodie – one that nick gave you on your guys' first date – with the hood pulled over your hair. under the fabric, you have speakers covering your ears to play music. you were hoping that if the singer's voice was loud enough, it would drown out your thoughts and you could focus on something other than being sad for once. but of course, it's not working.

just as you're about to fall alseep, you feel your phone vibrate with a message from nick. you know it's from him because he's the only contact you don't have on DND. you lazily grab and unlock your phone, opening snapchat where he texted you from.

babe !! what're u doing rn ?

js laying in bed .. why

bc i was wondering if u wanted to come over to my place for the night :)

sure <3

you turn off your phone and stuff it into the pocket of your hoodie before removing your headphones from your ears – a wave of sadness washing over you due to the lack of noise to distract you from all the shit going on in your life right now. you scoot over to the edge of your bed and put on the pair of shoes closest to you at the moment. your outfit looks like shit, to be honest. but whatever. at least it reflects what's going on in your life, right?

you and nick live in the same neighborhood so his house is only a few blocks away on foot. after leaving your house, your arrive at his about seven minutes later. you knock on the door and awkwardly stand on the porch for a moment before nick swings it open and pulls you into a tight embrace, hugging you happily. he pulls back and peppers your face with kisses, making you smile a tad.

"i have a surprise for you." he tells you, grabbing your hand and gently pulling you inro the house. you chuckle, shutting the door behind you as you're guided into the backward. in the center of the yard, you see a tent. you can tell nick put it up and decorated the inside to be pretty for you judging by the light shining through the fabric causing small shadows to splay across the grass. "i thought it'd be nice to lay under the stars tonight."

"under the stars?" you mimick, cocking your head to the side with a small and teasing smile grazing your lips. "how romantic, nicolas."

"well, matt and chris won't be here tonight. so i thought it'd be a good idea to do something with you. i can tell you've been in a shitty mood and even though you said i can't fix it, i hate seeing you like this." nick rambles, making your smile widen even more at the sound of his voice rushing out. "also, i know how much you love astronomy and stars and everything. so i thought it'd be nice to watch them together. y'know there's supposed to be an alignment tonight? i read on some website that mercury –"

you cut off his ranting by grabbing him by the cheeks and cupping his face in your hands. he instantly shuts up and you laugh before pressing your mouth to his. he smiles against your lips and your mood raises by a lot from that simple gesture.

you break the kiss and tell him that you love his idea. with that, you guys make your way down the yard to his tent. just as you'd thought, nick had decorated it to look comfy. there are about ten blankets on the floor and a few on top for warmth while you sleep. he also brought out a ton of pillows and a flashlight – which is what must have caused the shadows you saw. on the roof of the tent, there's a mesh netting so you can see the sky but also be inside.

you flop backward onto the blankets, making nick laugh at you. he reaches up and turns off the flashlight so you can see the stars better. then, he lays down beside you, resting his head on your chest to look up at the night sky peppered with little suns.

"they look like diamonds," you mutter in a whisper. "they're so little and there are so many. yet they never fail to take my breath away."

you feel nick sigh, "you're kinda like a star, then."

"what?" you ask.

"there are so many people in this world. and everyone is so small in comparison to the universe." he explains. "and yet, you're my favorite of them all. and you never fail to take my breath away."

tags : @kasqnxx @lvrsparadise @prettysturniolo @strniolo @urmyslxt @cupidsturniolo @opheliaofficial07 @thetriplets3 @sturn1olo-ffics @uhnanix @deadxrx @kitaysworld @lovelysturniolo @wilmalovegood @ladylokilaufeyson5 @sturniolopepsi @strnilolo @knowingnothingnoel @its-jennarose @lea0518 @slaysturniolo @sturnlover @tcvazq

#luvsturniolo!! #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #smau #chris sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo x you

[starlightandfairies]

Daryl Dixon x plus!size reader: Daryl and the reader are friends (but the reader wishes they were more because she is in love with daryl) and the reader joins Daryl to find more people they run into a bad group and it ends terribly and the reader and Daryl end up in France when they get to the nuns she notices Isabelle getting a little to close to Daryl the reader is jealous of course but she is very good at hiding her emotions so when they find the pre school with the kids that are surviving there before the reader joined Daryl to help get some medication for the kids teacher the reader ask Daryl if there is anything going on between him and Isabelle Daryl said there is nothing going on and why did she ask the reader tells him to forget she said anything but Daryl won’t let it go so the reader tells Daryl about her feelings and that he doesn’t have to say it back because she thinks he doesn’t feel to same way she just rambles on about how she finds herself ugly and Daryl shuts her up by kissing her and telling her he feels the same way and to stop talking bad about her self when they are back on the road taking Laurent (where Ever he needs to be taken sorry forgot the place) Laurent is being stubborn and won't get on the carriage so the reader gets down to talk to him and tells him that the reason he needs to go with him is because he is special and he is the key to curing the zombies and she promises that she won't let anything happen to him and that she will protect him with her life Laurent looks up to the reader because she is very pretty and she is a total badass because she is a good fighter and she puts herself in danger first so the people she cares about won't get hurt and she is very fearless and she doesn't like seeing good people die.

Description: The reader is forced to confess her feelings for Daryl after having suspicions that he loved Isabelle.

Warnings: swearing, fluff, she/her pronouns, twd violence, mentions of injury, insecurities. Based on Daryl's tv show episode 2

*Requests are open, please send through as many requests as you want, check my character list and requesting rules.*

Thanks so much for giving this request!!! I had fun writing it!!!

Key: Y/N = Your Name, POV = Point of view

Word Count: 1623

Daryl and I had know each other for quite a fair few years. After the battle of the Commonwealth, Daryl and I decided to go looking for Rick and Michonne. However, we got fucked over by another fucked up group of people and ended up in the water. I lost track of the days, I have no clue how long we have both been in the water. I felt a slapping against my cheeks, groaning and rolled to my side as woke up to find Daryl hovering by my side. 

After Daryl helped me up, I glanced around, knowing that we were not in America anymore. It was a matter of finding out where we were and what to do. 

“Guess we aren’t in Kansas anymore.” Daryl shot me a look, I stuck my tongue out and gave a smile, sometimes it honestly felt like the best that I could to do. 

“Can’t believe that after all this time you are quoting movies.” 

“What can I say? It’s what you love about me.” God I wish it were true 

After realising we were are in France; Daryl and I began searching for supplies to keep ourselves going for the night. Daryl found an French to English book to help with translations. After a little while longer, these two assholes screwed us over, tried robbing us after we killed two other men that tried attacking all of us. 

A group of nuns brought us in, treated Daryl’s acid burn from the walkers, which I’m glad was treated. Then came Isabelle, I hate to say that it’s been 12 years since the world turned to shit and I still get jealous feelings. Isabelle was too close to Daryl, maybe she hadn’t had a nice man in her life for a while but her beauty and her pretty smile made me feel insecure of my own looks and inability to tell Daryl how I feel made me feel shittier than when I realised I’m going to die before the world is fixed. 

All respect to the nuns; I understand why they did what they did but at the same time, after seeing it go wrong a thousand other times. Keeping a walker alive as a message or just the emotional trauma of losing that loved one is obviously horrible to go through but as soon as we realised that the father was a walker we left as soon as we could only to return and take Laurent, honestly a sweet little boy to safety. 

Daryl and Isabelle were walking ahead, I stayed behind, kicking my feet in the dirt like an upset little kid and carried on as I drowned in my own feelings. 

“What’s going on with you?” Daryl questioned, I glanced up, placed on one of my award winning smiles and shook my head. 

“I’m all good. Honestly, I just want to get back to America.” Daryl nodded believing what I said, turning back to the front and it allowed me to wallow in my emotions again. I loved Daryl, he’s a good man, even if he doesn’t think he is a good man, he is a good man and I wish that he knew that more often. 

Isabelle is gorgeous, more so than compared to me. I mean, I’ve got rolls, even during this shitstorm I’ve got all these skin problems still and I clearly have no confidence in my appearance, even if it doesn’t matter now. I thought the end of the world would mean less problems when it came to appearance and self esteem. But noooo, it still means the same shit goes through my mind like it did when I was dating in college. 

I mean, I can handle the shitty groups that survive off of anarchy. I can handle them, because just a couple of hits to the head and boom not a problem anymore. But my insecurities, they kill me and I hate that I am not strong enough to deal with problems that shouldn’t matter anymore. Staring at what used to be a preschool made me want to cry, the place is being run by children and I wish that these children didn’t have to go through this horrible stuff and could be children in a decently safe world where they didn’t have to deal with no familiarity of what we grew up with. 

“Hey, that teacher needs some medicine, want to come with?” I nodded, glad to finally be getting that one on one time with Daryl again. Walking in the silence became uncomfortable and noticing that Daryl was hanging out with Isabelle a lot I want getting curious to know about where he stood with her. 

“So, Daryl… what’s going on with you and Isabelle?” Daryl shot me a look, as if I really just asked him about something that sounds so childish and like a teenager experience. 

“There’s nothing going on between her and I. I’m just finding out what I can from her that can help us get back home… why?” There it was, that one little question that I wish wasn’t a word. I shrugged slightly, cringing internally as I realised my capabilities to hide my true emotions decided not to work today. 

“No reason.” Fuck my voice is giving me away, all nervous and defensive. Daryl stopped in my tracks, he grabbed my arm, getting me to stop in my tracks. I couldn’t meet his eyes, I insecurely wrapped my arms around my body to cocoon into myself as I always did when I was feeling insecure. 

“Don’t give me that crap. What’s going on?” I tried one more time, hoping that Daryl would give it a reason and not think to ask about it again. That was just wishful thinking. 

“Please, just forget it!” I snapped, Daryl took a step back, shaking his head and grabbed ahold of both my arms gently. I took a shaky breathy, shaking my head and sniffled. 

“What is going on?” 

“I’m in love with you! Okay?” Daryl looked surprised by my outburst, I pushed myself out of his arms and began pacing around the tree covered area we were in.  

“Me! Fat little me, I’m in love with you! And I know you won’t say it back because I know you don’t love me back because I am nowhere near as attractive as the girls I know you’d be with if the world was still normal.” I shook my head, keeping my eyes focused on the ground as my tears fell from eyes and I didn’t want Daryl to see me like this. 

“I’m overweight, I’m ugly, I’ve got rolls and eczema. I’m an insecure little girl who hasn’t changed since high school. My acne scars make me look like I’m a fucking walker. I am ugly and I am not worth anyone’s love, not even in this world because I don’t have that kind of beauty. I am no pretty nor worth anyone’s love and I-“ Daryl grabbed my face in his hands, his lips being placed upon mine and I know it sounds incredibly cliche but it really felt like the world literally stop. Why was Daryl kissing me? I mean I was kissing him back and holy shit it was one of the greatest kisses I’ve ever experienced and I did not want it to stop. I honestly forgot the world we currently lived in is the way that it is but having Daryl actually kissing me until I needed to pull away for air made me feel like I was in a world of a book that I would’ve loved to read in the before. 

“I love you. I love you more than I can even begin to say. I ain’t good with words. But you gotta stop talking down about yourself. You are gorgeous, you are exactly as you should be and I love you. I find you incredibly gorgeous and you have a heart of gold. You are not what that stupid little insecure voice inside your head says that you are. You understand me?” I nodded, smiling as he grinned at me and rested a kiss on my forehead. 

After leaving the preschool, Laurent was angry with Isabelle and wouldn’t get in the carriage that we acquired. It was honestly a very useful invention that made life so much easier. I decided to get out of the carriage to talk to the kid and figure out a way to get him in the carriage. 

“Listen Laurent. I understand that you’re upset and not feeling the greatest in regards to that you feel Isabelle is lying to and I won’t lie to you. Not about something like this. The reason why you need to go with us is that you could be the cure to helping understand a cure for these walkers. But I promise to you I will not allow you to be hurt, I will protect and you so will the rest of us. I will protect you until my very last breath, you’re one of us and we won’t let you get hurt. I promise you and if you feel that I break your promise then you can do whatever you want if it means you feel safe.” 

“I look up to you. You’re… you’re this badass lady that knows how to fight and is a good person because you won’t let bad things happen. You are also very pretty.” I turned to see Daryl watching with a smile, he winked at me and nodded softly as I got Laurent into the carriage finally. 

Daryl took my hand as I squeezed in beside him, resting a final kiss on my cheek before offering his shoulder for me to sleep on. 

#Twd #daryl #dixon #negan #the walking dead #walkers #zombies #daryl dixon fluff #daryl dixon #daryl twd #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon the walking dead #daryl dixon fic #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixon x oc #daryl dixon x plus size reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon oneshot #fluff #angst #daryl the walking dead #rick grimes #Judith #maggie #glenn rhee #the whisperers #twd #carl grimes

[theemporium]

Ooooooh I'm gonna use this opportunity to request an angst prompt with our boy steve harrington

“i didn’t realise i was such an inconvenience.”

thank you for the request, love! enjoy some angsty feels!!🖤

6. “I didn’t realise I was such an inconvenience”

.

Steve Harrington was having a shit week. 

Everyday this week he had woken up under the assumption it couldn’t get any worse, and it did. Every. Single. Time.

He lost his favourite jacket on Monday? His car would break down on Tuesday. 

He dropped his lunch and went the rest of his shift starving on Thursday? A bird shat on him just before he got into work on Friday and he had to use the staff bathroom sink to try to wash out what he could. 

Steve was just having a really shitty week and he just wanted it to be done and over with. 

By the time he got home on Sunday night, he was tired and he was grumpy and he just wanted his bed. He didn’t even care about the pang of hunger in his stomach, winter was unforgivable in Hawkins and he wanted a bath and his bed. 

Except just before he could even make it to the staircase, the shrill of the phone ringing echoed through the house and he quickly made his way over, his frustration evident in his voice as he answered. 

“What?” 

“Stevie?”

His eyebrows furrowed a little when your voice came through the phone. “Baby?”

“You haven’t left yet?”

Steve’s frown deepened. “Left what?” 

“The house.” There was a brief pause. “You said you’d pick me up after work.” 

He let out a small string of curse words, the conversation from earlier today hitting him. You had been talking about how the bus had been becoming more unreliable the colder it got, that sometimes you’d be waiting at the stop for over an hour before it showed up. Steve had scoffed and told you he would pick you up, that there was no way his girl was going to wait out in the cold. 

But his eyes found the clock and he realised your shift had ended forty minutes ago. 

“Shit, baby, I–” he let out a heavy sigh. “I forgot.” 

“It’s fine, Steve. I can wait a little longer.” 

He let out a disgruntled noise. “Can’t you get somebody else to pick you up? It’s late and I–” 

“Really?” He could hear the disappointment in your voice. “It’s like a ten minute drive, Steve.”

“Baby, I just got in and I’m tired and–” you cut him off before he got the chance to continue.

“I didn’t realise I was such an inconvenience, Steve, but you were the one who offered the ride.” 

Steve sighed. “I know but–”

“Never mind, I’ll just get the bus.” 

His brows furrowed together. “Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, I’ll see you at Dustin’s for movie night.” 

“I thought you were coming over tomorrow,” he said it like it was a fact. “Movie night is on Wednesday.” 

“I’m busy.” 

“Baby–” But the high-pitched ringing let him know that you had hung up on the other side. 

Steve had spent his whole relationship with Nancy feeling like he was begging for even the smallest of scraps. He would jump through hoops and put himself in uncomfortable situations just to spend time with her. And the times she shut him down, he remembered the pang of humiliation and embarrassment that overwhelmed him.

And now he had just stupidly done the same to you. 

His relationship with you was everything he wanted. It was by no means easy but no relationship ever fully was. But you understood each other and loved each other, and Steve finally met someone who could return the love he could give. 

And then he just had to go become the one thing he hated. 

Steve’s week just got a whole lot shittier, but this time he had no one to blame but himself.

.

#steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things x y/n #stranger things one shot #stranger things fic

[aliveinacoffin]

Request

Hi I was thinking if you could do aizawa having a sibling or daughter. Like a younger sister or daughter who he teaches and do some type of angst with them. Like him not paying much attention to her or she’s caught doing something (like smoking,drugs). Something like that. Thank you☺️

Ofc! This seems so sad, idk if you wanted angst and comfort so I just made it angst/no comfort 😭

My Own Mirror

I don't know if you wanted this to be a reader insert so I decided to just make it third person and give the little guy a nickname. as always, should be around 1k words!

TW for w33d smoking, mention of eating problems, mentions of childhood abuse, mentions of parent death, and suicidal ideations.

The cold bitter air was a grounding feeling on the young woman's flesh. Her fingers curled around the blunt she had, the smoke disappearing into the night air. The pleasant haze was soon to take over her mind, something to finally take the stress away from her life.

The headache she had from her too tight ponytail or from the lack of water and food or from her classes.

Her life was already shit enough, with shit parents and an even shittier school experience. Her quirk gave her no physical advantages at all. Her strength, smarts, and speeds were purely human. The only thing she could rely on was her absolutely atomic quirk.

When she makes skin-to-skin contact with a quirk user, she can paralyze them for up to twenty minutes if she really tried. For non-quirk users, it was up to ten. Which was great since the victim had no option but to stay frozen in that same exact spot, but horrid when you realize that most heroes and villains had some sort of superhuman ability.

The raven haired girls spiraling thoughts stopped when her mind fully succumbed to the familiar haze of her old friend. Sighing, she put out the rest of her blunt and flicked off the tiny piece that was left. She watched it fling across U.A grounds, landing on the perfectly manicured lawn. She turned back to her room, locking the door behind her.

___________________________________________

"Now, I will make this clear since there was evidence of smoking on school grounds. Smoking, of any kind, is absolutely prohibited. If you are caught even within 50 feet of a cigarette butt, it's automatic expulsion." Aizawa Shouta's voice was clear and stern.

His dark eyes scanned the room of young future heros, spending equal time looking at each one. When his black eyes matched with golden ones, he quickly looked away.

The young woman had to keep the hair on her body from becoming hard points that gravitated towards the ground.

"Now, on with the assignment for the day." The cold teacher turned towards the chalkboard and started to write whatever hero ethics problems they had.

___________________________________________

"Aizawa-sensei, I was wondering if you could help me with this problem." Her voice rang out, just as monotone as his.

Shouta sighed, looking up at the younger version of him through tired eyes. Even though Aizawa was a common last name, it was hard to deny the fact that the young girl wasn't related to him. They had the same dark hair, the same dry humor, their looks were almost identical, and their quirks were only offshoots of the other. Even their eyes were the same, both of them turning a beautiful golden hue when they used their quirks.

Though, of course, many people were wrong in their assumptions. Most people thought that she was the older man's child. Thus, many affectionately gave her the title 'Little 'zawa' truly, a creative breakthough.

In truth, she was his younger sister. Way, younger sister. Even though both of them had been accidents, something both their parents had constantly reminded both, she was even more of a mistake than Shouta.

Still, his mini me shuffled closer to his desk, awkwardness filling her entire body. He had been thirteen when she was born, already going through puberty, and was ready to get out of the house when she had been born. To say they never had a good relationship was an understatement. The loss of his friend only estranged the two of them more.

"Make this quick, I have lots of papers to grade." Aizawa was blunt and to the point. Barely giving her a second glance as he went back to scratching off red marks on poor students' hard work.

Resentment filled her once again, anger curling up fast and hot in her. He had always made it clear that the two of them weren't close, that they had no personal relationship except matching parentage and had the unfortunate to end up in the same class.

"I was just struggling to understand question nine, and I needed further clarifying-" She started, trying to keep her brows from furrowing.

"I explained that in class, weren't you paying attention? I don't have the time to explain myself twice for everything I say." He was exasperated, simply put off by the entire interaction.

"It's just one question. Would it kill you to just talk to me?" Anger got the better of her, and the assignment she had crinkled under her fist. She moved to try and put herself in his line of vision and slammed her hands on top of his desk. "Are you that ashamed of me?"

In a quick movement, Shouta stood up to his towering height over the girl, eyes dark and mouth set in a harsh frown. "That's no way to speak to your teacher. Now you should leave before I give you detention." He had one hand on the armrest of his rolly chair, clenching the poor handle with all his might.

She glared at him, mirroring his expression before she started to blink away the rapidly forming hot tears. She made a quick turn on her heel, wadding up the assignment before chucking it into the trash bin by the door. "Thanks for the help, sensei!" Her angry voice yelled out to him as she disappeared down the hallway.

Aizawa sighed deeply, collapsing onto the chair and holding his aching head in his hands.

___________________________________________

Just as always, the sunset makes way for the moon to rise. The stars were no longer covered in the bright light of the sun, constellations, and milky ways soon were revealed in the dark night sky.

And just as always, little 'zawa found herself back on her balcony. She had some comfort with the makeshift overhead and the sheen blanket she had set up around it.

The remnants of her current activity lay around, little flakes of her weed staying untouched on her metal tray, her grinder next to it. Little sheets for her blunts gently swaying in the light breeze.

The only thing that gave herself away to anyone else was the smoke that occasionally bloomed up in the air.

Playing on her phone, her blunt fingernails tap tap tapping in the quiet night, sporadically inhaling her cure-all. She failed to notice the dark figure standing on her balcony.

Someone loudly cleared their throat, loudly and obnoxiously.

The sounds startled the girl, and panic seized her so badly that she dropped her phone and her blunt. Her head snapped with wide eyes finding the source of her interruption.

"Shit."

"That's all you have to say for yourself?" Aizawa said simply, face set in a disappointed scowl.

At those words, something in the girl's mind snapped, like a rubber band finally giving up after being stretched and forced too far.

"What else could I say? You won't listen to me either way, you hardly even spare a glance my way! When Mom died, you weren't even there. I had to sort her will all by myself, I had to plan her own funeral, and you left me to deal with Dad. You left me all alone, Shouta, do you even know who I am?" She sobbed, fat crocodile tears rolling down her face while her hands painfully clutched at her beating heart. Her hot face scrunched up at her older brother's form. "The only way I feel normal, where I don't want to just jump off a bridge is by getting fucked up."

There was a beat of silence, only the sounds of the youngest Aizawas crying could be heard.

"I'm sorry I was born and I'm sorry I ever came into your life." She said quietly, voice horse and barely above a whisper.

She looked up at her teacher, her older brother, a stranger through teary eyes.

The whole time Shouta had just been staring at her with an icy stare, "No, I have no idea who you are." He said, shoulders drooping, his eyes fluttering as he looked away.

Almost ashamed.

#my hero academia #aizawa shouta #shota aizawa #mha #mha fanfiction #mha angst #aizawa angst #im literally sobbing #shes not even a real character or fully fleshed out one #but i need them to be happy #shes just his little mini me

[harry-on-broadway]

The Last Line: Part Two

Part Two

Word Count: 12.1K || Series Masterlist || Rating: M

A/N: Uh, so it’s been a minute. Life got kind of busy and I had to put this on the back burner for a little bit, but it has been fun to step back into this world. Would love to hear what you think! 

***

The venue was stuffy, the floor was sticky, and the smoky air made her feel as if she’d traveled back in time, but the atmosphere made Penny feel alive.

It was a Wednesday night and she was spending the evening at The Echo where an emerging folk-rock band was playing a show. It was the first concert she had been to in a week and it was exactly the reminder she needed as to why she hadn’t quit her job. Darren had been in rare form recently, seemingly going out of his way to find problems with her stories and shoot down any pitch she made, relegating her to writing up stories from the wire, while the Google Doc of ideas she kept open at all times grew longer and longer. At least she had her concerts.

After making a couple of laps around the venue, mentally noting the size, makeup, and energy of the crowd for the review she’d be writing later that evening, she went back to the bar and ordered a drink. Seltzer with lime was always her go-to when she was working. It looked like she was drinking, but kept her sharp for the evening.

As she sipped her drink, she scanned the crowd looking for the other critics she usually saw on the scene. She’d noticed Mikael from the Times when she was waiting for her drink, and had spotted Angel at the coat check on her way in. It surprised Penny that they hadn’t made their way backstage yet. Critics were usually given a special waiting area where there were drinks, appetizers, and sometimes a chance to chat with whoever was performing that night ahead of the show.

