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bookshelf-dust · 1 year

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the hurt is good

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi

billy hargrove x fem!reader

word count: 4,398

warnings: swearing, smoking, mentions of neil, reader has insecurities/social anxiety/anxiety in general, billy’s anxiety, descriptions of a wound, fluff, comfort

a/n: hi! so i worked on this for a couple days and i’ve kind of been wracking my brain with trying to figure out where i want to go, if that makes sense, but i think maybe i’ve gotten somewhere with this part. there’s definitely more opening up on both billy and reader’s side. there’s also one bit inspired by good will hunting, incase anyone catches it. anyways, this has been very self indulgent for me, and i hope that maybe you might find something in it. enjoy!! <33

before you read, listen to: fade to black by metallica and/or don’t dream it’s over by crowded house

————

It’s cloudy this morning, and you can feel the cold metal of your car door against your back, despite the layers you’ve got on.

You can feel Billy’s eyes on you too, so you focus on the details of his car rather than on him. On the shimmer the paint has in it when the light hits it the right way, the little scuff at the bottom of the driver’s side door.

You give in and turn your head to look at him, meeting his pretty blue eyes.

Billy takes a drag from his cigarette, assessing you.

He watches you pick at your nails, mess with your hair. Then you finally shove your hands in your pockets, though he thinks there’s probably lint in there you’ll play with too.

You watch him turn his head and blow the smoke in the other direction, like he does every time he has one near you.

Billy realized fairly quickly that you got to school earlier than necessary because you wanted to beat the rush of kids, spare the anxiety that came with parking.

He wasn’t really aware that parking is something that stresses people out. But it stresses you out.

And Billy has anxiety. He knows that. He feels it everyday. When people watch him in the halls at school, when he’s at home. Shit, it never stops at home.

But yours is different. You’re different than he is. He hides his well, and you don’t. Though maybe, he thinks, that’s because you never had to.

So he started getting there earlier too. Max would’ve complained, but she could skate around until the rest of the party got there. She found that she liked it that way.

Now, in the mornings, Billy pulls into the space next to you, tears you away from your book, and spends the rest of the time until you actually have to go into school talking to you—or not talking.

You’ve found that though it’s easy to talk to him, it’s also just as easy to be around him without speaking at all. You’ve found that his company is enough. His presence.

Billy notices, when you’ve turned to look at him, that you’re biting at the inside of your lip. He notices because he recognizes the movement, because he does the same thing. It’s rare that the inside of either of his lips aren’t sore because he’s chewed them raw.

“It’s going to be fine, you know,” Billy tells you. He stomps out the butt of his cigarette.

“You always say that.”

And truly, you know he’s got a point. You’ve studied your ass off for this test, have even had him look over your outlines for the essay portion too. You feel prepared.

But there’s always that voice in the back of your head, telling you otherwise.

The voice that clouds your mind like a shadow, that wraps its arms around your shoulders and squeezes.

It moves your hair to the side and whispers in your ear.

You’re not good enough. You have no purpose. You’re nothing. What are you doing here?

And more often than not, you believe it.

Billy walks toward you, adjusts the collar on your jacket, straightens the pin on the front pocket. He stares at you, a stern look on his face.

“And I’m always right, aren’t I? You’re going to be fine, in the end.”

You nod, and his mouth ticks up at the corners.

Billy bends the middle finger on his right hand and drags his knuckle across your cheek. It’s what he does now when he wants to offer you comfort.

You know it’s in place of a hug, or a kiss, or some passionate string of words that he can’t bring yet himself to say.

It hasn’t been but a couple weeks since that day at lunch.

He’d sat there, stealing food from your lunchbox and reading some book for English class. Something he’d never have picked out for himself and certainly wasn’t enjoying.

After that Billy found himself looking for you in the halls, just wanting to know you were there. It’s like when you’re a kid and your seat mate doesn’t come to school, and you feel this ache for them.

He’s not what it is, but he likes you. He likes your company. He likes that you don’t pester him or try to stomp all over his ego.

Billy Hargrove aches for you.

From then on, it’s been quiet conversations whenever you see each other, joining him for a walk when he’s outside. Sometimes he strolls down your driveway to wait for you.

It’s been nothing more than two lonely people finding solace in one another, in realizing that either person will understand whenever the dam breaks.

Billy might not know all the inner workings of your soul yet, but he feels like he does.

It’s when he asks you a question he hasn’t ventured to ask yet, though, that he realizes he wants to know more.

He wants to be your friend.

You watch the carline for the middle school pick up, listen to the shitty country music that the kids who live further out from town play on their way into the lot.

Billy knocks his ankle against yours softly. You look down, realizing that you’ve both got on the same pair of shoes: converse that look like they’ve seen much better days.

You look up, thinking he wants something. “Hm?”

“Would you want to go somewhere tonight? I don’t know,” he trails off, unwrapping a piece of gum and popping it into his mouth, “the record store? Or the bookstore, if you’d rather that. We could get something to eat.”

You feel yourself get warm all over and straighten from where you’d been relaxed against your car.

Billy senses that what he said set something off in you, and he starts to worry. “We could do anything you want.”

You inhale, avoiding eye contact with him.

“Uh, I don’t know, Billy. I’ve got to study.”

He scoffs. “For what? Your test is today.”

“Yeah, we’ll I’ve got another one next week,” you say.

“So you’re going to start studying a week early?” He asks.

“Yeah.”

You don’t sound so sure of yourself. It’s like you’re scrambling for a way out of this, for an excuse as to why you can’t spend time with him.

“My mom might need me tonight or something. I’ll have to ask her.”

Billy almost makes a quip about you having to ask your mommy’s permission to go out, though he decides against it, because you’re shrinking before his very eyes.

“Yeah?” He inquires.

You nod, shouldering your bag.

————

Billy calls you after school. Your mother picks up.

“Hi! This is Nicky. Who’s calling?”

He takes a deep breath. Your mother sounds kind, which he isn’t used to.

“Hi. This is Billy. Billy Hargrove. I was trying to reach Y/N, is she home?”

“Oh, hi, Billy! Yeah, she’s home. I think she might be asleep though.”

“That’s okay.” He tries to call her by your last name, but she insists that Nicky is just fine.

“Can I ask you something?” He continues.

Your mother doesn’t know a whole lot about your budding friendship with Billy, but she does know that you’ve seemed a little less…empty.

At least she thinks so. She thinks he might be good for you, and based on the fact that he’s calling, you might be good for him too.

“Sure, hon. Shoot.”

“Do you need Y/N tonight? Do you have plans?”

Your mother hums. “Nope to both. Any particular reason why you’re asking?”

“I wanted to see her tonight, but she said she had stuff to do.”

It clicks for him then, all at once.

“But now that I’m thinking about it, maybe she’s nervous? To go out and about? I’m sorry for saying all this, really,” Billy covers.

“No, sweetheart it’s okay.”

That almost does him in. No one parental has ever spoken to him this way. Not since his mom.

“Y/N has pretty bad social anxiety, so oftentimes she gets nervous about going out in public where there are loads of people. Does that make sense?”

“No, yeah that totally makes sense. Thank you for telling me.”

He’s silent for a few seconds, thinking. “Do you think you could check on her? If she’s asleep don’t bother her though.” He finally says.

“Hold on just a second, okay sweetie? I’ll go see what she’s up to.”

Billy smiles, and he’s sure your mother can hear it in his voice when he responds. “Okay.”

The line goes quiet on her end, and he can hear what he assumes is the sound of your mother setting the phone on the counter. He can also hear some muffled voices.

He really wants to see you, but he understands if you’d rather stay home. He would try and invite you over to his, but he’d also like to avoid that.

There’s s a large part of Billy that wants to be there for you and learn what it is that you’re feeling. He can’t say that he doesn’t get nervous to be the center of attention in crowded places, because he does, but he’s never felt like he couldn’t go out like you do.

There’s a shuffling over the phone that brings him out of his stupor.

This time it’s your voice that he hears, and it’s calm, sweet, just like your mother’s had been. You’re not upset with him. His shoulders relax at that realization.

“Hi, Billy.”

“Guess you weren’t sleeping then, huh?”

You laugh lightly. “Nope. Just wallowing in self pity. What’d you wanna talk about?”

“About what I asked you today. I’d really like to spend a little more time with you, but I don’t want you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with, you hear me?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Let me think for a second, okay?”

“Only for a second. I don’t want you to psych yourself out.” Billy can hear you sigh heavily, and he rolls his eyes. He can practically picture you, standing there.

“Um, okay. I’ll-I’ll go. Yeah, I’ll go. I haven’t been anywhere besides school in a long ass time.” That bit seems directed more at yourself than at Billy.

“Okay, little honeybee.” He’d heard your mom call for you and he was saving that one up.

“Fuck off,” you start, though there’s no malice in your voice. “Also, we can go to both, by the way.”

“Huh?” He questions, caught off guard.

“The record store and the bookstore. You offered the bookstore and I’m not letting it go.”

“Stubborn ass,” he mumbles.

“Can it, Hargrove. Are you picking me up? If so, when?”

He knows you could just walk down the street and go wherever with him. But he doesn’t want that. He finds that he’s kind of excited to see you.

“Yeah I can pick you up, your highness.”

————

Billy reaches across and pushes the passenger side door open when he sees you patter down the sidewalk.

“Thank you,” he hears you mumble, pulling the door shut behind you.

“Mhm.”

The both of you are silent for a moment, and you watch houses flick by outside the window. You wonder what people are up to. If they’re comfortable in those houses. If they’ve got carpet or hardwoods or stairs.

The radio volume is shockingly low you notice, but high enough that you catch something you recognize: the beginning of “Fade to Black.”

“Is there a reason you’re keeping the music so quiet?” You ask, and Billy glances at you for just a second.

“I was trying to not be an asshole,” he smirks, but it turns into a full, swoon-worthy smile when he sees you do the same at his remark.

“Well, you can turn it up, if you want. I like this song.”

Billy laughs. “Don’t fuck with me like that, Y/N.” He reaches for the dial and turns it up anyways. “Are you trying to tell me that you like Metallica?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean, Hargrove?” You sit on your hands, the leather seat cold on the backs of your fingers.

“I don’t know, I’m just not used to people liking the music I like.”

You laugh.

“So which one is it?” Billy asks.

You ignore him, pretend you don’t know what he’s asking.

“Is it James?”

Your grin is wide.

“It is, isn’t it?”

“Maybe. But Kirk is pretty too. Not that I don’t think they’re all pretty, because they are.”

“Pretty?” He snorts.

“Yes, Billy.” You’re feeling brave, happiness spreading through you because you got to talk about something you like—so you go for it. “You’re pretty too.”

Billy coughs, and you pat him on the shoulder. “That’s a new one,” he tells you.

“Well get used to it, pretty boy.”

————

You’ve only been in the record store for five minutes, but Billy can sense that you’re nervous. There’s a pretty good crowd meandering through the aisles, and it’s a Friday night, so that’s no surprise.

You keep close to him, and you worry that he’s bothered by it, but you really do feel better when he’s right there.

Billy watches you flick through a set of Journey tapes, notices when you seem to panic a little if he goes too far away.

“I’m sorry,” you say, your eyes downcast at a stack of magazines.

“For what?”

“Being a buzzkill. I doubt I’m very good company.”

“Don’t say that.” His voice is serious enough that you look up at him. “You’re not a buzzkill. And you’re the best company I’ve had since I got here.”

You keep eye contact with him for a few seconds, realize he’s got freckles. That’s enough to straighten you out.

“Can we go to the back? That’s where they put the random shit they find and then it’s usually like fifty cents.”

He smiles.

“Yeah, come on.” Billy holds out his hand. He wiggles his fingers when you don’t immediately take it. “So I don’t lose you in the crowd,” he says.

You feel yourself burn, but take his hand, and his palm is rough against yours.

He leads you to the far end of the store, and you find exactly the thing you were looking for. You walk around awhile, looking at everything and nothing.

You see something, and when you go to grab it, you let go of Billy’s hand and move your own up to his bicep, where you hold on to him instead.

Billy likes you holding his arm better, he thinks. It feels more…intimate. Like you trust him. He’s not used to that.

When you catch him looking at where you’re grasping him, you squeeze his arm a little, just above his elbow. “So I don’t lose you in the crowd,” you say, giggling to yourself. You say it the same way that people day “duh,” and that makes Billy’s heart skip.

You pick up what it was that you saw: an Ozzy Osbourne bobble head.

“What did Ozzy do to them? This is fifteen cents, Billy.”

“Maybe they really like bats.”

That does you in, and the both of you start laughing, enough that you get looks, but neither of you care.

You set it back down and move on, though there really isn’t that much more to look at. Billy buys a Tank tape, and that’s all.

He tosses his bag in the backseat of the Camaro so that he doesn’t have to hold it, and then walks you back down the street towards the bookstore.

You lead the way through the aisles, through fantasy and then romance and then mystery.

It’s obvious to him that you’ve been here loads of times and that you have a plan. You also seem much more comfortable here—like it’s your kind of atmosphere.

It’s in the mystery section that you linger, though, and he watches you pick up the same book, read the blurb, and then put it back three separate times.

“Y/N,” he says.

“Billy.”

You crouch to look at another shelf.

“You should get that one you just put back.”

“I have plenty of books.”

Billy rolls his eyes and reaches for it. “This one, right?”

You look up, nod.

“I’ll get it for you then,” he states.

“Billy—” You start, but he cuts you off.

“Can it.”

“Janet,” you say under your breath.

“What was that?”

“Guess that means I’ll have to make you watch Rocky Horror.”

“I’m buying you a present, and you’re going to punish me by making me watch some chick-flick?”

You grab for his arm again, and walk towards the register. “It’s not a chick-flick, Hargrove.”

“Whatever you say.”

You watch him pay, and he hands the paperback to you on your way back to the car.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

You both get in, and he sits a second to let it warm a little. “Dinner?” Billy asks.

“Sure.”

————

Your mother is leaning against the counter, making herself hot chocolate when you get home. “Want some?” Her smile is contagious.

You accept, and she spins back around after turning the stove back on, realizing you’re holding something.

She wiggles her eyebrows, which she should really refrain from doing.

“Billy bought me a book,” you tell her.

“He’s a keeper.”

————

It’s been a couple days since your not-date with Billy. That’s what your mom is calling it, much to your dismay.

She’s gone out for a little while, and you’re reading that book the pretty blonde bought you.

You hear a knock and panic, because you don’t do well with unannounced visitors, but you go to the door anyways.

A look through the peephole tells you it’s Billy.

You pull the door open, and panic a little more because his eyes are glassy, though you can tell he doesn’t want them to be.

His hands are clenching and unclenching, and he’s not wearing a jacket, so he’s got no sleeve to mess with either.

“I’m sorry. Your mom’s car wasn’t here so I thought—it doesn’t matter. Can I—”

“It’s okay,” you stop him. “Will you come in please?”Something is wrong, clearly, and frankly, he’s freaking you out.

He doesn’t say anything, just follows you inside, lingering in the doorway.

“What’s wrong?”

“I need you to promise you’re not going to flip out on me if I tell you.”

Your breath catches. What the fuck?

“Are you a murderer or some shit? Because I can clean things, but I am not that good.”

“Oh my god, Y/N, no.” Billy runs his hands down his face. “I need you your help. There’s a cut on my back, and I can feel it bleeding, but I can’t clean it up myself. I was going to ask you to look at it.”

You take a deep breath, start thinking about if you’ve got anything to fix him up with.

You turn around and walk towards your bathroom, leaving him there. “I’m assuming you’re following me,” you say.

You want to ask him what happened, but you don’t want to push either.

Because he came to you. And maybe that means something.

You crouch, opening the cabinets under your sink. You gesture vaguely behind you when you wear Billy stop in the doorway.

“Sit down for me, please,” you tell him.

“Yes ma’am.”

You roll your eyes, and though he can’t see your face, he can most definitely feel it.

You push the door open wider, and you come into view for him. You’re sat cross legged on the floor.

Billy watches you pull out a washcloth, some q-tips. A messy assortment of other things.

You look up at him. “Can you show me?”

He nods, and you stand, kicking the cabinets shut. You try not to stare as he unbuttons his shirt and slips it off of his shoulders. He turns so he’s sitting sideways on the toilet.

You bend to look at it.

It’s not horrible or anything, but you know it has to hurt. It’s more of a bruise than anything, starting to get purple around the edges, but he was right about the blood—though it wasn’t a lot.

There’s a thin gash above his shoulder blade. It looks like the kind of thing you get when you bump into something wrong and it scrapes you, leaving a cut just deep enough to draw blood.

“You’re not bleeding anymore, it’s all dry now. I’m gonna wipe it off, okay?”

Billy sniffles. “Okay.”

You turn the tap on and wait for the water to get a little warmer, not wanting it to be too cold for him. You wet the rag and then wipe the dried blood clean from his skin, rinsing the fabric and then repeating that process until it’s clean.

You feel like you need something to put on it. The placement is bothering you and feels more susceptible to getting irritated. You really don’t want it to bother him.

With a little more rummaging, you find some antibiotic ointment that you’ve used for knee scrapes before.

You put some on the tip of your finger. “This is probably going to be cold, I’m sorry.”

Billy nods, and is quiet the entire time you rub it over the cut. You try not to notice how warm his skin is under your finger. Or how his bare back looks.

“You haven’t asked,” he finally says.

You wash your hands. “I didn’t know if you’d want to tell me.”

You pull out one of those oversized bandaids. “It’s my dad.”

Your fingers freeze where they tear into the packaging, but you calm yourself before sticking the bandaid on him.

“He got pissed at me today, and there’s a bookshelf in my room. He slammed me up against it, and my shoulder caught on the edge of a cassette tape.”

You move in front of him to drop your mess of supplies into the trash and sit on the edge of the tub to listen.

“It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last. He’s fucking hated my guts since my mom left. But I guess I’ve never had someone I felt like I could come to about it.”

You feel that everywhere.

You reach out and push a curl out of his face. “I’m sorry, Billy.”

You move to get on your knees in front of him so that your faces are level and take his hands. “It’s not your fault.”

His brow furrows. You say it again.

“It’s not your fault. I’m sure you think it is, but it’s not.”

His eyes are getting glossy again. “It might be though. If I’d just been different—”

“No. Don’t say that. You’re doing your best, Billy, and that’s enough. He’s an asshole and you deserve better.”

Billy nods again and again as if reassuring himself, as if trying to absorb your words.

“Hug?” You ask.

He nods again.

And you just hold him for awhile. He doesn’t cry, but you can feel him relax in your hold, feel him melt into you.

You think about how much it means to you that he feels comfortable enough with you to share this. That you’ve never felt this way before. This ache and this sincere passion for the well-being of another person.

You also think about how he smells like cigarettes and something fruity, which you assume is in his hair, and like his cologne.

Billy thinks about how he hasn’t been hugged like this since his mom. He thinks about something else he hasn’t felt in a really long time too. He wonders how long it will take for him to get the courage to tell you. If you feel the same.

Eventually, you pull away, and Billy pulls his shirt back on, grinning at you when your eyes linger on his chest as he buttons it up.

“Would you want to stay for awhile? Maybe for dinner or something?”

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

————

When your mother comes home, she’s not surprised that Billy is there, nor upset by his presence. She’s happy to see you with someone.

She may even have wiggled her eyebrows at you both.

But now, the three of you have not only eaten dinner, but heard every bit of gossip that your mother had to offer. It was after the bean spill that your mom dugout your very worn in copy of The Rocky Horror Picture Show for you to watch.

“You know,” she’d told Billy, “when Y/N was a kid, I left her with her with Wendy and went to see a midnight showing of this. It was so beautiful, all of these people dressed up in this room just to watch a silly film.”

Billy hasn’t ever felt this welcome in someone’s home. Never even in his own.

He’s sitting on the floor in between your legs while you braid his hair and he watches Dr. Frank-N-Furter dance around with Columbia.

So, come up to the lab

And see what’s on the slab

You’ve been quiet mostly during the movie regarding talking, though Billy revels in your laugh each time Brad says something stupid—so it’s pretty damn often.

You’d also told Billy he’d look spectacular in a corset, and that was after he agreed to let you practice the makeup someday. He’d hidden his blushing cheeks from you.

“I see you shiver with antici…pation.”

Your mother is sitting in an oversized chair across from the two of you.

“She does that every time,” she tells Billy with the sweetest of grins on her face.

Billy’s hand slips under your thigh and holds on to your knee.

“Done?” He whispers.

You tie the braid off. “Yep.”

When he leans his head back in your lap to look at you, you can’t help but feel like you’re the only girl in the world.

And when he leaves that night, you miss him. You miss Billy Hargrove.

It’s been a long time since you missed someone.

You watch your mother clean up the kitchen before bed.

“He’s a grump, but I like him,” she says suddenly. “I can’t believe he let you braid his hair.”