Penny had tried that the first few times she’d been sent out on assignment, but stopped soon after. Maybe it was her relative inexperience compared to other critics, but she still hadn’t perfected the idea of separating the art from the artist and found it difficult to be impartial after getting to know someone – she’d either feel bad giving a negative review to a great person or, on one occasion, want to give a shittier than needed review to the asshole who tried to cop a feel. Regardless, her fellow critics would soon be taking their respective spots around the venue.

For venues like The Echo, Penny preferred to stand in the back of the room where she had an equally good view of the artist and crowd, all the better to set the scene for her readers. She scanned the room again as the opener took the stage, noting how the room had started to fill even more, until she spotted the last person she’d expected to see.

Harry.

He locked eyes with her and she froze, hoping he was looking at someone behind her. But that clearly wasn’t the case as Harry raised his glass to her from across the room. She mimicked the gesture, unsure of what else to do. She paused, waiting for something else, a mouthed word or a wave, but Harry simply turned back to face front. Leaving Penny to do the same.

Suddenly, she was filled with self-consciousness. Was it just her or was he looking at her? She could feel what she thought were his eyes fixed on her, but each time she turned to look at him, he was focued on the stage. The opener began playing and Penny, though she didn’t need to, tried to focus on taking notes to get her brain back in work mode. Five or six songs later – she couldn’t remember – the lights came up and the buzz of conversation returned. So had her anxiety over Harry. Feeling shaky, she went back to the bar for some water, taking a sip as she stepped off to the side.

“How are you doing?” a quiet voice asked, close to her ear, causing her to jump. “Shit,” Harry said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, you’re good. It’s good,” Penny said, moving away from the bar. “I uh, didn’t expect to see you here tonight,” she said, scrambling for words.

“I’ve had the tickets for a while now,” Harry replied. “Don’t worry, I’m not following you or anything,” he added quickly. He paused as Penny looked at him. “Um, did you get my email?” he asked. He was trying to keep his tone casual, but Penny could sense a self-consciousness to the question.

“I did.”

“Oh, good.” His brow twisted into a frown. “I wasn’t sure since you didn’t respond.”

“I didn’t think I needed to, seeing as we’re not friends and I have no reason to talk to you.”

“We’re talking now,” Harry said.

“Yeah, and, as I said, we have no reason to.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“What was that for?” Penny shot back.

“Nothing.”

“No, it was something. So go ahead.”

Harry sighed. “It’s common courtesy to reply to someone and accept the apology that they offer.”

“What if I don’t accept it?”

“You’re not accepting my apology?”

Penny shrugged. “You were kind of dick and what you said hurt me. I’m allowed to feel that way and not accept the apology.” She knew she was being stubborn and petulant for no good reason, but she dug her heels in anyway. “And this is also kind of insulting, you coming in here and telling me how I should do my job…again.”

“OK,” Harry said, defensively. “I’ve never told you how to do your job. I just said I didn’t like what you’d written. Or that you ignored my email. Which, if we’re airing it all out right now, I thought was kind of rude.”

“Oh my God, do you ever stop?” Penny yelled, causing heads to turn.

“Keep your voice down,” Harry muttered, sinking into himself, as he steered Penny away from the gathering crowd.

“Don’t tell me what to do!” They were standing across from each other and Penny had to crane her neck slightly to meet Harry’s eyes. His face was slightly flushed, from both the heat and his drink, and stray curls were poking out from underneath his cap. His brow and lips remained twisted into a scowl, and despite the intensity of his glare, there was a gentleness in his eyes. “Can you just leave me alone?” Penny asked, softer. “Despite what you probably think, I don’t want to fight you. I just want to watch the show and do my job.”

“You’re working tonight?” Harry asked, his own frosty demeanor cooling.

“Yeah. I’ve got to file a review bright and early tomorrow, so I just want to make it through the night without incident.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to it then,” Harry said, turning to go back to where he had initially been standing. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

“What’s wrong?” Penny asked. She answered her own question with one look. A crowd had gathered where Harry had previously been standing, with several people on their phones, scouring the crowd for him. “Word travels fast, huh?”

“Yeah,” Harry said with a sigh as the lights flashed, signaling the start of the show. “See you later.”

“You can stay here,” Penny said. The small peace offering was the least she could do. “I mean, it looks a little calmer over here. If that would make this more enjoyable for you.”

Harry stared at her, as if he was trying to see if there was some sort of catch to her offer. “Alright. If that’s fine with you.” Penny nodded. “Thanks,” he said again. “I really appreciate that.”

“You’re welcome.”

“See it’s not so hard to be polite, is it?”

“The offer only stands if you don’t talk to me,” Penny said quickly.  

“Roger that.”

The lights dimmed and Harry scooted closer to Penny, allowing other concert goers to pass by and get to their seats. “Sorry,” he whispered as he bumped her shoulder.

“It’s fine,” Penny whispered back, eyes facing forward.

As the band started to play, she tried to focus on the show, running through her mental list of notes she typically took during a show. There were the more technical ones. Questions of production value and ability, but also the less clinical aspects of the show that the average concert goer would want to know. What were people wearing? What was the overall vibe of the show? Did the band play the hits? Some special songs? But as she stood there listening, her thoughts kept wandering back to Harry.

Okkervil River was not the kind of band she pictured him listening to, but was he a secret fan? Was he scouting out something for his mysterious forthcoming record that she wasn’t supposed to know about? Penny always knew why she liked something and why she was in attendance, but the question that kept her going much of the time was why other audience members were there. And that question was only magnified with Harry.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him swaying along, the corners of his mouth gently turning upward as he watched the onstage action. He was obviously enjoying himself, another surprise.

The set was brief and after about 90 minutes the band left the stage and the lights came up.

“That was great,” Harry said.

“It really was. It was my first time seeing them and they set the bar very high.”

“It was your first time?”

“Yeah. Had you seen them before?”

Harry looked up at the ceiling, and it was clear that he was working on some sort of mental calculation. “I think this was my fourth time. Saw them a few times in London.”

“Oh, wow. Didn’t realize you were that big of a fan.”

Harry shrugged modestly. “I should probably be heading out,” he said, shifting on his feet as he watched the crowd start to head for the exits.

“I should be going too,” Penny said, looking in her bag to make sure her wallet, keys, and phone hadn’t been misplaced. “I need to get home and file this.”

“Where did you park?” Harry asked as they walked to the door.

“I didn’t park anywhere. I took an Uber,” Penny said. “I should probably call one now that I think about it.”

“Oh, I could give you a ride if you want.”

“Seriously?” Penny tried to hide her shock.

“Yeah. Consider it part of my ongoing apology tour since the email didn’t seem to work.”

“That’s lovely but I’m sure it’s out of your way.”

“It’s fine. I like night time drives anyways. They clear my head.”

“Harry, I don’t need this from you. I can just accept the apology and we can move on with our lives.”

Harry exhaled, sharply but without malice. “Has anyone ever told you how difficult you can be?”

Penny shot him a glare. “Difficult?”

“You yell at me in the restaurant, you refuse my apology, you refuse a ride home…stubborn as a mule.”

“Did you ever think I maybe didn’t want to get into a car with a strange man?”

“Did you ever think I maybe didn’t want to worry about you waiting around here alone?”

They were outside now, and Penny was thankful for the cool breeze that dulled the heat that had once again risen to her face. “Oh, well, that’s v-very kind of you,” she said, stumbling over her words. “But I do think it would be easiest if I just called an Uber.”

Harry rubbed his face. “OK, yeah, whatever.” Penny looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to leave. “The very least you can let me do is make sure you get into the car,” he said, making it clear that he wasn’t budging until she was on her way.

“Fine,” she said, punching in her location in the app. “Car should be here in about 15 minutes.”

“Why are you so insistent in your refusal to accept help from me?” Harry asked.

“Don’t get offended. It’s not just you, it’s all men.”

“OK, whatever, the question still stands.”

“I don’t think 15 minutes is enough time to unpack that,” Penny said with a grin. “Why were you so hostile towards me over 500 words that I wrote two years ago.”

“Fifteen minutes isn’t long enough to unpack that,” Harry replied with a smirk.

“Touché.”

“So…” Harry said after a moment, fighting against the awkward silence that had settled in between them. “Do you have any other concerts coming up?”

“Um…” Penny tried to think of her calendar. “I’m seeing Madison Cunningham and Andrew McMahon later this week and then this band called Talk to Plants next week. And then some friends and I have tickets to Queen later this month. That’s not work though, that’s just for fun.”

“Does it ever get boring going to so many concerts?”

Penny frowned. “Not boring per se but there are certain shows I get more excited for than others. But I try not to take it for granted. I know there are people who would kill to have this job. Do you have any shows coming up?” she asked, wanting to shift the subject away from her.

“Not really. I might try to see Ariana Grande soon but I’m just sort of playing it by ear. Not sure when I’ll be able to fit it in.”

“Is the new album keeping you busy then?” Penny’s eyes went wide as soon as the words were out her mouth. “Because I assume you’re making a new album? Since it’s coming up on two years after your first. And that seems to be a cycle most people like to follow.”

If Harry knew that she had been given inside information, he didn’t say anything, opting to keep the conversation rolling. “I’ve been writing and I’ve been in the studio but it will be a few months before you’ll need to sharpen your pitchfork for the review.”

“Oh, I don’t actually write for Pitchfork. I’m at The Moment,” Penny said. The joke was too easy.

“Well maybe you should make the move. Pitchfork seems more suitable for your demeanor.”

“What the fu–” Penny was cut off by a notification on her phone that her driver was approaching the curb.

“Get home safe,” Harry said, opening the door for Penny as the car idled next to them. “Let me know when you’re settled,” he added, gently shutting the door once Penny had situated herself inside.

Penny tried to ask what he meant by “suitable for her demeanor” but was cut off as the car pulled away. Putting Harry out of her mind, she settled into the backseat as the lights of the city flew by her. She opened up the Google Docs app on her phone and started drafting her review. A witty lede came to her rather quickly and the rest of the review flowed out of her after that. She’d have to clean it up before filing it to Darren, but that could wait until she was home. Her driver dropped her off at the entrance of her building, and she raced upstairs, quickly showering and throwing on some sweats and a t-shirt.

A cup of tea by her side, she sat on the couch and opened her laptop, pulling up the review she’d drafted in the car. She proofread it, adding some commas, fixing some spelling errors, and tweaking a few sentences so they flowed better. After a couple more read-throughs she felt satisfied, and shared the link with Darren, dropping him a Slack message as well. Sipping the warm beverage, she scanned her email, deleting some of the more useless messages and marking some to respond to when she logged on again in the morning. When she was finished, she went to close her laptop but hesitated.

Sighing, she knew what she needed to do and searching her inbox, she pulled up Harry’s apology email. Clicking on reply, she typed out a quick message – Made it home. Thanks for waiting with me. Hope you enjoyed the show.

She didn’t know what compelled her to do it, but it just felt right. She closed her computer and climbed into bed.

***

A chime signaling an email woke Harry from the light sleep he’d drifted off into. Ordinarily, he would have ignored it. Emails could almost always wait until morning. But for some reason, he rolled onto his side and lifted his phone from his nightstand. He squinted against the bright light coming from the device, and to make up for not wearing his glasses, and managed to make out the subject line: Re: An Apology.

“Fuck,” he said aloud to himself, scrambling to sit up and read whatever it was Penny had sent him.

It was only 13 words, arranged in the most perfunctory of phrases. No added emotion or extraneous details and punctuation. It was simple and straight to the point, but it knocked him out.

“Fuck,” he said louder, laying his head back against his pillow, phone clutched to his chest. He couldn’t explain why, but Penny Sanders was driving him out of his mind.

The next morning, he met Jeff and Tom at the base of Eaton Canyon. Harry always liked getting outdoors when he had the time, and both of his managers had been expressing interest in making more of an effort to get into nature, which had resulted in them setting up a weekly hike. Harry, usually the first to arrive, was last.  

“Big night, H?” Jeff said with a grin. “Assuming you’re late because you had to chase last night’s guest out.”

“Ha ha, Jeffrey,” Harry said tightly. “For your information, I didn’t sleep well. And before you go there, no, it wasn’t because of a hook up.”

“We’re just messing with you, H,” Jeff said, a little gentler. “Was something the matter? Do you feel OK?”

“No, everything’s fine. I was just keyed up from the concert,” Harry said as the three men started up the trail.

“Who’d you see again?” Jeff asked.

“Okkervil River.”

“Really?” Tom chimed in. “I think Penny was there last night.”

“Yeah, she was,” Harry said, trying to remain calm. “I actually ended up standing with her during the show.”

“Really?” Jeff said as he and Tom stopped on the path.

“Yes,” Harry said, turning around to face them. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“Seeing as how you two can’t seem to be in a room with each other without incident it’s a little surprising,” Tom said with a laugh. “Should we be monitoring Twitter for any videos of the two of you duking it out?”

“You all aren’t funny,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “I have no problem being civil. Penny’s the one who has the problem with me.”

Jeff and Tom exchanged knowing glances behind his back as they pressed forward. For a few minutes the only noises between them were the crunch of sticks and gravel and the occasional grunt of exertion as they approached a particularly steep part of the trail. Harry was the first to break the silence.

“So, what’s the deal with Penny anyways?” he asked, keeping his eyes facing front.

“I mean she’s a journalist. She was with Variety before The Moment, but you already know all of that,” Tom said.

“Yeah, but like you’ve known her longer than that, right?” Harry asked, fishing for more information.

“Mmmhmm,” Tom said. “We lived in the same neighborhood growing up. I was honestly closer to her brother than her – we were the same year in school – but I was over at their house all the time. Penny used to write these little newsletters each week that she’d hand out to everyone on the block.” He chuckled. “It was pretty intense for an 11-year-old but she did the whole thing herself – she’d write reviews, op-eds, updates on neighborhood news. One time she reported on a feud between two houses on the block. It was clear she was meant to be a journalist.”

“You never mentioned you knew her,” Harry said.  

“I kind of forgot about her to be frank,” Tom said. “You know how it is…you leave home and suddenly 99% of your acquaintances and connections growing up just become people your mom updates you on during a phone call. ‘Mrs. Sanders sent over Penny’s senior portrait! She’s going to NYU!’ You know, that sort of thing.” He paused. “Reconnecting was actually a coincidence. My mom happened to send me one of her articles and then the next day I spotted her in the campus courtyard. I had no clue she was working around us, but it was great to see her.” He looked at Harry. “Why are you so interested?”

Harry gave an indifferent shrug. “Just making conversation.”

“I think Harry has a little crush,” Jeff said, a teasing lilt in his voice.

“I do not have a crush, Jeffrey!” Harry said, face turning red.

“Why are you so fixated on her then? NME, The Guardian, and Spin all gave you less than stellar reviews and you’re not hunting them down.”

“Would now be a good time to mention that Penny is single – according to my mom at least,” Tom chimed in.

“I hate you both,” Harry said, quickening his pace and leaving his companions in the dust.

He reached the top of the trail first and sat on a log, sipping the coffee Jeff had bought him, until Tom and Jeff caught up, sweaty and breathing heavily.

“I don’t have a ‘crush,’” Harry said without preamble, internally cringing at how juvenile the statement sounded. “I just…” He absentmindedly scratched behind his ear.

“Have a pathological need to have everyone like you?” Jeff finished with a smirk.

“Sure, let’s go with that.” Harry wasn’t sure that that was entirely the truth, but in the moment, it felt like the path of least resistance.

“I know we’ve already covered this, but Penny’s actually really wonderful,” Tom said, as they took in the view, sipping their beverages. “She’s smart and funny as hell. She’s just had to deal with a lot of shit which is where the prickly exterior comes from. I think if you gave her a chance, you all would actually hit it off. And again, she’s single.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I’d never stand a chance with her. She’d eat me alive.”

***

It had been a busy few weeks for Penny. She was filing stories daily, attending concerts upwards of four times a week, and had even had a couple of interviews scheduled, filling her days trailing musicians around LA to gather enough information to formulate a profile that would generate enough clicks for the website. Aside from Chloe, who she saw daily in the office, and a few college friends who’d synced up business trips to have one night with her in Los Angeles, her social life had been nonexistent. It was much preferred to fall asleep to sitcom reruns than feign interest in someone else’s problems over post-work drinks.

All of that made the text from Tom she received all the more welcome.

While she had established her own circle of friends in the city, it was nice to finally have someone from back home with her, and despite years of silence between them, they’d fallen right back into the rhythm they’d had as kids in the neighborhood.

He’d been having a busy time as well, and suggested they meet up for dinner after work one night. Penny had quickly agreed, saying she’d walk across to Full Stop’s offices at the end of the day. Edits for her latest piece – an interview with the CMO of a new music marketing agency  – hadn’t come in, and she’d received no response from Darren when she’d messaged him about staying late to work through the piece. Figuring he’d left for the night, she plotted her own exit, texting Tom that she’d be there in twenty.

But as she crossed the campus, her phone had rang with the unpleasant chime of Slack, a sound she was sure would activate her fight-or-flight response until her last day on Earth. It was Darren, asking her to take a look at his edits.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she said to herself as she opened the door to Full Stop.

It was her first time in the building and she was surprised to see that it looked like any other office. An open floor plan with wood floors and bright white walls, pendant lights hanging from the ceiling. Groups of desks were scattered around the room, and in addition to some scattered couches and conference rooms, there was a kitchen with what appeared to be a fully stocked fridge and bar. And there didn’t appear to be a soul in sight. Penny pulled out her phone, ready to text Tom when he came through the door.

“Hey!” he said cheerily. “I was just about to text you. I have a last minute client call. Are you OK waiting for half an hour? You can help yourself to anything in the kitchen.”

“That works perfectly,” Penny said. “I actually just got some edits sent my way.”

“Great! Make yourself at home.”

Penny walked over to the table nearest the kitchen and put her bag down before raiding the fridge. She passed over the selection of beers and found herself a canned cocktail. She popped the tab and took a sip. It wasn’t great but it would do. She sat down at the table and opened the doc containing her story. She skimmed through Darren’s edits, shaking her head. Some of them were simple grammatical edits, but others were more complex suggestions that would require her to go back to the company’s publicist to set a follow-up call. Maybe they could do an email? She ran the charm on her necklace across the chain as she continued to read the notes. Darren’s edits would result in her rewriting significant sections, changing the angle of the piece. Thankfully, he’d given her until tomorrow afternoon to turn it around, but with nothing else to do, she figured there was no time like the present to get started.

She sent the email to the publicist and started making a list of all the things she’d need to do, and once that was complete, she began checking off the more minor changes. She was in the zone until the thunk of a bottle broke her concentration.

“Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world…” Harry said. “You know? From Casablanca?” he said as Penny stared at him blankly.

“I know. Your explanation isn’t needed.”

“Well, I thought it was since people usually pick up on it right away. My mistake.” He took a pull from his beer. “What are you working on?”

“A story.”

“Well, I figured that out.” He waited. “So you’re just going to ignore me?”

“I’m trying to work,” Penny said, looking up from her computer and taking a sip from her drink.

“Ah yes, you have someone’s hopes and dreams to crush. Who is it this week?”

“For the love of God will you please let that go?”

“No.”

“Well, I can’t wait for your next album. I’ll be sure to include details about how you act like a whiny manchild when someone has the audacity to offer a criticism instead of continuing to jerk you off like the entire industry has since 2010. I’m sure Twitter would love to learn more about how Mr. Treat People With Kindness has been verbally sparring with a female critic, in addition to following her around the city.”

“I think it’s the other way around,” Harry said. “You’re the one in my manager’s office.”

“Because my friend invited me! Why are you here?”

“Jeff and Tommy are supposed to go and get drinks with me and I told them I’d meet them here but they had –”

“A last minute client meeting?” Penny finished.

“Yeah. So I’m stuck waiting until it’s over.”

“Can’t you wait somewhere else?”

“Yeah, that wouldn’t be as fun.”

“Why not?”

“Because you wouldn’t be there. And I can tell that having to deal with me really grinds your gears and it’s honestly kind of funny.”

Penny looked up from her computer. “Grinds my gears?”

Harry nodded. “It’s a saying.”

“I know,” Penny shot back. “I’m just confused as to why you’re saying it seeing as you’re not a senior citizen or a cartoon car in a Pixar film.”

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but quickly thought better of it, rolling his eyes as he took another sip of his drink. Penny turned her attention back to her computer but was distracted when Harry pulled up a chair next to her.

“Can I help you?” she asked as he leaned over her shoulder.

“So you’re not writing a review?” he asked.

“No, it’s a business story.”

“Hmm.”

Penny sighed. “It’s fine if you sit here, but I’m seriously going to need you to leave me alone. I really do need to get some work done.”

“Fine then.” Harry scooted his chair over a few inches and pulled out his phone, tapping on the screen in silence.

Penny didn’t know how much time had passed, but by the time she’d scheduled tomorrow’s follow-up, Tom, Tommy, Jeff, and someone she hadn’t seen before all emerged from a conference room laughing.

“Well, I guess that means we’re free now,” Harry said, standing up as Penny closed her laptop.

“Yeah, I’ll see you later,” she muttered before turning her attention to Tom. “Are you ready?” she asked.

“Yep, just need a second,” he replied. “And actually, we were all talking…would you be up for joining those guys for dinner?” He pointed to Harry and the other managers. “We were all talking and since we were all heading out we thought we could do a group thing.”

Based on the way Harry was staring at her from across the room, Penny was pretty certain that he’d received the same news. “Um…” she hesitated.

“You won’t have to sit next to him, I promise,” Tom said quickly, sensing the fear that was holding her back. “But I understand if you’d want to reschedule.”

“No, it’s fine,” Penny said. “I know Harry’s going to be pretty ticked that I’m going so that will make it a little fun.”

Tom grimaced. “I’m so glad you all are getting along?”

“Something like that, right?” Penny said with a grin.

Tom gave her the name of the restaurant and once she’d punched the address into her GPS, she was on her way over. When she pulled into the valet line in front of the building, Harry was already standing there, head bowed over his phone. He cut his eyes to her as she approached him but said nothing. Silence is better than antagonism, I guess, Penny thought to herself. Soon, Tom, Jeff, and Tommy rolled up, and the hostess led them to a table in the back of the dimly lit restaurant.

Harry remained silent as they shuffled along, but Penny didn’t miss the way heads turned as they walked by, eyes piling onto the group, causing Harry to look down at the ground, brows knit tightly together. Penny could see some of the tension melt away once they were ensconced in the secluded booth, but she also didn’t miss how the other men let Harry shuffle in first before piling in after him, almost as if they were trying to shield him from the prying eyes. As much as she disliked Harry, she felt for him. To have constant attention from strangers on you…she didn’t know how he hadn’t crumbled under the pressure yet.

“Thank you,” she said as the waiter filled her water glass and handed her a menu. She skimmed the text, quickly deciding what she wanted to eat and turning her attention back to the group. Jeff and Tommy were laughing, passing a phone back and forth in front of Harry, who paid attention, but said nothing.

“How was your day?” Tom asked, breaking her moment of observation.

“Busy,” Penny said, taking a sip of water. “I finished up some calls for a story and then had to finish writing the story, and then in the background I’m trying to put together a pitch for something I want to write in a couple of months.”

“Oh, is this the TikTok story?”

“No.” Penny was still sensitive about Darren’s reaction to the piece, but tried not to give it away. “That was DOA when it got to my editor’s desk. This is something different.”

“That’s a shame,” Tom said. “We were actually just talking about this the other day and how we have no clue about TikTok. Like do we need to get our existing clients on there? What should they be doing? Should we be looking for new clients there? Would have been nice to read something about that.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Penny said with a short laugh.

“But tell me about this other piece.”

“I really want to profile the women of BLACKPINK.”

“Damn,” Tom said. “That would be good.”

“I know, right? They’re coming to LA in a few months and I really want to sit down with them while they’re here. So I need to make sure the pitch is rock solid.”

“I have faith in you, Penny,” Tom said, raising his glass in solidarity.

Their waiter returned and each person took their turn ordering and once the menus were collected Jeff turned his attention to the whole group.

“So, I think we need an icebreaker of sorts,” he said, drumming his fingers against the table.

“Yes,” Tommy chimed in. “And we have the perfect one.”

“Why do we need to play a game?” Harry griped from across the table. “We all know each other.”

“I mean I don’t know Penny that well,” Tommy said.

“Well then maybe she shouldn’t be here,” Harry shot back. “She did crash our dinner after all.”

Penny was done with him. “Tom, I thought you said I wouldn’t have to talk to him,” she said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Well aren’t you a ray of sunshine,” Harry mumbled.

“You know, a game sounds fun!” Tom interjected trying to keep the peace. “Why don’t you tell us the rules, Tommy.”

Tommy hesitated, like he wasn’t sure he should step in the line of fire. “Um, yeah. So it’s called ‘Best Of’ and it’s really simple. Someone says an album, and on the count of three everyone has to name their favorite song off of it.” He looked around tentatively. “I thought since we all like music that could be fun.”

Penny nodded. “It does sound fun. Who’s going first?”

“Why don’t you?” Jeff suggested, earning an eye roll from Harry.

“OK…,” Penny said thinking. There had to be some strategy to her pick. Something that wouldn’t make the men around her roll their eyes, but also something that said she was fun. Nothing too basic, but nothing to obscure either. “‘Led Zeppelin III,’” she said after a moment.

“Nice,” Tommy said. “Now think of a song in three, two, one…”

“Immigrant Song!”

“Celebration Day!”

“Tangerine!”

“Since I’ve Been Loving You!”

Their answers overlapped and they all grinned at each other’s choices.

“I wouldn’t have expected ‘Immigrant Song,’ from you, Penny,” Tommy said.

“No joke, it was one of my favorite songs as a kid. My dad is a pretty big Zeppelin fan and we used to listen to them in the car and I would ask to hear that song every day on the way to preschool.”

“Were you the coolest toddler there?” Jeff laughed.

“1000%.”

“H, do you want to add yours?” Jeff prompted.

“No, I’m good,” Harry said tersely.

“OK, then, while Harry pouts, would you like to toss out an album, Tommy?” Jeff asked.

“I’d love to Jeffrey,” Tommy said.

Penny tried to hide her smile, secretly pleased that she wasn’t the only one Harry copped an attitude with.

“Britney Spears, ‘In the Zone,’” Tommy finally said. “Three, two, one.”

“Me Against the Music!”

“Outrageous!”

“Toxic!”

Penny locked eyes with Harry across the table, shocked that they’d both named ‘Toxic.’

“Well, I guess I have to give you some credit,” she said, trying to thaw the ice between them. “That’s a great song.”

“It’s the only correct answer,” Harry said. “Not much to celebrate.”

“Well forgive me for trying,” Penny said. “Tom? Why don’t you take a turn.”

Tom named an album from the Stones and Jeff named a Chris Stapleton album and then it was Harry’s turn.

“Desperado,” he mumbled. “Go,” he added, not bothering to count down.

It was one of her favorites and she didn’t hesitate when she shouted out her answer. “Certain Kind Of Fool.”

She knew it wasn’t the lead single or one of the hits but she could remember exactly where she was when she first heard the song and it had touched her in that peculiar way that good music often does. You can’t explain how or why it makes you feel that way, the feeling is just there.

What did give her pause was that once again, Harry had the same exact answer as her. It hadn’t been surprising in the Britney round – anyone who didn’t pick Toxic had seriously questionable taste – but this was different. Did it mean something that Harry had also picked her special song?

“Wow, bold choice,” Tom said, Jeff and Tommy echoing his sentiment. They’d all said the title track instead. “Great minds must think alike, you two,” Tom laughed.

“Yeah,” Penny laughed. “Something like that.” Harry hadn’t said anything but he was staring at her, his lips twisted in an unreadable expression. She was about to say something else, but was thankfully interrupted by the arrival of everyone’s meals.

The game petered out as they dug into their plates, and the conversation steered more towards jobs and the industry. Penny figured the men would steer clear of talking business, not wanting the journalist in their midst to hear any trade secrets, but they spoke freely, intermixing stories and questions about work with personal anecdotes. Tommy and Jeff tossed questions Penny’s way, asking about where she lived, future plans, and favorite spots in LA. Harry was predictably silent.

It was clear he was still tuned into the conversation as his eyes darted between whoever was speaking, but he rarely smiled over the course of the meal and whenever Penny spoke he looked at her with an intensity that made her feel uncomfortable. It wasn’t anger or hatred or disgust or any of the emotions he typically displayed when he was in her presence, but the neutrally blank stare was still jarring.  

He maintained this until the topic of conversation switched to Penny’s reporting.

“Penny’s trying to do a BLACKPINK profile in the next couple of months,” Tom said.

“Oh?” Jeff said. “That would be a huge get. Have you made any headway with their team?”

“Not yet,” Penny said. “It’s this delicate dance of needing to make sure my editor is on board before reaching out to the client so I don’t make promises I can’t keep, but I also need a pretty solid confirmation on the talent side to get my editor to say yes. It’s a vicious cycle and it’s made even harder by the fact that we’re not one of the major trades so sometimes people aren’t as willing to take a chance with us. Everyone wants the cover of Rolling Stone, not the front page of a newish website.”

“I get that,” Jeff said, nodding. “If you need help setting up the connection with their team, just give a shout. Between the three of us we might be able to help out some. Set the wheels in motion.”

“Thank you,” Penny replied, trying to mask her surprise and act like this was an everyday occurrence. “I’ll touch base with you all in the coming weeks.”

Jeff nodded as Harry opened his mouth for the first time since the game ended. “You don’t write profiles,” he said, brows crinkled in a way that Penny might have found endearing had it not been for his antagonistic personality.

“I mean not yet,” Penny said. “It’s something I’ve always wanted to work my way up to though,” she added feeling slightly defensive.

“So your editors are now letting you do this?” Harry prodded.  

“I mean, sort of,” Penny shifted in her seat, feeling her skin grow clammy with sweat. “They haven’t given me one yet, but I’m trying to be proactive. Work on profiles in addition to the other business reporting and reviews.”

“You’ve never done this, but you’re going to aim that high to start?”

“You’ve got to start somewhere and I can’t help it if my editors have given those assignments to someone else instead of me.”

“Well, did you ever think maybe they don’t give you those stories because you’re not good enough.”

With his statement, it felt like all of the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. Jeff, Tom, and Tommy, all looked at each other, first visibly recoiling from the harshness of Harry's words, then seemingly waiting for the explosion from Penny that was sure to follow the snide remark.

“I actually do think that on a daily basis, so as much as you think that might hurt me, it doesn’t,” Penny said. There was a certain vulnerability in admitting that, but it made her feel powerful. If she owned it, he couldn’t use it against her. She checked the time on her phone. “I should actually start heading out.” Her companions were silent as she gathered her things.

“Let me know how much I owe you and I’ll send something over on Venmo,” she said to Tom, who just nodded with a sad smile on his face.

“Goodnight guys, thanks for letting me crash,” Penny said to the rest of the table. She headed towards the door to collect her car from the valet.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, H?” Jeff said when he was sure Penny had left the restaurant.

Harry shrugged. “Dunno.”

“You’re being such an asshole. Did something happen between you all? At Tom’s party?”

Harry knew exactly what was wrong with him, but he’d never admit it out loud. Not even to his closest friends and confidants. “It’s just stress, I’ve told you before,” he deflected.

“Well go to a spa, take another hike, get laid, I don’t care,” Jeff said. “But this attitude needs to go.”

Harry knew Jeff meant well but his words felt like a slap in the face and he hated how accurate they were. He wasn’t himself and it didn’t feel good to know that his friends were also feeling the brunt of his anger and frustration.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled. “I’m just going to go,” he said quietly as he walked towards the exit.

“Am I the only one who thinks those two need to fuck?” Tommy asked, when Harry was out of earshot.

“No,” Jeff and Tom replied in unison.

***

Penny was still waiting for the valet to return her car when Harry ambled up beside her. Catching a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eyes, she swiped at her eyes, trying to get rid of any evidence of tears. When Harry reached her, he stood next to her in silence.

“Here,” he said after a moment, offering Penny what appeared to be a napkin from the dinner table. “It’s probably better than your hand.”

“I don’t need it,” Penny said. Realistically, she did need it as her eyes were still wet and she knew her nose would start to drip momentarily, but she didn’t want to accept anything from Harry.

“Just take it,” he said. “You need it.”

“Oh gee, thanks. What a compliment.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to help.”

“Is this like some fetish you have? Treat me like shit and then swoop in with some chivalrous act to seduce me? Because I’ve got news for you pal, it’s not working.”

“Why are you so fixated on me picking you up? First at Tom’s party, now here? I hate to break it to you but I’m not into you like that.”

Penny looked him in the eye for the first time since he’d stood next to her. “What did I do to you?” she asked. “I get that you’re mad about the review and you’re entitled to feel that way, but why do you keep having to come after me? Just leave me be and I’ll leave you alone.”

“Until I release my next album.”

“Well you may have bullied me out of my job by that point so you’ll have nothing to worry about,” Penny said as the valet finally arrived with her car. “Have a good night.”

Harry stood there, stunned as Penny slid into the driver’s seat and pulled out of the parking lot. Sure, he was frustrated with her and he knew exactly why.

His heart had started pounding, when he saw her in the office that night. He hadn’t seen or heard from her since her post-concert email, but his day brightened the second he saw her sitting there, only to dim when she’d been so cold. If she hated him, two could certainly play that game.

But even with his disappointment, he didn’t think he could bear knowing that he was responsible for her feeling like this. He wasn’t sure if their paths would cross again, but if they did, and he kind of hoped they would, he would try to be better.

***

“So I’ve got some bad news,” Tom said to Penny a few weeks later.

She knew something was up. No one ever called their friends on a weekday afternoon with good news.

“Lay it on me Skogs.”

“I can’t go to the concert tonight.”

“What?” Penny was genuinely disappointed. She’d been looking forward to seeing Hayley Williams with Tom, a tribute to their teenage obsession with Paramore.

“Yeah, I have a late night here at work and I’m not feeling super great either so…”

“I understand,” Penny said sympathetically. “I’m just really bummed out.”

“I knew you would be,” Tom said.

“Do you know of anyone who wants your ticket?” Penny asked, already combing her brain to find a last-minute replacement she could drag to the show in Tom’s place.

“About that,” Tom said. “I have someone who is interested.”

“Who?”

“Harry.”

Fuck, Penny mouthed, thinking her thought was silent until she heard Tom chuckle and say “Don’t sound so excited.”

“Tom, it would be one thing if it was general admission. We wouldn’t have to interact. But I’m going to have to sit next to him. For two hours.”

“So don’t talk to him! I’ll give him the ticket. You all arrive separately, get there right before it starts, the lights go down, you don’t have to interact. Easy!”

“But he’s going to be right there and that’s just…”

“Penny, he really wants to go so I think he’ll be on his best behavior tonight.”

“You always say that and then I end up crying.”

Tom sighed. “If you’d really be that upset, I’ll tell him the ticket is claimed.”

Penny considered her options. Maybe she could get some sort of payback if he was forced to be with her. “It’s fine. He can have it.”

“Thank you, Penny. Are you OK if I give him your number? In case he needs to find you or something?”

“Uhh…sure.” Penny wasn’t thrilled about Harry having another way to harass her, but figured that he probably wouldn’t go out of his way to irritate her.

“Great, I’ll text him now.” Tom paused. “And I’ll buy you a drink or dinner or something for this.”

“Get ready, Tom, I have expensive taste.”

She ended the call, the sound of him laughing still echoing in her ears, when Chloe’s eyes found hers from over the barrier across their desks.

“Did Tom cancel? If so, I’ll buy the ticket off of him.” Chloe, though not a huge music fan, was always happy to be Penny’s plus one to a show if she needed it.

“He did,” Penny said. “But unfortunately it’s been claimed. By Harry.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s not so bad,” Chloe said, shrugging.

“Not so bad? We’ve never had a conversation that ended on a pleasant note.”

“What about after the Okkervil River show? When he waited with you? And you even sent him a thank you note.”

“That was…different. I think he might have been ill. Or suffering from recent head trauma.”

“Sure.” Chloe smirked as she sank back in her seat.

“What does that mean?” Penny said, scoffing with disbelief.

“It means I think there might be something between you all.”

“Mutual hatred?”

“That’s turning into loooooovvvveee.” Chloe extended the last word as she swirled around in her desk chair.

“Maybe I was wrong,” Penny said, causing Chloe to perk up. “Maybe you’re that one that’s ill or suffering from head trauma.”

Chloe deflated. “I’m just saying he seems interested.”

“In making my life a living hell.”

“It’s the old playground thing. He doesn’t know how to say he likes you so he just picks on you.”

“I thought we were trying to eliminate that mentality from children. That’s not the foundation of a healthy relationship.”

“Lecturing me on relationships? Oh, that’s rich,” Chloe said laughing. “How long has this dry spell been?” Penny opened her mouth to respond but Chloe beat her to it. “Fourteen months?”

Penny had to hand it to her. She did have a point.

Penny had dated throughout high school and college and had had several serious boyfriends, but no one long term since she’d moved to Los Angeles and started work. Her longest relationship since then had been with the vibrator in her bedside drawer. All of the dates she went on were the same and they all exhausted her.

It was always a case of an aspiring musician seeing that she worked as a journalist, resulting in a date that was more of a networking event, with the guy either trying to pawn his demo off on her or spending about three hours mansplaining something about music. On the rare occasion a date did lead to sex, she’d find that her partner more often than not oversold his abilities in the bedroom, leaving Penny tired, unsatisfied, and a little sad.

“I’m doing just fine, thank you,” Penny said.

“It doesn’t have to be anything serious,” Chloe said, a little more gently. “You can use him for what you want and move on.”

“But that’s the thing. I don’t like him,” Penny said. “End of story.”

“Penny, can we chat in my office,” Darren called from across the newsroom.

“Fuck,” she huffed.

“Suddenly Harry doesn’t seem so bad does he?” Chloe said, with a knowing grin.

“No comment,” Penny shot back as she picked up her phone and laptop and headed into Darren’s office.

“Should I close the door?” she asked.

“Sure,” Darren said. “I wanted to talk to you about your pitch,” he said when she’d sat down on the chair across from him.

“Oh?” Penny tried not to sound, or feel, too hopeful. She’d submitted her pitch for a potential BLACKPINK profile soon after her dinner with Tom and the rest of the Full Stop team. Jeff had kept his word and put her in touch with the group's publicist, who was receptive to the idea of a profile.

“We’re going to pass,” Darren said, cutting right to the chase.

Penny felt disappointment wash over her. “Oh. Was there any particular reason?”

“The pitch needed some work. I couldn’t see what the point of it was. On any other story, it’s fine to try it out if the pitch isn’t all the way there, but with a profile with a major star, if we end up having to cut it if it’s in bad shape, that burns a bridge with talent and we can’t have that.”

Penny desperately wanted to point out that not publishing any story where a source sat for an interview burned a bridge – who wanted to waste time talking to a reporter who never followed through on their promises? – but felt like this might not be the time.

“Do you have any notes on how I could improve?” she asked instead.

“Eh,” Darren said, popping a stick of gum into his mouth. “Just try again, you’ll figure it out eventually.

Penny, once again, bit back her inner commentary. As her editor, it was Darren’s job to provide her with guidance on how she could become better, but “you’ll figure it out” was his standard response, which led to little improvement on Penny’s side.

“Got it,” she said, nodding. “Do you know who’s getting the profile?”

“Chris pitched one on John Mayer so we’re going with that.”

“Oh nice.” It was anything but nice. Chris was a recent hire who’d not done much to prove himself and the fact that he had been granted this privilege infuriated her. “Do you want to chat about anything else?”

“Not really,” Darren said. “We’re coming up on earnings season, so just be ready to write up those earnings reports. Maybe think of a couple of quick hits we could do based on results. Get on the phone with some analysts. Same as you usually do.”

Same as she usually did. That was the problem. She wanted to challenge herself, try new things, grow as a professional, but any time she made an attempt to do so fate, or more realistically Darren, pushed her down again.

“Great,” she said, plastering a smile that could have been mistaken for a grimace. “I’ll get started.”

“Thanks, Penny,” Darren said, glancing at her before quickly looking back at his computer screen.

When she returned to her desk, Chloe was stationed in one of the call booths, likely on a source call, phone wedged between her ear and shoulder as she typed furiously. Penny pulled open her web browser, glancing at her email, before pulling up the earnings calendar to start working on some story ideas. After a few minutes, she pulled up the major trades, as she did every day, and scoured their homepages for any breaking news. Rolling Stone had nothing new, but Billboard had just published a new feature: a piece on the rise of TikTok in the music industry.

This wasn’t the first time she’d been scooped by another publication, but it didn’t hurt any less. She sighed and stood up to make a cup of coffee in the breakroom.

***

“See you tomorrow,” Penny called to Chloe and the remaining staffers as she pushed her chair in and walked to the exit.

“Have fun,” Chloe said with an exaggerated wink. “Make good choices!”

Penny climbed into her car and plugged in her phone, pulling up a Top 40 playlist that she figured would make her bad mood dissipate. She should be more excited at this point. She’d been wanting to see Hayley Williams forever and wasn’t going to let Darren, her job, or Harry ruin that for her. She easily found parking in a nearby garage and walked into the venue, grabbing a drink for herself before finding her seat.

To her surprise Harry was already sitting there.

“Hi,” he said, standing up to let her into the seat next to him.

“Hi,” Penny said, tentatively, trying to read the situation. What kind of mood was he in? He didn’t seem as surly as he had been at dinner, but he didn’t appear overly outgoing either. “How are you?” she asked.

“Good.” Harry said, looking at her. “Uh, how are you?” he asked back after a moment, almost as if he realized returning the question was polite.

“Good,” Penny said.

She looked out in front of her. They were seated in the lower bowl of the arena and they watched the general admission section fill up in silence for a moment.

“I never apologized for dinner,” Harry said after a moment. “So...sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it isn’t. I should know better.”

“Oh, well, thanks.” Penny sipped her drink. “I have to admit I was surprised when Tom said you wanted to come.”

“Oh?” Harry turned toward her. He was wearing a denim cap and his wispy curls poked out from underneath it. There was a divot between his well-groomed brows as he looked at her questioningly.

“Yeah,” Penny said. “First, I was just surprised that you’d want to be in the same room as me and then I just didn’t think you were a Hayley fan.”

“Judging my music taste?” Harry said, a small grin on his face.

“No, not necessarily. It’s just clear you’re a fan of the classics and I didn’t think pop punk would be anywhere near your radar.”

“Well, I’m a man of multitudes.”

“Clearly.”

Harry snickered and Penny smiled, a real genuine smile for the first time that day.

“Tom said you all have seen her a couple of times?” Harry prompted, keeping the conversation flowing steadily.

“I went to a few Paramore shows with him and my brother – they’re the ones that introduced me to their music – and continued going even after I moved away.”

“That’s nice,” Harry said. “It’s always fun to have comfort artists like that.”

“It is,” Penny said. There was another beat of silence, before Penny changed topics. “Uh…how was your day?”

“It was fine,” Harry said, a little caught off guard.

“I don’t mean to be nosy, but I’m always just so curious as to how musicians fill their time when they’re not touring. Like clearly some people like to be in the studio at all times, but then others are less structured. I think it’s so interesting because you hear how people work, but there’s no clear formula as to how to make a good record. You know? Like some good ones were churned out and others have to marinate…sorry I’m rambling now.”

Harry chuckled. “You’re good. I do have a lot of time to fill when I’m not working.” He plucked his lip thoughtfully. “I took a walk today, did a little bit of writing. I had a call with the team about some…stuff…ate breakfast, ate lunch, picked up a new book at the bookstore.” He shrugged. “Nothing too exciting.”

“It’s interesting,” Penny said. She really wanted to ask him about his new album. Ever since her conversation with Tom in the parking garage weeks ago. She’d been keeping a lookout for any announcements about the forthcoming record. Breaking news like that would be huge, and while she had a firm stance on not mixing personal relationships with business, Harry was nothing to her. If he told her and she happened to let the news slip to Darren…what was the harm in that?

“I’m probably going to be heading into the studio some more,” Harry continued. “I have to start finalizing everything.”

“Oh, cool. Are you aiming for a release this year?”

Harry shrugged. “That’s the plan.”

The lights started to dim as the opener came on stage, effectively ending their conversation. When the set was over, Harry rose from his seat.

“Do you want another drink?” he asked.

“Uh, sure. Just a bottle of water.” Penny said.

Harry nodded, and a few minutes later, he was back at her side, two bottles of water in hand, just as the intro to the main show began.

“Thanks,” Penny said, leaning into him so he could hear over the thundering base.

“No problem,” Harry said, straining to be heard over the noise.

When Hayley Williams took the stage, Penny was transfixed and lost track of the fact that it was Harry beside her. She bopped along to the music and sang along, cheering especially loudly when the opening notes of her favorite song began. Realizing she wasn’t alone, she looked over at Harry to shoot him an apologetic glance, but found him grinning at her enthusiasm. The show was over far too quickly for Penny’s lighting and when the lights came up, she was sad at the prospect of having to head home.

“Well, that was fun,” she said, turning to Harry. “Thanks for hanging out.”

“Yeah, this was great.”

“I’m trying to decide if I should just wait here for things to empty out or if I should go now. I guess there’s going to be traffic either way.

“Want to grab a drink?” Harry asked.

He looked calm and collected but Penny could feel the nervous energy radiating off of him as he chewed at his lip and picked the skin around his cuticles.

“Uh…” she hesitated.

“I’ve been on my best behavior and that will continue. I promise I won’t antagonize you,” he said, still picking at his fingers.

“I’m not falling for this again,” Penny said with a bitter laugh. “We’ve pressed our luck enough tonight.”

“I’m serious.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that?” she asked incredulously.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because this is me trying to be a better person,” Harry said. There was a forlorn note to his voice, almost as if he was scared to admit this to her. “I’m sorry, like actually truly sorry, and I just want to show you.”

Penny considered his offer. He did sound sincere and genuine. “One drink,” she said. “And I pick the bar.”

“Deal.” Harry said. “Name the place and I’ll meet you there.”

Penny named a quaint beer garden a few blocks away and Harry added the address to his Maps app, waving farewell as they parted to head to their respective cars. He trailed Penny for most of the drive and pulled into a spot next to hers, locking his car with a beep.

“This place is quiet,” he said, looking at the half empty parking lot.

“That’s why I like it. It’s great for source meetings, dates, all sorts of things.”

“Do you go on a lot of those?”

“Source calls?”

“No, dates,” Harry said, as if his question had been obvious.

“Occasionally. What about you?”

“Occasionally.”

“OK then,” Penny said, stepping through the door as Harry opened it for her.

They found a secluded table, and Harry offered to get some drinks from the bar: neat tequila for him and a vodka tonic for Penny. He was back a few moments later, drinks in hand.

“Cheers,” he said, tapping his glass against Penny’s before taking a sip.

“Cheers,” she replied.

“So why journalism?”

“Oh, wow, you are really jumping into things here,” Penny said with a nervous laugh.

“It’s just something that I’ve been thinking about.”

“You’ve been thinking about me?” Penny looked at Harry with suspicion. “Why?”

“No, shit. I haven’t been thinking about you. Well, not in that way. But like, I’ve been going back and reading some of your stuff.”

“Why? Are you going to give me some more…notes?”

“God no. I just wanted to see what else you’ve worked on and it’s interesting. And I just…” he trailed off looking into space. “Just wanted to know how you ended up here.”

“Oh, um. I don’t think it’s that interesting.”

“Try me.”

“I’ve always liked writing,” Penny began. “But I was never any good at making things up. You know like characters and settings, but when you had all of the players in place and I just had to come up with the facts and occasionally my opinions…I loved that. And I was also nosy, so that was the perfect storm.”

“Was?”

“I mean, I still am, but I don’t want to be an investigative reporter anymore. Sniffing out the drama of my neighborhood was fun when I was ten, but I don’t really want to sniff out corruption in the entertainment industry.”

“You’d stay busy.”

“Yeah,” Penny said slowly. “Not sure I’d last long doing that. But talking about music…that I could do forever.”

“Why music?” Harry pressed. His eyebrows did that wrinkly thing again, like he was concentrating really hard. “You could have picked anything.”