You hide a smile, not quite believing it yourself either.

“I like him too.”

And she knows you feel more than that for him. She can see it.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

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trexrambling · 1 year

Text

Broken Heels (II / III)

Request: “There's a protective Dean and Sam some kind of thing. They're friends with fem!reader, a shy and graceful girl. A long time ago the brothers took her in and a deep friendship was born. She only helps with research because she suffers from a heart failure, which leads to her being often dizzy nauseated and breathless. The brother care for her and always keep an eye out on her. Dean is secretly in love with her and vice versa. But neither of them admits it. One night Dean brings home some of his flings and the girl is really cruel to the reader.... Reader spirals into a rabbit hole, taking the things the bitch said to her to heart.... And shit hits the fan?! Some angst, drama and fluff, protective Winchesters.” - by anon

Word Count: 2,350

Warnings: side effects due to heart failure, language, negative self-talk

A/N: Italics refers to flashbacks. I broke this request into two three parts because it ended up being much longer than expected. No beta, all mistakes are mine, please message me if you see any! Watercolor heart from the header image credit.

(Read Part 1)

xxxxxxxxxx

“What are you doing out here?”

You smile softly at Sam’s voice, scooch over to make room for him on the park bench. “Just thinking.”

“About?” He settles beside you, an arm automatically wrapping around your shoulders to help offset the cold.

You gladly lean into his warmth. “How all I’m good for is reading a book and taking notes. How I can’t fight, can’t protect you guys, can’t even protect myself. That I’m basically a potato lump you guys get to drag around. You know, the usual.”

He’s quiet, but you can feel him thinking. You resume your watch of a cardinal nest you’d spotted earlier, see the dad dart back in with a fresh worm hanging from his beak. The simplicity of their lives is lost to them, just another day being a creature that can fly above the rest of us.

“You mean so much to us, Y/N. You know that, right? You have more to offer than you give yourself credit for.”

“Dean doesn’t seem to think so.”

He sighs. “So that’s what this is about.”

You start to pull away, but his arm tightens around you. You groan in frustration, snatch some of the emotions rolling through your mind and string them into a coherent thought.

“I just got in the way today, made things dangerous for everyone. It’s like Dean said, it would have been better if I’d just stayed home.”

You feel him shake his head, and you lean back to look up at him with a scowl on your face. “What? You heard him. He literally said-”

“He loves you, you know.”

Your eyes widen, and your mind goes blank for a split second before a whole new wave of thoughts crash through it. “I mean… I know you guys love me. I love you guys, too.”

“He was worried for you today, Y/N. Scared, even. Scared he might lose you. No one could have known that the demon was going to be waiting for us, that they had reinforcements. It was all a huge mess, and you were almost seriously hurt.”

Your brow furrows. “Yeah, but… he yelled at me.”

Sam sighs. “Yeah, he does that.”

You can feel the confusion on your face. “I don’t get it.”

He smiles down at you. “I don’t think Dean does yet, either.”

xxxxxxxxxx

You opted to get a bus ticket back home. It was, after all, your right to choose whatever mode of transportation you damn well pleased. And right now that meant not being in the back of the Impala with Dean in the front seat where he could stare you down in the rearview mirror every few seconds.

You also had the right to pack up your stuff and go to the bus stop without saying a word to anyone. Hell, you didn’t even leave a note. Guilt, however, did have you sending a quick text to Sam letting him know you’d see him back home and that you were fine. You then promptly turned your phone to ‘do not disturb’ mode and climbed aboard the bus.

Earbuds in, your favorite playlist blasting, you lean your head back against the seat’s headrest and try to sleep. It should prove to be an easy task because you’re absolutely exhausted, and the walk to the bus station had taken its toll. And yet…

It’s a half moon tonight, and you stare at its bright form in the cloudless sky as cars whiz around you on the road. It’s going to be a good many hours before you’re back, and more than likely another few days before Dean and Sam follow behind you. The guilt of leaving them in the middle of a hunt boils in your gut, threatening to overflow the edges of your current state of sanity.

It’s not like they need you. Sure, you can hold your own with Sam when it comes to the research side of things. You can make coffee in the mornings, throw a meal together for dinner, make sure everyone has what they need. But when it comes to the actual job part of the job, the part where the monster is taken care of and lives are saved… Well, you get to twiddle your thumbs in a room and wait while the guys handle it.

And then there’s the things that they definitely don’t need you for. Don’t want you for. Things that a girl in a black dress and heels can handle.

God, that girl. You don’t even know her name and you hate her. Maybe not knowing her name makes hating her easier, makes her feel less than human to you. If she doesn’t have a name, then you can’t imagine Dean saying it while they…

You let out a low groan, and the person sitting beside you gives you a hard side eye and shifts further away in their seat. You stay quiet after that, but the thoughts raging in your head don’t.

You must have drifted off, because the next thing you hear is the blaring horn of the bus and lively, muffled chatter over the music playing in your ears. You yank your headphones out and raise yourself up to get a better look at whatever is happening, hands clutching the seat in front of you for support while your brain rapidly tries to decipher what the hell is going on.

The horn blares again, followed by obscenities from the driver up front. You whip your head around, trying to see out all the windows.

“Can you believe this guy?” someone says a few rows up.

“They’re going to run someone off the road,” another person chimes in.

You shove your headphones into your jacket pocket and grab your bag before unceremoniously stepping over your seat buddy and making your way into the isle, senses on high alert.

Did the monster we were hunting somehow track me? Get my scent? That’s crazy, right?

One step at a time, using the seats as a makeshift handrail, you get closer to the people who seem to be able to see what’s happening. Your mind is already formulating a plan of escape, all the worst case scenarios playing on a loop with game plans to match them. You finally make it to the front of the bus, a bit breathless and running high on adrenaline.

“Excuse me, what’s going on?”

The bus driver gestures wildly at the cars ahead. “This dumbass.”

And then you see it.

And it’s definitely not a scenario you have an escape plan for.

The handrail above your head is the only thing keeping you on your feet as shock floods your system. You blink your eyes and lean closer to the windshield, the synapses in your brain firing at high speed but still unable to truly connect if what is happening is actual reality or if you’ve somehow slipped into a demented, yet highly vivid, dream. Which would honestly make more sense to you, because…

…that’s the Impala.

Right there.

Directly in front of the bus you’re standing precariously in the isle of.

So close to the front of the bus that if the driver were to tap on the gas he’d rear-end Baby’s back bumper.

“What the hell?” is all you can manage to say. Because what in the hell indeed.

A flannel clad arm, illuminated by the bus’ headlights, sticks out the Impala’s front window, waving off and to the right, a wild gesture that can only be interpreted as ‘pull over’.

“This guy’s insane,” the bus driver mutters.

“You have no idea,” you say under your breath, then a bit louder- “You should probably pull over.”

He glances at you in surprise. “Wait, do you know this moron?”

“Uh-huh-” your grip on the railing above you is now slippery with anxious sweat- “and I don’t think he’s going anywhere.”

The bus’ blinker clicks on, the speedometer needle moving counter-clockwise as the wheel turns to the right, the rumble strip vibrating the floor under your feet as brake lines squeal in protest. All movement is finally halted with one final lurch.

“Do I need to call the police?” the driver asks you.

His offer is very tempting. You let go of the rail, wipe your sweat soaked palm on your pants, and then clap your hand on his shoulder. “I’ll let you know.”

Loud raps on the bus door make you both jump. The glass is tinted, and it’s still dark outside despite the hint of daybreak teasing its appearance on the skyline, but there’s no mistaking the outline of the man on the other side.

“Should I…open the door?”

“Yes!” someone from the back of the bus yells.

You turn your head and look back, perplexed, only to realize that all of the passengers are either halfway standing up in their seat or leaning out into the aisle, watching. Their investment in the unfolding drama is almost on the same level of intensity as your desperation to avoid it.

The bus driver is waiting for you to answer. You don’t want to answer. You also don’t want Dean to break the door down.

So you nod.

And then the door is open, and Dean is staring at you, eyes tight around the edges, hair a bit out of place, as if he’s been running his hands through it.

He doesn’t say anything, just takes the first step onto the bus and holds an open hand out, an offering for you to take it.

And you do.

xxxxxxxxxx

“Quit looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

You roll your eyes and flick some flour in Dean’s direction. “Like you’re going to waste away into a pile of dust on the floor if I don’t let you pre-taste the pie.”

His eyes go round. “Wait, you weren’t going to let me have some? Not even the bowl? Come on, Y/N, everyone knows that’s the best part.”

You laugh at the desperation in his voice and spoon the last bit of filling into the crust lined dish. “I don’t even like making pie. I’m only doing this because you asked me to, so…” When he doesn’t respond, you look over. He’s just staring…at the bowl. Feeling the weight of your eyes, he glances up.

“Huh, did you say something?”

You sigh deeply, but there’s a smile on your face as you grip the ceramic and then slide it with a small push across the table into his waiting hands. “Do you want a spoon for-”

His finger is already scraping the remnants from the edges, popping a filling coated finger into his mouth to suck it clean before diving right back in for more.

A snort pushes past your nostrils, quickly evolving into a laugh that has you doubled over, hands on your knees.

“What’s so funny?”

Your laughter turns to a cough just as quickly, and when you do your best to suck it back in something must have gotten snorted in the wrong direction because your diaphragm decides to start spasming, leaving you in a now seated position on the floor with high pitched hiccups squeaking through every few seconds.

Dean hasn’t left the table. He just looks down at you from his seat, licks another finger full of pre-pie into his mouth, and quips - “You good down there?”

“No thanks to-” -hic- “you! Ah, dammit, I-” -hic- “hate hiccups. This isn’t-” -hic- “fair.”

He eventually sets the bowl down and walks over to you, helps you up with a sly grin on his face. “There’s an easy way to get rid of them, you know.”

“Well then-” -hic- “please do share with the-” -hic- “rest of the class.”

He takes a step closer to you, and you instinctively take a step back. But he only moves again, and with your next step your back hits the wall. He’s suddenly close. Very close. His socked feet touch the tips of your bare toes, one arm resting on the wall above your head, his head turned down so he can look you in the eyes. His chest is so close that you’d only need to lean forward to be flush against it, the gray short sleeve he’s wearing outlining his muscles.

Your whole body is warm, and a tingle runs down your spine when he firmly takes your hand in his. You swallow, watch as his eyes dart to your lips. You subconsciously bite the bottom one, an anxious tell you’ve carried all your life.

And then the playful look is gone from his face, shifting into something that holds a deeper intensity. He blinks and clears his throat, moves his arm from the wall and takes a small step back. You’re intently aware that, despite the separation, he’s still holding your hand.

“So, uh-” he clears his throat again- “are they gone?”

You take a deep breath through your nose, try to slow your pounding heartbeat. “What? Is what gone?”

“Your hiccups.”

“Oh.” You breathe deeply again, try to keep your face clear of the emotions that are screaming to be let free. “Um, yeah. Yes.” They’re gone, and with them your ability to breathe properly.

“Awesome.” He gives your hand a small squeeze and then drops it.

“Oooh, are we making pie?” Sam, the blessed knife to cut the uncomfortably thick tension, strides into the kitchen. You let out a sigh of relief at his presence, cut your eyes to Dean one last time before returning to your previous spot at the table.

“Hey, hands off!” you exclaim, smacking Sam’s hand away from where he’d been about to dip it straight into the center of the uncovered pie. “I’m not done with that yet. Maybe Dean will share the mixing bowl with you.”

“Not a chance.” Dean quickly scoops the bowl into the crook of his arm and reclaims his seat. “I called dibs.”

And, just like that, things go back to normal.

But you don’t.

You can’t get the look in Dean’s eyes, the way he was looking at you, out of your head.

xxxxxxxxxx

Read Part 3

Tags for this story (and this story alone, as all other tag lists have been discontinued): @iprobablyshipit91 @senjoritanana @amythyststorm33 @morgiex @sushiumex

#broken heels #spn fanfic #dean x reader #dean fanfic #spn reader insert #requests

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theproloser34 · 5 months

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AJR - The Maybe Man

So finally got around to listening to AJR's newest album. AJR is very weird to me just cause I either love their songs, or the subject matter is just way too corny for me to listen too. Despite that, I really liked their past album, OK Orchestra so I went into this one with an open mind. I'm happy to report that I see this album as a good 7/10. Not great, but an enjoyable listen. Maybe Man: Definitely a great opener to the album. I enjoy the melody and the outro "Here I go again" refrain makes me wish that the song was longer, because it's my favorite part Touchy Feely Fool: This is a perfect example of the thoughts about AJR. This song is incredibly cheesy but also too relatable to myself so I end up loving this song after two listens. Definitely one of my favorites of the album. Yes I'm A Mess: It's an alright song. I'm not too sure if I enjoy the sea shanty vibes I get from this song, but it is really catchy and an earworm. I didn't think it was a great single, but I enjoy it a bit more in the album The Dumb Song: I feel the same about this as I feel about "Yes I'm A Mess". Has a catchy chorus but nothing else about the song particularly stands out after listening. I do enjoy it a little bit more though. Inertia: I don't have anything really to say about this song. I can see how someone would love it, but this song does nothing for me Turning Out Pt. iii: Same thing, doesn't do anything for me. I'm not really a fan of AJR's more slow songs, so this does not hit hit, but easily could be someone's favorite. I appreciate the message of the song, but the song itself does nothing Hole in the Bottom of My Brain: It's a song about fame. I know some people don't like famous people complaining about being famous, but I think this is a nice little deviation than the usual complaints of fame. Also is a nice upbeat and catchy tune. The DJ is Crying For Help: Another one of my favorites. Immediately liked this song when it was released as a single and it has just grown on me more. The only bad thing is this is again another song where I wish there was one more chorus or just a little more development before the outro. The "Don't leave me out" vocal run is my favorite part and I wish it happened more than twice in the song. But still a highlight for sure I Won't: A song I didn't think I would like but soon became the one that was repeating in my head the most. Nothing too special to say about this song. Just seems like a fun anthem for antisocial people, which sometimes you're in the mood for. Steve's Going to London: This is a song I want to like, but I just can't. I find the subject matter interesting but the song itself is too long and just does not sit in my ear well. The bar chant vibe the song is going to just doesn't hit as it should. The bridge is the highlight cause it strips the song down and is most clear about the subject matter, but it doesn't make up for the rest of the song. God is Really Real: I can't hate this song. It just feels wrong to. This isn't a song made for their audience but for themselves. I can't make myself say anything about a song about their dad dying. The line "This kind of thing happens to other dads, It doesn't happen to mine," kills me every time I hear it. It may not be for me but I appreciate this song a lot. 2085: A great outro that I think ends on a appropriate thematic end for the album. The album starts at wondering who you are, to examining certain parts of your emotions and thought processes, to examining outside forces in their lives. To end the album on the lines, "I gotta get better, I'm all that I've got" is such a good way to describe the whole entire album. TLDR: I recommend a listen whether you're a fan of AJR or not. I'm sure you'll find a song or two to like off this album. Also it ain't to long, only 45 mins, so not to much of an investment to listen to. 7/10

#music review #ajr #ajr band #music #the maybe man #long post #Spotify

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all-will-be--well · 5 months

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The Maybe Man

ok no one asked, but here is my AJR album review, song by song:

🌀 Maybe Man: I love this. I have a special place in my heart for all their album openers, they always give me chills. I can't wait to see them open with this live, especially when it goes so hard at the end! I've danced to this a lot already. Also learning that each verse references one song on the album! like a table of contents! I love them so much.

💔 Touchy Feely Fool: Very cute, and fun to sing along with. Probably like a solid 7 or 8 out of 10. Great to listen to, and has grown on me after listening to that Zach Sang interview and learning a little backstory

👍 Yes I'm A Mess: One of my faves from the album. I feel like such a badass walking around listening to this. Wish I could whistle!! The only thing i can't stand is the very end. I don't mind the tempo change but I don't like the slo mo voices that sound like a toy running out of batteries

🤓 The Dumb Song: More mid-tier for me. Got a great swing to it, and the instrumental breaks are really fun to dance to like a total idiot. I like to try out the lamest dance moves and just really commit to it. Lyric-wise, it's cute but reminds me of male weaponized incompetence (I know this isn't the intention, just what i think about), so it makes me feel a little weird if I think about it too much. Can't wait to hear a whole crowd scream "You should nooooot have done that!"

▶️ Inertia: Currently, this is my FAVORITE song on the album. It's fun, it's meaningful, it's got a great beat, and there are sounds that bring me back to past albums so it feels almost nostalgic. They used the instrumentals a lot in their promos for this album, and I can see why. It's both angelic with the choir sounds, and dark with the reverb/bass sounds. So good.

🧍‍♂️ Turning Out Pt iii : Always appreciate the Turning Out songs. Personally, the original is still my favorite. But even that one took me listening to it a dozen times before it really HIT, and then i was crying in the car. So maybe the same will happen with this one someday! Also if i'm not mistaken it's Ryan on vocals? So that's fun to have a change (though honestly he and Jack sound so similar)

🧠 Hole in the Bottom of My Brain: Gosh, so fun! Has that kind of nursery rhyme theme where it builds on itself (swallowed the spider to catch the fly, etc). However, unlike a nursery rhyme, the lyrics are kinda complicated to it's hard to sing along to. I'm sure people will be singing along by the time they're performing it live, like everyone memorizing the rambling line from Karma.

💿 The DJ is Crying for Help: I want to like this one more than I do. Don't get me wrong, I do like it! I think I just find it a little auditorily overwhelming. Like the string arpeggios are awesome, but I can't listen to that and the back up vocals and other sound effects at the same time. idk. To quote my favorite movie, Amadeus: "There are simply too many notes"

🙅🏻‍♂️ I Won't: This one has been out for a while so I feel like I've listened to it a lot already. Definitely makes me swagger walking around my apartment like I'm a total badass. Doesn't get my blood rushing like some of the others, but again that might just be because I've heard it a lot already.

🎡Steve's Going to London: Took me a few play-throughs to actually realize it wasn't just a nothing song! I appreciate them kinda breaking the 4th wall in a very AJR way. This song has grown on me with each listen! Very fun to sing and dance to, and has a great beat. My prediction is that this song will have a lot of special effects when they perform it live. We'll see...

💜 God is Really Real: RIP Gary ❤️ I love that their dad became a beloved part of the fandom. Very touching that they released this song early when it became clear they didn't have much longer with their dad. Beautiful, meaningful addition to the album.

🍂 2085: Perfectly packages up the album! The lyrics say that the old-timey voice says "You are not alone, young child, young child" which is NOT what it sounds like?? So hopefully that gets cleared up. I've seen some claiming it's a Yanny/Laurel situation, and tbh i wouldn't put it past the boys to find a way to do that on purpose. (I hear "You are my heart grown, just know, just know" which i know doesn't really make sense, but it's sweet to me) But the lyrics at the end "You've gotta get better, you're all that I got" give me chills. And then switching to "I gotta get better, I'm all that I got" 😭 . Also loves that it connects so perfectly back to Maybe Man so I can just listen to the album on repeat without interruption

THE END

#AJR #ajr brothers #the maybe man #i love them a lot okay

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la-fille-en-aiguilles · 2 years

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Deadmen Don't Decide

(Deadmen Got No Luck, part III)

Steve Harrington x Henderson!Female!Reader

SYNOPSIS (I ADVISE YOU DO NOT READ IT IF YOU HAVEN’T READ THE 1ST PART YET): this is a Steve Harrington AU, in which after a mission gone wrong, you are thrust into a world where you’re a rising actress playing yourself in a series called Stranger Things... which retraces the past year of your life almost down to a T. Now you have to figure out what happened, but most importantly - what’s real and what isn’t.

New to the series? Try fighting Vecna here - Then wake up in 2021 here.

A/N: I don’t know where all this angst is coming from, but it’s just hitting me like a tsunami every time I sit down to write. It’s also a bit slow moving, but I promise things are going to pick up in the next few chapters! Thank you for bearing with me!

Shower has always been a kind of your thinking temple. Granted, the topics have usually evolved around “what to wear to your shift at Hideaway to avoid giving ideas to handsy assholes” or “are demodogs’ blood and saliva toxic to the skin”, and not, you know “what a girl to do stuck in some parallel universe after dying in her own world”.

At least there was some consistency in the way common sense gradually seeped out of your thoughts as time progressed; much like water swirling down the drain at your feet.

Hot streams hitting your head and shoulders like needles, you spent at least twenty whole minutes studying your body - or rather, what it could have been if Upside Down has never existed. Your skin was soft and lovely to the touch, no scar tissue in sight. If it weren’t for the bluish bruise on your right knee, you would probably feel overwhelmed by the unnaturalness of it all. Marks on your body were what you were used to; never in your wildest dreams you would have thought that this ugly blue patch of skin would help you to hold on to some kind of sanity; confirming that amidst of it all, you were still you.