“I just always liked it,” Penny said. She’d honestly never thought this much about why she picked her chosen field. “My dad is big into music. Not professionally or anything. He likes to play guitar and just has a massive collection of vinyls and CDs. He would always play stuff for us and tell us about the history behind it.”

“Zeppelin on the way to preschool,” Harry said with a grin.

“You remembered,” Penny said with a laugh.

“Paints a funny picture.”

“When I was like five, maybe six, I told my dad I didn’t like rock music anymore because there were no girls and for the next two weeks our morning music was all the ladies of rock. Stevie, Joan, Bonnie, Heart. He always made sure I had what I needed to hear.”

“That’s nice,” Harry said.

“It was. I –” Penny stopped herself, unsure if she should continue. “School was sometimes hard for me. I was really into more creative stuff but we lived in a big sports town so there weren’t a lot of opportunities to…connect with people who had similar interests. But my dad was always the person I knew I could talk to about music. And he encouraged me to follow my passions. He would always tell me that one day I’d end up with a bunch of friends that I could talk music with and now I do.”

“You do,” Harry said softly.

“I do.” Penny cleared her throat, unsure of where this sudden surge of emotion came from. “What about you? How’d you end up here? Well, I know that, but what sparked your interest in music?”

“Oh, you don’t want to hear about my journey to stardom on The X-Factor?” Harry deadpanned.

Penny snickered. “I think I’ve heard that story once, or twice.”

“Or ten times?” Harry shook his head. “It was a similar thing. My parents really led me to it. I listened to music a lot with them. Started performing in school pageants. Had a band with friends. I just realized I liked it and my mom really encouraged me to get out there.”

“It’s funny how parents really do know what’s best for you.”

“Shh, we can’t let them know that,” Harry said with a conspiratorial giggle. “Is it hard?” Harry asked, suddenly changing course. “Doing your job? Writing?”

“For me, the writing itself is the fun part. When I’ve finished my interviews and have a blank page in front of me and piece it all together…nothing matches that feeling. The hard part is what comes after. Editing, reader comments…but I’m sure you get that.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Harry deadpanned.

Penny rolled her eyes. “OK, funny guy. What about you? Do you like the writing process?”

“Hey hey hey I’m not done asking the questions!”

“My mistake, I didn’t realize this was an interview.”

Harry grinned. “Watch out, I’m coming for your job.”

“Ha!” Penny barked a laugh. “That’s cute but you wouldn’t last one week in a newsroom.”

“Why not?”

“You’ve been fixated on one shitty review for two years. Working in the newsroom, with my editor specifically, is like getting a bad review every single day. You wouldn’t be able to handle that much criticism. Your head would explode.”

“Are you familiar with Twitter?”

Penny snorted. “OK, I’ll give you that.” She eyed him from across the table. “The point is journalism’s not easy. Everyone seems to think they can do it, but few actually can.”

“And you’re one of the few?”

“I’d like to think I am.” Harry nodded, eyes locked on Penny. She felt her face grow hot under his gaze, not from anger, but from something else. “What?” She asked with a breathless laugh after a moment. “Was it something I said?”

“No.” Harry shook his head. “No, I just…nevermind.”

“OK…”

“I should be heading home,” Harry said abruptly. “Early morning and everything.”

He said it as if he’d already mentioned it but Penny had no recollection of it in their conversations and was caught off guard by the suddenness of it.

“Oh, yeah I guess I should head out too.” She fished around in her bag for her wallet

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry said, gently grabbing her wrist. “It’s on me. No arguing.”

“Well, I’ll have to get the next one.” Penny didn’t know why she said that. There was no indication that there would be a next time, as she was pretty sure Harry still hated her. But throughout the evening, she’d felt her own animosity towards him cool.

“Next one?”

“I didn’t mean anything by —” Penny stammered.

“Name the time and place and I’ll be there,” Harry said, cutting her off.

“Oh, um, yeah I’ll look at my calendar.”

When their bill was sured up, they left the bar, Harry trailing behind Penny before opening the door and motioning her through ahead of him. Penny didn’t know what else to say and instead focused her attention on finding her keys and unlocking her car.

“So, I guess just let me know if you want to do this again sometime. It was fun,” Harry said, cursing himself for repeating exactly what they’d just said inside.

“Yeah, I’ll definitely let you know.”

“And, again, I’m sorry about everything.”

“Apology accepted.” Penny meant it this time,

“Right, well, get home safe,” Harry said, clearing his throat.

“You too.”

Harry nodded as Penny slid in behind the wheel placing her bag on the passenger seat and her key in the ignition. Harry remained outside his car, watching her. She turned the key and eased out of the parking space, offering Harry a gentle wave before turning out of the lot.

Harry leaned against his car, his gaze not moving from Penny’s vehicle as it drove off. When he couldn’t see it anymore he sighed, then pulled his cap off and ran his hand through his hair. He didn’t know what came over him in there. They’d been having a decent time — or so he thought — and he’d had to go and ruin it. He hadn’t missed the look of hurt that briefly flashed through Penny’s eyes when he said he needed to get home, which was an utterly stupid thing for him to say. What was he going to do at home? Sit in front of the TV mindlessly watching whatever sitcom he could find? Lay in bed and pretend to sleep?

The one glimmer of hope was Penny’s parting words — “I’ll have to get the next one.” The promise of a “next one” left him strangely optimistic. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way but this night with her was the best he’d had in awhile. Until he fucked it up.

“Are you Harry Styles?”

The question pulled him back to the present. There were two women — maybe college age — looking at him expectantly, phones in hand.

“Yeah, I am,” he said.

“Can we get a picture?” the one asked.

“Sure.” They moved to stand on either side of Harry, smiling wide as he offered a thumbs up and a closed lipped grin in return.

“Thanks,” they said, heading back toward the bar. Harry knew it would be a matter of minutes before that picture hit Twitter or Instagram or wherever, which was probably his cue to leave.

He piled into his car and before he was able to turn the key, his phone pinged.

Made it home — surprisingly little traffic, the text from Penny read. Thanks again for the drink

Thanks again for the ticket, Harry replied as fast as his fingers could move.

Three dots appeared on the screen. Harry held his breath.

I meant what I said about that next time, Penny’s message read. If you’re free.

Harry’s heart pounded. He didn’t want to seem too eager, but he most definitely had time to see Penny again.

Let me check my schedule for the next few weeks, he wrote. I think I have a free night.

He waited a few more minutes but there were no more messages from Penny. A heaviness filled his chest, but he reminded himself that this was a start. He had a lot to make up for, but things were moving in the right direction.

***

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[bitchlessdino]

guilty pleasure pt. 1

Pairing: Jihoon x gn!reader x Mingyu

Genre: smut, some plot

Word count: 1.7k

Tags: mostly Jihoon pov, heavy pining, male masturbation

Summary: You know what’s shittier than liking someone taken? Liking someone taken by your best friend.

author note: HI! I am not sorry for posting this right after the Dino ask. welcome back to bitchlessdino where nana is a mess always. today i bring you to one of my favorite seventeen dynamics. i am obsessed by how mingyuzi are together all the time and i feel like not enough people talk about it. this is a short little bit that builds up to a bigger thing and tags will be according the specific part so keep that in mind.

Chapter list

tagging : @multi-kpop-fanfics @hoshistar96 @dinosbestie @aceofvernons

Jihoon wasn’t stupid, he had eyes. You were absolutely breathtaking and it took every fiber in his body to knock some sense back into him. His attraction to you was unparalleled to anything he had ever felt before, and he felt weak coming to terms with that. Not only were you physically the embodiment of sex and pure charisma, you reeled of class and genuine that he didn’t find in other people. Your setback, however, was the fact you had to be preoccupied, by his roommate nonetheless. 

Mingyu was lucky beyond measure. How he came across you remained a mystery. All Jihoon knew was that out of everyone he’s ever met, you had this quality about you that drew him like a moth to a flame. Your face, your body, your voice.

God, your voice was absolutely electrifying. How these thin walls would talk and how Jihoon would listen, he could write sonnets of how absolutely wretched you made him with the delicious noise you emitted. He was starting believe he never experienced a sexual awakening until you walked right out of Mingyu’s door or moaned as loudly and boldly through the wall where Jihoon slumbered on the other side.

Although all this is true, Mingyu wasn’t the type to keep someone around like he did you.

As far as Jihoon knew, Mingyu’s lust was endless and didn’t limit any single person. As he recalled, several types of people take the walk of shame leaving the same door only to never be the same face. It was stranger after stranger with no repeats. Then again, here you were sleeping over in his shared living space for the umpteenth time. You stuck out in that giant t-shirt, thanks to Mingyu, prancing around the common area in no visible bottoms. Your smile, like a ray of light, energizes his tired mind as you pull out a mug for your serving of coffee.

“Morning, Hoon! When did you get home last night?”

He never once left the apartment complex. 

Coughing, he scratches the back of his neck in discomfort. “I actually worked from home today.”

“Oh. Shit. I hope we weren’t bothering you or something. Were we loud?”

Very.

“I had my headphones in. They were noise canceling, so you’re all good.” He nods reassuringly.

“Aw well, good,” the coffee bitter, but uplifting, on your tongue, you finally start to feel alive, “Any plans today or were you gonna stay home?”

Jihoon knew why you had to ask. You were wondering whether the apartment would be free later for you and Mingyu to continue what you were doing last night, without Jihoon being a big cock block in the way, not that it stopped them before. The man simply sighs and munches on his cereal mundanely, shrugging. “I could give you guys some privacy this afternoon.”

“Oh, that's not why I asked,” you professed in a panic, “I was wondering if you wanted to join us today.”

Jihoon had to pause. “Join you?”

All kinds of thoughts ran through his head like venom, trickling into every wrinkle of his brain. Whatever group activity you had planned could only be deduced to one thing for Jihoon at the moment, and it had his blood pumping. The idea of having Mingyu be in the same room was repulsive, probably because he knows where Mingyu has been, but that look in your eyes was more than enough to convince him. And he admits even if it was for a moment, he’d take that chance.

“We were gonna grab lunch at the bear cavern and the pasta they have there is to die for. I thought you’d really enjoy it.”

Not exactly what he expected. In retrospect, this made more sense. “Uh, sure. I guess.”

“Great! Oh, and I started listening to your Spotify playlist and added it to my account. Your selection is so good. I had no idea your taste in music was so sexy,” you playfully nudge with a wink.

His throat runs dry. Even if you were just complimenting his taste in music, hearing the word roll off your tongue so smoothly was enough to burn his ears and cue the butterflies. He handles the edge of the counter with a hard grip, calming himself down the best he could. “T-thanks. I was gonna add some more finds later tonight.”

You finish your mug and clean up the remaining inside the sink, “Can’t wait.”

Jihoon understood his predicament all too well. If he could, he’d make every opportunity to have you gasp his name, have you begging to have him fuck you in every corner of the room, have him the only person on your mind. However, he knew his setbacks, his limitations, and last, but not least, where his loyalty lies.

As irritating as Mingyu can be, he’s his roommate and pretty much his best friend at the end of the day. Having a friendship like this was one in thousands. Yes, the man stood 6 foot three inches, despite being younger, and yes he sometimes uses this knowledge as leverage to occasionally poke fun at Jihoon who was of a decent height. He was so much of what Jihoon isn’t , but despite all that, he knew he could never betray his friend on any level.

His patience was tested that day when the group lunch commenced. You, of course, sat beside Mingyu, having the other roommate to witness every little private intimate gesture made in front of him. Mingyu, love stricken as can be, played with your fingers like a child amused by the simplest of things, his voice hitting the highest of pitches when you made him laugh, and the never-ending gaze he had in your direction. 

Jihoon could feel his guilt boiling over and feared it spilling over to the surface, risking his friendship. He refrained from too many glances. 

“Good right?”

Jihoon picks apart his food, putting on a show by stuffing a fork full of pasta in his mouth. He makes a sound of approval, nodding. You proudly grin, and go on with your meal. Mingyu on the other hand sees his friend with his mouth so full, reaching over with a napkin to dab his roommates face. “Ah, Jihoon. Chew thoroughly please, we can’t have you choking.”

Jihoon swats his hands away, wiping his face himself in defense. “I got it. Keep your hands to yourself.”

The pretty boy pouts but is immediately distracted by the person beside him pulling his arm, complimenting how cute he gets when he’s considerate. It was then at that moment, an employee made a poor lapse of judgment and had a pitcher of lemonade spill all over you. You were taken by surprise, unable to predict that from a mile away, and stepped away from your seat to let the ice fall from your lap and let everyone see the soaked mess you became in a matter of seconds.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry.”

“You better be sorry, how could you be so careless?!”

Before Jihoon could stop himself, his voice bounced off the walls of the restaurant furious at the reckless waiter, having never had his voice resonate that loud before at a stranger. You pull him aside, ensuring him it was a simple mistake and you were fine, but Jihoon was doubtful.

“Are you sure? you’re really wet.”

Yeah, he heard it.

“I just need a change of clothes, if you have any.”

“There should be a clean set in my car in my gym bag, that ok?”

“Perfect,” you nod.

You turn to Mingyu briefly to let him know that you’d follow Jihoon back to change and Mingyu paid it no mind. As you follow him back to the car, you embrace your damp body, seeking out the sun to warm up and watch Jihoon open up the car truck to take out a clean shirt for you to change into. He gives it a good sniff before handing it to you, immediately regretting his actions. “Hopefully it smells clean enough.”

You giggle, “This will do just fine.”

You take a sniff yourself and relaxed at how surprising and pleasant its scent was. “Mmh, smells good to me. I’ll go change in the back seat.”

He unlocks his car to give your space and you crawl inside, closing the door behind you. Jihoon flushes a deep red knowing you’d be topless in the car where his back faced, so he took some deep steady breaths. Attempting to stray away from non-platonic thoughts like the underwear you wore or how soft your skin probably was under your clothes. Anything that could get him in trouble.

He was not proud of what he did that night. When he finally got the shirt back after all day of you bathing your scent in it, he couldn’t look at it the same. So, he did what any man blinded by lust could do: he masturbated. However, it wasn’t going to be any normal chain yanking, the shirt had to be involved. 

Flat against the mattress, in a singular tank top, he holds his borrowed shirt in his left hand and his throbbing erection in the right. He strategically places the shirt on his face, panting like a dog as he takes control. Your perfume that ligers, a slight sweat build up, and even the bit of soda residue spill on your skin, he absorbed it all. He pictures your face in his mind. Beautiful, yet sultry, dying to have his angry cock inside you.

He whispers to himself your name, letting his delusions run wild and imagine you do the same for him. He flicks his wrist hard, the fabric of his abused shirt heaving up and down from his breath. His knees arching up in the bed, hips jutting upward, thrusting into nothing until he cums, guilty large streams of ivory heating up the large patch of his bare stomach, then the deafening silence. Simply his breathing and shame was left behind.

He had been lucky neither of the Mingyu nor you had caught him in such a weak state. He would never live to see the next day.

“I’m so fucked.”

#Jihoon smut #woozi smut #Mingyu smut #seventeen smut #Mingyu #woozi #seventeen x reader #woozi x reader #Mingyu x reader #Kim Mingyu #lee Jihoon #lee woozi #seventeen woozi #seventeen Mingyu #seventeen

[toointojoelmiller]

look for the light: a last of us fic

chapter 3

ch 3 was published to ao3 a while ago but not posted here cause I'm dumb so I'm posting it now because i just finished ch 4 and am posting it too - sorry 😣

Jackson loses power, Joel can't find Ellie, and panic ensues (for @bearrycool) cross posted to ao3 here ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 3 | ch 4

------ E.

“I have a lot to do today,” Ellie lied as she headed off on her own. 

Riley told her she was shit at lying, but she’d been honing her talent for it - whenever someone asked about her past (Boston, Joel, all those months they’d only had each other) or caught a glimpse of her shiny and  half-melted arm, the bullshit slipped out a little smoother, even if it kept tasting sour in her mouth. 

She even lied to Joel once in a while now, too, because when she said, “I slept fine,” in the mornings, his body sagged like he’d been carrying a weight he could finally set down, and when she’d told him, “School was fun,” he’d beamed at her, and she'd seen him smiling like an idiot to himself all night when he didn’t know she was looking. 

Sometimes she lied to him just because he lied to her, too. 

Living in Jackson meant suddenly having a lot of things that Ellie never thought she would - all she had to do was get rid of the broken parts of her and pretend they never existed in the first place. A year later, she still hadn’t pulled it off - it felt instead like she was dragging them around behind her like a dead dog on a leash, people and promises and purpose all ruined and rotting. 

When the day before the patrol group’s departure came and Joel still wouldn’t budge, she couldn’t choke down the breakfast he always made her eat. Joel had fixed his worried eyes on her, his brow lowering as he sat across from her at the stupid tiny table by the window - acid eating at her stomach, leaving her insides made up of jagged edges that hurt every time she swallowed. 

Even though they didn't really blur into each other's space the same way that they once had, she spent that whole last day at his side, squished into him on the bench in the dining hall and on the couch that night, trying to memorize the feeling of him right beside her, solid and warm. The feeling of not being able to catch her breath came and went in waves as she turned over the thought of actually being somewhere without him, and the thought of Joel out *there* without *her* - as she thought about wooden shards in his gut, blood warm enough to melt the snow away from under him where it spilled, and who would be there to sew him back together this time? 

She had woken up early to walk to the stables with him, planning to make him happy and send him off with a relaxed "*I'll be fine, dude*," or maybe even a chipper “*I’m looking forward to staying at Tommy’s,*”, but her voice was shaking too much to sell either line so she didn’t even try. And the new, shittier, not-the-cure version of Ellie was a fucking baby, on top of being a liar, so he’d noticed her eyes watering and hugged her goodbye, talking all soft against her hair like he always did when she was about to lose it.

He probably would have left feeling better if she had just stayed in bed. 

Tommy waved his hand at her in goodbye as she left the table, and Maria nodded at her lie, face straight and eyes sharp like they always were. She said, “See you later,”, which was pretty much just rubbing Ellie's nose in it. She could hear Charlie crying as she left, and she sort of hoped she’d keep it up for a while, and then felt like a brat for it.

The truth was that she had no plans at all - her and Joel never made plans on Sundays because it was always their day to spend together. Even if neither one of them ever acknowledged it out loud, it was consistent enough that Jesse and Dina knew not to bother asking her to hang out, and he always had a new movie picked out for after dinner, waiting by the TV in the - his - living room for them.

It was early enough that the grass was soaked with glittering dew. Not many people were out, and Ellie avoided eye contact with the ones who were, not wanting to have the same conversation five times before she got home. Still, she wasn’t mad enough to act like a total bitch, so she stopped and turned when she heard her name called out. 

“Ellie, honey! You see the patrol off this morning?”

Ellie cringed, scanning around until she saw a familiar face looking out at her from an open window of a two storey house with a sprawling garden.  

Joel once said that Heather could ‘talk the hide off a cow’. She was nice, but the baby nicknames fucking blew, so Ellie tried to avoid her whenever she could. Something about the way her accent resembled Tommy and Joel's, but was just a little bit off, made Ellie's skin prickle. 

“Yep. Going back to bed though. See you.” She forced out the words, trying to sound polite and less annoyed than she felt.  

“Good thinkin'!” Heather said, raising her voice as Ellie hurried away. “You let us know if you need anything at all. Joel’ll be back before you know it, sweetheart!” 

Ellie gritted her teeth and kept her head down, resolving to take another route back home the rest of the week. 

Joel was different here, mostly because he wasn't just hers anymore. Now he was neighbor Joel, and patroller Joel, and fix-all-the-shit-in-your-house Joel - a brother and an uncle - each with different ways to pull him away from her.

At first it had felt like they'd landed on a different planet together, surrounded by alien people - not like them - who planted flowers and decorated for holidays and didn’t know the world was over. But Joel fit into it fast, in a way she just didn’t, and couldn't, and it left her adrift on her own.   

As she walked, she wondered where he was - surreal, not to know. The longest they’d ever been apart was when his patrol group got stuck in a storm and had to shelter overnight until it passed. He’d squeezed her so tight when he got back at dawn the next morning that he had to feel her shaking - why would he ever think she could handle a whole week?

But she knew why. It was the way Joel lied straight to her face, but still knocked on her door at night to check on her when she cried. There had been a loop of repeating nightmares for a long time, but they'd gotten more frequent since she woke up in a weird blue dress to a world where everything since leaving the QZ had been *pointless*, and Joel had almost died for nothing, and so many other good people did. It all made something in her stomach twist so tightly she ran - moved out to the fucking garage, telling him again and again that she liked her own space when really she just didn't know how to be around him all of the time.  

She got lost in her head as she walked, scolding herself to grow the fuck up - Joel left because it was important, and because he was protecting his brother - it was just Joel being Joel, so what the hell did she expect? - and suddenly her foot was stepping down onto a bundle of purple flowers, crushing the petals flat under her the sole of her sneaker. 

“Shit,” she groaned, jerking back and realizing with a sinking feeling where she was. 

She didn’t know Jason, but a lot of people did, and even though it had been almost three months since he’d bled out at the dam people were still leaving little gifts around his place. Bundles of flowers wrapped with ribbon and nestled against his mailbox spilled out onto the road. Letters that would never be read, slid in between his screen door and the front door of his now empty house.

Joel had said it was nice, voice all gravelly as he got choked up - “S’the way it’s supposed to be, when someone dies - ‘sposed to remember ‘em like this,” - but every time she saw it, all she could think about was everyone who didn’t get any fucking flowers at all. Riley, probably now just a pile of bones on the floor of that mall, for all she knew, unless the Fireflies had burned her to ash - Tess, blown up and gone without a trace of her - and Henry, and Sam, buried in dirt with nothing to mark the spot. 

She figured the grass must have grown over them both by now, and she wondered if she would even be able to find their graves if she ever went back. 

She picked up the flowers she had ruined, and rested them back on Jason's mailbox, hoping no one had seen her ruin them as she rushed back to her place.

Her sneakers and socks got damp as she walked through the grass of Joel's yard. She kicked them off with her feet as she closed the door to the garage and locked it behind her.

Alone. She huffed out a breath as she stood barefoot, looking around the room and trying to decide what to do. 

She should just go back to bed - this time on any other Sunday morning and she would still be dead asleep, so what difference should Joel not being there make right now? But knowing that his house was dark and not smelling like coffee because he was getting farther away from her with every minute made her lungs feel tight. 

Part of her wanted to stay inside for the day and sulk at how shitty it was, but for all she knew Maria and Tommy would come by to check on her, so she tossed on a fresh pair of socks and the boots Tommy had been all excited to give her a few months back. 

No one was around when she got to the stables. She wondered if that was just normal for Sunday mornings as she put herself to work, rinsing out the water buckets from the stalls and refilling them - she certainly wouldn’t want to have to drink out of a slimy and spit covered cup. 

Shimmer stood sleeping in her stall, facing the corner. Ellie let herself in and latched the door shut behind her, wrapping her arms around Shimmer's warm, broad neck and hanging onto her for a few minutes. Sometimes it was the only thing that would make the pinchy feeling in her chest calm the fuck down.

One of the grumpy white geese that wandered through the stables was in her way when she went to leave, all too happy to land a sharp pinching bite if you got careless. She moved cautiously, keeping far away from it and muttering “Chill out, dickhead,” as it hissed at her, opening it’s beak and raising it’s wings up menacingly.

She made her way to the musty little back corner where the tack was stored, always smelling like leather and sweat. Like Joel. 

The people who helped at the stables communicated through a few chalk boards posted on the wall, and Ellie ran her eyes down the shift schedule column, looking for the names of who would be in through the day. She was relieved, and then felt guilty about it, when she saw that Tommy’s name wasn’t listed. 

But it made her smile, for the first time for days, when she easily recognized Dina’s handwriting where a small “D+E!” had been scribbled in on for the afternoon of Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday. She picked up the chalk and doodled a little person wearing a cowboy hat and boots, artfully adding stink lines and flies while she giggled, and labelled it ‘Tommy’.

She turned towards the dirt covered desk that was jammed in the corner, just the look of it making her feel claustrophobic - buckets and a filthy plastic step stool crammed underneath, saddle pads and ropes and gloves and so much more crap strewn all across it. 

The log book that they used to track things - like repairs that needed to be done and how much feed they had left - was sitting open. She flipped through the pages mindlessly, recognizing Tommy’s chicken scratch in a few spots, and stopped on a page where they were logging when each horse was last re-shoed. 

Her eyes ran down the list and caught on Flint’s name, and she thought about Joel again, irritated to feel her eyes burn with tears. 

She sat down at the desk and picked up the pen, tearing out a piece of paper from the back of the book. She started to sketch out the rough shape of a horses head, deciding to make a little doodle of Flint from memory to distract herself. Closing her eyes, she tried to recall what the broad shape of his profile looked like, and that way his face curved out from the side - Tommy told her one time that it was sometimes called a “Roman nose”  - not unlike Joel’s, she thought to herself with a snort, before the ache of missing him kicked in even harder. 

By the time she was done, she’d drawn a completely different horse. The stables came to life before long as people started to roll in for their shifts, asking out loud who had been in so early and complaining about the goose who was guarding the buckets of soaking hay. She shoved the drawing down into her pocket before going to help with the morning feeds. She'd pass the day working - better than being idle, and maybe she could make herself tired enough to actually sleep at night. 

When she got back to her place later it was almost time to go have dinner with Tommy and Maria and Charlie, like she'd somehow been talked into agreeing to for every day this the week. She pinned the drawing up on the corkboard Joel had made and installed above her bed, and looked at it as she took a deep breath in and out. 

She packed up a few things to bring with her for the night. On her way out the door she paused, turning back around to grab a pencil from her desk, and hastily adding Callus's name next to the drawing. 

No flowers for him, either. 

------ T.

As he expected, Maria didn’t skim over the note the way Tommy had. He stretched an arm out against the back of the couch and sat back, waiting for her to finish reading every last word that Joel had put down. Charlie was tugging on the ends of her hair as she read, and he watched Maria patiently untangle those little chubby fingers again and again, her eyebrows drawing closer together the further she got into the note - full on frowning by the time she finished. 

“So she’s still struggling, then. Worse than he’s been letting on,” she said finally, looking at Tommy and setting the papers next to her on the ground.

Her voice wasn’t necessarily accusatory. Just blunt. Matter of fact, the way that she always was, and the way he liked her - but they’d talked and argued about it so many times over the past year that Tommy picked up on what she was saying easily. Ellie needs more help than Joel can give her.

Tommy shrugged. “Not necessarily. You know how he can get. Probably was just workin’ himself up, thinkin’ of what ifs -”

Maria shook her head and picked up the note again, flipping the pages over and scanning them until she found a particular spot. 

“This all reads like a ‘when’, not an 'if' ". She starts reading from the page, raising her eyebrows as she does. “She hates when she yells in her sleep so try not to overreact even though it can sound real bad. If you go barging in on her it makes it worse… check my living room couch first if you can’t find her overnight, she’s always antsy when she has nightmares and sometimes she winds up there by the morning…”

She looked up at him, her eyes stormy. “I didn’t know she was still having problems with eating, either.” She put aside the letter again and stretched out on the ground next to Charlie, who had finally abandoned her hair and was now playing with (drooling on) a set of wooden rings Joel had made. Maria curled her body around her slightly, brushing a hand through Charlie's curly hair as if she suddenly needed to be closer to her. 

Tommy felt it too - the parental alarm bell ringing inside, gnawing at the thought of an under fed kid. 

“I didn’t either,” Tommy said, looking down at his lap for a moment. “Eats like a horse every time we see her.”

“So we’ve just been seeing her on the good days,” Maria said, twisting her mouth to the side and shaking her head. “I’m not saying that Joel isn’t doing the best he can. I’m not doubting that he cares about her. But it might help if he was more open to the idea that Ellie could benefit from extra support.”

It was the bone she couldn’t put down, ever since the day Ellie melted half her arm off. Tommy sighed, repeating the same thing he’d been telling her all year.

“Ellie’s the one who said no. Joel can’t make her - he woulda by now, especially if all this..." he gestured to the note.

“I’m not convinced he ever asked her about it,” Maria said, looking at him unflinchingly. “I never got to talk to her about it myself. I wouldn’t be surprised if he said ‘Maria thinks you should talk to someone,’ she shot it down, and he left it at that.” 

Tommy could practically see her starting to turn it all over in her mind, weighing out all the pieces and lining them up until they were in order and she figured out how to fix it. Maria wanted to solve every problem in front of her - and she usually could, far and away the smartest damn person he’d ever met - but all that solving meant a lot of deciding, too. Making things black and white and right and wrong. 

Sometimes shit was just too messy to work that way, and it drove her nuts. 

Tommy looked away for a moment, leaning forward to glance out the open front window for any sign of Ellie before he kept talking. Good timing, too - she’s making her way across the road, wearing her backpack and holding a pillow under her arm.  

“She’s gonna be here in a second - look - there’s no way.” he sighed and leaned forward, lowering his voice. He wasn't above pleading with her. “All of this eats at him. Trust me on that. There’s nothin’ he wouldn’t do if it’d help her.” 

“Even if it meant she ended up spending less time with him? Relying on him less?” She retorted without missing a beat, raising an eyebrow at him. 

Tommy stared, a flicker of defensiveness stirring in his gut. “Joel knows her a hell of a lot better than we do,” he reminded her after a pause, thinking the words over as he says them like he was looking for reassurance for himself there, too. “And - yeah. Even if.”

The knock on the door ended the discussion, and even though Maria nodded at him, he didn't doubt that it would circle back around. 

“Don't you smell a treat,” he said as he opened to door and was hit with a strong whaft of sweat and horse manure. 

Ellie’s eyes went wide as she flushed, looking down at her dirty clothes. “Fuck - I mean, um - sorry. Should have showered - I’ll go -” she went to spin around on her heel before he reached out to grab her shoulder.

She flinched, and he jerked his hand back right away, cursing himself.  

“Nah - foods ready now and we’re eatin’ out back anyway. Just wash your hands. Here - your rooms this way -"

The spare bedroom was on the first floor. "Bathroom across the hall is yours," he said as he pointed it out to her. She dropped her backpack on the ground and tossed her pillow onto the bed, nodding at him as she gave him a smile that didn't reach her eyes. 

"Cool, thanks. I'll just, um - wash up and see you out back, I guess?"  

Dinner with no Joel to act as a buffer felt awkward at first, but Charlie's usual table-side entertainment lightened the tone up pretty fast as the three of them watched her smear pasta sauce on her face and fling handfuls of noodles gleefully onto the grass.

Ellie did an impression of Joel falling asleep at the table with his arms crossed that had Tommy belly laughing, and he felt a knot of worry he hadn't realized had taken root in him start to melt away.

Maria took Charlie upstairs to get ready for bed after they finished eating, and Ellie helped with the dishes.

"I'm pretty wiped from today," she said as she finished drying the last of the plates, hesitating where she stood with her arms hanging at her sides. She looked at him, and then at the ground. "I'm gonna go take as shower and - and read in bed for a bit. If that's... cool." 

There was an air of nervousness to her voice, like she was really wondering how he would react. He had to fight to keep the frown off his face. All he’d ever really heard from Joel was that she’d grown up in FEDRA care - more than enough information to figure out what kind of childhood she had. It made him want to hit someone. 

He flashed a small smile that he hoped didn’t read as much pity as he felt for her.

"'Course. Sleep well - you know where to find us, yeah?"

By the time they'd gotten Charlie asleep and made their way back downstairs, Ellie was in the spare room with the door clicked shut.

They stayed up for a bit, both of them waiting to see if Ellie would emerge again without having to say it out loud. Maria was curled up on the couch reading, the way she always did before settling to bed, and he tugged her feet into his lap, rubbing them mindlessly while he leaned his head on the back of the couch and rested his eyes. 

When they finally went to bed, he was feeling okay about it all, saying as much out loud to Maria. He wondered later at just how naive he could be.

It wasn't until he got up in the middle of the night to pee, and was almost back to the bedroom doorway, when he heard the faint but unmistakable sound of creaking wooden floorboards from downstairs. 

He stood still for a few long seconds, listening until he heard it again, and then carefully made his way down the staircase, placing each foot as quietly as he could. As he got closer, he realized that the sound of the footsteps was faint and muted because it was coming from behind the closed spare room door. 

He sat down on the stairs when he was near the bottom, and decided he would stay right there until he heard the reassurance of the old metal bed frame groaning as Ellie climbed back into it. 

It never came. He listened to her pace until he lost the ability to keep his eyes from closing, and reluctantly made his way back to bed. 

"Everything okay?" Maria asked sleepily as he crawled back under the covers. 

He sighed as he wrapped an arm around her warm body and tugged her closer to him. 

"Ellie ain't gettin' much sleep, don't think." 

Maria sighed too. "First night'll be rough. Maybe it'll get better." 

"Yeah," he said. "It will." 

He'd make sure of it. 

#the last of us fic #tommy miller #joel miller #ellie williams #tlou fic #tlou fan fiction #my fic

[hertzwritings]

Pawprints

A/N: My brain is used and rotten by all my professional knowledge at this point in time, so I’m resetting with some good, old fanfiction. It’s the cure all, and I will die on this hill. Prompt: “There’s blood everywhere.”

You can buy me a coffee here, and I’ll write you something personalized – the sky is the limit, my loves!

I love y’all so much and I’ve honestly been blown away over the response to some of my stuff lately, so thank you! Remember, feedback feeds the soul (min, in particular) and my requests and askbox are always open – there’s no limits to what you can ask for, because I am me and I have none.

 MASTERLIST

CHRIS EVANS MASTERLIST

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ASK ME ANYTHING/REQUESTS

Pairing: Chris Evans x plus sized!Reader

Contains: language, mentions of SMALL injury to Dodger (PROMISE IT’S BARELY A THING), Vetenarian!Reader, flirty Chris, smidge of angst, a lot of fluff

W.C.: 3.000

 Pawprints

  You weren’t sure what you were expecting, when you moved to a small town just outside of Boston to take over the veterinarian position; at any rate, you were here and it was the quietest job, you’d ever had in your entire life. Mrs. Robinson came in once a week with her poodle, because she convinced herself it was limping (it was not, nor was it the time before that), Mr. Ericsson came in with his parrot, because he needed you to make it stop swearing (it did not, but the parrot did get worse at it) and all in all, you didn’t do much. It was still only a month since you moved to Boxford, and you had wanted the quiet of the small town. It fit you perfectly after a shitty breakup and a shittier job. The quiet of your small home on the outskirts of the town, the living room facing the lake and the forest around it – you might have a shit-ton of handiwork on front of you, because the cabin was overgrown, falling apart at the seams and your foot had gone through a hole in the kitchen floor more times than you could count, but it felt like home.

You sighed and placed the last of your cups in the cupboard, finally emptying the last box – it was a relief to finally be done, especially in the sweltering heat. You felt like you could swim in the amount of sweat, your body had produced; another wonderful aspect of being a bigger girl. You glanced at the clock and decided that it wasn’t late enough to call it a night, and the fact that you hadn’t actually seen more of the town other that the supermarket, your practice and your home, made up your mind to at least see something from the town.

The walk to town wasn’t too long, and the warm evening air felt comfortable on your skin as you trekked through small and narrow streets, the soft noises of the day winding down and the evening kicking in, surrounding you. The town was small and quaint – it was pretty, with soft lights from the streetlights flooding the sidewalk leading to the post-office, while people walked to and from the grocery store, the small restaurant and the park, families hauling blankets and children in their hands. You smiled at them and waved politely at them – your eyes scanned the town square and they landed on a sign to the only bar in town. Perfect.

You stepped inside, the smell of beer and peanuts flooding your senses, and you walked straight to the bar, ignoring the stares that followed you. New people in a small town were bound to draw a few eyes. The bartender smiled politely at you. “What can I get you, doc?” you laughed a little under your breath. “I’m not a doctor, I’m a vet.” “Same difference here.” He winked at you. “What will it be?” “Double whiskey, please.” He nodded and pulled down a bottle from the top shelf, before he winked at you. “You deserve the top shelf-stuff. Don’t worry, no extra charge.” You chuckled and gratefully took the glass from him. Another voice sounded from your left. “Hey, Henry, can I have whatever beer is the coldest?” It sounded familiar. You turned your head a little and almost threw up. Holy shit. Blue eyes locked in with yours, and a soft smile played on his lips. “Hi.” You gulped and tried to fix the sudden dry spot in your throat. “H-hi.” You stuttered. The bartender placed a cold beer in front of him, and turned to you. “Don’t worry too much about it, that’s the general reaction he gets from anyone under the age of 60.” You both laughed at that, and he turned to you fully, extending his hand to you. “Chris.” You nodded. “Kind of knew that.” You grabbed his hand and shook it. It was warm and slightly rough. “I’m Y/N.” “Oh, shit, you’re the new veterinarian, right?” He asked, letting your hand go and grabbed his beer. “Yup.” “Can I ask why on earth you moved here? It’s… Uhm…” he trailed off and you didn’t miss the way his eyes zeroed in on your lips as you licked them. “Uneventful?” He nodded. “Uh, well… I guess I needed it. Besides, it was my old teacher who ran the practice here, and I was pretty close with him, so it seemed perfect for me to take over.” You shrugged. “I have to know though, what you’re doing here? I thought you were a big-city-boy?” He chuckled. “I used to be. I needed the freedom a little, after both L.A. and Boston, I guess. I like to be able to walk Dodger around without having a camera or five in my face.” “That makes sense.” He smiled at you. “Where did you move in? I didn’t think there was any listings in town?” He took a sip, leaning against the bar. His bicep was bulging out of his tight t-shirt and it took you a moment to focus on talking. “Oh, there wasn’t. I actually moved into the lake cabin.” You said and grinned at his expression. “I know, yeah, it has… A few issues.” “Y/N, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it is literally a gust of wind away from collapsing.” You laughed along with him – you felt warm and slightly giddy, while also in awe that this man, this absolute God was talking to you willingly. “Maybe so. But I’m working hard to make it a little sturdier.” You said with a shrug. “It’s a little difficult with a small toolbox from IKEA, but I make do.” “Oh no, that won’t do. You at least need a powerdrill that can do something.” He said with a grin. “My powerdrill is perfect, thank you very much.” You finished your drink and stood. “I should get back, or Mrs. Robinson will be very upset with me tomorrow.” “Of course.” He grinned. “Uh… Can I, maybe walk you home?” he asked, and you were surprised by a soft blush on his cheeks. Without thinking about it, you answered. “Sure. I’m still a little lost on the trails, so…” “Cool. I’ll pay, hang on.” And with that, he paid for both of your drinks and left the bar together.

As soon as you were out of the town center, and the sidewalk turned to gravel under your shoes, you opened your mouth. “So you’re not… Like a serial killer or something, right? Who just uses fame as the best cover ever?” You asked, only halfway joking. He laughed hard, his hand flying to his chest. “No, I’m not, but I commend you for asking the question after we are out of eye and earshot, in the darkness and in the woods. Very good on survival-skills, Y/N.” “Damn, I didn’t even think about that.” You mused. “Well, can we just make a deal that you don’t kill me, then?” “Sure thing.” You walked a little while without talking, until he cleared his throat. “I, uh, I’m sorry if I seemed forward. It’s just a little rare that people my age shows up around here.” “You don’t even know how old I am. Or if I’m single.” You raised an eyebrow at him. “For all you know, I might be 45 and married with seven kids.” He chuckled. “That’s true. So… How old are you, and do you by chance have a husband and seven kids, I need to know about?” You shook your head. “No husband or kids. Thankfully dodged that bullet. And I’m 27.” “Oh wow, you’re younger than I thought you were.” He said quietly. “And what do you mean dodged that bullet? Kids or the husband?” “The husband. I’m not that young, Chris. Full adult here.” “Want to talk about it?” “My age? Pretty self-explanatory. See, I was born…” He laughed and you nudged his shoulder – well, more like his elbow, because he towered well above you. “Ha, ha, funny girl. No, the husband. Or lack of him.” You sighed. “I, uh…” Somehow, you found yourself pretty comfortable with him around, and it seemed as easy as it was talking to your friends back in the city. “Well, we were together for a long time. Almost five years. He proposed and took it back three months later, because he found someone else.” “Ouch.” “Not the worst part, if you can believe it.” You said bitterly. Your house was appearing out of the darkness. “He told me it was because I gained weight. I wasn’t… I don’t know, sexy, I guess, anymore. So, he found a blonde, tall and skinny model-type, who doted on him. More than I did, anyway.” “Holy shit, he’s a douche.” Chris said, stopping dead in his tracks. “I mean, I barely know you and I think you’re a catch.” You felt your cheeks heat up. “Thanks, but you don’t have to say that. I’m pretty used to…” “I’m not saying it out of pity. Seriously, I… Okay, so… You can ask Henry and he’ll tell you I never willingly talk to anyone. You kind of drew me in. He’s a douche, your ex, Y/N.” You scoffed. “I wish I knew that five years ago.” You looked to your house. “Uhm, this is me. I guess I’ll see you around?” He nodded and sent you a boyish smile. “I guess you will. Goodnight, Y/N.” “Goodnight, Chris.” He turned to leave, gravel crunching under his feet, and something clicked inside of you. “Chris, wait!” You yelled after him and jogged to his side. He turned quickly to face you. “Give me your phone.” You asked, and he handed you it willingly. “Why?” He asked, while you punched your number in and gave it back to him. “Uhm… Well, now you have my number. In case, I don’t know, you need some vet-assistance. You can call or text if there’s anything you need.” It was half true – you also just kind of wanted him to have your number. You grinned and he echoed your grin – his eyes lit up even under the cover of darkness. “Well.. Thank you, Y/N. Sleep tight, honey.”

 When you laid down in bed, you saw your phone light up with a message from an unknown number.

Unknown: Just in case you need the powerdrill. 😉

 ------------

  It was only two days later, after you had already dozed off, when your phone rang, and Chris’ name lit up your screen. You answered groggily. “I know I said anything you need, but it’s a little late…” you mumbled, rubbing sleep from your eyes. “It’s Dodge.” His voice was panicked. “I don’t know what happened, I don’t… He’s, God, I let him out, and there’s…” He was panicked, that’s for sure. You could hear how shallow his breaths were, and all traces of sleepiness disappeared from your body. You sat straight up and fumbled for your lights, turning them on and quickly throwing your sweatpants and a hoodie on. “Y/N, please, there’s blood everywhere.” “Okay, hay, it’s alright. I’m on my way, okay? Is his breathing normal?” You asked, putting him on speaker to throw your hoodie on. “Yeah, I… yeah, I think so. He’s limping.” You nodded. “Okay, Chris, I need you to text me your address. I’ll drive to you as fast as I can, okay? Make sure he tries to drink some water, and keep an eye on him to see if he gets sleepy.” “Ye-yes, yeah, okay.” He hung up and you practically jumped into your sneakers and out into your car, praying that the piece of shit would start. It did, and you put your phone in the cupholder, GPS on and found the address he had texted you.

 You knocked on his door – the big door that belonged to the big house with the other side of the forest behind it – with your go-bag over your shoulder. He opened quickly. “Thank you so much!” His eyes were wide, and he looked just about ready to cry. “Yeah, no problem. Where’s the best boy?” You asked, toeing your shoes off. “In here.” He led you through his hallway to the living room (which was beautiful and kept in neutral colors, with dashes of forest-green added here and there) and your eyes found Dodger immediately. He was laying on the floor next to the fireplace, pawprints of dried blood around him. “Hi, buddy. It’s nice to meet you, yeah?” You slowly extended your hand and he leaned against it, allowing you to scratch him behind the ear. “I had hoped it would be in a different way, but nonetheless…” You let your bag fall to the ground gently, and turned your head to Chris, who was biting his nails. “Chris, can you go and get two clean towels and wet them both?” He nodded and rushed to what you presumed was the kitchen. “Alright, Dodge, what’s up with you, huh? Scaring your dad like that…” You chuckled when his tail wagged. “At least your mood is good.” You looked at his eyes and felt his nose. “Buddy, I’m going to check you, okay? I promise I’ll be good if you don’t bite.” He woofed gently and you took it as a sign of goodwill, and began slowly inching your fingers through his fur, around his neck, down his tail and finally, his paws. “Ah, there’s the culprit.” You mumbled to yourself, and Chris knelt next to you with the towels. “Can you give him one of them to just suck on? Sometimes it’s calming to them, and we’re making sure he’s getting fluids.” He nodded and followed your instructions. “He was outside?” You asked, feeling Dodger’s hindleg. “Yeah, I… I don’t know what happened. It wasn’t more than a minute, and I just looked down and there was blood…” he drew a deep breath and you smiled reassuringly at him. “Dodger is going to be just fine. He got cut by something, see?” You held the paw up, and sure enough, a gash was at the bottom – it wasn’t too deep, and wouldn’t require stiches, because it had already stopped bleeding. “Oh, thank God.” Chris closed his eyes and exhaled a shaky breath. “Thank you. I always panic when something happens to him, and I just…”  You shook your head. “it’s fine. It’s what I’m here for, remember?” You smiled softly at him. “But we’re not totally in the clear yet. I need to clean the surface of it, and I need to give him a shot, just in case.” Chris paled. “I promise, it’s fine and he won’t even notice me giving him the shot.” “Honestly, it’s not him I’m worried about. It’s me. I hate needles.” He confessed and you laughed a little, nuzzling Dodger’s fur. “Aren’t you covered in tattoos?” You asked, while searching your bag for the necessary things. “Yes, but I don’t see the needle there.” “Ah.” You worked fast and fixed the shot quickly. “Okay, then do me a favor, okay?” He nodded. “I need you to just hold and cuddle Dodge while I give the shot. Don’t look at it, okay, just keep your eyes on me.” “That won’t be a problem.” He said quickly and blushed. “Wow, flirting, are we?” You joked. “Not that I mind.” You added quickly. “I would hope not. I mean… It’s kind of hard not to look at you, have you seen yourself lately? Gorgeous.” He chuckled and held Dodger’s head in his lap. “Okay, just… keep your eyes on me, okay?” You blushed and began stroking a spot on Dodger near his stomach, that made him visibly relax and quickly gave him the shot. He didn’t react at all, and was being a very good boy, even when you cleaned the gash with antibacterial wipes. “Good boy, Dodger!” You praised and both he and his owner seemed happy to receive the praise. “I got you something, boy…” You fumbled for a moment and pulled out one of the surefire winners in the treat-book and gave it to him after Chris nodded to you, agreeing. Dodger took it happily and trotted off in no time, barely limping. Chris fell back against the backside of the couch, closing his eyes.

“Seriously, thank you. I don’t even know what to say other than that.” “No worries, I am here to help.” “I wonder what he stepped on.” “I can help figure it out with you tomorrow?” You suggested with a nervous smile. “Yeah, I’d like that.” He smiled, and you moved to sit next to him, shaking slightly. “I hope it’s not too much, but, uh… Do you think you can stay for a little while? Just to make sure he’s good?” You nodded. “Of course. Anything.”

And that’s how you spent the night. You moved from the floor and the backside of the couch to actually sitting in the couch after a while, talking easily with him, and flirting even easier – he made you feel safe and comfortable, as you talked and laughed until the sun came up. You talked about everything and nothing, and he was not shy from flirting with you, which you weren’t one to not return tenfold to him.  

“You know, we should go find whatever he cut himself on.” Chris said with a slightly hoarse voice. You had talked through the night. “Yeah, and I should get home after. I have a giant hole in my kitchen, I need to fix.” You said, standing up. “I mean… We could come with you? I’m real’ handy, miss.” You laughed. “And Dodger is a pro at finding spiders, so you’ll be spider-free and hopefully hole-free.” Dodger wagged his tail and woofed gently. 

How could you say no to that?

  --------------------

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[cherrybombfangirl]

What's In Idaho?

@ginevrastilinski !!! here's your girl Darcy getting retraumatized and me projecting a lot of my religious trauma onto her, as promised <3 also this was 6,000 words actually, the religious trauma was stronger than I thought, oh well 😅

Content Warnings: heavily implied/referenced child abuse (physical, mental, and religious), lots of evangelical/fundamentalist cult shit, death and murder, descriptions of blood, lots of very strong swearing, Darcy's religious trauma, Darcy's shitty foster care experience and even shittier foster 'parents', brief mention of sex, gun violence

fair warning, I barely edited this, and there's a lot of places where I just plucked down brackets of [such and such happens here], and I might fill them in much much later.