The wound on your forehead also stung a little when the water first washed over it; and you actually felt thankful for the pain, the sharpness of it grounding you - making you feel alive.

Last time you were in your world, you were dying of a blood loss. As far as you’re aware, you died of blood loss, in Steve’s arms.

So now, you’re what, undead? Reincarnated? Worst case scenario, you would expect yourself to come back to life as a cockroach or - if karma was really out to get you - Tommy H. But now that you’re here, surrounded by the faces you love with minds you know nothing of - you decide, that maybe, there is a fate worse than waking up as a raging asshole one day. Maybe, the scariest of all is to wake up as yourself - with the people you cherish most in the world not knowing who you really are.

You refuse to dwell on it too much - on how your entire world turned upside down in a matter of hours. Now is not the time to grieve, because you haven’t given up yet. Once again, you find yourself being a woman on a mission.

If there is a way out, you’ll find it. Whatever it effing takes. You need to understand exactly what happened - and that without raising any more suspicions. You need to blend in - the last thing you want is to end up in a white room with cushioned walls. So no chance of “I’m from some kind of a parallel universe in which Vecna is real and out for blood” being a conversation starter.

The thought that you might still be stuck in the Upside Down, with this entire world being a figment of your imagination and one of Vecna’s ways to torture you did cross your mind. But then, if you were, in fact, unconscious, would you be feeling any physical pain?

And, come on, replacing Steve Levi’s Straight Leg Harrington by Joe Hug Your Ass Fit Keery is very much outside of your realm of imagination.

When you return back to your room, the Steve / Joe is still nowhere in sight. Turning on the lights and trading a skimpy silk pyjamas you found under your pillow for an oversized gray t-shirt, dug up from the dirty laundry, you collect every single piece of information you can find in the room; some of it useless; some of it not - and dump it on your bed for further investigation.

What looks like the most important finding of all is a bounded stack of papers with August 8, 2021 etched upon it, the one your eyes found at the foot of the bed earlier. Marked, dog-eared, with coffee stains here and there, it’s a story filled with dialogs. It’s the Stranger Things script.

Just as you’re about to turn over the first page, the soft knock on the door calls for your attention.

“Come in”, you beckon Joe in, without taking your eyes off the starring actor’s list of names.

(Keery’s sound of steps is exactly the same as Steve’s, down to the last tap.)

Finn Wolfhard. Millie Bobby Brown. Sadie Sink. Maya Hawke - your eyes devour words off paper.

All of these names mean shit to you. But the names right next to them: Mike Wheeler, Eleven / Jane Hopper, Robin Buckley… These are the names of the people you would kill to see again. Steve Harrington - Joe Keery.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” the man of the hour breaks you out of your thoughts, before they can send you spiralling downward towards all of the things - people - that you’ve lost.

Biting the inside of your cheeks, you tear your gaze away from the printed words, and venture a look at him.

Joe has changed clothes and taken a shower. His hair is still a little wet, and he’s wearing a simple molten brown cotton shirt this time with a pair of light grey joggers, the elastic of his underwear showing.

And you are definitely not staring.

“Like I’m still here,” you lay the sarcasm on real thick, hoping it takes the attention off the way you just gawked at him. “All tucked in, like a big girl, see?” You gesture towards your blanket-covered legs with a snicker.

A mischievous smile flickers across his face, and it has you stalling again, reminding yourself that he is not Steve.

“Well, don’t expect me to be impressed. Now, once I see you eat with a spoon and all…”

His words startle a chortle out of you.

“Oh, I’m a menace with a spoon”, you inform him zealously, raising your chin to look at him, only to find him already staring back, sparkles from the fairy lights above your bed dancing in his eyes.

“Oh really?” he folds his hands over his chest, as if deciding to indulge you for a minute. Bastard, you think, you’re enjoying this as much as I do. “I couldn’t tell. Not with all the ice cream you demolished on the set of Scoops Ahoy”.

Before his mentioning of the Starcourt can weigh on your chest and spin your mind down the memory lane and a never-ending sequence of million questions (how does he know about Starcourt?!), he drops the backpack you didn’t realise he was carrying on the floor and fishes something out of it.

“Prove it”.

Your eyes grow wide as you read the words on the pot of ice-cream he’s holding.

“Is that- Is that Cherry Garcia?!” you just blink at him in shock, momentarily forgetting where you are and who you’re with, “No way”.

All you see is Steve shrugging as he squats in front of you, so that your eyes can meet on the same level.

You feel a shooting pain rip through your chest, something awful; but it isn’t the reason you feel pressure grow behind your eyes.

“If you don’t want it, then…” he pretends to want to take the pot away from you, drawing his hand back; and before you know it, your fingers wrap around his wrist, and you are snatching the ice-cream out of his relaxed hand, his smiling eyes watching you closely.

You press the icy thing to your chest; it frostbites your skin through the t-shirt, but you barely take notice. All you can do is stare at this man before you - close enough to touch and yet so far to do it - because you know he is not Steve; but for a briefest of instants, it almost feels like it’s just you and him, on your regular Movie Night Thursday, with his shitty parents inexistent, as always. Almost like you’re together again.

This Joe person is going to be the death of you - provided that you aren’t dead already.

“What?” he asks as he stands up, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, unblinking eyes fixed on you.

“Nothing,” you quickly retort, dropping your gaze to the script, still laying next to your thigh. You clear your throat, tears pulsing in the back of it, just to fill the silence.

Joe slides a spoon into your lap without a word, and you bite down on your bottom lip with all your might.

He’s not Steve. He’s not Steve. He’s not…

“So here’s the plan,” he derails your train of repetitive self-conviction, making an effort to sound nonchalant. “I’ll sleep on the floor - kind of like a guard dog. If there’s anything you need, just, I don’t know, kick me?”

A watery laugh escapes you as you look up a him, and you pray he doesn’t notice how painful it sounds.

“I’ll try to remember not to step on you tomorrow morning”, you promise him, your gazes lingering on each other again.

Joe rubs his bottom lip with the very tip of his thumb; there’s certain softness to the air around the two of you - thick and zephyr-like, all sweetness and gelatin. The two of you are paralyzed, and you’re not sure if it’s the intimacy, in which you’ve slipped so briskly; or the terror of losing control over the rapid thumping of pulse at the base of your necks.

“So uh- What are you reading there?” Joe asks shortly, and then thinking it a bit abrupt, adds: “Anything interesting?” You watch him kick his ass into gear and start unfolding some kind of a thin foam mattress he produced from his backpack. He lays it parallel to your bed, and you get the feeling that he is desperate to keep himself busy right now. He doesn’t look at you.

You almost tell him that he doesn’t need to do this; that there is enough room for both of you in your bed; but you bite your tongue. Steve is a friend - Joe is a stranger, you have to remind yourself again. Harmless, maybe - but still a stranger.

“I was just-”, you flip through the pages in your lap, rubbing the tip of you nose. “Refreshing the memories, I guess”.

You feel Joe approach to take a better look at the papers - and then you’re hit with the smell of him, musc, something spicy, and velvety. It goes to your head.

He grunts.

“Cool. Although I don’t think the Duffers are going to let you in on Stage 3 just yet. Don’t get me wrong, Lovebug, but with your stitches,” he motions around his own forehead with his pointer finger - “you look like you went against Vecna - and lost”.

You would have laughed at how close to the truth he actually came if you paid attention. But everything that comes after Lovebug gets lost in the roar of blood in your ears.

The pet name rips an almost visceral reaction out of you. Maybe it’s because it sounds so well-used, like his lips have been saying it for ages. Maybe, it’s because he looks exactly like Steve, your Steve. Or maybe, it’s because you know that he’s all you have now, and that you may never see, touch or talk to your Steve again.

“How long-“, you suddenly feel like you need to learn how to speak again, letter by letter. “How long have I been unconscious, exactly?”

Joe studies you carefully. He’s weighting his words. “Long enough to give us all a scare of our lifetime, for sure”, he finally ends up saying, and you know he means it by the way the electric lights reflect in his dark eyes, stark white on spotless black. “A couple of hours, give or take”, he nods his head, pressing his lips together in a thin line.

“The longest couple of hours of my life”, he adds in a murmur after a pause, looking away.

Before you can even begin to unpack the meaning of it, he scratches the back of his head, his cheeks turning peony pink.

“I, uh- “, he swallows. “I brought some groceries for you,” he gestures behind his back towards the kitchen. “I’m going to go and put them away in the fridge. Call me if you need me?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, and drop your gaze back to the script, refusing to watch him linger for a second at the foot of your bed. When he leaves, you drop your head down, taking a deep breath.

You close your eyes for a moment, and give yourself a pep-talk. One, he’s not Steve. Two, you’re a woman on a mission. Three - you need to find a way out.

And so, with a renewed sense of determination and a spoonful of ice-cream, you begin to read.

Your skin is glistening in the warm afternoon sun. The car window is rolled open; gentle breeze caressing your cheeks and twirling the ends of your still-wet hair around your head in cheery pirouettes. You look up, watching the wide blue expanse of the cloudless sky; your brother’s light snoring from the back seat mixing eerily well with the soft music flowing out the car speakers.

“I can’t believe they’re finally asleep,” you hear Steve whisper as he makes a right turn into your street. His eyes are fixed on the road, the corners of his lips turned up in amusement. “Do you think it was the canoe that knocked them out or-“

“Oh, it was definitely the burrito”, you don’t let him finish, grinning at him. “I’m pretty sure Dustin still has avocado on his cheek”.

Steve whips his head back at your words, and his eyes spot Dustin tucked in between Mike and Lucas; surely enough, there is a smudge of squashed avocado just above the right corner of his lips.

Steve turns back to face you with those big chocolate eyes, and you exchange glances that test your self-control. Before either one of you can burst out in gloriously loud laughter, you look away from each other; you’re going as far as pressing the back of your hand to your lips. When Steve’s BMW finally comes to a halt in your driveway, your house looks boring and stale; nothing like the fun day you just spent with Lucas, Mike, Dustin Will and Steve at the Lover’s lake.

You never want this to end.

As you un-click your seatbelt, you turn to face Steve; he’s already looking at you with a nostalgic air - like he’s already missing you. “So uh- how did the whole re-looking of the attic go?” He is a man catching at straws, and you are more than happy to lend him a hand. Neither of you wants to leave the peacefulness of the car with the kids sleeping in the backseat just yet. That’s what you’re telling yourselves, at least - when in reality - neither of you wants to say goodbye. “The colors turned out okay?”

A smile slowly grows on your lips, a ring of an idea going off in your head.

“Do you want to check it out?” you whisper back, feeling a bit giddy. “Give Dusty 5 more minutes to sleep?”

Steve’s eyebrows pop up, almost reaching his hairline. His mouth falls slightly open, and he’s nodding a bit frantically.

“Um- Yeah, sure. Let’s check it out”.

The two of you get out of the car, trying not to make too much noise. You feel the squishy grass mattress underneath your sandals; when you reach the porch, Steve is hot in your tracks. Your Mom isn’t home yet, so you open up the door with a soft click and silently beckon Steve to follow you to the stairs. The steps on the way to the attic grow narrower. Your foot almost slips once, so you grab the railing, your palm landing squarely on Steve’s fingers. Your back touches his shoulder, and he’s quick to stabilise you with his hand on your hips.

“Easy now”, he whispers in your ear and something goes off in your chest, like a firework.

In five more steps, you make it to the attic. You swing open the door and the sight is beautiful, the room bathing in the sunlight coming through the open window.

“Huh”, Steve lets out in surprise. “I wasn’t sure about this sunflower explosion color, but I guess it works”.

That’s right. You and Dustin have painted the floors of the attic in rich, almost golden yellow.

“Thanks to your advice to use a primer, I think it actually looks even better than in a can”, you share in delight, looking around, your hands on your hips.

Steve nods, making his way further into the attic to look at the walls of the room.

“And what color are you going to paint the w-“

A breaking sound echos in the mostly empty space. A woof escapes Steve’s chest as he crumbles on the ground, you rushing to help him stay up, but falling on your ass right behind him instead.

You can’t explain why, but a contagious laugh falls off your lips as you spot Steve’s foot, buried in a hole in wooden floor. He seems to notice his predicament at the same moment - rolling back, leaning into you, with his other foot in the air, he laughs, and laughs, and laughs: until your voices are uproarious sounds of joy, your bodies touching. You look at him from above as his head presses against your chest - and you can’t help but giggle as soon as your eyes meet.

“Are you-“ you are fighting for breath trying to grip Steve’s shoulders to bring him into somewhat sitting position. “Are you okay?” You can’t help another melodious giggle that squeezes it’s way through your lips, and you slap a palm of your hand over your mouth.

“I’m sorry I’m laughing”, you manage through laughter wrecking your body. “This isn’t even remotely funny. Are you okay?” As he sits down, his upper body facing you, you reach out to him again, your palm lying flat on his chest.

He is still a chuckling mess as he looks back at you; his hand covers yours as he bends forward, unable to resist another urge to laugh out loud.

“I just made a giant hole in your floor!” he exclaims, wiping the tears under his eyes as you let go of him, the absence of his warmth feeling foreign. He gestures to his foot. “I- I swear I can fix it. I can maybe stop by tomorrow-“

“Steve,” you try to interrupt him, your hand landing on his shoulder in what’s meant to be a reassuring gesture.”You’re fine, you don’t have to-“

“-I have to fix this, I have to-“

“Steve!” You raise your voice a little bit and make a “stop it” face at him, which shuts him up almost immediately.

“Okay”, he says, his face still lit up. “But you gotta tell me how much I owe you for this shit”, he picks up a piece of wood from the floor and waves it around, making your guffaw.

When he stretches out a hand to you, you take it. His skin is a little dry and calloused, as his thumb draws a circle at the base of your forefinger. The two of you stand up, your gazes locked, your digits intertwined.

“I uh- I better go,” Steve says, not making the slightest effort to step away.

“Stay for early dinner”, you blurt out, not letting go of his hand either. “I can whip up a mean frozen pizza.” Steve’s gaze softens, another sweep of his thumb on your hand setting your skin on fire.

“Alright, yeah, frozen pizza sounds good. I’m gonna go wake the dipshits, because they certainly wouldn’t want to miss it”, he drops his gaze and lets go of you to scratch the back of his neck. “You’ll be alright, manning the stove?”

You roll your eyes at him playfully.

“I’m a big girl, Steve. I tie my own shoelaces and everything”, you tell him enthusiastically.

He responds with a huff.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he parries, winking at you. He backs out of the room, his body still facing yours. “Call me if you need me?”

You wake up fighting for breath.

You chest feels too small, too fragile and too hot, as your hand slaps against the papers by your pillow with a flop; you’re trying to stay upright, but your shoulders shudder at every intake of air.

“Hey,” you hear a familiar voice, as you see someone’s silhouette emerge from the floor in the dark. “Hey, hey, hey, you’re okay. You’re okay, I’m here“.

Just for a fleeting moment - you believe it’s Steve.

But then you can feel Joe’s hand squeeze your shoulder as he sits on the edge of the bed by your side, his dark worried eyes shimmering in the moonlight - the two of them look so much alike, but the illusion is gone as your brain sobers up.

You make out his furrowed eyebrows, the outline of his nose with a slight bump and the curve of his neck - and you know he’s not Steve, but you can’t help but slowly move closer to him anyway. Joe doesn’t ask any questions, just wraps his hands around you, as you press your forehead against his firm chest.

“You’re okay, Love”, he whispers again and again, and you let his voice drown the dream out; it wipes out the vision of Steve’s smile, and his ridiculous need to always fix everything. “Whatever it was, it was just a dream”.

You don’t know for how long you stay in this position; Joe doesn’t complain, just holds you in the silent and dark room.

At some point, you’re slipping down on your bed again, your back turned to Joe, facing the wall. You squeeze your eyes shut as you’re trying to keep your breathing in check. It’s when you feel him gently pull the blanket higher up your shoulders, and hear him lie back down on his makeshift bed - that you let the silent tears roll.

When you open your eyes again, you are momentarily lost. Nothing in the room speaks to you; until you push off the bed to look around, and your palm comes in contact with the paper of the Stranger Things script.

Memories click quickly into place, conjured by your sleep-deprived mind and you groan, falling back onto your pillow, face first.

You have no notion of time anymore. After having dreamt of better days - having dreamt of Steve - sleep was out of the question, so you spent the rest of the night finishing reading the script. You could swear the sun was rising, its early morning rays bleeding through the curtains, when you finally reached the end.

Sitting down and drawing your knees to your chest, you swallow hard as Steve’s laughter from your dream rings in your ears; you squeeze your eyes shut and drop your head, trying to make the sound go away. It’s too much for you right now, and you can’t let it take over your mind. If you do, you’ll fall into pieces, and you do not have the luxury to do so right now. You need to be laser-focused on the mission - as in understanding what exactly happened and finding your way back.

If you were hoping that the script would help you figure this all out - man, you were in for a surprise. Just when you thought that there was nothing that could rock your boat at this point - you literally got transported into some kind of a parallel universe? future? where your friends and family’s doppelgängers shoot a show about your life - it freaking got overturned, and now you’re feeling like you’re drowning, not having a clue what you’re even supposed to feel anymore.

The Stranger Things script turned out to be an almost perfect recollection of what happened to you during the past week. The feeling is unsettling, as you got insights into conversations you weren’t even a part of, but you are pretty sure the way they’re described in the script is exactly how they went.

It’s like being a spectator, a powerless observer - of your own goddamn life.

There were a lot of things that left you in different degrees of stupefied as you progressed with your reading - the biggest of them being, Vecna did not die at the end. But then again, neither did you.

This is where the two stories differ - in the show, you don’t get a chance to pierce Vecna’s heart with a blade because Steve Harrington holds you back. Robin tries to stall Henry Slash Vecna Slash One by throwing another Molotov cocktail at him; just the time Nancy needs to recharge her makeshift gun and fire, sending Vecna falling through the wall and onto the ground outside.

And the fucker somehow survives.

So, in the show, you make it. But Max doesn’t. All that’s left of her is her body, a shell, and her mind is either dead or gets swallowed by a place even Eleven can’t reach.

What if, you think, too dazed to even begin to understand what this would mean, what if that’s what happened to you? What if you’re in a sort of a suspended situation - half dead, half alive - and none of this is real?

And most importantly - how the hell do you figure this out for sure?

You’re not yet ready to admit defeat and succumb to the terrifying thought that maybe, Y/N Henderson has never really existed; maybe, you are what everybody here believes you to be - a girl with a weird-ass name and ambitious acting career aspirations who took the “acting” part too far and fell one sandwich short of a picnic. Maybe, your name is really Love and you have achieved a truly fucking monumental level of unstable in life after that unfortunate fall.

The idea should be freaking you the hell out - you know that. All it does is drive you up the wall instead. This has got to be the biggest “fuck you” Vecna has managed to pull off so far. A parting gift that keeps on giving. After attempting to kill you, he has done everything he could to put you in a place where you would doubt your own fucking existence - let alone the existence of the people you love. All of those memories, feelings - are what? A product of Love’s insanity? Crazed visions of demented imagination?

Fuck you, Vecna. Fuck you, buddy.

This is the fight you are not going to win.

Huffing in frustration, you throw your legs over the edge of the bed, full of restless energy. As you let your gaze dart around, you notice that Joe is gone. The room is empty, no sign of him ever having been there in sight.

It’s better off this way, you decide as you get on your feet and head for the kitchen. No time for distractions. You need a plan, fast. God knows for how long your brain is going to be able to take this, before it finally gives up and prays for a solitary. Stage one - coffee. There’s gotta be coffee in this place / universe / world, right? You’d need at least that to brave whatever’s going on outside of the confines of the trailer.

Stage two - recon, or information gathering. You are now pretty comfortable with all the strangers’ names; here’s to hoping that all of them look like their real counterparts. Whether you want it or not, you have to face them, if only to learn exactly what happened yesterday.

And, finally, stage three - concocting an exit strategy. If there is a way out, you’ll find it. If not, you’ll die trying (yay, you think, something new and different for you).

When you reach the kitchen, you freeze by the table, your eyes fixed on a coffee machine that looks a bit more modern than the one in your home.

Okay, maybe a lot more modern, like a goddamn robotic experiment - but that’s not what staggers you. There’s hot coffee in the glass recipient, and a bright red sticker is glued to its surface.

Thought you could use some after staying late last night. Your phone is charging in the bathroom in case you’re looking for it. - Joe.

And here you thought he has fallen asleep by the time you turned the night light on to continue to "read” (as in spy on your own fucking life, broken into dialogue sequences and words like “menacing industrial synth music playing” thrown in here and there).

You try not to think too much about it - and by it you mean Joe’s subtle way of taking care of you - like it’s a reflex, a given - as you move closer to pour yourself a cup of burning liquid.