After escaping the Roman demigod camp on the Argo 2, the others realize that they need to get a certain artifact that will help them in Europe that I will decide the details on later. Unfortunately, Darcy knows exactly where it is, and they have to go dig it up in a small town in Idaho where her worst foster home was.

~

Darcy closed her eyes and pinched her nose.

There was no way.

There was no way that the object Piper was describing from her knife was the same little box.

Reluctantly, she spoke up. “Uh, Piper, It wouldn’t happen to be uh-” She held up her hands to approximate the small size. “-yeh big, blue, and with a magical enchantment etched on it in Greek… would it?”

“Uh, yeah,” Piper said, “That describes it exactly… actually. How did you-”

Darcy sighed, trying not to show too much discomfort. “I… know where it is.” She turned to Leo. “Do you have a detailed map of Idaho somewhere? We’re looking for a pinpoint on that map.”

“I’ll… find something,” Leo said, giving her a weird look similar to everyone else in the room. Percy looked the most suspicious and concerned out of all of them.

Leo came back one awkward minute later, and tapped on the screen in the main room, pulling up a map of the United States, and zooming in on Idaho. “Ok… where are we going?” He asked hesitantly.

Darcy zoomed in the map more, at the base of the Rocky Mountains where a small road, river, and forest met smack in the middle of the state. “Little Rock Falls. It’s about there, less than a thousand people in the population, last I checked. They had to combine the elementary, middle school, and high school into one school because there were so few students and teachers.”

She pointed a little farther north up the map. “You’ll have to park the ship farther away, the people are pretty… superstisious, and me and Percy can make it the rest of the way on foot anyways.” She pointed a little southwest of where the town was supposed to be. “Once we have it, we can lie low in the woods for the night, and you can pick us up about here in the morning.”

“Wait,” Percy said, “Why am I going with you?!”

“Are you sure you don’t want someone else, or you know, a whole group?”

“It’ll be faster with just two,” Darcy said, “Especially cuz we don’t want to be followed.”

“How do you know where it is?” Jason asked, a little scared of Darcy’s knowledge.

Darcy was silent for a second before she gave a short, “I buried it.”

“Do you… remember where it’s buried?” Annabeth asked.

“I remember pretty clearly.”

Before anyone could ask her anything else, she disappeared into one of the cabins where she’d dumped her duffel bag. She started checking that everything she would need was inside, including her essentials for surviving in the woods- flint and steel, a little pocket knife, two wool blankets, an extra jacket, a coil of rope, a flashlight, a book of old road maps of the US, a small compass, and her most recent addition- a camping shovel (it was pretty big, so she tied it to the outside of the bag). 

She also poked around Leo’s stuff, and thanked fuck that she found a pair of shears for cutting metal- definitely going to need that. She also made sure that she had five or six meat sandwiches on her, courtesy of the Argo’s well stocked kitchen.

Annabeth came in, arms folded (Darcy knew she should’ve closed the door). “What’s in Idaho?”

Darcy didn’t answer, trading her sneakers for the hiking boots she’d stowed in her bag, pulling on thick wool socks before she put on the boots. Even in the summer, it would get chilly in the mountains, especially at night.

“Darcy.”

With a huff, Darcy pulled on a bomber jacket over her thin gray jacket. “What?”

“What’s in Idaho? Why do you know exactly where the box is?”

Darcy zipped the duffel bag shut and threw it over her head so that the duffel rested against her back. “It’s no big deal, we’ll be in and out before they even see us.”

Annabeth studied Darcy’s face, and her expression softened. “Most of your foster homes were in Idaho, weren’t they?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Most of them were in Idaho, weren’t they?” Annabeth repeated, trying to gauge Darcy’s reaction.

Darcy huffed. “Why are you asking me all this?”

“Because I don’t know much about how you grew up, other than you were in foster care. That’s it. I don’t know anything beyond that.”

“Why would you want to know more?”

“It was just me and you looking for Percy a few weeks ago, Darcy. You never opened up during any of that time about your childhood. About Percy, yes, but not you.”

Darcy bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to react.

“You can’t shut everyone out, Darcy, I don’t know what shit you went through but you can’t bury it and stay closed off about it. It’s not healthy to supress everything.”

After a beat of silence, Annabeth continued, “Then just now, you reacted the way you did out there to Piper describing the box and showing us exactly where to go.”

“Are you accusing me of something?”

“No, I’m worried about you. I think that something happened to you in Idaho that you’re not sharing.”

“Not much to share, Idaho is a boring state. It’s the even more boring version of Utah. Only thing worth mentioning is that it’s the only state in the US that grows potatoes as a major part of its economy. That’s a boring ass fun fact.”

“I’m talking about you, not the state. What happened to you in Idaho?”

“Nothing I feel like sharing,” Darcy growled, leaving the cabin to go find Percy and make sure he had wool socks and a thick jacket for the journey ahead.

~~~

Birds twittered sweetly and insects buzzed, echoing through the woods. The leaves, sticks, and pine needles of the forest floor crunched under their feet. Darcy pulled out one of the old road maps and a small compass- checking that they were on course.

“Alright,” Percy said, stepping up next to her, “You have some explaining to do.”

Darcy sighed, adjusting her hold on the compass and map. “Not you too.”

“Why me?”

“There’s safety in numbers,” Darcy said with a shrug, not looking up from the map.

“Then why not take some of the others too?”

“Too many will draw attention and make us easier to track, and we don’t want that.”

Percy grabbed her shoulder and turned her to face him. “Why did you choose me to come with you? You hate me.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“We both know you’d sell me to the devil for a corn chip if you felt like it.”

 “That is also true. But you’re also the most qualified in this situation.”

Percy stared, open mouthed. He then gestured to the woods around them. “We’re in a landlocked state, I don’t know if you noticed. My powers will not be super helpful here. Powers wise, Jason would be more qualified here, cuz air. Or Hazel, because her turf is everywhere there’s solid ground.”

Darcy went back to the map and turned her back to him, staying silent.

“Why did you pick me for this little quest? Everyone including me knows that you think I’m stupid, plus we’ll just fight the whole time, which I don’t think is going to be very helpful. Why not someone smarter or that you get along with more, like Annabeth?”

Darcy still didn’t reply, she pretended to be busy with the map, even though it was a little too long to be checking a map.

“Darcy.”

She tapped her foot, hoping he’d just drop it.

“Why me?!”

She bit the inside of her cheek, mind screaming the answer, but refusing to speak.

“Why. Me?”

Darcy snapped the map shut and shouted, “Because I don’t want anyone else to know, ok?!”

Percy blinked, taking a step back. After a few minutes of thick silence, he said softly, “What do you mean?”

Darcy took a deep breath, trying to seem uncaring about it. “None of the others know about what my growing up was like. Annabeth knows that I was in foster care, but nothing beyond that. The only people who know much more than that are you and Mom,” she aggressively folded the map and shoved it in her duffel bag, “And I would prefer to keep it that way. That’s why I picked you and not anyone else. Now let’s go.”

She started down the slope towards the small cluster of buildings in the distance at the bottom of the mountains.

Darcy didn’t talk to him the rest of the way to Little Rock Falls.

Steeling her nerves for what was to come, she hoped she looked different enough to not be recognized.

There was one road in town, and a few houses scattered in the woods that surrounded it. At the end of the road, the school had gotten a little bigger than Darcy had last seen it, but not by much. There were some people walking up and down the only street, most going to the small grocery store or poor excuse for a drug store.

Darcy made her way to the road that would take them up to their destination, Percy trailing behind like a lost kitten. She grabbed his arm and pulled him next to her, “Act normal, you look suspicious.”

Percy was about to shoot back, but a deep voice interrupted them. “Excuse me.”

Darcy turned to find a police officer. The only difference since she’d last seen the cop being that he finally had more hair on his face. The fact that he was blonde didn’t help that his chin still looked bare from a distance.

“Can I help you?” Darcy asked with a fake smile on her face, kicking Percy’s shin behind her to shut him up.

“Several years ago we had a delinquent foster care runaway. She was about eleven or twelve and had dark red hair.” The cop lowered his sunglasses and examined her face. “She looked a lot like you actually, and would be about seventeen or eighteen by now.”

Keeping a straight face, Darcy shrugged. “What a coincidence. Good thing I was a good child that grew up with loving parents in a stable home.”

The officer chuckled, then said in a more serious tone, reaching behind his back for his handcuffs or gun. “I’m gonna have to take you in-”

Darcy grabbed the cop’s shoulder and drove her knee into his groin as hard as she could.

The cop wheezed, doubling over as Darcy grabbed Percy’s shoulder and pulled him behind her as she dashed behind the cover of a large building across the street. 

“Darcy-” Percy panted, but she shushed him, listening for the cop and anyone else.

She could hear the cop yelling for them to stop, and she and Percy plunged into the woods near the rugged dirt road that turned up towards the mountain.

Percy said, “Will you just explain-”

“Later,” Darcy hissed, “We’re running out of daylight. And we need to get in there and grab the box before they realize I’m here.”

“Before who realizes?” Percy asked as they walked along the dirt road, using the thick woods for cover.

Darcy fixed her eyes ahead, focusing on not twisting her ankle on a tree root as they quickly walked.

Percy grabbed her shoulder and stopped her. “Darcy. We’re going to one of your foster homes, aren’t we?”

“The one I was at the longest, yeah. I buried the box in the backyard. Can you stop interrupting? We don’t have time for you to be asking your questions.”

“I’m guessing this family is the ones we’re worried about finding out that we’re here.”

“I wouldn’t call it a family, but yeah, they can’t know we’re here. This will go a lot smoother if we get in and out without them knowing.”

Percy said softly, “Darcy…”

“What?”

“You said this was the family you stayed with longest.”

“Yeah, why?”

“What happened to you here, Darcy?”

“If I get asked that one more time-“ she growled under her breath. Then she snapped, “I’m fine, ok?! Nothing happened here, I’m fine!”

Then she stormed off, up the road and getting closer to the mountains.

The road got narrower and narrower, and less and less traveled on. Darcy kept going, until they saw the first house in miles, nestled in the trees, surrounded by a chain link fence.

They circled around to the back of the house, where two dogs lay sleeping, chained up to the base of the house.

Darcy cursed under her breath.

“What?” Percy hissed.

“I should’ve known they got another dog. That’s going to be a problem.” She opened her duffel bag, and pulled out the bundle of sandwiches. “I hope this is enough for two dogs.” She pulled out the metal clippers, and handed the sandwiches to Percy. “Get ready to throw these at the dogs. Once you do we won’t have a lot of time.”

“You remember where you buried it?” Percy asked.

“It’s right next to that rock in this corner of the yard.” She took a deep breath. “Hopefully the dirt hasn’t frozen yet.”

She slithered forward across the grass on her stomach, pulling herself forward as quickly as she dared. Percy followed suit right behind her.

[ about six years before]

The old house creaked as it settled, just like it did every night around the time the other seven kids were fast asleep. The basement was crowded, each child having their own pallet. There was one dusty window at ground level, and the door was locked every night- to keep the devil out, as the parents told them.

Darcy was only eleven (or ten, no one was really sure due to the lack of birth certificate), but she knew they were full of bullshit, and refused to call them her parents. No matter how many times they punished her, or told her that God revealed to them that she was their spirit daughter as had been set apart in the premortal life- she wouldn’t call them parents. 

Just like most of the other homes she’d been in, she was an outsider, an alien to the family, and wouldn’t be staying long.

She had no family, abandoned at a hospital in one of the nearest cities a few hours away. Kicked from foster home to foster home since she was young. She’d learned very quickly to live off of a small duffel bag and not need anything she couldn’t fit in it.

She listened to the house above them, for the tell tale signs of the parents having the sex they’d had every night for the past few months. They said that God told them it was time for them to have another child, even though the basement could barely hold eight kids as it was. Most of the kids were girls, all of them close in age. 

There was a set of scriptures at the foot of each bed, and each of them was expected to read the scriptures before bed each night and first thing each morning- until they had the holy books memorized from cover to cover to Samuel and Diana’s satisfaction. If it wasn’t to satisfaction, you got punished any number of ways- no food or water for a random amount of time, sleeping outside with the dogs, or the worst one if Samuel was in a bad mood.

Darcy had gotten quite a few lashes and welts across her back and arms just in her first few weeks there for speaking up that this wasn’t fair or just whenever Samuel felt that ‘the devil possessing her needed to learn a lesson’. She learned pretty quickly to keep her thoughts to herself and her head down, no matter how unfair it got.

She’d managed to escape punishment for a while, until the day before when Samuel was inspecting how well she’d memorized the scriptures. He didn’t seem to care that she couldn’t tell what the squigles and blobs meant, or that she never could in the first place. He said she was just stupid, and must not care that her family was going to hell because of her because she didn’t care enough to memorize the holy scripture. Darcy protested, and got the worst punishment all up her arms and back.

She’d never gotten both at the same time before.

On top of that, Diana decided that the devil inside her must be winning power over her, and gave Darcy “a good smacking” to get the devil to leave her.

Darcy didn’t know what was wrong with her, but she was very sure that she wasn’t possessed by anything, and it wasn’t her fault the bible couldn’t be deciphered.

Her arms and back stung every time she moved them, but as Samuel and Diana’s actions got more intense upstairs, she knew this was the only chance she was going to get.

Darcy grabbed the small screwdriver out from under her bed, tucked between the thin mattress and the wood planks.

Moving as quickly as she dared, Darcy started unscrewing the screws in the small dusty window.

Darcy started clipping the wire of the fence, creating a hole for them to crawl through. The dogs started to stir and Darcy looked at Percy, ready to throw the sandwiches. She cut a few more links in the fence, and the new dog woke up and started growling, waking the other one as well.

“Throw them, now!” Darcy hissed.

Percy chucked the sandwiches over the fence, and they landed right in front of the dogs.

The two dogs happily started to devour the sandwiches while Darcy and Percy crawled through the hole.

Darcy shoved her duffel bag in Percy’s hands, and started to untie the shovel, which was small enough to cart up here, but big enough for the job.

She went over to the corner of the yard where a large rock sat, and started digging. Just a few minutes in, someone inside the house shouted, “What’s going on out there? You kids aren’t supposed to be out!” It was a man’s voice, booming and harsh, with a hint of ‘God-given’ righteousness to it.

Darcy cursed under her breath and threw the shovel into Percy’s hands. “Keep digging, whatever happens don’t stop until you have it, I can handle this.”

The voice shouted again, “Diana, did you feed those dogs? You know they ain’t supposed to be fed yet! … Well I can hear them eating something!”

While Percy kept digging, Darcy crept over to the corner of the house where the shed was. She checked over her shoulder, noting that the dogs were about halfway through the sandwiches.

A large, rough hand grabbed Darcy’s hair and pulled her back.

Darcy yelled, trying to rip free.

The strong hand threw her to the ground, knocking the wind out of her as she smacked her skull on the hard dirt. Head spinning, she scrambled backwards and tried to get to her feet.

[flashback continuing from the first one I have yet to write]

“Darcy, has your heart become so laden with guilt and sorrow you came crawling back here to repent?”

Darcy had backed up into the fence and used it to pull herself up, the wires digging into her fingers, biting with cold. Her heart hammered in her chest as blood rushed to her ears, Darcy tried her hardest to only react with a cold glare. “Nope. And I don’t need to. Just here for one little thing and then you’ll never see me again.”

“You tore this family apart Darcy. We might not make it to the Celestial Kingdom as a family because of you. Don’t you want an eternal family?”

“Not if it’s yours,” Darcy snapped. He stepped closer to her, hands on his belt buckle. He was wearing a rusty brown jacket over a white button up shirt, the shirt was off white and hadn’t been clean in a long time.

Darcy backed away as he stepped closer. He’d grown out his beard, and it was much longer than the last time she saw him. His brown hair was also long, almost past his chin, and was in desperate need of a wash.

“Darcy, you are a daughter of God-”

“Correction, I’m a daughter of a god, one of many, and your god is kind of pathetic.”

“Pathetic? Darcy, is that how we talk about our father in heaven?”

“I could take him in a fight, easy.”

“God is all powerful, he can’t be defeated, we know this from the holy scrip-”

“Considering I fought an actual god of the Greek pantheon- oh, yeah they’re very much real, and kind of douchebags- and a greek titan, which is just a much older and more powerful version of a god-” The dogs only had a quarter of the sandwiches left and Percy had dug so deep he must be close to the box. “Considering I fought both of those and won, I think your God would be pretty easy to beat. At least for me.”

“Don’t interrupt me, Darcy. You know one of the commandments is to honor thy father and thy mother.”

“You’re the farthest fucking thing from my father.”

“You may not have been born to us, but it was in Heavenly Father’s plan that you are part of our family. Your biological family on earth sure didn’t want you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Darcy said, “I found my family after I left, and they didn’t want to leave me. Unlike you, they actually love me.”

“We do love you Darcy, which is why sometimes you need correction.”

“My real family doesn’t think I need correction,” Darcy said, folding her arms, “You’re a sick fucking bastard that only sees children as punching bags. Fuck you, and fuck your fucking family.”

Samuel’s eyes darkened. “The language you are using isn’t righteous or clean, Darcy. They must be the words of Satan.”

Darcy backed away, only for her back to meet the other corner of the yard where shovels, rakes, and other yard tools had been leaned against the fence in a pile. She squared her feet and balled her hands into fists, blood roaring in her head and ears. “Stay the hell away from me.”

“Darcy, you need to be taught a lesson, and a righteous parent, I must obey God’s will and teach it to you.” Samuel’s hands were undoing his belt buckle.

Darcy swallowed, as her brain and body disconnected, and it felt like she was trying to move through neck deep mud.

Samuel pulled the belt through the loops of his pants, and Darcy felt like ten years old again, as everything slowed down and sped up at the same time. Her head started to spin as she tried to get her body to fight back, do something.

“Hands on the fence, Darcy.”

Darcy didn’t move, breath frozen in her throat.

There was a loud snap, making her flinch involuntarily. “Now, Darcy!”

Samuel was starting to get impatient, raising the thing over his head.

But before the belt could come down on her and inflict red hot pain, the sharp edge of a shovel made contact with Samuel’s temple, and he fell to the ground, blood pouring out of his head. He groaned, curling up and moaning in pain. So he probably wasn’t dead, at least not yet.

Darcy collapsed against the fence, leaning against it hard as the rusty old shovel slipped from her hands to the ground. She was breathing heavily as the world spun around her and her whole body started to tremble.

“I got it! Are you ok?” Percy said, rushing over as he brushed dirt off the small blue box. It was about the size of his fist, and the bright blue of the box had faded.

Darcy was pretty sure this was the second time in her life that her brother was very visibly concerned about her, actually scared for her. “He wasn’t about to-”

“Not right now, please,” Darcy said, grabbing the duffel bag and shovel from him.

A new voice shouted from in the house, this one female, also rough with a ‘God-given’ righteousness to it. “Sam! SAM! What’s going on out there?”

The dogs finished with the sandwiches, Moses laying down to sleep while the new, young dog started barking ferociously, tugging on his chain so hard it might rip the chain out from where it was securely attached to the stone foundation of the house.

“Samuel!” Cried the woman’s voice, now outside with them as Samuel groaned and writhed on the ground.

A woman wearing a pioneer style dress with blonde hair took in the scene before her. After a few seconds of looking at Darcy, her eyes narrowed. “You.”

She charged forward. “You sinful, disobiedent, possessed child of Satan! You tear our family apart by leaving, and now you’ve come back to kill your own father!”

Darcy growled. “He’s not my fucking father.”

“And am I not your mother?”

“My mom’s in New York, and she’s the nicest, sweetest, most badass lady to grace this planet. She doesn’t think I’m a problem that needs to be fixed. She would also beat the shit out of you if she knew about what you did.”

“Your biological family didn’t want you, you’re lucky God chose us to be your family and we took you in,” Diana said, looking disappointed.

Darcy took a step towards Diana, fear replaced by pure rage. “You were wrong about me. You’re not my fucking family. My biological family did want me. I found them, and they love me so much more than you ever could. And I couldn’t read your fucking bible because I’m dyslexic, not a sinner you bitch.”

Diana gasped at the language, but before she could launch into a lecture, Darcy kept going. “I wasn’t something that needed to be fixed. I wasn’t possessed by Satan or any demon, I have ADHD and was being followed by monsters that I didn’t choose. I met gods, yes gods plural, and none of them were like the god you think is real. I even fought one, and also a titan god. My real family wanted to keep me, but had to give me up to keep me safe. I can be happy by being a decent person, not following your bullshit commandments. You never loved me or cared for me.” 

She was close enough to touch Diana now. “And I don’t need you.”

Diana was so shocked she couldn’t even speak. She watched wordlessly as Darcy grabbed Percy’s shoulder and they turned to leave.

Diana’s hand wrapped in Darcy’s hair, yanking her back and throwing her to the ground.

“Darcy Mary Larsen in God’s name-”

“THAT’S NOT MY FUCKING NAME!” Darcy screamed, hands finding a rock the size of her fist. She rolled over and tackled Diana to the ground.

“MY NAME IS DARCY ASTREA JACKSON YOU PIECE OF SHIT!” Darcy screamed so loud her throat burned, and with each word she bashed Diana’s head in with the rock, until her skull was sunken in and she stared up at Darcy with dead eyes.

Darcy sat back, rock slipping from her hand as she panted and her bloodstream still roared with adrenaline. She almost collapsed to the ground, but Percy’s leg was there, and she leaned against it for a minute.

Samuel started to groan on the ground, and Darcy struggled to her feet, body trembling. “We need to go.”

Percy swallowed, looking at the two horrible people on the ground, and just nodded, handing her the duffel bag again.

They rushed over to the fence, and behind her, she could hear Samuel starting to get up, cursing Darcy and calling her a murderer and a sinner, and saying he was going to teach her a lesson for this disobedience. Meanwhile, the new dog barked violently, trashing against its chain.

As Percy was crawling through the hole in the fence, the hair on the back of Darcy’s neck stood up. She whipped around, and saw that Samuel had gathered enough strength to crawl to the shed and was pulling down his shotgun.

[flashback here that mirrors this scene]

“PERCY RUN!” Darcy screamed, throwing the duffel bag over the fence and climbing over it, letting the barbed wire at the top leave rips in her shirt and jeans as she scrambled over.

She landed on the other side, threw the duffel bag over her shoulder, and yanked Percy to his feet. They made it to the trees when she looked over her shoulder and saw Samuel taking aim with his gun.

“GET DOWN!” She screamed, yanking Percy down with her to the forest floor.

An ear splitting gunshot rang out, the crack echoing through the woods.

Samuel was yelling, cursing and screaming threats. Darcy scrambled to her feet, yanking Percy with her, and they plunged into the woods. She was dragging Percy behind her as her feet pounded the forest floor. He could barely keep up with her, stumbling over tree roots and rocks.

But Darcy didn’t dare slow down (let alone stop), and she wasn’t about to leave Percy behind with those monsters.

[shorter flashback that again mirrors this scene]

She lost track of how long they’d been running, but some time later, the sun was starting to set, and she figured that they were far enough away now. They tramped over a few creeks to make sure their scent would be lost, and found an area that was secluded enough, but near the area where they’d told Leo to fly the Argo to come pick them up in the morning.

Darcy set to work on a campfire, and directed Percy to gather some firewood- no green stuff and to get sticks ranging from twigs to small logs. According to her, he did ‘a good enough job’.

When he gathered enough, she had already lit some small twigs and leaves. She then used the firewood to build a small campfire.

They covered the ground in pine needles, leaves, and twigs with the wool blankets on top to keep the ground from sucking the heat out of them, and sat down in front of the fire.

They dried their feet, socks, and boots in front of the fire. The entire time, Darcy stared into the fire, trying not to think about the last time she was in these woods. Percy was also silent for once, and she appreciated him for that.

She looked up at the clear sky of stars, a strange feeling hitting her as this sky looked almost the same as the last time she’d seen it. She was able to find all the constellations she knew very quickly.

Percy said quietly, “Can I ask something? You don’t have to answer.”

“Sure,” Darcy said, going back to watching flames dance across the logs.

“How long were you with them?”

“It’s all pretty blurry, but about a year I think,” Darcy said, pulling the extra jacket tighter around her, “The other houses I never stayed more than a couple months. Monsters either showed up- but I thought they were just really fucked up dogs or terrible adults- or my anger issues got me kicked out.”

“How much does Mom know?”

“Just that I was in the system and got kicked from house to house, and that all the homes were pretty much in Idaho. She doesn’t know more than that,” She shrugged, “She might suspect more though.”

Percy nodded, staring into the fire as well. “That piece of shit… Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“He reminded me of Gabe a little too much, though this guy was much more religious. Gabe wouldn’t set foot in a church unless there was beer and a poker table.”

“The shitty guy Mom was married to at one point, right?”

Percy let out a dry snort. “Be glad you never had the displeasure of meeting him.”

“Didn’t need to, I had a Samuel. Sounds like he and Gabe would’ve gotten along pretty well.”

“Well, Samuel wouldn’t appreciate the gambling and drinking I don’t think, but they certainly would’ve agreed on beating up kids.”

Percy nodded back in the direction they ran from. “So Mom doesn’t know about any of that?”

“Hell no, and she’s not going to,” Darcy grabbed a stick and poked at the fire, pushing the coals closer together, “She’s got enough to worry about, with you and me being demigods and you disappearing and shit.”

It was silent again for a minute. “What happened to Gabe anyway, you never told me.” Darcy said.

Percy smirked and said casually, “Mom turned him to stone with Medusa’s head.”

“What?” Darcy said, almost laughing, “Mom did that?!”

Percy nodded.

“How did she get ahold of Medusa’s head?”

“Oh I cut off Medusa’s head for a quest, mailed it to Olympus, and then Dad had me bring it home in a box.”

“Damn, really!?”

“True story, though I think bashing the skull in with a rock is just as effective.” He added, “How are things back home? You never did give me a proper update.”

“Well, I moved into the apartment with Mom, and so did Paul,” Darcy said.

Percy said, “I swear if you stole my room-”

“Ew, no, your room is a biohazard!” Darcy said, “Mom and Paul made some renovations to the apartment, they took out the washer and dryer and my room is the old washroom. They figured washing clothes downstairs or at the laundromat across the street will be fine. It’s small, and I don’t have a proper door yet, but I’d take it over your cesspool of a room.”

“My room is not a cesspool.”

“Your socks have their own ecosystem and you can see the smell!” Darcy said, smacking his shoulder.

“Cannot!”

“Can to!”

Percy gave up, giving his usual drama queen pout.

Darcy grinned, and her smile fell as memories from these mountains crept into her thoughts. “Last time I was here it took me hours to manage a fire,” She said quietly, almost to herself, “I still couldn’t sleep because the ground was so cold, and I couldn’t figure out a bigger fire.”

“At least you’re not alone this time,” Percy said, scooting a little closer until their shoulders were touching, “Even if it is with an annoying idiot.”

Darcy shrugged. “Well, you did have my back in there so… I think that makes up for you being an annoying crackhead.” Her eyes started to droop, and she allowed her head to rest on his shoulder.

[they are picked up the next morning by the Argo, and continue making their way to Europe. A few weeks later while on their quest, Sally Iris messages them to ask why cops showed up to their house and the suspected murderer of two people looks like her and has the same face, hair, and first name as Darcy. Darcy is like “it’s fine, they deserved it.” Sally pieces together that they were one of Darcy’s foster families, and wants Darcy to open up about what happened exactly (absolutely not going to turn her over to the cops). Darcy’s like, “It’s fine, Percy was with me.” and their Paul turns to Percy like, “You let your sister murder two mortals?!” Percy shrugs and accidentlly lets it slip what Sam was about to do. Darcy smacks Percy’s shoulder and is like “Dude! You said you wouldn’t say what happened!”. Sally is livid and wants to know the nearest entrance to the underworld so she can beat the shit out of those two horrible people.]

#heed the content warnings! #if i missed any content warnings let me know please <3 #percy jackson #pjo #pjo hoo toa #pjo hoo #percy jackson oc #riordanverse #riordanverse oc #percy jacksonverse #annabeth chase #oc: darcy #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo fandom #pjo fanfic #percy jackson fanfic #argo 2 crew #cw religious abuse #cw child abuse #cw murder #cw gun violence #cw evangelical/fundamentalist cult #cw cult #cw physical abuse #(implied/referenced) #my ocs #my writing #my art

[blueicequeen19]

Prize Pt. 1

"Yo, have you seen the tits on Maybanks' sister?" Kelc nudges me and I blink at him, the last of my buzz was fading and I'd been spacing out. To be honest I was over this party. The same shit every weekend was getting old.

"Dude, she's a Pogue." Topper rolls his eyes in disgust.

"So? Pogues still have tits." Kelc counters. I follow his line of sight to the pretty little blonde in a tiny bikini next to the pool. She did have nice tits. They were full and perky on her slender frame. Her body was taunt with muscles from surfing because what else do you do when you live on an island?

"She's alright." I take a swig of the vodka bottle next to me. Better they think I'm not interested so I don't have to hear the constant nagging that comes with Kelc and Topper. If they spent as much time trying to get laid as they do arguing with each other, they'd be in better moods.

"How did a Pogue get into a Kook party anyway?" Topper scoffs, sipping his beer like the prude he is. He has a point though. No one is fighting so I know the rest of her clan isn't here. No way her brother would let all these dudes gawk at her for this long. I'm suddenly betting that she's a virgin. There's no way she's been able to get a guy alone with the family she's got. I'm surprised she gets to leave the house.

"Who cares? It's nice to have something new to look at." Kelc waves Topper off as we all continue to watch her. She's not doing anything but talking yet I'm still hypnotized. It's like she feels the same pull I do because she suddenly keeps meeting my gaze. The more she catches me watching, the shittier her looks become. Most girls fall at my feet when they catch me checking them out. Not this girl. She looks ready to cut my balls off.

"Dude, I'm out. My mom will kill me if I come home late again." Topper gets to his feet and Kelc chuckles.

"Later mommas boy." Topper flips Kelc off before disappearing out the back gate. Now if only Kelc would fuck off.

"I bet she's a virgin, dude." Kelc says and I fight to remain calm. Anything to not draw attention to the fact that I had the same thought. I didn't want Kelc to be interested.

"I doubt it." I grumble, leaning forward to count the money on the table. I didn't make near enough for the amount of coke I brought. I look up over the wad of cash and meet her narrowed gaze as she wraps a towel around herself. It takes me a minute to realize she's heading right for us.

"Do you have a problem?" She asks and I can't help but smile.

"Why would I have a problem?" I ask, tucking the money in my pocket and leaning back into the chair.

"You've been watching me nonstop." She snaps, rolling her lip at me. I chuckle, glancing at Kelc as he eats this up.

"I was just wondering how a Pogue got into my party." I cock my head and she rolls her eyes.

"All that Kook and Pogue stuff is bullshit. At least I'm not forced to wear a pink polo." Her jab makes me smile and Kelc busts out laughing. So what if I wear pink? She's the only one who ever dared call me on it.

"Are you jealous? Do you need a pink polo of your own?" I taunt her and her cheeks redden in anger.

"You're unbelievable and your party sucks." She stomps off and I look to Kelc who is equally amused.

"Dude, I think I'm in love." Kelc smirks, both of us watching her ass as she walks away. I shake my head. This girl was going to be trouble.

After our run in, I find her at every party since. She glares at me, I glare at her. She insults me, I insult her back. Every little thing she does has my attention.

Thankfully I don't have to run any guys off because she does that herself. No one seems to meet her standards and she's breaking a lot of hearts. It's not until late one night that I overhear a conversation about her that I become fully invested.

"She's desperate to lose her virginity but no one will fuck her because their afraid of her brother." I don't have to hear a name to know who this gossip is talking about. My little Trouble.

"Plus a lot of guys don't want a virgin. They want someone who knows what they're doing." Another girl adds. She couldn't be more wrong. I find myself heading up stairs after her. I can't help myself. I wanted to get her alone. If she wanted someone to fuck her, I'd gladly do it. I follow her up the stairs and down the hall before I catch her elbow and pull her into the nearest room - a bathroom.

"What the fuck, dude?" She demands, slapping her hands against my chest.

"I heard you were having issues with something and I wanted to offer my services." She narrows her eyes at me like she has no idea what I'm talking about.

"Come on, Trouble. If anyone is a good fit it's me. I'm not afraid of anyone in your family and I can keep a secret." I tease, letting my gaze linger on her lips and her eyes widen when it dawns on her. It's only a moment then she's scowling at me.

"How did you—."

"I know everything. Do you want my help or not?" I was growing impatient. I had to know what was under the skimpy clothes she wore. Was she shaved or waxed? Landing strip? What did she taste like? What sounds would she make when I flicked her clit? Fuck, my dick was already hurting.

"I uh—, right now? This is a bathroom?" She stutters, a blush on her cheeks. I softly cup both sides of her face and tip her chin up so she's looking right at me.

"Have you ever been kissed?" I whisper and with a lick of her lips she nods.

"Just once." She breathes, her hands instantly go to my waist and I resist rubbing my erection against her.

"I'm going to kiss you. How you should be kissed. If you want more, meet me on my dads boat at midnight. Deal?" I swipe my thumb over her bottom lip and she nods, her pupils already blown. I bet her heart was racing in her chest.

"Part your lips just a bit. Let me in then slowly follow my lead." I reassure her as she shudders. I back her up against the wall and slowly bring my lips to hers just as she parts them for me. A satisfied hum meets my lips as I kiss her nice and slow. After a moment I tilt my head and nudge her lips with my tongue and her tongue darts out to flick mine. I reach behind her head, tugging out her ponytail as our tongues swirl around each other. Her hands come up to grip my neck as she starts to kiss me harder, more urgently so I grab a fistful of her hair, pulling her ever closer so we're chest to chest. A moan leaves her lips when my free hand slides down to cup her throat. Our kisses grow eager, harder, sloppier. If we didn't stop I would end up bending her over this fucking counter right now.

I break away first, smiling as she sways a little before straightening.

"That was—." I cut her off with a quick peck, satisfied that my kiss just blew her mind.

"Midnight. Don't wear panties."

#smutwarning #rafe cameron smut #outer banks smut #rafecameron #rafe fanfiction

[madaboutmunson]

Hot For Teacher

Fic by me for the @st-rarepair-minibang event Art by the wonderful @busyheadkeepbreathing (Mischievous_Oddity on AO3 - Their fic is posting tomorrow and it is so awesome so keep an eye out for it plus all the other amazing fics they have posted already!) - Thank you so much for these incredible moodboards!

Summary : It's not every day that Eddie wakes up to find that his uncle has managed to seduce someone, and it's definitely not every day that he happens to recognise that same someone. So when he happens to screw up and upset both his uncle and his date there's only one way he can fix it Pairing: Wayne Munson/Principal Higgins Rating: Teen and Up Word Count: 7.7K AO3 Link

Another day, another dollar, Eddie thinks to himself as he idly scratches his stomach whilst taking the time for a stretch and overly dramatic yawn.

He rolls and forces himself to a slumped sit as the morning light battles through his blinds. He rubs his eyes again, reaches for his watch and grunts when he realises he can't just roll back into bed.

You know, graduating was a whole lot shittier than people made it out to be because now, with no college waiting for him at the end of summer, he’s been unceremoniously booted into the world of work. Well. Looking for work. Unfortunately, rockstar was not a job you could just apply for, so Eddie had taken to photocopying his resume of transferable skills and was handing them out everywhere! Handling money, self-motivation, communication skills, attentive to detail, customer service experience, creative, team player. All that jazz. Technically, he has been doing it as part of a band and his little side business at school with the help of Reefer Rick.

’You gotta get your foot in the door, Ed.’ That’s what Wayne had advised when he’d proposed on going on an open mic night road trip around the states, ‘All those other kids’ll be off on vacation, you get first pick for a change. Better chance of finding something you might like when it’s less competitive,’ and as much as he hated everything about it, he knew Wayne was right. But also has to be the sweetest lil’ puppy-eyed nephew he can be because he needs Wayne to take him to jump-start his van, which he had to leave at Gareth’s because the old girl had given up the ghost.

He gets to his feet, puts on his Garfield slippers to match his boxers from the same gift set and pads out quietly to the kitchen. 

He rubs his eyes and yawns a little more, making his way to empty and refill the coffee machine.

Gazing bleary-eyed into the living room, he can just about make a form on the fold-out bed. He grabs his mug, and then as the form fidgets on the bed, he sleepily smiles and reaches for another cup.

He’s putting the third sugar in his Garfield mug when something occurs to him. He frowns at the wall and pushes out his bottom lip. Something wasn't right. 

Narrowing his eyes, he takes a step backwards and looks into the living room again, and his eyebrows nearly shoot off his face entirely, covering his mouth not to let out a laugh and to hide the mischievous look on his face.

Well, well, well, Ol’ Uncle Wayne seemed to have got lucky last night, the fucking hound dog! The form on the fold-out bed wasn’t his uncle because he was on the sofa. Eddie can see his shiny balding patch from here. He secretly hopes he takes after his mother’s side, who all had full heads of hair until well into their seventies. He steps forward and tries to take a closer look at the form under all of the goddamn blankets. Shit, his Uncle is taking chivalry to a whole new level, probably freezing his balls off for this chick.

Eddie grimaces, hoping they hadn't been bumping uglies, and he was breathing in their stale sex air, fucking gross! No, they’d be all snuggled up together, and his Uncle is a gent, not a one-night-stand guy. No way.

He smiles and begins plotting all the ways he will mercilessly tease Wayne about this for the rest of the month at least. He reaches up to the cupboard to get another mug, pours half a cup, no sugar or milk, and finishes the one for himself and Wayne.

He hears the creak of the couch springs first, then a gruff but hushed, “Mornin’ Ed. You’re up early, ain't ya?”