A soul-shaking BANG! of the entrance door in front of you comes as an excellent exclamation point to end your mind’s misplaced wandering before it could even begin. The door hits the wall with such force, you jump out of your skin and all the way to the ceiling, screaming and grabbing a remote control from the kitchen isle, holding it in front of you like a knife.

There’s a tall girl with sandy hair and a fringe standing in the entrance, grimacing at the sound of your shriek, squeezing her eyes shut. You heart thumps painfully in your chest, and you cry out before you can think twice about it:

“Robin, what the hell?! You scared the shit out of me!” You throw the remote back where you found it, burying your face in your hands, trying to level out your breathing.

A giggle escapes girl’s rosy lips as she scrunches her nose apologetically, stepping all the way into your kitchen. Making herself at home, she slides a sugary-smelling cardboard box on the table and jumps in for a hug without a second thought.

The second her arms wrap around you, the anger escapes you. You’re completely silenced as shock takes over; this isn’t Robin - but the girl looks exactly like her.

You probably should have gotten used to it by now.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you”, she mumbles in your ear as she squeezes you harder. “It’s just- My hands were occupied so I kicked the door in”.

Softly pushing you at an arms length, Maya (you recall) searches your face for a moment.

“Still doing that method acting thing, I see?” she smiles at you, and the room suddenly seems bigger. “It’s you who scared the shit out of me, Lovebug. Don’t you dare- Don’t you do this ever again!” With these worlds, she pulls you into another hug, and you let her, despite your inner woman on a mission screaming in protest.

Just as Robin, Maya hugs with her entire body. There’s a comforting presence about her that puts you at ease, the kind you only feel around people you have known for your entire life - or with whom you fought to stay alive, side by side.

You can’t tell whether it’s because the girl just looks like Robin - or because there’s something else there. Tiny, slithery doubt worms its way intro your fragile mind, as much as you don’t want to let it. You don’t know her - but it sure feels like you do and have done so - for a very long time.

When she releases you, she takes a moment to study you - it’s a caring look of a friend who has been there for you for years.

“That”, she points to your forehead, her eyes glowing with reassurance. “Will heal fast”.

“I’ve seen worse”, you mutter under you nose, remembering how a demogorgon slashed your side open at Byer’s when Nancy and Jonathan decided it was a good idea to lure the goddamn thing in.

“I brought you donuts”, she chases the memory away as soon as it pops in your head, nudging the carton box open and letting the smell of sugar spread. “I don’t have any work scheduled until later today and you weren’t answering any of my messages on WhatsApp, so I decided to swing by”.

There is so much for you to question in that sentence, you decide to focus on what you think matters.

“And by work you mean…?”

“Shooting that mental hospital scene with Natalia. Since we can’t have you for the Upside Down forest part today”, she answers easily, pushing the box towards you. “I brought your favorites too. Dig in”.

With ease that suggests that she’s been here a thousand of times before, she moves forward, sidesteps you, produces two cups out of a hanging kitchen cabinet. She stops dead in her tracks as soon as she turns to grab the coffee.

She noticed the sticker, you realize, and are surprised at the blush creeping up your neck.

“Joe told me you were feeling better last night”, she smiles at you knowingly, pouring you both a cup of coffee after a beat. “Quinn looked relieved when he heard him say it. I think he’s going to pay you a visit today, too”, you don’t think you imagine the suggestiveness of her tone.

Internally, you throw your head back and groan.

Riiight. Joseph Quinn. Aka Eddie Munson.

It wasn’t that hard to put two and two together, especially when he was all everybody was in such a hurry to talk to you about. Is Love - you - dating Eddie - Joseph? Well, does a Demogorgon shit in Upside Down?

It’s either that or you’re some kind of best buddies. Or fuck buddies perhaps?

So many goddamn options, and you are mentally prepared for neither.

“I was going to go see him,” you lie unabashedly, grabbing what looks like a caramel-glazed donut from the box, looking at Maya like you’ve got nothing to hide.

“Oh, he’s free now”, she offers cheerfully, and you curse this world six ways to Sunday in your head. Here goes your plans to avoid this version of Eddie Munson until you’re out of here. “He must be chilling with Gaten at the water station. The filming of their next scene starts in like, an hour. He’ll be so happy to see that you’re okay. Yeah, why don’t you go change so we can pop by? I’d hate for you guys to-”

You can’t seem to put a word in the edgewise. Maya rambles on and on, extremely eager to get your ass out the door and into Joe Quinn’s arms…

Or is that what she wants you to believe?

You’ve seen enough at your job as a bartender at Hideaway to know when people are lying - or hiding something. Hell, you called bullshit on Nancy and Jonathan pretending they were just friends even before they knew they weren’t. And don’t even let you started on Dustin trying to pretend like Mews ran away (although, to be fair, it was Steve’s inability to hide a single thing from you that earned you the truth).

Fact of the matter is, your girl Maya here is hiding something. The jury is still out on what exactly.

You listen to her for one more minute; exactly the time it takes for you to finish the donut.

“Why are you pushing this?” is all you say, narrowing your eyes at her intently.

You know you’re right on the money when Maya stutters and goes silent. She actually has the decency to look guilty as she puts her cup to a side with a sigh.

When she looks back at you, you’re somewhat taken aback by the genuine concern seeping out of her big eyes.

“Okay, before you say anything, I know your sex life is none of my business-”

You feel the shock register on your face as your eyebrows swish up, reaching your hairline. Stunned into silence - again - you realize your brain cogs are not turning fast enough for this conversation. In the meantime, Maya goes on:

“-but you are my best friend, and-“

“What in the ever-loving world are you talking about?” you measure your words, fighting an inability to compute.

Her face grows ashamed.

“You and Joe K!” she squeaks, and your stomach drops.

Woah. Hold on. Rewind. Play it again.

Something must have changed in your expression, because Maya steps closer and throws herself into yet another never-ending ramble:

“Please, Love, hear me out”, she begs, standing in front of you with conviction. “I’ll say this once more and then I will shut up for eternity, okay? Joseph Quinn is hot,” she asserts, like it’s universal truth. “Just because I don’t ship you guys together doesn’t mean I’m blind, alright? And I guess he’s really smitten with you, and you kind of look cute together… Like, I don’t know?” She throws her hands into the air and you step back to avoid getting smacked, your eyes huge in your face. “Kind of like a baby holding a kitten? Super PG-13. And then there’s you and Keery”, she smiles like she can’t help it. “The looks you give each other! I feel turned on, and I’m not even a part of the interaction! Standing between you two is a suicide mission - without meaning to, you are crushing everything that keeps you from each other. That’s like soulmate-level shit right there, okay?” she bites her lip, exasperated. “I just thought maybe, since you wanted him to stay with you last night, you have finally-“

“Nothing happened between us!” you finally burst out, waving your hands as if trying to stop her words from reaching you - shielding yourself from them.

“Well, not yet!” Maya parries, without skipping a beat. “But it will. And when it does, do you really want see Quinn’s heart shatter into a million pieces, because of what everybody knew was going to happen all along?”

You wish you had more time to compartmentalize everything - starting with her words and ending with your own feelings on the topic - to pull a practical reaction out of the variety of all the available ones.

But you don’t - so naturally, the words that come out next are laced with emotion. You don’t even know anymore if you are playing along, or if it’s a genuine concern, falling off your pale lips.

“Who knows?” you ask, defeated.

“Knows that you have feelings for Keery? That you belong with him?” just like Robin, Maya doesn’t shy away from speaking her mind. “Gaten. Me. Joe, obviously”, she rolls her eyes. “Both Joes, actually, and the two of them are in deep denial. Sees?” she points out mercilessly. “Everybody else”.

Great. That’s- That’s great.

You’d think you drowned puppies in your previous life in Hawkins, that’s how bad of a bitch karma is being to you right now.

If someone were to tell you a couple of weeks ago you’d be stuck in a love triangle with Steve “The Hair” Harrington and Eddie “The Freak” Munson you would have laughed your ass off, rolling on the floor, and then advised them to get their heads checked - in that order. Now - you’re feeling strangely emotional about the problem that isn’t your own - technically speaking, they’re not in love with you. They’re in love with, well, Love. But why the hell are you feeling like this is somehow your fault? And, even worse - like you are torn between the two, when you know fucking neither?!

Your mind frantically inspects its thoughts for a reasonable explanation. It’s because it’s Joe - who walks, talks, jokes and cares like Steve does. And also, because, it is, effectively, your problem now.

“If it’s because of the age gap…” Maya speaks again - or, rather, huffs in disapproval.

“Age gap”, you parrot back to her stupidly, unblinking. Excuse me?

“Well, Keery’s what? Thirty?” she squirms as if trying to remember. “Ah, I Googled this just yesterday!”

You watch her produce that weird thin metallic device out of her pocket and tap something on a lit up surface; nothing registers - or so you think - except for the uncontrollable screaming in your head.

This world’s Steve is thirty fucking years old.

If there’s a time for you to wake up, now would be ideal - before you explode in a fit of hysterical laughter - and get locked up for life.

“Called it!” Maya confirms triumphantly, tucking what appears to be her phone away in her pocket. “And you’re 21 on Friday. So if it’s the age gap that you’re worried about, whatever Joe you pick it’s pretty much the same.”

You catch yourself thinking you’d rather not know how old this world’s Eddie is. Save some brain cells.

“Okay, I’ll talk to Ed- Joe. Quinn”, you try name after name, scrambling for the right one, just wishing for this conversation to end. “Tomorrow?” you suggest, and your voice sounds a lot like you’re begging. “What day is it today, again?”

Maya eyes you disapprovingly.

“It’s Wednesday,” she says somewhat drily. “I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation, Love. It’s your birthday in two days. Quinn has-“

“Dude”, you cut her mid-sentence. “I don’t think I understand anything”.

And isn’t that the God’s honest truth.

The tension in Maya’s shoulders drops at the sight of you. God, you must look like a train just hit you. Confused, pathetic and almost physically sick. No wonder her eyes soften and she reaches out to squeeze your shoulder.

“Gonna sound like a cliché,” she warns, “But what does your heart tell you?”

That I need a goddamn drink.

“That it’s over”, you admit, feeling like you’re ruining someone’s life. “Between Ed- Quinn and me. It has to be”.

There is no way in the world - whatever world you are in - you can pretend that you’re in love with Eddie Munson, that much is clear. If there’s a sure way to blow your cover - it’s to pretend you’re carrying a torch for him, when, clearly, you are hung up on somebody else.

The thought makes you pause, your mind going silent. You feel your heart flutter gently in your chest.

Somebody else. Ever since the shit has hit the fan, the inner voice has been stubbornly bringing you back to everything Steve every time it got the chance, and now it-

Doesn’t?

Your stomach flips, the sensation catching you off guard. The emptiness that settles in the pit of it at the realisation is almost enough to shut down your brain.

This is what fear feels like. You recognise the signs. For the first time in a very long time, you are scared.

With the alien feeling clutching your very being in its cold, clawing hands, you are still brave enough to admit that in the world where he only exists on paper and on camera - unlike Joe - you are fighting to hold on to Steve.

And while you spare no effort - you’re not sure for how long you’ll last.

My (stunning, beautiful, fantastic) tag list: @vulgarfuckinvirgo, @carpediem1219, @555stargirl555, @rqmanoff, @mvaldez7821, @sundarksposts, @the-winter-spider, @flicksturz, @theghostpeach

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington au #stranger things imagine #stranger things au #Steve Harrington x female reader

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hellsitesonlybookclub · 11 months

Text

The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka

Chapter III (part 2/2)

“Mr. Samsa!”, shouted the middle gentleman to Gregor’s father, pointing, without wasting any more words, with his forefinger at Gregor as he slowly moved forward. The violin went silent, the middle of the three gentlemen first smiled at his two friends, shaking his head, and then looked back at Gregor. His father seemed to think it more important to calm the three gentlemen before driving Gregor out, even though they were not at all upset and seemed to think Gregor was more entertaining than the violin playing had been. He rushed up to them with his arms spread out and attempted to drive them back into their room at the same time as trying to block their view of Gregor with his body.

Now they did become a little annoyed, and it was not clear whether it was his father’s behaviour that annoyed them or the dawning realisation that they had had a neighbour like Gregor in the next room without knowing it. They asked Gregor’s father for explanations, raised their arms like he had, tugged excitedly at their beards and moved back towards their room only very slowly. Meanwhile Gregor’s sister had overcome the despair she had fallen into when her playing was suddenly interrupted. She had let her hands drop and let violin and bow hang limply for a while but continued to look at the music as if still playing, but then she suddenly pulled herself together, lay the instrument on her mother’s lap who still sat laboriously struggling for breath where she was, and ran into the next room which, under pressure from her father, the three gentlemen were more quickly moving toward. Under his sister’s experienced hand, the pillows and covers on the beds flew up and were put into order and she had already finished making the beds and slipped out again before the three gentlemen had reached the room. Gregor’s father seemed so obsessed with what he was doing that he forgot all the respect he owed to his tenants. He urged them and pressed them until, when he was already at the door of the room, the middle of the three gentlemen shouted like thunder and stamped his foot and thereby brought Gregor’s father to a halt. “I declare here and now”, he said, raising his hand and glancing at Gregor’s mother and sister to gain their attention too, “that with regard to the repugnant conditions that prevail in this flat and with this family”—here he looked briefly but decisively at the floor—“I give immediate notice on my room. For the days that I have been living here I will, of course, pay nothing at all, on the contrary I will consider whether to proceed with some kind of action for damages from you, and believe me it would be very easy to set out the grounds for such an action.” He was silent and looked straight ahead as if waiting for something. And indeed, his two friends joined in with the words: “And we also give immediate notice.” With that, he took hold of the door handle and slammed the door.

Gregor’s father staggered back to his seat, feeling his way with his hands, and fell into it; it looked as if he was stretching himself out for his usual evening nap but from the uncontrolled way his head kept nodding it could be seen that he was not sleeping at all. Throughout all this, Gregor had lain still where the three gentlemen had first seen him. His disappointment at the failure of his plan, and perhaps also because he was weak from hunger, made it impossible for him to move. He was sure that everyone would turn on him any moment, and he waited. He was not even startled out of this state when the violin on his mother’s lap fell from her trembling fingers and landed loudly on the floor.

“Father, Mother”, said his sister, hitting the table with her hand as introduction, “we can’t carry on like this. Maybe you can’t see it, but I can. I don’t want to call this monster my brother, all I can say is: we have to try and get rid of it. We’ve done all that’s humanly possible to look after it and be patient, I don’t think anyone could accuse us of doing anything wrong.”

“She’s absolutely right”, said Gregor’s father to himself. His mother, who still had not had time to catch her breath, began to cough dully, her hand held out in front of her and a deranged expression in her eyes.

Gregor’s sister rushed to his mother and put her hand on her forehead. Her words seemed to give Gregor’s father some more definite ideas. He sat upright, played with his uniform cap between the plates left by the three gentlemen after their meal, and occasionally looked down at Gregor as he lay there immobile.

“We have to try and get rid of it”, said Gregor’s sister, now speaking only to her father, as her mother was too occupied with coughing to listen, “it’ll be the death of both of you, I can see it coming. We can’t all work as hard as we have to and then come home to be tortured like this, we can’t endure it. I can’t endure it any more.” And she broke out so heavily in tears that they flowed down the face of her mother, and she wiped them away with mechanical hand movements.

“My child”, said her father with sympathy and obvious understanding, “what are we to do?”

His sister just shrugged her shoulders as a sign of the helplessness and tears that had taken hold of her, displacing her earlier certainty.

“If he could just understand us”, said his father almost as a question; his sister shook her hand vigorously through her tears as a sign that of that there was no question.

“If he could just understand us”, repeated Gregor’s father, closing his eyes in acceptance of his sister’s certainty that that was quite impossible, “then perhaps we could come to some kind of arrangement with him. But as it is ...”

“It’s got to go”, shouted his sister, “that’s the only way, Father. You’ve got to get rid of the idea that that’s Gregor. We’ve only harmed ourselves by believing it for so long. How can that be Gregor? If it were Gregor he would have seen long ago that it’s not possible for human beings to live with an animal like that and he would have gone of his own free will. We wouldn’t have a brother any more, then, but we could carry on with our lives and remember him with respect. As it is this animal is persecuting us, it’s driven out our tenants, it obviously wants to take over the whole flat and force us to sleep on the streets. Father, look, just look”, she suddenly screamed, “he’s starting again!” In her alarm, which was totally beyond Gregor’s comprehension, his sister even abandoned his mother as she pushed herself vigorously out of her chair as if more willing to sacrifice her own mother than stay anywhere near Gregor. She rushed over to behind her father, who had become excited merely because she was and stood up half raising his hands in front of Gregor’s sister as if to protect her.

But Gregor had had no intention of frightening anyone, least of all his sister. All he had done was begin to turn round so that he could go back into his room, although that was in itself quite startling as his pain-wracked condition meant that turning round required a great deal of effort and he was using his head to help himself do it, repeatedly raising it and striking it against the floor. He stopped and looked round. They seemed to have realised his good intention and had only been alarmed briefly. Now they all looked at him in unhappy silence. His mother lay in her chair with her legs stretched out and pressed against each other, her eyes nearly closed with exhaustion; his sister sat next to his father with her arms around his neck.

“Maybe now they’ll let me turn round”, thought Gregor and went back to work. He could not help panting loudly with the effort and had sometimes to stop and take a rest. No-one was making him rush any more, everything was left up to him. As soon as he had finally finished turning round he began to move straight ahead. He was amazed at the great distance that separated him from his room, and could not understand how he had covered that distance in his weak state a little while before and almost without noticing it. He concentrated on crawling as fast as he could and hardly noticed that there was not a word, not any cry, from his family to distract him. He did not turn his head until he had reached the doorway. He did not turn it all the way round as he felt his neck becoming stiff, but it was nonetheless enough to see that nothing behind him had changed, only his sister had stood up. With his last glance he saw that his mother had now fallen completely asleep.

He was hardly inside his room before the door was hurriedly shut, bolted and locked. The sudden noise behind Gregor so startled him that his little legs collapsed under him. It was his sister who had been in so much of a rush. She had been standing there waiting and sprung forward lightly, Gregor had not heard her coming at all, and as she turned the key in the lock she said loudly to her parents “At last!”.

“What now, then?”, Gregor asked himself as he looked round in the darkness. He soon made the discovery that he could no longer move at all. This was no surprise to him, it seemed rather that being able to actually move around on those spindly little legs until then was unnatural. He also felt relatively comfortable. It is true that his entire body was aching, but the pain seemed to be slowly getting weaker and weaker and would finally disappear altogether. He could already hardly feel the decayed apple in his back or the inflamed area around it, which was entirely covered in white dust. He thought back of his family with emotion and love. If it was possible, he felt that he must go away even more strongly than his sister. He remained in this state of empty and peaceful rumination until he heard the clock tower strike three in the morning. He watched as it slowly began to get light everywhere outside the window too. Then, without his willing it, his head sank down completely, and his last breath flowed weakly from his nostrils.

When the cleaner came in early in the morning—they’d often asked her not to keep slamming the doors but with her strength and in her hurry she still did, so that everyone in the flat knew when she’d arrived and from then on it was impossible to sleep in peace—she made her usual brief look in on Gregor and at first found nothing special. She thought he was laying there so still on purpose, playing the martyr; she attributed all possible understanding to him. She happened to be holding the long broom in her hand, so she tried to tickle Gregor with it from the doorway. When she had no success with that she tried to make a nuisance of herself and poked at him a little, and only when she found she could shove him across the floor with no resistance at all did she start to pay attention. She soon realised what had really happened, opened her eyes wide, whistled to herself, but did not waste time to yank open the bedroom doors and shout loudly into the darkness of the bedrooms: “Come and ’ave a look at this, it’s dead, just lying there, stone dead!”

Mr. and Mrs. Samsa sat upright there in their marriage bed and had to make an effort to get over the shock caused by the cleaner before they could grasp what she was saying. But then, each from his own side, they hurried out of bed. Mr. Samsa threw the blanket over his shoulders, Mrs. Samsa just came out in her nightdress; and that is how they went into Gregor’s room. On the way they opened the door to the living room where Grete had been sleeping since the three gentlemen had moved in; she was fully dressed as if she had never been asleep, and the paleness of her face seemed to confirm this. “Dead?”, asked Mrs. Samsa, looking at the charwoman enquiringly, even though she could have checked for herself and could have known it even without checking. “That’s what I said”, replied the cleaner, and to prove it she gave Gregor’s body another shove with the broom, sending it sideways across the floor. Mrs. Samsa made a movement as if she wanted to hold back the broom, but did not complete it. “Now then”, said Mr. Samsa, “let’s give thanks to God for that”. He crossed himself, and the three women followed his example. Grete, who had not taken her eyes from the corpse, said: “Just look how thin he was. He didn’t eat anything for so long. The food came out again just the same as when it went in”. Gregor’s body was indeed completely dried up and flat, they had not seen it until then, but now he was not lifted up on his little legs, nor did he do anything to make them look away.

“Grete, come with us in here for a little while”, said Mrs. Samsa with a pained smile, and Grete followed her parents into the bedroom but not without looking back at the body. The cleaner shut the door and opened the window wide. Although it was still early in the morning the fresh air had something of warmth mixed in with it. It was already the end of March, after all.

The three gentlemen stepped out of their room and looked round in amazement for their breakfasts; they had been forgotten about. “Where is our breakfast?”, the middle gentleman asked the cleaner irritably. She just put her finger on her lips and made a quick and silent sign to the men that they might like to come into Gregor’s room. They did so, and stood around Gregor’s corpse with their hands in the pockets of their well-worn coats. It was now quite light in the room.

Then the door of the bedroom opened and Mr. Samsa appeared in his uniform with his wife on one arm and his daughter on the other. All of them had been crying a little; Grete now and then pressed her face against her father’s arm.

“Leave my home. Now!”, said Mr. Samsa, indicating the door and without letting the women from him. “What do you mean?”, asked the middle of the three gentlemen somewhat disconcerted, and he smiled sweetly. The other two held their hands behind their backs and continually rubbed them together in gleeful anticipation of a loud quarrel which could only end in their favour. “I mean just what I said”, answered Mr. Samsa, and, with his two companions, went in a straight line towards the man. At first, he stood there still, looking at the ground as if the contents of his head were rearranging themselves into new positions. “Alright, we’ll go then”, he said, and looked up at Mr. Samsa as if he had been suddenly overcome with humility and wanted permission again from Mr. Samsa for his decision. Mr. Samsa merely opened his eyes wide and briefly nodded to him several times. At that, and without delay, the man actually did take long strides into the front hallway; his two friends had stopped rubbing their hands some time before and had been listening to what was being said. Now they jumped off after their friend as if taken with a sudden fear that Mr. Samsa might go into the hallway in front of them and break the connection with their leader. Once there, all three took their hats from the stand, took their sticks from the holder, bowed without a word and left the premises. Mr. Samsa and the two women followed them out onto the landing; but they had had no reason to mistrust the men’s intentions and as they leaned over the landing they saw how the three gentlemen made slow but steady progress down the many steps. As they turned the corner on each floor they disappeared and would reappear a few moments later; the further down they went, the more that the Samsa family lost interest in them; when a butcher’s boy, proud of posture with his tray on his head, passed them on his way up and came nearer than they were, Mr. Samsa and the women came away from the landing and went, as if relieved, back into the flat.

They decided the best way to make use of that day was for relaxation and to go for a walk; not only had they earned a break from work but they were in serious need of it. So they sat at the table and wrote three letters of excusal, Mr. Samsa to his employers, Mrs. Samsa to her contractor and Grete to her principal. The cleaner came in while they were writing to tell them she was going, she’d finished her work for that morning. The three of them at first just nodded without looking up from what they were writing, and it was only when the cleaner still did not seem to want to leave that they looked up in irritation. “Well?”, asked Mr. Samsa. The charwoman stood in the doorway with a smile on her face as if she had some tremendous good news to report, but would only do it if she was clearly asked to. The almost vertical little ostrich feather on her hat, which had been a source of irritation to Mr. Samsa all the time she had been working for them, swayed gently in all directions. “What is it you want then?”, asked Mrs. Samsa, whom the cleaner had the most respect for. “Yes”, she answered, and broke into a friendly laugh that made her unable to speak straight away, “well then, that thing in there, you needn’t worry about how you’re going to get rid of it. That’s all been sorted out.” Mrs. Samsa and Grete bent down over their letters as if intent on continuing with what they were writing; Mr. Samsa saw that the cleaner wanted to start describing everything in detail but, with outstretched hand, he made it quite clear that she was not to. So, as she was prevented from telling them all about it, she suddenly remembered what a hurry she was in and, clearly peeved, called out “Cheerio then, everyone”, turned round sharply and left, slamming the door terribly as she went.

“Tonight she gets sacked”, said Mr. Samsa, but he received no reply from either his wife or his daughter as the charwoman seemed to have destroyed the peace they had only just gained. They got up and went over to the window where they remained with their arms around each other. Mr. Samsa twisted round in his chair to look at them and sat there watching for a while. Then he called out: “Come here, then. Let’s forget about all that old stuff, shall we. Come and give me a bit of attention”. The two women immediately did as he said, hurrying over to him where they kissed him and hugged him and then they quickly finished their letters.

After that, the three of them left the flat together, which was something they had not done for months, and took the tram out to the open country outside the town. They had the tram, filled with warm sunshine, all to themselves. Leant back comfortably on their seats, they discussed their prospects and found that on closer examination they were not at all bad—until then they had never asked each other about their work but all three had jobs which were very good and held particularly good promise for the future. The greatest improvement for the time being, of course, would be achieved quite easily by moving house; what they needed now was a flat that was smaller and cheaper than the current one which had been chosen by Gregor, one that was in a better location and, most of all, more practical. All the time, Grete was becoming livelier. With all the worry they had been having of late her cheeks had become pale, but, while they were talking, Mr. and Mrs. Samsa were struck, almost simultaneously, with the thought of how their daughter was blossoming into a well built and beautiful young lady. They became quieter. Just from each other’s glance and almost without knowing it they agreed that it would soon be time to find a good man for her. And, as if in confirmation of their new dreams and good intentions, as soon as they reached their destination Grete was the first to get up and stretch out her young body.

#the metamorphosis #kafka #franz kafka #kafkaesque #gregor samsa #finale

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forkanna · 4 months

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NOTES: Yep, this is really the end! We have one or two side projects in mind for this little universe of ours, but this is THE definitive end of this storyline. Frui and I would like to thank you for your patience in waiting for this fanfic to finally come to light; a lot of editing, real life annoyances, and various economic situations have made it more difficult than we wish it was. We hope you can enjoy it with a "better late than never" attitude. And who's to say? Maybe we'll see the characters from this universe again sooner than you think.

This chapter is dedicated to the memory of the late great Christine McVie. Those who know will spot the tribute to her.

See you around! Where we're going, we don't need roads!

Jessex and Frui

[AO3 LINK]

EPILOGUE

"And that's a wrap!"

Anna McFly wiped the sweat from her brow before she returned her Gibson ES-345 to the stand by the drumkit. Every day for the past year, she had regretted the decision to get the Pink Heels back together for a reunion tour — especially when most of them hadn't seen each other for five years before that. But that was only because she was getting older, and putting in the work of getting back in shape, both musically and physically, was no easy task.

"Gobshite," Merida groaned as she rolled her shoulder, setting her bass down. "The whole thing was gobshite."

"Oh, relax," Jane snorted, cracking her knuckles. They missed her drum skills, but she was always better suited to keyboards in the first place – and getting older meant she didn't hit those drum skins as hard as she used to. "It's all going to come together, loves. Already sounds brilliant, you ask me."

The two redheads grunted, "Who asked you?" But they were smiling, and the smiles remained even when Jane tossed an empty water bottle at Merida's head.

"We need to tighten up those solos," Anna said. "They're going to run over if we keep doing that, and you know old ladies like us can't handle that kind of extended show anymore."

"Old ladies?! Feck, you an' Jane might count yerselves, but I'm a sprightly forty-seven if ever I were a day, I am! Full of vigour and vitality!"

As they laughed, their new touring drummer stood, hand stuffed into her dark tresses and scratching nervously. "So… are you guys sure I still have this gig? I mean, I keep feeling like I'm bringing the tempo down, but it's because I'm listening; like, I'm such a huge fan of the Heels, I can't even-"

"We know, Moana, we know," Merida sighed.

Anna and Jane didn't have the heart to point out how the fangirling was the only real downside to hiring her; other than that, she was incredible. On par with Imelda, who had been severe but passionate before they lost her to cancer at the end of their final tour. That had been the true reason the band drifted apart; they all needed time to heal.

Time was also, in the end, what brought them back together. Life was too short to waste it, to not spend it with the people they cared about, doing what they loved. It had taken a bit of persuasion with Merida; she had moved all the way back to Scotland and "given up touring", as it turned out because she had been harbouring a secret fear of flying for many years. So to get her back to Dell Valley had been a bit tricky. But it was worth the effort – and all of Merida's hours of therapy – in the end.

Or at least, Anna hoped it would be. It felt like it would be already, but age truly was catching up with them. At least when she got home, she could relax. Her wife seemed to do nothing but work lately – though she was coming to the end of her 'project', as she called it. As though it wasn't a culmination of years of work and waiting and patience.

Before she had even realised it, Anna had a dreamy, dozy expression plastered on her face. Her mind tended to wander when she was tired, and she should probably have been concerned but she often daydreamed anyway. Honestly, the worst thing was when Merida snorted at her expression. She rolled her eyes, but there was affection there, honed by decades of friendship.

"Ah, go'n home," she said, making a shooing motion with her hands. "We've been 'ere all day an' we'll be 'ere all day tomorrow."

"Oh, Mer, the least I can do is help you clean up," Anna said, waving her away. It only lasted a brief second because Jane let out a snort that sounded as if it came from a gorilla, not the petite woman.

"Oh, you think we'll clean up? You're very funny, Anna dear. No, we just arrive before you do so you don't notice."

"Not blimmin' hard, either," Merida grunted under her breath. Anna let out a sound that may have been an "oi!" imitating the both of them, but it was really hard to tell under all the laughter.

Once the two old heads said they were taking the fresh meat out for drinks, despite Moana's insistence that she was barely 21 and had never so much as tried a sip of beer before, Anna bowed out gracefully. There would be plenty of time for getting to know the new girl another night. For now, she just wanted to make her way home.

Traffic was pretty ridiculous, but Anna was able to avoid the worst of it by bypassing the skyway – which was always jammed. Backstreets helped with that. She used her vocal shortcuts to place a virtual order and picked up some Thai food on the way home.

"Welcome home, Anna," announced the computer voice as she kicked the door shut.

"Thanks, EVE. News."

"Tension growing in the rural regions of-"

"Happy news."

"A litter of puppies was born in a teacup ride at a Disneyland. Sources say the mother wriggled into the park through a gap in the fence, previously thought too small for anyone to come through."

Anna smiled sappily as she set the bag of food down on the kitchen table. Those stories worked on her, every time. "Awww…"

Once she set out the food, and no one else had greeted her, she set off down the hallway. "Always working…" she muttered under her breath as she came upon a plain white door, save for the flickering LCD screen of a sleepy face, complete with little cartoon 'zzz's. Smiling softly, Anna ignored that status update and knocked gently on the door before pushing it open.

"Hey, sweetheart? I got some takeout for dinner…"

"Ggrmm."

Elsa's voice was barely a sound; it was obvious she had been sleeping, even without the screen telling her what she had been doing. Hunched over her desk, paper marks pressed into her skin and her hair a mad tangle, it was entirely likely that Elsa hadn't had a solid night of sleep for a week.

"Hey, what did we say about sleeping in here?" Anna asked. Her voice was reprimanding but still gentle as she came to rub Elsa's back in slow, soothing circles. Elsa gave a yawn, and then another, before she could answer.

"I know, I just… this deadline is really coming up and it's nowhere near done, and-"

"And it will be waiting for you after dinner and after sleep. Come on…"

"Mmmhh."

With a mixture of leading and pushing, she finally got Elsa into the hall and heading towards the kitchen. "Have you eaten today? At all?"

"Don't talk to your… mother that way," she said, interrupted by a yawn. When Anna laughed, she smiled blearily. "Alright, alright. Yes, I had a hydrated bagel with instant lox this morning with my coffee. Is that better?"

"It would have been better if that had been after you had a good night's sleep. But yeah, I guess I'll take it for now."

Once at the table, they set about tucking into dinner. Her mother had bags under her eyes, but even with those, she still looked very vaguely younger than Anna. That was thanks to the treatments, of course. They all lived healthy lifestyles, but Anna had never gone into the future for a treatment that wasn't available yet; it was an abuse of the power of time travel. Maybe eventually, when they got to be elderly, they would partake again. For now, their timestream-hopping days were at an end. And they had exactly the results they wanted.

When Elsa glanced up from her plate, rubbing at one eye with her fingertips, she blinked in surprise to find Anna watching her. "What?"

"What-what?"

"You're staring."

"So?"

"Why are you staring?" she said impatiently with a slight smile.

"Why not? Can't I just want to watch a perfect face?"

Elsa rolled her eyes, rolling the noodles around her fork. "What a weird way to phrase that. But… I suppose you may."

"Oh, thank you for the permission, Your Highness," Anna sassed. Elsa pointed her fork, dripping with noodles, at Anna.

"That's 'Your Majesty' to you," she said, grinning before finally taking a bite. "What time does Jennifer's flight come in?"

They both turned to look at the clock, even as Anna said, "Just before midnight." She heard Elsa put her fork down, ready to speak, but she beat her to it. "And no, you're not coming with me to pick her up."

"But-"

"Nope, no 'buts'. You need sleep, Elsa - real sleep. Not just a nap in the car."

She huffed, but there was a slight smile on her lips as she said, "You sound like me."

That was enough to break the tension, if it had ever truly been there in the first place. They ate dinner in peace, Anna telling her about the changes the band had made, what they were up to in gearing up for their big reunion tour. Elsa shared the progress she had made on her novel, the changes her editors wanted that she didn't agree with.

"Just don't change it," Anna suggested, shrugging. Elsa gave a long-suffering sigh; they'd had this discussion before.

"I have to. I don't have any… what's the term? Cred?" Anna snorted, and Elsa glared. "If I want to start building a portfolio, I need to write what the publishers want."

They didn't stay on that topic long – there was no need to rehash an old argument. Elsa had not been writing nearly as long as her ex-husband and didn't have unrealistic expectations, Anna thought she should reach for the stars… rinse and repeat. At least they both agreed that the work was worth doing.

After dinner, they had a quick dessert of fruit salad and cream before hopping into the shower. They took a little longer than if they hadn't shared, but that also would have been the boring option. There was still plenty of time before Anna had to go and pick up Punz, but she refused to entertain Elsa's suggestion of queuing up a movie before she had to leave.

"Nope, you need rest, Elsa," she said sternly. Elsa scowled at her, and it would have been effective had it not been broken by a yawn.

"But I never see you anymore…" It wasn't completely true, but it wasn't exactly false, either. With their individual projects and differing schedules, they often only saw each other at breakfast as Anna ran out of the house, and at dinner. That may have been a very common trap many couples fell into, but it didn't make it any better that they missed each other so much.

So to help remedy that, at least for the day, they came to a compromise. Sleep for Elsa, and a catnap for Anna until she had to go and pick up her wife. At least this way, they got to lie together for a little while.

"I wish you weren't going on tour."

"I know," she sighed softly. "But I have to; I owe it to the girls, and to the fans. And you need to focus on your book, anyway."

"It's almost finished." But it was a weak protestation. Playfully, she whispered, "You're my daughter and you'll do as I say."

"It's because I'm your daughter that I won't." They both shared a laugh about that.

The time flew by once the chatter subsided and they simply enjoyed each other's closeness. Finally, Anna sat up and pulled her jeans up over her purple panties, a bra around her trim frame that used to be a little trimmer once upon a time. Elsa didn't seem to mind if the way her arms slithered around her middle was any indication.

"Come back soon. I'll sleep until you get here, I promise - so I can save up my energy for when you get back."

Anna melted completely into the touch. "Stop. I gotta run…" But the kiss against her neck made her sigh. "You're terrible."

"I'm in love."

"Yeah." Then she turned and got a handful of Elsa's face, shoving her back to bounce against the mattress with a little surprised laugh. "Me too."

"Alright, alright! See you soon, sweetheart."

In mere minutes, Anna was on the highway with her speakers blasting a steady stream of oldies from her usual internet radio choice. Most of them were from the 2000s, but a few from the 80s slipped in there. Tears For Fears cropping up brought a huge grin to her face that didn't fade until she was taking the exit for the airport.

Jennifer was already waiting for her along the terminal line. Her hair was getting long again, and she had gone back to blond; Anna knew she was going to miss being able to muss it up, even though she always got smacked for doing so. Despite the dim light of the lamps and a hundred other cars' headlights, her wife looked tired – or perhaps it was because of such light washing out her pale features. Either way, she perked right up when she saw their familiar car pull up alongside her.

"What's a gorgeous girl like you doing out alone at this time of night?" Anna asked when Punz stuck her head in through the window. She got a soft, if tired, smile as a response. She didn't actually speak until after her bags were safely stowed and she was in the passenger seat, kissing her wife soundly on the mouth.

"Oh, geez, I've missed you," she said, once they broke for air. "Told myself I wasn't going to say a word until I got my hello-kiss."

"Well then, hello."

"Goof," Punz laughed as they shared another brief peck. Putting her seatbelt on, she glanced around. "Elsa at home?"

Anna made a vague noise of annoyance. "Yeah, her dumb ass has been staying up too late and getting up too early trying to meet these editor's demands." Her grip tightened briefly on the steering wheel before she forced it to loosen. "You can ask her tomorrow. But how was your trip?"

"Not as exciting as it could have been," Punz answered wryly. "I think Los Angeles would be more fun if I weren't stuck inside the whole time with a band that's getting a little big for their britches. But that's what they pay me to do."

Anna pulled a face, releasing the wheel so she could hold Punz's hand. "Well, you're home, safe and sound."

"How is the reunion planning going? How is the new girl, uh… Mona?"

"Moana. She's… nice. Good at what she does, which is all anyone can ask."

They fell into more casual conversation after that. There would be plenty of time to debrief in the following days; for now, it was late and both women simply wanted to appreciate the others' company. It wasn't as though they hadn't gone without one another before; they had, many times. But each time it felt longer, seemed to suck a little more out of their sails. With Anna's reunion tour looming over their heads, and the potential for book tours in Elsa's future, their stable home life was somewhat uncertain.

"So have you been rehearsing?"

"Yeah, of course. Every day. I swear, Jane sounds better than she ever did in the old days; must be all those concertos in London. And we got…" Catching the look in Jennifer's eyes, she cringed. "Oh."

"Yeah, oh."

"You mean rehearsing THAT."

Swatting Anna's arm, she said, "Yes, THAT! It's only a few days away now. And you have to get every word exactly right, or we might not-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. And I have been rehearsing. It's just…"

"Just?"

"Well…" Sighing, she pulled off the highway and began driving into Dell Valley proper. "I still feel bad. I know we're not really gonna be lying to her, but it feels that way. Since everything is rehearsed."

Jennifer's hand came up to pet along her arm. "Hey, I know. But it's so important you get this right! Or else… we might lose everything we've come to love about our lives over the past couple decades."

"But look at us! Are we really happy? Always running around, barely seeing each other? Sometimes… sometimes I wish I'd never gone into the past at all!"

The silence was long and heavy. "Do you?"

"No. But I'm just stressed, okay?" Turning on the self-driving and slumping down a little further in her car seat, she let Punz tousle her hair a bit. "Thanks for putting up with my cranky ass. And you're the jetlagged one, too."

"Not that jetlagged," she laughed lightly. "Just ready to be home."

"And we're ready for you to be home, too," Anna assured her. "Even if Elsa is probably asleep because she really has been running herself ragged."

Punz smiled softly. "I'll try my best not to wake her. Sounds like we could all use a good night's sleep tonight."

"I know that I always sleep better when I have both of my favourite girls with me, not just one of them…" Anna said, shooting Punz a sidelong glance. Her wife's grin lifted her spirits considerably.

Luckily for the both of them, they lived on the side of town closest to the airport; instead of having to drive the extra twenty minutes, they were home barely half an hour after leaving the terminal. They snuck in like two teenagers who had just played hooky, leaving the suitcases by the door to be dealt with tomorrow. Punz wasn't sure whether to have a shower or forego it. Fortunately, she didn't have to decide because Anna simply shepherded her towards the bedroom. She didn't smell at all; it was just that she had been flying all evening, and the warm water would do anyone a world of good after travel.

That turned out to be the right call, because no sooner had she crawled into the centre of the bed about thirty minutes later when a second pair of familiar arms wrapped around her from the other side.

"Hey, Elsa," Punz whispered softly. She got a grunt for her trouble, but Elsa's arms still tightened a little more around her. Scooting closer so Anna had some room to join in, she kissed Elsa on the cheek. "Go back to sleep," she urged gently.

"No," she shot back petulantly, which made the other two chuckle.

"Elsa, has Anna been practicing her lines?"

"Hey!" Anna burst out. But Elsa's answer was kind enough that she didn't have to stay upset for long.

"She has. And she has the spirit of the message down. There's sometimes one or two words of variation, but past-me is going to eat it up regardless."