“Well, you know the early bird gets the worm and all that shit,” Eddie whispers with a theatrical splaying of his hands, “Talkin’ of dirty old grubs, who’s your friend here? Didn’t you make me promise to tell ya if I had someone stay over? Do these rules not apply to you?” Eddie blinks like one of his condescending teachers at school, and his uncle rolls his eyes with a wry smile.

“Shut up and gimme my coffee, you little punk,” Wayne teases.

“Why don’t you wake up your friend here, so I can take her fucking order, too, huh?” Eddie pretends to be put out and curtsies, but he can’t hide his smile. This moment was going to fund the bank of ribbing his Uncle for weeks.

“I don't think that's a good idea. Best let ‘em sleep. He had a rough night.”

Inches away from picking up Wayne’s cup, Eddie’s human engine completely cuts out. First of all, what was he hiding? Second, he sounded nervous. Wayne only ever sounds nervous when the church women come around and start fussing about the place. And last, he’s still sleepy but heard what he heard.

“He?” Eddie questions quietly with raised eyebrows.

“Yeah, he. That a problem?” Wayne says with all the defiance of a teenage girl being asked about her greaser boyfriend in the fifties. If he had the capacity for a ponytail, he’d be swishing with attitude at Eddie right now.

Well fuck! Is his Uncle gay? Not an issue if he is. Eddie’s very open-minded when it comes to all that sort of thing. In all fairness, he’d never known his uncle to be involved with anyone. At one point, he thought maybe he’d had his dick blown off in ‘Nam or something, and that's why he wasn’t interested in that kind of thing. My god! That raises new questions. What kind of guy had changed his Uncle’s mind? A hundred bucks says this guy thinks John Wayne is the greatest or is at least from the South because those were the two things that you could talk about five miles away from his Uncle, and he’d magically turn up with a big smile on his face like, “Talkin’ ‘bout Cowboys are ya?” Eddie facepalms. What an idiot. Now, it makes sense. No wife and no kids (apart from the blessing that was his good self). He always said he had better things to do but was obsessed with Westerns and Cowboys. Clearly, it's not just for the predictable plots.

Taking a sip of his coffee and setting it down on the countertop, he leans over and observes the shuffling form. Now he knows it's not a broad. He doesn't have to avert his eyes.

“Don't gawk, Eddie, Jesus!” Wayne mouths quietly, making Eddie poke out his tongue, fold his arms and turn away.

His mind is running a million miles a second. Who was this guy? Why was he so special? It can’t just be Westerns. Was it tough for older gay people to meet? He knew it fucking sucked in high school, not that he was gay, of course, just, you know, it must be tough. He liked girls, definitely. Just could appreciate a handsome dude, that's all. Sure yeah. 

He can hear them quietly muttering to one another, and the fold-out bed creaks from movement. He’s stood up. Eddie knows all the noises of that goddamn thing. He had to learn them from sneaking back in late at night.

You know what? He’s got things to do and places to be. He’s gonna break the ice. “I made you a coffee too. I didn’t know how you took it, so it's just straight out the pot.” Eddie says kindly, utilising a bit of the voice he’s been practising for if he ever lands an interview.

“Well, that's very kind of you, Edward. Thank you. That's how I take it anyway,” A not southern voice replies, but there is something familiar about it. Maybe it just sounded local.

“Best call him Eddie. He’ll start actin’ up otherwise. Well, more than usual,” Eddie can hear the smile in his uncle’s voice, and then the pair of them chuckle together. Eddie wrinkles his nose. That laugh was familiar, too. He gets an odd sensation and a twitch in his middle finger.

“Sorry, of course. Eddie is quite right, of course. Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise,” the voice says as the focus of the entire universe warps, pulls and at lightning speed zooms in on him as his brain places the voice.

No. No way. Absolutely not. That would be crazy. It could not be that asshole. It doesn't even make sense why he would be here. Eddie takes a deep breath and decides to stop being insane. His brain is just used to hearing the voice of that dickhead every goddamn day. Lovely day for it, isn’t it, Edward? I can’t wait to see the latest production. I hear you’ve been the driving force behind it. So I know it's going to be an absolute stormer! Nah, Eddie is unlucky, but he’s not that unlucky. Imagine finally leaving school and that happening. He laughs.

“Like that little quote, did you, Edward? It's one of my favourites,” the voice adds, “Sorry, I mean Eddie. I’ll get it eventually, just habit,” Eddie's stomach drops out of his ass, through the floor, plummets right through the centre of the earth, out the other side and gets swept up in the planet's orbit, amongst all the additional space junk.

He turns back towards the living room, and it must be the day that all the gods of every faith have decided to test him because there stands Principal Higgins.

Most of his body goes slack for a second, and his knees feel almost like they might buckle from shock. What the fuck? But soon, a furious tension arrives, and like the bubbling kettle that he is, he blows its top with his own version of a whistle.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?!” Eddie screeches, “Why are YOU in my home?” his eyes are so wide you can see the whites all the way around his irises, “Where are the rest of your clothes?!” He looks between them but gets no further answers, just another helping of trauma.

“Now, Eddie. Son. I’m gonna need ya to calm down, ‘kay? It's not whatcha think,” Wayne slowly gets up off the couch, his arm outstretched towards him like he’s trying not to startle an already rabid dog, and currently, the way Eddie is almost foaming at the mouth, he’s not entirely wrong in his approach.

“Is that- IS THAT MY NEW METALLICA T-SHIRT? OhmygodOhmygodOhmygodOhmygod  OH! MY! GOD!” Eddie raises his hands and grips onto his hair while pacing in the world's smallest circle, hoping this is all a fucking nightmare because it feels like one. It has to be one. The worst one. He can feel his heart racing. Is this how he’s going to die? No, not like this. Please, gods, not like this. He slaps himself hard in the face.

“EDWARD! What in the blue hell?” Wayne yells.

“Oh, you! You don't get to tell me anything!” Eddie gestures vaguely between them, “Whatever arrangement you have!” Eddie's insides recoil at a thought, “This isn’t so I could graduate, is it? You didn’t sell yourself to this tyrant for a scroll, did ya, Uncle Wayne? SAY IT AINT SO!” Eddie rubs his hands down his face, and he can feel the thin layer of sweat forming from pure panic.

“You know, I think Edward is very distressed right now, and I should probably go.” Principal Higgins says as he goes to remove the t-shirt, and Eddie almost full-on convulses with repulsion.

“Jesus H Christ! Keep it on! Keep it. Burn it. Whatever. I do not want that back!” Eddie puts his hand out in a stop motion and turns away from the potential hellscape about to be uncovered.

“Ok, that's enough. George here was just-” Wayne tries to douse the fuse to the time bomb that is Eddie but instead fans the flame, and it starts moving exponentially quicker.

“GE-OR-GE?! GEORGE, IS IT NOW?” Eddie's eyebrows are raised so high they might be two surprises away from leaving his face altogether. Wayne folds his arms and purses his lips like he’s waiting for Eddie to finish.

“Thanks for the ride and for letting me stay, Wayne.” Principal Higgins says, gathering his clothes from a drying rack.

Eddie points at him accusingly with one hand clutching his fluffy robe around himself with the other, stepping towards him with a renewed sense of purpose. “No! No! Uh-Uh. He’s not Wayne to you. He’s Mr. Munson. Not Wayne” 

Principal Higgins puts his hands up in front of him, “Alright, Eddie, alright. Mr Munson it is.” Eddie shocked face moves between the two of them like he's watching a tennis match, “Just calm down, ok?” and that makes Wayne close his eyes slowly and shake his head because telling Eddie to calm down only means one thing.

Eddie erupts.

“CALM DOWN?! CALM THE FUCK DOWN?!”

“Language, Eddie,” Wayne mutters lacklustre because he knows it's useless.

“Oh, sorry if my language offended you, sir. Maybe if you get off your moral high horse when you've spent the night with MY PRINCIPAL.”

“Ex-Prinicpal, Eddie. You graduated, remember?” He offers him a small smile, sending Eddie into toddler mode. He’s holding his breath, wrinkles up his nose and clenches his fists until he’s red in the face because he's so mad he can’t get the words out to express it.

So he does something else.

He stretches his hands directly out in front of him, pointing them at Higgins, Wiggling his fingers slowly muttering under his breath.

“Erm, Way-Mr Munson, what is he doing?” Higgins says, a little nervous.

“I’m cursing you, Higgins,” Eddie says in his best demonic Freddie Kruger impersonation, and that puts the fear in him.

“Ignore him. He’s just being dramatic.” Wayne tuts and shakes his head. Eddie raises his chin and widens his eyes, looking down his nose at Higgins and pushes his hands towards him quickly, making Higgins jump back with a yip.

“Are you sure he’s not cursing me?” Higgins says, a little afraid, starting to gather his things much faster.

“You crossed the threshold to my lair, and now you must pay the price, Higgins, with your soul.” The Principal backs away, frantically trying to put his knitted vest over Eddie’s Metallica shirt, and Wayne simply rolls his eyes, sits down and lights up a smoke.

Eddie widens his eyes a few times, muttering some pig Latin, which makes Higgins's face contort in confusion as he backs towards the door. “Thanks again, W-” Higgins starts to say but is cut off but Eddie rolling his eyes back into his head and chanting louder, “I-I-I mean Mr Munson. Thank you. I’ll pay you back for the t-shirt Eddie.” he whimpers quickly, as he reaches behind himself for the handle of the door to reverse out of the trailer half dressed. Not Eddie’s concern as long as he was out of here. That was the main thing.

Eddie sports a broad closed, mouth smile as he turns back to his uncle, making a show of dusting his hands, “No need to thank me for taking out the trash for you, Oldtimer. This time, the pleasure was all mine” he chuckles and heads back to get their coffees. 

Strangely there is no echo to his chuckle nor any nod or smile of thanks when he delivers the hot drink—more of a snatch of the mug and avoiding looking at Eddie altogether. 

He scrunches his face and walks over to sit at the two-seater table. He knows this feeling. He doesn't like it. He slides into his seat, brushes down his robe, and eyes Wayne weirdly, “Want a fresh cup?” Eddie tries to break the tension. He can’t seriously be mad about Higgins, the Mega-bastard.

“No, Edward. I do not want a fresh cup.” 

Oh shit. A sentence of whole words, no contractions, hardly any drawl, and Edward. He knows what this might be, and it's way worse than Wayne being mad at him.

“You know, I thought I might try some of the stores near the arcade today, then maybe a few construction companies or the library…” he lets his voice trail off. Obverses his uncle pointedly, flicking over pages in the car magazine that he is obviously not reading. He doesn't even have his glasses on, “maybe join the circus or start my own cult?”

“That sounds nice for you, Edward. You do that.”

In another dimension where Eddie doesn't have to go job hunting imminently, he’s banging his head against the desk.

“Well, the thing about that is there is a small issue with, uh, the whole doing of things today, and I was hoping-” Eddie gets cut off mid most charming smile and fluttering of eyelashes.

“And you were hoping I’d take ya to pick up the van from Gareth’s because she’s not speakin’ to you either. Can’t say I blame the ol’ girl. You never look after her how you’re ‘sposed to” Ok, well, at least he’s talking like himself again. That's progress, at least. “Always drivin’ the poor thing like she’s a drag racer, never check her levels. Twice I seen her smoking, Eddie,” he continues to mutter a checklist of vehicle crimes Eddie has committed to his precious van, and he dares not interrupt because he really needs his help, “Well, how ‘bout this buddy.” Eddie beams in anticipation, “It's a no.” The surprise of a ‘no’ smacks so hard he might as well have got up and slapped him across the face with a wet salmon.

Uncle Wayne doesn't say no to Eddie, he says maybe, or we’ll see, or maybe in a few years, son.

“But-but you said about getting in with job applications and getting up early, and I did that, and I got the smart clothes that you got me all hung up ready to go. Come on, Wayne, please?” Eddie is all but on his knees, begging. Walking into a shop from the car park dressed like a prep was one thing, but from here to town? He’d be a laughing stock.

“No, Eddie and that's final!” Wayne says, glancing at him and then back down at the magazine.

Eddie closes his eyes slowly and presses his lips together. He knows what he has to do. He doesn't want to, but he also does not want to have to walk or bike to hand these resumes out.

“I’ll find Higgins and apologise straight after, I promise,” he says with absolutely no intention of doing it, but he’d figure out something later.

That gets his full attention. The magazine is closed shut, the mug is on the coaster, his arms folded, his lips pursed, and he’s looking directly at Eddie. And Eddie can see it in his steely eyes. Wayne is plotting.

“Ya know, I get rebelling against authority, and I get the whole hate the principal thing, but I can’t say I’m not disappointed. Didn’t even ask what happened. Just chased him outta here. Ya coulda be chasing him back out to anything.” Wayne says with a huff.

Anger he can stand, but disappointing Wayne is his kryptonite, and his uncle damn well knew it too. Eddie takes the bait.

“Go on then, what happened? What was so bad you had to invite my nemesis to have a sleepover with you?” Eddie waves his hand in front of himself to gesture for Wayne to continue.

“Nothin’ to it, really. Was on my way back from work in the small hours, saw someone walking in the pourin’ rain an–”

“Ok, whoa whoa whoa! You just pulled over in the dark to pick up some stranger at the side of the road in Hawkins? Are you insane?!”

Wayne rolls his eyes and continues, “As I was sayin’, I saw someone walking in the pourin’ rain, and as I passed them, I saw in my mirror it was George,” Eddies face automatically displays disgust at the mention of Higgins’ human being name, “I stopped an’ offered him a ride home. He was all embarrassed said he couldn’t go back there,” he eyes Eddie, “For reasons I’m not about to let his mortal enemy in on. He’d been sleepin’ in his car for a while. Yeah, since before your graduatin’. Anyhoo, his car is a bust. It had been playin’ up since the graduation ceremony and finally gave up the ghost, and he was stuck. I offered to take him to a motel, but he was worried about anyone else findin’ out, so I brought him back ‘ere. Someone forgot to pick up my laundry, so the only clean items around for him to sleep in were fresh goddamn air or a t-shirt I found.”

A cold, harsh realisation hits Eddie at full speed. He’d been the one the tamper with Higgins’ car. Said he had stage nerves, pretended to take a leak and instead fucked around with the car. One final act of revenge.

“Look, man. I didn’t know any of that shit.” Eddie laughs awkwardly, “I was just, you know, caught off guard.”

“Oh,” Wayne says, raising his eyebrows, “So if I’d woken ya up last night after my very long work shift and explained the entire situation to you. You would have what? Willingly give your ex-principal a t-shirt and show them some sympathy? Is that what you are saying right now?” Wayne stares him directly in the eyes and simply waits. He’s waiting for Eddie to lie or to be proven right.

“I don't like the guy, ok? There isn’t any law against disliking people,” Eddie says hurriedly, suddenly needing to wrap himself tighter in his fluffy robe as Wayne slowly looks down into his cup with a nod, and Eddie can feel it brewing.

“Thing is, Eddie. Ya didn’ even ask. Ya saw a guy lying on a bed he didn’t choose, in clothing, he wouldn’t have picked out in a montha Sunday’s, embarrassed, an’ scared, and ya drove him outta the house.” Eddie sheepishly raises his eyes to Waynes from under his hair, “Ya kicked a guy when he was down and out, Eddie. That ain’t right.” Wayne says sadly and shakes his head a little, averts his eyes.

Eddie’s insides squirm uncomfortably, and he tries to get back on the right side of Wayne, trying to get him to see if it had been anyone else, Eddie would not have done that, “But he’s not just some guy, Wayne. It was Principal Higgins. Come on, don't be mad. Once I’m done with these resumes, I’ll go apologise, yeah?” Eddie nearly gags on his own words, a small price to pay to avoid the words that would absolutely crush him

Wayne gets up, puts his mug in the sink, and mutters, “I ain’t mad, Son, just disappointed, is all.” 

FUUUUUUUUCK!

Eddie's heart crumples in on itself. That's it. He’d finally done it. 

After years of fucking up, everything from breaking a mug to being brought home by Hopper, who broke the news to Wayne that whilst he didn't strictly mind that Eddie was dealing on a small scale, he should be fucking quieter about it. Then the general weird appearance that makes most of the town stare or spread idle gossip, getting less than impressive grades at school, getting into fights, losing his temper with Wayne regularly all the way through puberty and getting high or drunk way too often with his friends. The recovery of which would lead to letting Wayne down with something he should have been doing instead.

After all of that, Wayne always looked a little disappointed but never outright said it, always found a way around it, but this. This was a step too far, and the words echo in his dumbass empty head.

“I ain’t mad, Son, just disappointed, is all.”

Eddie winces at those words as they stab into him repeatedly, dagger-like.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie tries, and it's a real one, the lump in his throat trying to choke him out and the sting at the corners of his eyes, but he knows it's not gonna fly this time. He’d really let him down. Even at his age, the unknown of what would happen next makes his pulse race. 

Wayne nods and collects his hat and keys. He walks over, but his eyes do not meet Eddie’s as he puts on his cap and places the keys in front of Eddie on the table, “You ain’t gotta be apologizin’ to me. Take the truck. ‘M going for a walk.”

And with that, he’s gone. Eddie watches him walk away through the window, suddenly feeling small and engulfed by the robe that he pulls tightly around himself. He slumps off to the bathroom to finish getting ready for the day.

Twenty minutes later, Eddie finds himself in a situation he never thought possible, dressed in a button-down and un-tarnished jeans, his hair tied back in a low ponytail, driving around the trailer park and surrounding roads looking for Principal Higgins, or should he say, George Higgins. He isn’t his principal any more, thank Christ. You know what? No. It can be just Higgins. There. Good! Fucking Higgins! Jesus Christ, on a bike.

Not far from the entrance to the trailer park, he spots the tour dates on the back of the t-shirt, teamed with tan slacks and a chequered jacket slung over his arm in a hunched plod back to town.

Eddie drives a little ahead and pulls over, watches in the rearview mirror how the guy’s face lights up and his pace quickens towards the car. Man, was he in for a surprise.

“Wayne! Thank God. I didn’t know what I was gonna–” he starts saying as he sits in the passenger seat and on Eddie’s resumés. He swallows that one down and reminds himself this is for Wayne, “Oh. Uh. Eddie. Do you want me to get back out? Did you stop for someone else?” He struggles as he raises himself out of the seat again to hold the stack of papers he’d say on.

OF COURSE, THATS WHAT I WANT, Eddie thinks to himself, but buries it, grips the wheel white-knuckle tight, forces a small pinched smile and through gritted teeth manages, “No, of course not. I thought I’d see if I could help with your car. Wayne said it cut out on you?”

“Y-Yeah, that's right, b-but it's fine. If you drop me in town, I can speak to a mechanic there,” Eddie watches him pat for his wallet and scrambles to another pocket. He knows this dance, had to do the moves many times himself.

“You could do that, sure, or…” Eddie starts and trails off because two halves of his brain are having a slappy hands fight with one another.

“Or?” Higgins asks, and he sounds genuinely confused by what the other option could possibly be, but Eddie detects that slight waver of hope in his voice. It makes him roll his eyes, and the side of his brain that is only concerned with getting on the right side of Wayne again sends the one concerned with being cool and tightly held grudges built on dry sand, reeling into next week with an almighty whack.

He takes a deep breath and tries but fails to relax his shoulders, “Or I can take a look for free. I help out with a lot of cars in the trailer park.”

He’s met with silence. 

He waits a little longer, and there is still no response, and out of sheer concern that Wayne was gonna be extra pissed if he had literally killed Higgins with kindness, he turns to look at him.

Immediate deep regret!

The guy's bottom lip is wobbling. How did this guy run that fucking hell hole? He’s a jello of a person. Eddie looks back at the road to direct his flicker of a sneer somewhere.

“It’s not a big deal. Whereabouts is it?” Eddie tries to steer the conversation to something easy for him to digest.

Higgins clears his throat and blubbers, “Er, just one first side road into the forest after the school.” Eddie can’t bring himself to ask for anything more specific in case he gets emotional, and he would have to comfort him. The thought almost makes Eddie heave. He’ll stop this car and run to town himself before he does that. No way! He tries to think of something else.

“You friends with my uncle then?” Eddie tries, and he almost snaps his head around when the reply is immediate.

“Oh yes! Way- I mean, Mr Munson is a fantastic pal.” Higgins enthuses and then quickly corrects himself. There is another clearing of his throat.

This is what Luke Skywalker felt when he found out who his father was. Fantastic pal? Pal? What the fuck?

But Eddie beings to experience something worse than realisation. He’s curious.

“I didn’t even know you were friends,” Eddie says, a little weirded out.

“Oh,” Higgins says disappointedly, “He hasn’t mentioned me to you?” Eddie’s fingers tighten around the wheel again. What the hell was happening right now? Eddie chooses to ignore how much that sounds like someone realising their love is unrequited. No. No, this is not what he thinks is happening. He remembers now. Of course, he means the school stuff. 

“Well yeah, of course, he’s mentioned you when you’ve called about me,” Eddie laughs and shakes his head, “You know all those meetings with the three of us, and sometimes an extra teacher, to bring forth the ‘evidence’” Eddie makes air quotes whilst still holding onto the wheel with the remaining fingers.

Then there is a small laugh from Higgins, “He never did listen to any of it though, did he? Always team Eddie,” And the fondness dripping off those words almost makes Eddie want to slam on the breaks and vomit somewhere, not just out of repulsion but also because he’s just been reminded of all those times Wayne’s backed him against all odds, against all comers. It must be that that makes the words fall out of his mouth.

“Until today,” Eddie grumbles.

“What because of what happened in the trailer?” Higgins asks dumbly but with concern. The fucking dick!

“Yes! What happened in the fucking trailer!” Eddie all but hisses back, sighs, and tries again, “Sorry about that. Yes, how I overreacted in the trailer didn’t impress him as you can imagine.”

“Well, it must have been a hell of a shock for you, honestly!”

Eddie nods and smiles. Then his eyes shoot open wide, realising that he’s agreeing with his mortal enemy!

“Shit,” Higgins laughs, “If I had woke up in my house at your age and my Principal was asleep in my living room. I’d have questions too!”

Oh! Now he’s cussing and relating like they’re fucking buddies or something. A whole body shudder ripples through Eddie. He tries to get to the controls of this conversation again.

“So, what were you expecting him to mention?” Eddie asks. Even though he might live to regret it, the claws of curiosity are gouging into him.

“Oh, it’s stupid, honestly. He's a busy guy, and he probably was more interested in what you had to say. He’s always recounting your funny stories and jokes. He always says he doesn't do them justice because he says you tell them best.” Higgins says like it's nothing, but Eddie is so glad this section of the road is creating extra noise. Otherwise, he would have heard the gasp that just left Eddie as his heart squeezed.

Of course, his uncle wouldn't mention anything to Eddie, that was not to do with Eddie because everything was always about Eddie. He knew Wayne always had his back, no matter what, but to hear that he openly talks fondly about him to other people is almost enough to turn Eddie into a blubbering mess himself. “You guys, old friends or somethin’?” Eddie tries to say something quickly so Higgins can prattle on whilst Eddie composes himself.

“Ah,” curiously Higgins stops, “not really. I mean, not from school or anything, if that's what you mean?”

Eddie gets another sinking feeling that the reason they have bonded was also his own doing, “Well, you don't work at the same place. It’s rare Wayne goes out, and I was in those meetings too, so, uh, forgive me, but I fail to see how you’ve managed to befriend my Uncle. What do you have secret phone hangouts or something?”

He glances over at Higgins, who seems to be shifting in his seat, “Uh, well, we have a kind of brunch sometimes at the diner,” he says quietly.

“It's either brunch or it's not, Higgins,” Eddie laughs.

“My lunchtime but your uncle’s breakfast time, Happened accidentally at first. Then your uncle is such an empath. I guess he just did it out of kindness, really, maybe pity.”

Oh, sweet satan. This guy used the word empath unironically. Though this is a standard Wayne move, always the good Samaritan, even if it bites him in the ass later, “Don’t you have lunch with the rest of your henchmen at school?”

That makes Higgins scoff out a laugh, “I understand why you’d think that Eddie, but, uh, it’s not like that. They don’t like me as much as you think they do.”

Eddie swirls that around his brain for a while, thinking about how often he’d been sent to Higgins’ office. How many times did Higgins do anything other than make Eddie sit in his office with him while he did other things, and Eddie finished up some work or doodled?

“I like a good story. How did your first brunch happen?” Eddie asks quickly, eager to avoid further dismantling his personal Munson doctrine.

“Not that exciting, really,” but Eddie can hear the smile in his tone, “Diner was busy. Your uncle’s usual booth was occupied by some noisy sports team passing through. You know, the smaller booth that overlooks the bit of the car park with more greenery in the distance? So he sat at the corner of the counter near me. And we sorta knew one another, and we just got talking.” There it is again that softening in his words. A quick glance over, and he’s sure there is a blush on his cheeks.

Was this why it upset his Uncle so much? He remembers their mutual chuckle from this morning. Though he wishes Wayne would have befriended any other sadsack fuck in this town, he knows how particular his Uncle is about getting close to people, so Eddie does a quick check.

“And then what? You just bumped into one another and talked about…well, what did you talk about? Other than my good self, of course,” Eddie asks more gently.

“Yeah, guess there was a coincidental element to it, but then, at least on my part, it became a little more purposeful,” he drifts off a little and then quickly stutters back into action, “It-it’s not every day I get the chance to talk to someone who I have so many common interests with, you know?

Eddie can feel him looking at him intermittently. It reminds him of when John, one of the original members of Hellfire, was persuading Eddie to let Jenna join. He didn’t have an issue because she was a girl, just she was one of the science kids. She turned out to be a great player and also John’s girlfriend. 

Eddie’s suspicion meter is close to all the springs exploding out of it like a cartoon, and suddenly there is a new emotion leaping off the bench to join the team. Protectiveness.

“Common interests like what?” Eddie frowns a little.

“Uh, music, like rock n roll, but also some of that folk element, country and soul. Westerns, Hammer Horror,” he chuckles. Eddie feels himself want to look round at him, to see if he could telepathically find out what inside joke they had about dated scary movies, “Sports, human rights and well,” there is a pause, “you, of course, but purely from an academic side of things from me,” and though he doesn’t want to be, he is impressed by his apparent honesty.

“And how long have these brunches, or whatever the fuck, been happening?” Eddie asks.

“A little over a year now. Probably could have been longer, but I guess we never had a reason to sit together before,” Higgins shrugs, “Just nod hello or sometimes he’d check in about how you were doing.”

Wow, so now he’s two for two bringing this pair together through his own idiocy. 

“Uh, you know, Eddie, while I have this chance, I just wanted to let you know, regardless of what some of your teachers may have said to you. I always thought you were a very bright and creative kid. Just maybe the way a school is structured didn’t give you the right space to flourish,” Ok, so now this confirms it. He was totally trying to kiss Eddie’s ass here. Actually, it was more likely, at this point, it was Wayne’s ass he might be after.

Eddie grimaces at his intrusive thoughts. They threw him for a loop sometimes, and that one was several inversions leaving him feeling grossed out and nauseous.

“Look, man, you don’t have to say all that crap, I’m not gonna curse you, and I was going to look at your car anyway,” Eddie says to try and make him back off a little.

“Oh, so Wayne was right. You don’t go for all that spooky stuff, then?” Higgins asks happily.

“Now, now Higgy Wiggy, I didn’t say that. I just said I’m not gonna curse you this time.” Eddie says semi-seriously, and silence falls in the vehicle again, making Eddie look over at the gulping guy in a Metallica tee, “I’m just kidding, Higgins, geez!” Eddie laughs as the deserted car comes into view.

Within minutes Eddie is rolling up his sleeves and popping the hood to undo the damage he’d done previously. Meanwhile, Higgins was shuffling around in the back seat.

One particular shuffle almost sends the open hood smearing muck onto Eddie’s freshly washed hair, and that makes him say something. He storms around the side of the car, “Hey man! Could you take it easy whilst I’m under there? I’m pretty fond of my head. It completes my whole look, you know?” He yells sarcastically.

As he rounds the vehicle to stare daggers at Higgins, the sight that befalls his eyes is something more worrying. The guy was halfway through donning a crumpled suit and filling a trash bag with wrappers and cans.

Higgins can’t meet his eyes, “Sorry, Eddie. I was just eager to get into my own clothes and, well, didn’t want you to see all this,” he half smiles awkwardly, “too late for that now, huh?”

And amongst the general chaos of the backseat, he notices a few things. His Uncle’s copy of The Hobbit, a few blankets that were crocheted by the old lady that lives in the trailer park, but they have so many they end up in a cupboard, and a T-shirt from the Indi 500 the year he and Wayne had gone to it, “You like racing?” Eddie asks, gesturing at it.

Higgins responds with a melancholy, forced smile and water-brimmed eyes, shaking his head in a no.

“Just like the T-shirt, huh? He’s got some cool ones, thanks to me,” Eddie jokes, and it earns him a little laugh as Higgins wipes his eyes on his jacket sleeves. Eddie returns to an issue he feels more comfortable dealing with, leaving Higgins to sort out what he needs to.

A little while later, Eddie returns to a much cleaner car and a much more Principal looking Higgins. As he hands him the keys, “Try starting her up for me, yeah?”

Higgins nods with a smile and does as asked, and life breathes back into the engine, “Oh, Eddie! This is wonderful, thank you!”

“Least I could do,” Eddie sighs, cleaning his hands on a rag from his Uncle’s tool kit before loading it back in the truck.

He stands there momentarily, looking at his strange reflection in the paint, and ponders. Eddie and wherever he’s lived previously had the Munson name associated with things more shaped like his dad’s opportunistic and, let’s face it, criminal ways, but what if he could amplify the other side of that name? The one that protects and fixes. The one that helps others in need and shows kindness even when it may not be deserved.

He turns back.

“You know, I feel like I’ve got some bridges to mend, so after I’ve dropped these around town, I was thinking I might pick up some wings and make Wayne his favourite kind,” Eddie announces as he paces around the car. Higgins looks up at him, “I get a little carried away sometimes, and we usually have to live off them for a few extra meals to get my money’s worth,” Eddie’s nose twitches a little before he says the improbable, “I could swing back round this way, and pick you up, so you could save me from chicken wings for breakfast?” He pauses, but Higgins is just staring at him, “Don’t get me wrong, they’re delicious, even if I do say so myself, but that kinda heat first thing in the morning, we’ll that’s an interesting way to start the day,” he grins and kicks at the ground.

“Y-yeah, I’d really like-“ Higgins starts, but Eddie gives him a quick glare, “I mean, I think I could help you with that, sure,” Eddie sends him back a nod.

“Cool. See you in an hour or so.” Eddie says finally before hopping back into Wayne’s truck.

A few hours later, Eddie finds himself in clothing mostly more suited to himself, other than his Hot Stuff Garfield Apron. He had two plates piled high with wings around a small bowl at the centre with a sauce of his creation, one spicy, one blue cheese, plus a pot of mac n cheese from a box. 

He lines the plates up and looks over at the two of them watching the game on the TV, occasionally squabbling over who was at fault on which team for things not going in their favour, occasionally laughing loudly at the other when their prediction was correct or a commentator agreed with them.

Eddie can’t remember a time in the last few years he’s seen Wayne this animated. His eyes are sparkling even, and a secret smile graces his face even when he’s proved wrong, and trying to look annoyed about it. 

“Grubs up, jocks!” Eddie yells over with a laugh. The two of them scramble to see who can get there first. They both look over the food and then up at Eddie.

“Wow, Eddie, this is quite the buffet!” Higgins says enthusiastically, as Wayne and Eddie exchange a comical look at the word buffet.

“Yeah, it looks great, buddy. Thanks,” Wayne says with a big smile, and he blinks softly at Eddie, “Ya done me real proud today, son.” His voice is gruff as always, but that gentle fondness is back, and Eddie grips tightly to the countertop and presses his lips together not to get emotional about it.

A moan of delight comically breaks their shared stare. Higgins has taken a bite from a chicken wing doused in the blue cheese sauce.

“Told ya,” Wayne says as he puffs out his chest, “Best chef in town, right here in my own home!” He beams over at Eddie and back to Higgins.

“It’s not that I didn't believe you!” Higgins protests, “But I’m thrilled I got to sample the proof,” he smiles at Eddie before reaching for another and freezes. This time an unmistakable blush hits his cheeks, “Sorry, I just got carried away.” He says meekly.

Eddie turns to the plate of food to see the issue, Wayne has reached for the very same wing, and his fingers are draped lightly over Higgins’. Eddie traces the arm up to Wayne’s face. It’s hard to make out if he’s blushing on his face just from stubble and the ageing of his skin, but the top of his ears give him away.

Wayne is staring at Higgins, completely frozen too, until he gradually turns his gaze to meet Eddie’s. The sparkle of mischief and laughter is gone. In its place is fear. His eyes dart away momentarily, and he almost seems to force himself to look back at Eddie, who gives him a weak but encouraging smile.

Then Wayne does something incredibly brave, he wraps his fingers around Higgins’ hand, making a small gasp escape from his old Principal, and waits.

Eddie looks between them both.

“I fucking knew it!” He yells and laughs.

Wayne smiles, and Higgins looks bewildered, “What, you’re just ok with this?”

“With people being gay? Yeah!” Eddie makes a face like he just asked him if the sky was blue, “About this situation in particular?” He gestures a finger between the two of them and folds his arms, “Absolutely not!”

Higgins looks deflated, but Wayne still has a smirk on his face.

“But you know, I suppose,” he rolls his eyes to the ceiling and shakes his head, “It deserves a chance, right?”

Higgins' face lights up, and he throws his arms around Wayne.

“Hey! Hey! Hey!” Eddie claps his hands together, “Do not make me load up the spray bottle, ok? Your orientation I’m indifferent to, but no fucking on my stuff and nothing tonsil hockey or worse whilst I can hear or see you, understood?” Eddie says, flicking the kitchen towel over his shoulder and looking at them both in turn.

They both nod at him quietly, Higgins crimson-faced and serious, Wayne with a smile he’s trying to repress and a twinkle in his eyes, possibly caused by the tears that almost welled up in them.

“Tomorrow, I’m gonna help you find a place, and until we have that squared away,” Eddie says, leaning over the counter and looking at Higgins seriously before turning to look at Wayne, “Let me know if you’re having a fucking sleepover!”

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