Punz settled in between them, and Anna felt Elsa curl around her other side more tightly. She reached across to clasp their fingers together as they both nestled their faces into either side of Punz's neck, earning a little hum of satisfaction from its owner.

"I missed this," she breathed.

"Me, too," Anna agreed. There was a long pause.

"If you're waiting for me to say 'me, three', it's not going to happen. Ever."

Grinning, Punz whispered, "Except you just did, Elsa."

When Anna laughed, the hand squeezed hers a little tighter for one second but she made no further comment. All three of them were swiftly dozing off, but none actually wanted to take the leap into dreamland. They just wanted to enjoy this tender moment a little while longer.

"When was the last time we were all together like this?" Anna asked. The reply came in unison.

"Your birthday."

There was a brief silence before Anna let out an ungodly snort. "That was an adventure and a half."

"Mhmm," Elsa sighed in agreement. "I didn't know a human adult was capable of making the noises you did."

Punz giggled. "Oh, and your breath smelled for days afterwards!"

"Whose bright idea was the chocolate-covered pickles, anyway?"

Both Elsa and Punz's voice rang through the late night. "Yours!"

Once more there was silence, though this time it was broken by a soft, "Oh yeah…"

As they tended to try doing when they were reunited, all three of them pushed their faces in together for a three-way kiss. It was a lot more comical than it was romantic, but they persisted, and always ended up grinning and giggling into the contact. Then they settled in again to relax.

"Ever think we would all end up in a cuddle puddle?" Punz whispered.

"Not I. Who wants to be in a cuddle puddle with their daughter and her wife?"

"Elsa McFly, duh," Anna joked.

"Hey – that's Cyndi Lorraine Mann to you, and any legal authorities who ask, thank you very much."

"You're welcome, Mommy." The slight poke into her ribs made her grin. "Okay, okay, we know how you feel about that."

Punz leaned up just enough to kiss the tops of both their heads. "Come on, you guys. I know we joke but we have a great life. Don't pretend we don't."

"You're right, Jennifer," Elsa whispered as she clasped Anna's hand again, resting the both of them on Punz's stomach. "I wouldn't trade it for all the tea in China. Even with all the twists and turns and time travel, I just love you both so much."

Anna sighed contentedly as she settled in again. "Yeah. It's been… educational."

As they drifted into dreamland, Anna McFly had the world's biggest smile on her face. With those two women beside her and the future looking brighter than ever, she felt like she was on top of the world. And her future had room to get brighter still; they had nothing but time.

~ THE END ~

#fractal the future #fruipit #forkanna writes #elsanna fanfiction #elsanna #completed fanfiction #jess the writer

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ariwilder · 1 year

Text

It’s not over until the Fat Lady sings | Part VII

Pairing: Penny Haywood x Jacob’s Sibling

Summary: It’s over. It’s your final day at Hogwarts. It’s time to say farewell to your friends and soon enough the start of new adventures.

AN: Yes, the hiatus is over after SO LONG. If only you are curious as to what could have taken me so long, just go ahead and read. All I can say for now, however, is this gif.

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Not today.

You land clumsily on the floor and fall face first. You heave a deep breath and feel the cool breeze over your bruised forehead. The floor is wooden you take notice.

“We live.” You sound more excited than relieved.

The tall man of very dark skin gives you a disapproving look as he offers you his big, callous hand, “you may not believe us, but we are not kidnapping you.” He says dimly.

“You are not doing a very believable job at it,” you mutter under your breath as you stand up and divert your eyes in search of your friend.

If Nicolau heard you or not, you do not care.

Feeling a tap behind your shoulder, you turn to find Penny unscratched for the exception of a few stray golden hairs out of place. It kind of takes your breath away, you are not sure if it’s the intense sense of relief or not.

“You okay?" You feel her cradle your face with one of her hands,“I think I heard you hit yourself when we landed.”

You open your mouth to answer, while you feel a hot liquid make its way down your nose. Now that she mentions it a throbbing headache is starting to thunder your scalp.

“Episkey.”

A hot-cold sensation goes over your forehead in that instant, interrupting the nearing headache altogether. You blink at Penny, and smile at her in gratefulness, only to realise the voice you heard had been a baritone.

*Wait….that couldn’t have been Penny.

A sudden cough makes Penny shriek away from you.

“I hopee you are doing goodje , crianças , Nico,” it is Maria's soft voice smiling over you. From the corner of your eye you witness Nicolau withdraw a rather stout wand into his pocket.

If Maria took notice of your awkward situation, she does not verbalize it. You go over your face with your hand quickly, confirming that all of your features remain unscratched in their right place. On your hand, a smear of red blood. Marvelous.

"Where are we?" It is Penny who asks. You both have been asking this question a lot more than you'd like.

From the looks of it, after a brief inspection of the place since your landing, you notice you are inside an old library. Or at least that's what it looks like to you. Row over row of tall, dusty dark bookshelves cover every wall of the two story tall ceiling room. All filled by equally old and dusty books of all sizes, colors and lengths. In the middle is a rectangle reading table, also made of dark wood, six chairs with red tattered cushions and on the roof, suspended on mid-air, an old wooden enchanted chandelier, which oddly enough, didn't offer much for illumination.

"This is my família biblioteca , heirloom of the familia Oliveira for centuries. We are stayim in minha casa for now, is probably more safe." She says this in a grave tone. It does not suit you well.

“What is going on here and where is Rakepick?” you see Nicolau to your left roll his eyes.

Once again, much to your distress, despite being the creator of the portkey, Patricia Rakepick is nowhere to be found in the near vicinity.

Maria grimaces, "Paty is probably getting o’ Ministério off our backs, they almost got us down there , talvez," she adds the last as after thought before avoiding your eyes with a sigh. Yet, you are not ready to let things go.

“What does that even mean? Are we some sort of fugitives? Why were we in the Amazonas? What is this ministerio and why are we running from them?”

You try your best not to holler at them in anger, but being left out of the loop is making you really anxious. You are clenching your fists so tight they are starting to pale. Nicolau steps between you and Patricia instinctively, Penny puts a hand on your arm.

The more time passes the harder it is becoming for you to trust the whole expedition, and the more you think this is a bad idea. You just can't help but to know.

“ Relaxa Nico , it is time dei know.” Maria pats Nicolaus broad shoulders softly, motherly. He untenses instantly.

“Sit, por favor , it is long,” she signals to the chairs over the table. They look as if they haven’t been dusted for centuries, and perhaps they haven’t.

You make your way to a chair, with Penny behind you, begrudgingly. Over the table, you notice, several pictures both magical and inanimate reside in piles, a map of Brazil and another one of the city (you read the words Rio de Janeiro) with different floating signals. One of the maps even had several floating names over it making their way around the city. You try to gulp but you fail, finding your mouth unusually dry.

In front of you, you watch a clearly shaken Maria Aparecida put two bony hands over the research table, her expression distraught, “Eu nem sei por onde começar, how to explain.” She opens her mouth and closes it again, a visible quiver on her bottom lip.

You wish you could feel sympathetic with her, but you don’t. Not when you have been kept in the dark for so long.

“Let me,” it is Nicolau this time, his face as stoic as every moment you have spent with him, “what you see over here is a map of Brazil and the city of Rio de Janeiro ."

You raise one of your eyebrows at him with a sober stare. Your cheeky ‘don’t you say’ remains hot on your lips because Penny nudges your ribs with the point of her elbow. You owww at her, she purses her lips at you. You hiss a ‘ fine ’ under your breath while Nico pretends not to notice your banter.

"We have been following the trail of a number of unusual disappearances, all of which have been escalating in the recent months since their start more than a year ago." Nico pauses as you see a trace of struggle surface through his impassive face.

You dart your attention between Nico and Maria intrigued. The brief info dump had felt like a joke with a punchline that never quite arrived. You can understand why it would be important to follow the trace of several disappearances but you fail to understand how this could be related to curse breaking or why Rakepick had decided to involve herself in it.

"Do the authorities know any of this? Don't you have a Ministry that attends to these matters?" Penny asks matter-of-factly, she probably feels as bewildered as you.

What would a trio of British wizards be doing in Brazil to help solve an arbitrary disappearing mystery? Sounds pretty random, if they asked you. What could you do that the Brazilian ministry couldn't?

Maria Aparecida interrupts your train of thought with a banshee-like chuckle. You would've laughed after her had you not been feeling as annoyed as you currently feel.

"Ja! O’ministério?” she points one bony finger at Penny while she looks at Nicolau, "O’ministério, menina! Ja-ja-ja-jaaaaaaa!" She hollers in fake laughter only to stop suddenly.

"Dei have known for months, dei were the first notify of the disappearances of dise…of dise…" she heaves for a second breath, perhaps to gather herself, "....crianças!" She motions wildly in the air with her hands, “...childs!”

She had spoken so fast it was hard for you to understand.

"Dei are corrupt! The worst, porcaria ! Dei do not care. Not about childs, not about safety, not about Macumba!" She hits the wooden table with both her hands in feverish anger before muttering unintelligible words under her breath, that might have been portoguese with a swear word or two by the sound of it.

Wait.

"Wait, did you say they are disappearing children?"

A powerful feeling between nausea and bemusement punches your stomach. As a persecuted child yourself, you can't help but feel sympathy–anger. It hadn't occurred to you before, not really, that outside of Britain all other kinds of terrors persecuted other children daily.

"They are disappearing sem-magica children from poor regions of Rio de Janeiro-No maj?” He adds as an afterthought after seeing our confused stares.

“You mean muggleborn? Magical children born from no magical parents?” It is Penny who interjects, you hadn’t heard of the term No-maj before.

“Yes, muggleborn. We have tracked seven so far." Nico’s face is in a deep frown, an expression you hadn’t seen in his face before, and emanated a menacing aura around him.

"But that would be hard to hide, right? How can school age magical children disappear out of thin air and have no one notice? Or–"

You can hear a clear distraught in Penny’s voice, heartbreak even. She is probably having a harder time believing something like that could happen just like that, even on the other side of the world. The thought that something like this could happen to her still school-aged sister probably bothers her more than she would be willing to admit.

“Who say dei were school agee?” Maria’s words impale us into an ominous silence.

The implications give you immediate goosebumps, while bile hits the back of your throat.

"Dei are disappearing childs yet to be register in Castelobruxo . O’ministério does not care because dei are not registered ainda the Brazilian magical census,” You see Maria change her palms into firsts over the table.

“Brazilian muggles do not care because the disappearing children are poor and this is ‘normal’ in Brazilian favelas.” Nico quotes in the air with his fingers.

“We also believe there is enough evidence to suggest this might not only be happening in Rio de Janeiro, but all over Brazil.”

Nico’s words are so grave, neither you or Penny dare to utter a word. Not of disbelief, nor support. The matter at hand is far more horrifying than any worst case scenarios you would’ve come up with.

Maria Aparecida hits the wooden table with fury, “And all O’ministério care about is plan the next International Warlock Convention !” She fumes.

“No cause troubawl Maria,” she hits the table with each of her sentences,” No conspiracy theorie Maria,” pum! , “ noting is wrong , noting is happening in Brazil.” pum! , “ Stop or we fire you! Pffft!” pum! , “Macumba no exist anymore!” Her hair turns wilder with every new pummeling of the table, her eyes set up in a flaring glare. Almond eyes so tight and slant you could barely recognize her irises.

Penny reaches for your robe instinctively. You didn’t know Maria Aparecida, if at all, and she looked ready to cast an unforgivable curse at the minor provocation.

“What is Macumba?” The question slips through your lips unconsciously. The word had shimmered at you since its first mention, for some reason resonated in your recent memory.

“Macumba is a very old kind of ritualistic magic that developed in the early magical communities of the 16th century,” Nico pauses and moistens his lips, “you are foreigners, so you do not know but around that time a massive wave of immigration populated Brazil and sem magica, muggleborn, children were not trained in Castelobruxo. That is no longer the case, but Brazil has a long history of misuse and practice of illegal magic, so we think the disappearances could be related.”

Maria stands up suddenly at this, “No, Nico, we no ‘tink’,” she quotes in the aire, “dei are related, we know.”

The loud pop of an apparition interrupts your conversation, before the heavy front doors of the library open with a screech. The bloodied figure of a woman collapses before you, the first to run to her side being Maria in a rush.

“Paty, querida, what happen?” she puts Rakepick’s head over her lap and uncovers her face from a veil, revealing Patricia Rakepick’s signature red head, blood pouring grotesquely down her eyes.

“They have him, Maria, they have him.” She anguishes, if you didn’t know better you could swear you could hear her sob.

Maria remains silent, her face unusually petrous. Beside her Nico kneels.

“Who do they have?” He grabs her robes quite forcefully with intention to shake her. Such a strong reaction takes you aback. Beside you, you notice Penny rummaging through her bag.

“Who do they have, woman?!” He shakes her for real this time, breaking Maria from the quiet reverie she had immersed into.

“She is hurt, stop it,” you grab Nicolau’s forearm menacingly. He glares at you with a snarl, you make a quiet dash to your wand. You might not be fond of Rakepick right now, but you would not allow a stranger to hurt her.

Rakepick brushes Nicolau’s hands from her robes taciturn but placating before speaking to Maria again, “Santos, I think they have Santos, he… he saved me, we have to go back, you have to go back, check your watch.” she orders Maria.

“Help.” Patricia adds as an afterthought before closing her bloodshot eyes. You grip your wand beside you tightly. These last words, however, are meant for you, that much you know.

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ah: I have no excuses, or way too many for the reason why I had been on hiatus for so long. But I have decided, I will finally give it a try and finish something for a change. The outline is done. I delayed a bit because of the world cup, but I hope to keep going forward. Looking forward for the ride, and you'd like, your company!

xoxo, everyone,

Lycopene.

You can find me in ao3 too.

#penny haywood #penny haywood x mc #penny haywood x jacob's sibling #hphm #harry potter hogwarts mystery #jacob's sibling x penny haywood #jacob's sibling #hphm mc #harrypotter

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youaremy-dreamgirl · 2 years

Text

Punch Drunk Love - Chapter IV

Hate that...

Pairing: Minho x reader

Genre: smut (only at the beginning and not overly described), angst

Word count: 835 words

Summary: you need to clear your head after your chat with Jinki and Minho can give you just that

A/N: I know this is a shorter chapter but really, the juiciest part is coming and this is more to get things moving. Stay tuned for the next one!

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You had your first orgasm 10 minutes after you opened the door to Minho, standing up against the wall while he ate you out on his knees. The second one came right after that, when he turned you around and fucked you from behind against the same wall. The third was on the couch, his face buried on your tits while you rode him, and the fourth was on the bed, your heels digging on his lower back while he fucked you roughly into the mattress.

Finally cleaned up and fucked out, you lay on the bed on your side next to him, resting your head on his chest while listening to his heartbeat, your fingers drawing irregular patterns on his skin. With his arm around your neck, he's breathing deeply and you expect to hear him snore any time now.

You can't stop thinking about the conversation you had with Jinki two days ago, and it's starting to overwhelm you. You haven't properly slept or eaten since then, and since Tiffany started to worry you had to tell her about what happened; poor thing, she was so distraught about the whole situation but really there is nothing she can do, it is up to you to... what, make a decision? What were you supposed to do?

It's so fucking complicated. You care deeply for Jinki, he's the humblest guy you've ever met, kind and so attentive, truly a beautiful man inside and out... and the more you think about it the more you realize you have actually fallen for him a while back but never admitted it to yourself. And then you have Minho, who is not only physically what you are looking for but also a fun guy to be with, sweet and caring, and even if you've just started getting to know each other, you were curious to know where it would lead.

You thought the supposed rejection at the after-party almost 4 weeks ago was enough reason for you to move on, and you honestly thought you had, but the fact that you are so conflicted shows you clearly haven't. In all this mess, what worried you the most was hurting any of them, and it didn't matter how many times you went over it in your head, there's not one single scenario in which, at some point, someone doesn't end up getting hurt.

You sigh. You wished to stop your racing mind for a bit, and maybe, maybe, calling Minho did not help, but you could use some brainless fucking and he just happened to be really good at it.

"Hey..." Minho whispers softly, snapping you out of your trance.

"Hey you" you lift your head up to look at him "I thought you were asleep already"

"In a minute" he chuckles "why aren't you, though?"

"I'm not tired" you shrug, trying to conceal the fact that your head was spinning

He nods and turns to his side, facing you. He squints his eyes while caressing your cheek with his thumb, examining your face. You smile at him and he smiles back, kissing your forehead before speaking.

"So... as much as I like being used as a human dildo-"

You chuckle, hitting his arm. "Don't say that!"

"I'm not complaining!" he smiles, winking at you "...as I was saying, as much as I like this, there's clearly something on your mind and I don't think you can fuck your way around it, love"

You hide your face in your hands, groaning. Are you this fucking easy to read?

"It's complicated" you mumble

He hums. "I know, I know... Jinki said the same thing"

You froze, suddenly unable to breathe. What did he just say?

"...w-what?" you barely whisper, looking up at him.

"You heard me"

You open and close your mouth, puzzled. How does he know? Most importantly, why does he know?

"Jinki and I are friends, you thought he wasn't gonna talk to me?"

Fuck. Great. Fuck.

You sigh and close your eyes, laying on your back. "I just don't want anyone to get hurt"

"I know you don't, that's why you two need to talk" he argues

"Why are you so... calm about this?" you ask, turning your head to him.

"Because I understand" he smiles "look, I like you, I'm not gonna lie, but I don't want to be with you if your heart is gonna be somewhere else, you know?"

You nod.

"And besides, it's not like we talked about being exclusive or anything... Just go and figure things out, and we'll see what happens. No hard feelings either way"

You cup his face and kiss him soundly. "God, I wish everyone were as mature as you are"

"You are giving me too much credit" he laughs

You shake your head and hug him. "I mean it. Thank you"

He kisses your shoulders and stays like that for a while, both of you dozing off in each other's arms, your mind finally slowing down a bit...

#shinee fanfic #minho fanfic #shinee x reader #minho x reader #shinee smut #minho smut #shinee angst #minho angst #shinee #minho

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dem-obscure-imagines · 3 years

Text

Try

Warren Worthington III x Reader

Fandom: Marvel/X-Men

Summary: Warren has been through hell and then some, but will meeting his soulmate turn that around?

Note: That’s right, it’s ya girl, back on my BS. I watched Apocalypse again and BIG SURPRISE, I’m in love with Warren and Kurt all over again. Still hyperfixating on Pietro also, so…expect more fics for him as well. Anyway, I’m a ho for soulmate aus and I haven’t written one for birb boi in literal years, so here ya go.

Reader is: Gender Neutral

Warnings: swears, mentions of alcohol

Word Count: 2.8k

Warren knew one thing beyond a shadow of a doubt: he didn’t deserve a soulmate. He didn’t. There was no question in his mind. Anyone who was destined to end up with his winged, alcoholic ass had been fucked over by the universe. No one deserved to be stuck with him for the rest of their lives. And yet, these thoughts didn’t seem to erase the words written on his forearm:

Hey, um, you’re Warren, right? The Professor wanted me to talk to you.

Professor. He scoffed. He was never going to college. If his parents had gotten their way, their son “cured” of his wings, he would have ended up at Harvard or Yale or somewhere similar. But it was far too late for that. Sitting in a cage in the back room of an illegal underground mutant fighting club in Berlin…it was far too late for that. He’d probably die before he met his soulmate anyway, rendering the prophecy on his wrist—and theirs, for that matter—useless. A waste of space.

That was all he was anyway.

He spiraled. His dependence on vodka got worse. The fights got harder. He wasn’t making it out unscathed anymore, winding up with burns and scrapes and cuts, depending on what kind of mutant he was up against. One night, one of his cuts had gotten dangerously close to the writing on his wrist. He stared at it for a long time, tears burning his eyeballs until they escaped and dripped down his cheeks, angry and hot.

He hated it, but even after everything, he still had hope. He still had hope that things would get better; that he could be better, even if it seemed impossible.

And then it got…worse.

Apocalypse had come, turned his wings to metal, tuned into his anger, his rage at the world, turned him into a monster, complete with knives for feathers and winding tattoos framing his face. He wished he could blame it on mind control or something, but Apocalypse hadn’t brainwashed him, only used his anger against him. Turned him into a weapon.

And then everything went black.

When he woke up after the battle, he was in an unfamiliar room, large and white and sterile; it smelled like hand sanitizer. He heard the steady beeping of a heart monitor and when he sat up, he noticed how sore he was. His whole body hurt. His head spun. But he was alive. And when he looked down at his tattoo, the words were still there. Wherever his soulmate was, they were fine. His stupidity in joining Apocalypse hadn’t caused anything to happen to them.

For the first time in what felt like years, he breathed.

“You’re awake.” A voice said as a tall man with brown hair entered his room. “I’ll let the Professor know.”

“Where…” his deep voice rasped and the man pointed to a glass of water sitting on the table adjacent to the cot he was situated in. He picked it up and took a few long, greedy sips, not realizing just how thirsty he was until the cool drink hit his tongue. “Where am I? What is this place?”

“This is the infirmary at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters.” The man told him, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “You’re safe here.”

Warren nodded hesitantly, but didn’t say anything else. Safe. The word was almost a myth to him at this point. But at least he felt like he could rest for a little while.

***

It had been a few weeks since Apocalypse and his horsemen had almost ended the world. Erik had decided to stick around, and two of the younger horsemen, Storm and “the Angel of Death,” respectively, had been absorbed into the school’s student body. You didn’t know the Angel’s name. No one really talked to him, not even Ororo, Storm, who had been quickly adopted by your friend group.

Supposedly, Peter had tried to talk to the Angel guy, but he didn’t say anything to him. Ororo theorized he probably felt guilty about the whole thing. She did. But you all knew she didn’t know what Apocalypse was really trying to do. He probably hadn’t either, but that didn’t seem to keep the grim expression off of his face.

It was on a nice, sunny day that Xavier called you into his office, and you went down without complaint, knocking on the door a few times before he called you inside. You sat in the chair across from his desk.

“Hi, Professor. What’s going on?” You asked.

“Ah, yes. Just the empath and healer I wanted to see.” He smiled brightly. “(Y/N), if you don’t mind it too terribly, I have a small job for you.”

“Of course! What do you need?”

“I’m sure you’ve seen our newest pupil, Warren, around.”

You thought for a moment. “The, uh, guy with the wings? The big metal ones?”

“Precisely.” He nodded. “Warren…he’s been having quite a hard time adjusting.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“He came to me yesterday discussing…well, quite simply, he was wondering if any of our mutants here would be capable of…reverting him to his previous state. His wings, before Apocalypse, were made of feathers. They’ve been serving as quite a reminder to him and it’s been weighing pretty heavily on him, both literally and emotionally.”

“Yeah, I’ve, uh, caught his vibes from across campus.” You nodded. “It’s like there’s always a rain cloud hanging over his head.”

“Yes,” Xavier agreed. “It doesn’t have to be right away, but at your nearest convenience, if you see him around, would you talk to him? Tell him I sent you?”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll see what I can do.” You promised him.

As an empath and a healer, your first priority was helping others. And even if he was known to be a bit intimidating, you wanted to help him if you could.

So, you walked out of Xavier’s office, attended your final class of the day, and when it was over, you wandered out into the courtyard where, because of the nice weather, students were everywhere. And luckily for you, just as you suspected he might be, Warren was sitting under a tree, still sporting his leather jacket despite the warm weather.

You shielded your eyes from the sun and walked over towards him, your heart racing as you built up the courage to talk to him. So, you took a breath and said, “Hey, um, you’re Warren, right? The Professor wanted me to talk to you.”

He stared up at you for a long moment, his green eyes wide in shock. He took a breath, blinked a few times, glanced down at his wrist, and then back up at you. You could have sworn you saw tears beginning to form along his waterline, and you didn’t realize why until he said, “You’re my…No…Oh my God…I’m…I’m so sorry.”

You froze, your knees going weak. You glanced down at your bare forearm and read over the words he’d just said, exactly the way he’d just said them.

You’re my…No…Oh my God…I’m…I’m so sorry.

“Why are you sorry?” You whispered, lowering yourself onto the grass beside him, not trusting your legs to support your weight for much longer. Now you were the one with tears in your eyes. “Don’t be sorry.”

“You deserve so much more than me.” He insisted, his eyes locked on his boots, unwilling and unable to meet your gaze. “I can’t drag you into…this. Me.”

His emotions were heavy, a bleak blue and gray haze and you felt it radiate off of him in waves. His pain, his everything. And you felt it, deep within his chest. He thought you wouldn’t want him anyway.

“Warren…” You shook your head. “Why…Why would you think I don’t want you?”

He was shocked into silence for a few seconds, thinking over his words carefully, his jaw tense and hands shaking. “You’re a telepath?”

“Empath.” You corrected quietly. “And…a healer. Which is why Xavier sent me.”

“Oh. Right.” He swallowed thickly, nodding. “Did he…tell you why?”

“He did.” You smiled softly. “And I’m willing to try if you are.”

Finally, his eyes met yours and he could tell that you meant more than just the healing when you said it. The weak little voice in the back of his head was screaming for him to push you away like he pushed away everyone else, but looking into your eyes, a genuine and warm smile on your face, he just…couldn’t lose you.

He couldn’t lose anyone else.

***

Today was the day. Warren was sitting on a stool in the infirmary. Hank had run his vitals and the two of them were in the room waiting for you to come down after your class was over.

“(Y/N) is the one who saved you, you know.” Hank told Warren while he jotted down some notes.

“What?” Warren asked, snapping out of whatever daydream he had been caught up in. “What do you mean?”

“(Y/N) found you in the rubble. We didn’t think you would make it, but…they healed you. They insisted we bring you back here. Give you a chance.”

Warren was quiet for a long time, thinking about what that meant. Part of him wondered if (Y/N) had known back then that he was their soulmate, but he decided that would have been impossible with just their tattoos alone. Especially without context. They hadn’t known and yet, they’d still wanted the best for him.

“Didn’t know that.” Warren said, his voice soft and deep. He stared at the words on his wrist for a little longer, a hint of warmth swirling around in his stomach. Was this happiness? Was that what happiness felt like? He barely remembered anymore. But he knew there must have been a reason that when you walked through the door, his heart started beating a little bit faster.

“Sorry I’m so late. Professor Leaf kept us a little later than she was supposed to. Are you ready?” You asked taking off your backpack and setting it against the wall. As soon as you looked up at Warren, you felt the way his heart rate was increased and you didn’t miss the warmth swirled with the anxiousness. The anxiousness, you had expected. Even you didn’t know if you could pull off what you were going to attempt to do, but the warmth…it was a pleasant surprise.

“Don’t worry about it.” He told you, shaking his head. Was he…was he smiling? It was a small smile, sure, but you didn’t think you had ever seen him smile before. It looked good on him. “I’m ready when you are.”

“Alright.” You nodded, walking over towards him. Underneath where he was situated on a stool, Hank had laid out some pads from the training room, you assumed, to catch his metal feathers if they fell out rather than transforming back to his normal…feather feathers. None of you really knew how this would unfold. “Again, I’m not sure this will work. I don’t want to get your hopes up in case it doesn’t.”

“I’m not expecting it to.” Warren assured you, but it wasn’t in a rude way. “If it does, I’ll be pleasantly surprised. Cross my heart.” What he didn’t say was: You could never disappoint me. Not even if you tried.

“Okay.” You nodded, taking a few steps closer until you were standing right in front of him. He looked up at you and for the first time, you didn’t feel any negative emotions from him. Only anticipation and that lingering warmth. “Here goes nothing.”

You focused on the warmth in your own chest, the tingling yellow healing power that constantly swirled around your heart, and you forced it into your palms. You reached forward for his hands and he took the hint, his larger hands wrapping around yours.

Immediately, he gasped at the sensation, warm tingles running up his arms, down his spine. It stopped in the center of his back, right where his wings intersected with his body. At first, he didn’t feel anything. And then, he felt everything. The pleasant warmth flooded his metal wings, and one by one, the knife-like feathers fell out, each one landing with a thud against the mat situated underneath him.

Hank’s pencil jotted against his notebook as he took notes. He knew you were powerful, but he’d had no idea you were capable of something like this.

Neither had you.

Once the metal wings were gone, Warren felt a new sensation: another pair of wings, this one soft and familiar, slowly emerging from him. Part of him expected the process to be painful, like the one Apocalypse had forced upon him was, but it wasn’t. Warren chuckled to himself. Of course you would never hurt him. Not even unintentionally.

After a few minutes, the feathery wings had fully emerged, stretched out to his full former wingspan and he stared up at you in awe. You stopped your flow of power to him, but he held onto your hands, squeezing them to keep them in his grasp.

He looked back at his new wings, flexed them and moved them. They felt familiar, like they had always belonged to him.

“Thank you.” He said, giving your hands another squeeze, the warmth in his chest brighter and bolder than it had been before. “Thank you so much.”

“Of course.” You told him, squeezing his hands right back in a way that caused his heart to lurch. “I’m glad I could help.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but do you mind if I keep some of these for research?” Hank asked.

“Keep all of them, if you want. I don’t want them.” Warren told him, standing up from his stool, his hands still in yours. “So, um…do you want to go grab dinner or something?”

“Sure.” You nodded, smiling up at him. “See you later, Hank.”

“Bye, guys, have a nice night.” Hank said as you and Warren walked out of his lab. He couldn’t help but notice the way one of your hands remained in one of his as the two of you left.

***

Later that night, after dinner and after you and Warren had split for the evening, you were walking back to your room from Jean and Jubilee’s and you found Warren, lingering in his doorway, his toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. His eyes widened when he spotted you and he held up a finger, indicating you should wait for him, so you did while he went into his bathroom and rinsed out his mouth, returning a few moments later.

“Hey.” He said, the word casual as it fell from his pink lips.

“Hey yourself.” You chuckled, feeling ridiculously underdressed in your pajamas. But then again, he was wearing his pajamas, too, a large black Metallica shirt and a pair of plaid pants.

“How…how are you? Feeling?” He stumbled over his words, chuckling as he rubbed the back of his neck. You felt a wave of nervousness rush through him. “Hank said sometimes you get tired after, uh, bigger healing jobs?”

“I’m fine.” You nodded. “For whatever reason, I never get tired when I’m healing you.” You chuckled, your cheeks heating up the slightest bit. “Well…I think I know why…”

“Heh, yeah.” He nodded, mulling over his next words very carefully. “Did you, um…I don’t know how to ask this. Did you mean what you said about…trying? About us trying…this. Trying us.”

“Of course I did.” You nodded and took a few steps closer to him. “You’re my soulmate.” You reached for his hand and he gave it to you, letting you play with his fingers. You felt the way his heart fluttered when you did. “Of course I want to try.”

“I’m broken.” He told you. “I’ve never done this before. I’m…I’m a lot, and I know that.”

“Well it’s a good thing I’m a healer, huh?” You tilted your head. “And if we’re being honest, I’ve never done this before either. So how about we teach each other? Learn together?”

He smiled softly, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do that.”

You let go of his hand and instead took the last few steps between the two of you, wrapping your arms around his torso. He froze for a few seconds, unsure of what to do. It had been…a long time since anyone had hugged him. But after a few moments, his arms got the hint and wrapped around you, pulling you to his chest. He rested his head atop yours and exhaled a long, long breath. And for the first time since you’d met him, you felt a wave of peace wash over him, encasing him entirely as his wings gently cocooned you in their warmth.

You felt his lips brush against your temple, pressing a soft kiss there. You looked up at him and his eyes met yours before fluttering shut as he leaned in to press his lips to yours.

#warren worthington iii #warren worthington x reader #warren worthington imagine #angel #xmen angel #angel x reader #angel imagine #archangel x reader #archangel imagine #xmen imagine #marvel imagine

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immaturityofthomasastruc · 3 years

Text

IOTA Reviews: Rocketear

The Rocketeer is a 1991 Disney movie set in 1930's America where a test pilot gets a jetpack and uses it to fight Nazis and— Wait, what? “Rocketear”? Oh, damn it!

Let's get into the eleventh (chronologically the seventeenth) episode of Miraculous Ladybug's fourth season: Rocketear.

We start off with Carapace and Cat Noir struggling to hold back some T-Rexes brought back to life by a scientist Jurassic Park style. Seriously, they reference the movie in the same scene.

Why wasn't this the plot of the episode again?

After managing to tame the dinosaurs with a whistle of all things, Ladybug notices something's wrong with Nino after he gives the Turtle Miraculous back to her. Apparently, he's wondering why Rena Rouge (who he knows is Alya) wasn't recruited with him today. Ladybug tells him that he was the only help she needed today. In reality, it's because Alya has adjusted to her new role of supporting Ladybug behind the scenes in her new form, Rena Furtive.

And I'm not a fan of the new form. I get the camo, but it doesn't really help her blend in when her suit is bright blue. I think it's based off the arctic fox, but that animal is able to camouflage itself because it's fur matches the snowy environment. I'm sure a bright blue jumpsuit won't stand out when she tries to blend in at all. Also, the fact that Alya can just change her hero form gives even less excuses as to why Ladybug's new form is only when she uses her Lucky Charm.

Alya is struggling to keep this a secret from Nino because they don't have a lot of secrets in their relationship. Marinette says she can kind of get it because she had to keep her identity a secret from her friend and has to keep keeping her identity a secret from everyone else. Basically, she's telling Alya to suck it up because this is what being a superhero is.

So the next time she sees Nino, Alya tells him she's no longer Rena Rouge, but not about Rena Furtive, which troubles her. The very next scene shows Alya showing Marinette pictures she took of her new costume and asking her which version looks better.

You could always try reviewing Akuma fights. I heard there's one blog that does it when they're not criticizing the famous director Thomas Astruc on social media.

Yeah, in case you can't tell, Alya was only able to rent her brain for a few episodes because she really doesn't seem as understanding about being a superhero as she was in earlier episodes. In episodes like “Optigami” and “Sentibubbler”, we saw Alya use more strategy and show discretion as Rena Rouge, seemingly taking her job more seriously, but then this episode just had to go and piss it all away. I also love how the first time the animators made Alya's skin the same when she's transformed is in a single frame for a joke.

Alya thankfully deletes the picture, but Nino overhears her talking about struggling to find more content for the Ladyblog, and decides to go to the movies with her to help take her mind off things. Nino, in turn, proceeds to give the same reaction to the in-universe Ladybug movie that Astruc gives to the PV.

Apparently, that movie's already getting a sequel and it has a teaser. So was the sequel animated at the same time as the original like Back to the Future Part II and Back to the Future Part III?

Nino gets pissed the next movie in the Ladybug Cinematic Universe will feature Rena Rouge and not Carapace... even though Rena Rouge debuted first. The teaser then shows Rena Rouge falling for Cat Noir (yet another creative liberty taken by the writers or something Astruc's self-insert threw in himself), and takes it like it's the real thing. Dude, the first movie said Ladybug was afraid of cats, and the director yelled at the person it was based on for judging it. He clearly has a hard time distinguishing fiction from reality.

Alya leaves Nino early so she can go on patrol, but Nino sees Cat Noir heading out as well. He then watches a video on the Ladyblog where Alya praises Cat Noir which is totally not Astruc projecting or anything.

I don't know what your definition of a prince is, Alya, and I honestly don't want to know.

So Nino takes this as evidence that Alya is in love with Cat Noir and decides to tell Adrien, who naturally laughs him off. And just before you think we have an episode where Adrien plays the straight man, Adrien decides to visit Alya because he's afraid he accidentally charmed Alya.

Yes, because Cat Noir is so charming, girls are just fighting over him, aren't they?

We then cut to a black and white film noir monologue by Nino (dressed like a detective with a fake mustache), who decides to spy on Alya. When Cat Noir asks Alya if she is attracted to him, she naturally laughs him off, though Cat Noir is thankfully a good sport about it, even giving her a hug to apologize. Unfortunately, Nino took this the wrong way.

The next day at school, Nino takes Adrien into his “office” (it's really an excuse to reuse the boiler room setpiece), and shows him the picture of the hug. Adrien says that Alya would never fall for Cat Noir because she's always dedicated to finding out the truth and telling her boyfriend everything. What's Nino's retort?

Okay, several problems with this bit. First of all, why would Nino even tell Adrien any of this? What would it accomplish? Why not say all this to Alya while confronting her about her alleged unfaithfulness? Second, Ladybug didn't give Nino and Alya their Miraculous at the same time until it was an absolute emergency. She outright said in “Hero's Day” that she didn't have time to recruit Nino and Alya separately.

Ladybug: I'm sorry for what I'm about to do. I know I'm revealing your secret identities but I don't have time to find a good excuse to give them to you separately. Rena Rouge and Carapace, I need you both!

Nino and Alya kept their identities secret from each other until then, with Alya even keeping the fact she knew who Carapace was a secret as well. Nino didn't find out because “they don't hide anything from each other” (which I plan to talk about later).

Other than that, I actually liked Adrien in this scene. It was really investing to see him try to justify the whole secret identities rule while Nino blatantly said there was an exception. This is the kind of stuff I wanted to see when it came to Adrien doubting Ladybug, not him destroying things in his anger.

While Nino rants about how Cat Noir “stole” Alya from him, Shadowmoth sends an Akuma his way, turning him into Rocketear.

And the design he has is just boring. It's just a blue jumpsuit with some black spots that look like teardrops, a teardrop-shaped head and a visor. I think the reason this season's been relying more on past Akumas and using more Sentimonsters is because DQ is terrible at character designs. I mean, compare this suit with Aigraon from Zyuden Sentai Kyoryuger (his Power Rangers counterpart is Wrench from Dino Charge).

The design does so much more with the teardrop motif, giving him a perpetually miserable face with tear lines going all over his body. Add that to a more diverse color scheme, and you have a much more visually stunning design. And this was created in real life, not rendered on a computer. I'm not sure if this is a budget thing or a laziness thing, but if it's the former, you really need to do better, animators.

The powers are meh, giving Nino the ability to fling explosive tears at enemies. It's a clever idea, and it makes sense he gets a power that parallels Cat Noir's, but I think maybe it would have been more interesting if he couldn't control the tears at all. Like, imagine if he was constantly crying like Blue Diamond, and with every tear he shed, Rocketeer could send it at whoever he felt was causing him misery, mainly Cat Noir, all while serving as a metaphor for people who blame others for their own personal issues. Better yet, make him look like the detective outfit Nino wore for the second act. It would have made him more unpredictable instead of making his tears generic projectile weapons.

Marinette and Alya see the fight and transform into Ladybug and Rena Furtive respectively, the former summoning her Lucky Charm, a projector. Is it just me, or has this been happening with Ladybug a lot recently?

Back to Rocketear, we get a good moment where Cat Noir intentionally lets the Akuma hit him so he can get a chance to resolve things diplomatically. See, this is a moment where Cat Noir's self-sacrificing nature feels heroic and not selfish like when he does it without Ladybug's permission to spite her. Unfortunately, it doesn't really go anywhere as Ladybug shows up and plays the recording Nino took (Alya found his phone earlier), while Rena Furtive uses her Mirage to give the audio to what actually happened that night.

Rena transforms back into Alya and embraces Rocketear, who apologizes to her for his behavior. And then he just... rejects Shadowmoth's power while looking like it wasn't that much effort.

At least when Chloe and Alya did it, we saw them struggling for a little longer. I guess maybe it's because Nino is motivated by his love for Alya, but I think it should have been fleshed out more. So Ladybug purifies the Akuma, gives Nino a Magical Charm, and Cat Noir is still unsure about his feelings for Ladybug at the moment, though they still pound it.

Back in his room, Adrien ponders why Alya and Nino get to know their identities while he and Ladybug can't, but Plagg points out it's because she's the Guardian. It's brief, but I do like seeing Adrien start to doubt Ladybug's judgment, and it looks like it'll foreshadow future episodes. This is a problem I've had since “Hero's Day”, and I'm glad the writers are finally acknowledging this double standard. I just hope they don't end up blaming Marinette for whatever happens later on.

Marinette, of course, apologizes for what happened between Alya and Nino, and I have to say... yeah, no. It's obviously Nino's fault here.

Nino really pushed personal boundaries in this episode, much like Marinette's friends in “Gang of Secrets”. Yes, honesty is a valuable trait, but sometimes, people have secrets they want to keep to themselves. Nino's idea of “not hiding anything from each other” is somewhat controlling, like he's demanding Alya tell him everything whether she wants to or not. The fact that he immediately assumed Alya was cheating on him without giving her freedom to make her own choices doesn't make him look good. Let's be honest, a more realistic outcome would be Alya choosing to break things off with Nino or at least lecture him about how she can do what she wants and keep the secrets she wants. But instead...

And that's how the episode ends.

Okay, Marinette just said she trusted Alya to make the right decision, but I highly doubt she meant this. Marinette strictly said Alya had to keep Rena Furtive a secret, and now she's telling Nino this despite the risk? The whole reason Marinette and Luka broke up was because Marinette had to keep her secrets from Luka, but now it's okay for Alya to be completely honest? How is this not a double standard?

This episode was just dull, and there’s not even much I can really say about it.. There were a handful of standout moments, and the stuff with Adrien was somewhat compelling, but Nino's behavior was just insufferable and dragged the episode down. The Akuma fight was weak, only lasting about four minutes at most, and while the Lucky Charm was more creative this time, the plot was just frustrating. It's really one of the weaker episodes this season.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to watch the better Rocketeer.

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krispytidalwavesheep · 3 years

Text

Hopes and Dreams III

.I am not entirely sure about this chapter, if I’m completely honest, so I’ll probably rewrite it at a later time. If you want to get added to the taglist just let me know! Thanks for your continuos support with this fic, it honestly gives me so much life right now! *** Chapter 3

“There seem to still be a few things you haven’t seen.” Lady Dimitrescu stated after you reached the sitting room.

“It’s not everyday that you see girls turn into a swarm of bugs. I’ve seen a lot, but I never said I have seen everything.”

“Which brings me to the question that I want answered. What are you? My first guess would be that you are a vampire, like me and my daughters, but I have a feeling that that isn’t true. Sit down please, so that I can take a look at your wound.” Her tone brooked no argument, so you did as you were told and rolled up the leg of your pants. You winced when you saw the true extend of the damage. Even with enhanced healing it would take a few hours to properly heal.

“My biological father was a scientist, who researched a lot of occult and supernatural topics. He was also a massive asshole who thought it okay to experiment on his own baby daughter, so there’s that. I don’t know how, but someone he got his hands on the DNA of some creature no one really has a name for, but I have a guess. The only thing he really knew, was that they are like Vampires, but much more powerful.

He injected me with the DNA when I was four, but nothing happened, so I was deemed a failure. He did all kinds of tests on me, to see if the DNA would activate, but it didn’t. At least not until he tried to kill me. I was no stranger to torture after he failed, but that night I knew he came to finish it. I was 10, and I was scared and angry, so much so, that something in me broke. There wasn’t much left of him after I was finished.

I’ll spare you most of the details of what happened after, since it is not relevant for what you want to know, and I hate the feeling of being exposed when I don’t know if I can trust the person in front of me. I ran away and my benefactor found me and took me in. I don’t know how, but somehow, he knew what I had become, and he took it upon himself to make sure that I got the best training I could get. I can somewhat use my enhanced abilities, but I am not completely awakened. I’ll get to that part shortly.

After 6 years I was deemed ready to repay the favor and got sent on a hunt for rare artifacts, as I mentioned earlier. I was free to research my condition whenever the opportunity arose, and I did. I traveled the whole world, met all kinds of creatures and people, yet no one could help me with my predicament. That was until 8 months ago, when I found the first real clue. But that clue came with a price and I have been cursed.

I still don’t have a name for the creature that I have become, but I found an old text that explained a lot to me. My kind won’t fully awaken until they bond themselves to another being, that has roughly the same power that we have. That’s where the curse made things more complicated: If I try to bond with anyone that isn’t my destined mate, I will die. Slowly and painfully.

And if that isn’t enough, the curse took the ability to sense my mate away from me, at least in the traditional sense. Usually, we will know our mate by smell alone, for their blood will sing to us like nothing else ever could. We would feel a strong pull towards them, and they to us, for our blood will be just as exquisite to them, as theirs is to us. The curse took that ability away from me, and now I am destined to walk the earth, waiting for my mate to find me.

Another side effect is what I call ‘boiling blood’. When I feel threatened enough it will activate and temporarily awaken me. I can’t control it though, and that is the problem. It only happened once so far, and that was when someone I care a great deal for, got hurt. But I have it under control for the most part. I just don’t like it when people I care about get hurt, I lost myself even before the curse happened. And I do understand if you deem me to dangerous and kick me out of the castle. You wouldn’t be the first one.” You ended lamely and sighed. It always took a lot out of you when you talked about the past.

“You mentioned that you have a theory about what exactly you are?” Alcina asked and gently patted your dressed wound. You suppressed the gentle shiver that wanted to roll down your body and said, “I think I am a Vampire, but one of the first generation.”

***

“And what makes you think that?” Alcina asked carefully. You pondered that for a moment, her eyes never leaving you. She could see that it took a toll on you to tell her all that, and she could understand that. Admitting what had happened couldn’t be easy, especially when there was the possibility that you would be thrown out or worse. Alcina didn’t plan on doing either of those things though, and she would tell you soon enough. An idea was forming in her head.

“I read a lot about vampires and had my fair share of encounters, none of them as nice as the one with you, so I figured it must be something like that. Whenever a Vampire turns someone, a miniscule part of their DNA gets implanted in the one they’ve turned. That is why your Maker will always be stronger than you. But since I got way more DNA with fathers’ experiments, it could mean that I am the first person who got turned into a Vampire of the first generation. And if not first, then second, which would still be infinitely more powerful than a Vampire of third or fourth generation. Although I can’t be sure, since I destroyed everything that could give me a clue, when I killed my father.” You said silently, looking at the floor. Alcina couldn’t help but feel pity for you. A bad hand was dealt to you, and you just tried to live your life. She also admired how strong and confident you were, even after all that had happened.

“I have an offer for you.” Alcina said and put two fingers under your chin to make you look at her, ignoring your blush.

“Stay here. You have nowhere else to go, right? You fascinate me and I want to know more about your abilities if you are willing to show me. And I could use a hand to help me in the castle’s upkeep. But make no mistake, my dear. As soon as you show me that you become a threat, I will dispose of you. What do you say?” Alcina asked, but she knew your answer already. She could see it in the softening of your eyes and the spark of hope that flickered in your eyes. You gently nodded and gave her the most brilliant smile she had ever seen. Both of you briefly wondered where that feeling of trust came from, you more than Alcina, but for the moment it was enough.

***

A weird sense of coming home fell over you, when you looked into her eyes, that had gentled with your consent. She could probably kill you with a snap of her fingers, but somehow you got the feeling that she wouldn’t. Most people feared you when you told them what you were, not all of them humans either. But she gave you the feeling of safety, no matter what your nature was, and you wondered. Could she be the one that was fated to be with you? Or was that just wishful thinking, because she showed you kindness where everybody else would only show you fear and hatred? You were immensely attracted to her, that’s for sure, but could she be the one?

“I want to see the full extend of your abilities as fast as possible if you don’t mind. If it is alright with you, I would arrange a little sparring session between you and my daughters.” Lady Dimitrescu said and took a seat on the chaise lounge in front of you.

“I wouldn’t mind. It has been far too long since someone has offered me a challenge, so I will gladly accept, my Lady. My wound should be fully healed by tomorrow, so we can start first thing if you’d like,” you offered, eager to show her what you were capable of. Maybe she will keep you around for longer if you show her that you would be a valuable asset to her castle.

“I would like that very much, my dear. But now is time for you to eat and rest, as it is rather late. The day has been rather long and eventful, not just for you.”

“Of course, my Lady,” you smile and as if on cue, the door to the sitting room opened and one of the daughters entered the room with two plates. You hadn’t even realized how hungry you were until the smell of the food hit your nostrils. The two of you ate in companionable silence, and soon enough it was time to leave her presence for the night.

The guest room she showed you was like nothing you have ever slept in before. You were used to all sorts of places to sleep, but never have you seen a bed so big and comfortable looking.

“Good Night, my dear. I hope you sleep well,” Lady Dimitrescu said and left you to your own devices before you could answer her. You dressed down to your tank top and shorts and fell into a peaceful slumber as soon as your head hit the pillow.

***

When you next opened your eyes, you were surrounded by the familiar darkness of your dreamscape, yet something felt different. You could sense a presence at the edge pf your consciousness and soon enough, a gentle voice spoke to you “So you finally found her.”

“Huh?” you asked into the darkness, chills running down your spine. The voice giggled and a shadow crept into the edge of your vision, which soon turned into a girl, that oddly enough, had somewhat of a resemblance to you.

“Who are you?”

“You’ll have to find that our for yourself. But what matters is, that you have finally found her. My Alcina,” the girl said and looked close to tears, although she was still smiling.

“Don’t get me wrong, but I don’t think that Lady Dimitrescu belongs to anyone.” You said, defensive of the Lady. That made the girl laugh again, and you couldn’t get over the fact that she looked so much like yourself.

“You are right. But she was mine, as I was hers, a long time ago. Listen, the castle’s magic is strong, but not strong enough to give me enough time to explain everything. Just trust me, okay? Stay by her side, no matter what. Protect her. But most important: Take care of yourself. She lost us too many times already, but maybe you are the one that will break this hellish circle.”

“I-I don’t understand!” you said desperately, trying to reach for the girl, but she was already fading.

“We will speak to each other again when the time is right. Until then, remember my words. Please protect her. Do what we couldn’t do and survive.” Were her parting words before you awoke, drenched in cold sweat. What the fuck was that?

But no matter how hard you tried to grasp at your dream and its implications, you felt your consciousness fading and fell back into a deep slumber.

***** Taglist: @imdreamingblo @x-x-trixxster-k-m-w-x-x

#lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu

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hangovercurse · 3 years

Text

The Things We Can’t Tell Pete About

Pete invites you to meet his friends from The Dirt and makes you promise not to flirt with any of them, which is a lot easier said than done, especially when Colson Baker acts like that.

Request: “Hey so I love all your writing and I just thought you should know that! But also I’d your requests are on still would you mind writing a youre Pete’s little sister but kells got a crush xx”

Colson x reader

Warnings: Drug use, Cursing

A/N: I know, Dom (Yungblud) wrote the song, but also I am the writer and I say that Y/N wrote it :) Anyways, enjoy. This is only part 1 of what is probably going to be a fun, cute lil series. Also thank you to the anon who sent this! You made my day(s)

Word Count: 2411

| ii | iii | iv | v |

masterlist

New York was lonely without your brother. He had been filming in New Orleans for the past three months, leaving you alone. You had some friends, but Pete was your best friend. You were only eight months younger than him and practically attached at the hip. You supposed going through trauma together would do that to people.

He facetimed you all the time from set, updating you on things in his life, showing you cool stuff from the set, and introducing you to his castmates. You had kept him updated on your music, playing him demos of songs you were writing and getting his opinion on them.

Him being away wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but it definitely sucked for you. So, when Pete texted you that he was having a few friends from the movie over the night he got back, you were ecstatic.

Before you left your apartment to walk to his, he texted you.

You’re not allowed to flirt with any of my friends

You rolled your eyes as you locked your door, preparing a response.

I’ll try my best

Your phone buzzed seconds later.

I’m serious. I don’t trust any of them with you.

And I don’t need that kind of awkwardness in my life

Like if you date one of my friends and it goes badly

I don’t wanna deal with that shit

You chuckled at his chain of texts.

Don’t flirt with your friends because they’re dicks, got it

Don’t worry bro, I know the sibling code

You came to find out that that was a lot easier said than done. When you walked into his place, everyone in the room turned to look at you. You recognized most of them from your facetimes with Pete, but you doubted they remembered who you were. One who did remember you was Colson, Pete’s new best friend. He made eye contact with you from across the room, a sly grin on his lips. You sent him a small smile, Pete’s text running through your head briefly.

You found your brother lounging on the couch, a huge grin on his face. He was definitely tripping on mushrooms. “Y/N!” He yelled. “This is my baby sister, everyone.”

You rolled your eyes, walking further into the room, grabbing a drink from the cooler, and taking an empty seat on the opposite couch. “I’m less than a year younger than you, Pete.”

You heard a snicker from the one of the guys, looking over to see Colson covering up the smile on his face. “But you’re still younger than me so it counts.”

Everyone went back to their own conversations, which you were thankful for. “Y/N, you remember Colson, right?” Pete motioned to the blond guy.

“Yeah.” You nodded, looking him up and down. His muscle tank exposed the sleeves of tattoos, which seemed to cover every inch of his skin. “Your hair was different, but yeah I remember you.” You opened the beer on the coffee table, taking a swig.

“You’re the musician, right?” He asked you, leaning back onto the couch.

You nodded, “Aspiring musician but, yeah.”

“Oh, she’s great. You should hear her sometime.” Pete butted in, grinning like an idiot at you.

You rolled your eyes but had a smile on your face. “I work primarily as a songwriter and editor right now, but I’m trying to work on putting out some of my own stuff.”

You felt a little intimidated talking to Machine Gun Kelly about music, seeing as he was one of the best in the industry, but he seemed to be genuinely interested in your work. “Well, if you ever want some help or someone to listen to it, I’d be willing.” He flashed a smile, his bright blue eyes sparkling.

“Thanks, that’s really cool of you.” You bit your lip slightly, trying to hide the fact that you were totally breaking Pete’s rule.

Pete sent a glare your way to which you raised your eyebrow. You weren’t really flirting; you were just… making connections. “Anyways,” he cleared his throat, “I’ve been working on this sketch idea, Y/N, and I need your opinion.”

You nodded, letting him talk. “So, I was thinking like, there’s this guy with posters all over his wall. Like life size posters of a bunch of different people. And he falls asleep while doing homework and he dreams about them coming to life. And it plays out like one of those really bad commercials that encourage kids to stay in school and shit. Like the posters are telling him to study for his test, but then there’s this one poster that’s like, very sexy. And she’s just like, talking about hot dogs and everyone else gets really sick of it and one of the other posters tries to like, tear down her poster or something.”

Throughout his description, you got more and more confused. “Pete, that’s not funny that’s just fuckin weird.” His mouth hung open in shock. “Dude, seriously? The big punchline is the playboy poster girl talking about hot dogs until the other poster people get tired of it?”

“Yes.” Pete said, as if it were obvious. “That’s hilarious.” You glanced at Colson with a questioning look on your face. He seemed as unsure of the joke as you were.

“Pete, man, that’s not your best work.” Colson clapped him on the shoulder and you giggled at Pete’s disappointed expression.

“You guys are mean.” He pouted and you two laughed. “Ok, well, how would you make it funny?”

“I don’t know if you can, bro.” Colson’s laugh was contagious. When he laughed his whole body shook, his feet stomping and everything.

“What are the other posters?” You asked, trying to be supportive but knowing this wouldn’t turn out very good.

“Well, I was thinking maybe one is like a video game character. Like that lady from Wreck-It-Ralph. The mean one. And then like a snowboarder who is definitely high, and someone else, I dunno.” He shrugged, taking a hit from the joint in his hand and passing it to you.

“Okay…” You trailed off, looking at Colson for support. You brought the blunt to your lips, inhaling the smoke and bringing it down, letting the smoke leave your mouth slowly. You passed the joint to Colson, who gladly took it, a smirk on his face.

Pete looked between you two at the small interaction, a frown. “So, the posters,” he brought your attention away from the man again, “they’re all really serious about teaching this dude math. But the hotdog girl just keeps talking about hot dogs in like this really high-pitched voice.”

You watched the smoke fall from Colson’s lips, not fully paying attention to your brother.

“Yeah man, I think that sounds funny.” Colson told Pete, his eyes lingering on you for a little longer than they should have. “It could use some work but if anyone can make it funny, it’s you.” Colson punched your brother on the shoulder, but the look he sent you said the exact opposite.

You held in your giggle, taking another sip of your beer.

The rest of the night followed a similar pattern, you and Colson flirting and Pete trying to get in between you two. At one point, after a few more hits of weed and a couple more drinks, Colson brought out a guitar, insisting you play something for him. Where he got the guitar from, you had no idea, but you didn’t ask questions. Instead, you rolled your eyes, insisting that “if I have to play something, so do you.”

Everyone was too caught up in their own conversations to care about the noise, or too drunk. You started strumming, trying to remember the chords to a song you had started writing a few days ago. “There’s no lyrics yet, just a melody I came up with.” You blushed, feeling very self-conscious suddenly.

“Guess I’ll just free style to it then.” He chuckled as you started to strum, your fingers working the strings like they had your whole life.

The blond man closed his eyes, head nodding as you played and thinking of what to rap.

“Watch me, take a good thing and fuck it all up in one night. Catch me, I’m the one on the run away from the headlights.

No sleep, up all week wastin time with people I don’t like. I think, somethin’s fuckin wrong with me.

You smiled as he sang, watching his expressions change as he tried to think up the next line.

Drown myself in alcohol, that shit never helps at all

I might say some stupid things tonight when you pick up this call

I be hearin silence on the other side for way to long, I can taste it on my tongue, I can tell that somethin’s wrong.”

He opened his eyes, looking rather proud of himself. “I had some of those lyrics already, but I just changed ‘em a little. I really liked that.”

You nodded, “That was impressive.” You smiled, looking back down to the guitar when something hit you.

You began to play the same melody but pitched higher to fit your voice.

“Roll me up, and smoke me love

And we could fly into the night

You take drugs, to let go, and figure it all out on your own

Take drugs, on gravestones, to figure it all out on your own.”

You looked up to Colson, watching his expression change, his eyes wide. Pete had a proud look on his face.

“Pete, you are a sucky hype man. You did her no justice.” Colson hit Pete on the arm.

“Whaddya mean, I told you she was great.”

Colson looked over to you, a stupid smile on his face. “Seriously, that was fucking amazing. Like, we gotta write that shit out some day.”

You bit your lip, trying to stop the blush from reaching your cheeks. “Yeah, that’d be cool.” You were trying your best to keep your cool as Colson kept his gaze on you, but you were completely freaking out on the inside.

A little while later, almost everyone was gone except you, Pete, Colson, and Douglas Booth, who joined your conversation not long after your jam session. Pete let out a yawn, directing your attention to the time.

“Jesus, it’s already 4am?” You asked, a frown on your face.

“Why, you got somewhere to be, darling?” Douglas asked you, your face scrunching up from the nickname.

“I have a writing session at 11 am tomorrow. Or, today, I guess.”

Pete reached out to hit you in the head, playfully, which you dodged. “Go to bed, dummy.”

You shrugged, “I’m gonna be dead at it anyways, might as well keep the party going a little longer.”

Douglas rolled his eyes, patting your shoulder. “Be that as it may, I am ending this party and going home. Goodnight, guys. It was nice meeting you again, Y/N. Good to see you guys.” Douglas and the guys did that little hand slap and hug thing before he left.

“I love you both, but I will also be going to sleep. And you should too.” Pete stood up, stretching his arms out before giving Colson a fist bump and leaving to his bedroom.

Once your older brother left, Colson moved to the couch you were on, his arm falling over your shoulders. You looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. “And how can I help you Mr. Kelly?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m assuming Pete gave us both very similar talking to’s, given the glares you’ve been receiving all night.”

“You mean the “don’t flirt with my friends” talking to or the other one?” You tilted your head, a sly look on your face.

“That’s the one.” Colson laughed through his nose, an adorable smile on his face. You were both considerably high, but you still knew exactly what you were doing.

You moved closer to Colson’s body, “Well then I guess we’d better not do this.” You said quietly, leaning into him. “Or this,” You grabbed his jaw, inches from his face.

“Or this?” He whispered, connecting your lips. You smiled into the kiss, tasting the weed on his tongue. You adjusted your body so you were facing him, his arm that was once around your shoulder now wrapped around your waist.

His other hand grabbed your leg, pulling you up so you were straddling his lap, and your arms wrapped around his neck. His lips seemed to fit perfectly around yours, and you did all you could to keep yourself from moaning into the kiss as his hand began to travel up your leg.

Realization hit you like a brick wall, and you pulled away, your breathing heavy. “Sorry,” you muttered after a few seconds. You climbed off his lap, smoothing out your shirt. “We shouldn’t do that. I shouldn’t have done that.” You smiled awkwardly down at him.

He nodded, the same realization hitting him. “Yeah, that’s not the best idea. Sorry I wasn’t really thinking.”

You shook your head, cheeks still very red. “No, no, no don’t apologize. It was fine, it’s all fine.”

He nodded, looking down awkwardly. “I should get going.” He stood up, landing a little too close to you.

“Why don’t you just sleep here? Pete won’t mind and it’s a lot easier than going home.” You bit your lip awkwardly, taking a few steps back.

Colson scratched the back of his neck. This was a very different demeanor than he had before, and you found it very cute. “Are you sure?”

You nod. “I’ll get you some blankets and pillows.” You moved towards the guest bedroom, a guilty smile on your face. You moved your hand to your lips, feeling where Colson’s lips had graced you minutes before.

You came back to find Colson laying on the couch, one hand behind his head. “We don’t have to tell Pete about that, right?”

You shook your head, a small smile still playing on your lips. You put the pillow behind his head, watching his eyes as he watched your lips. “Stop looking at me like that or I’ll do something else we can’t tell Pete about.” You said quietly, watching him grin. You pulled the blanket over him, leaning down to be level with his face.

“I kind of like the things we can’t tell Pete about.” Colson chuckled, leaning forward to connect your lips again.

#mgk #mgk imagine #mgk angst #mgk fluff #machine gun kelly #machine gun kelly imagine #Colson baker #colson x reader #colson baker imagine #colson baker fluff #colson baker angst #pete davidson

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soulwillower · 3 years

Text

tozier (vii)

(tozier!reader smut)

requested: okay so once regular requests open, here’s my idea. so the reader and richie are siblings and they absolutely hate each other and to get under his sisters skin, he fucks her best friend. so in sheer anger she decides to fuck all of his

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, dirty talk, also minor violence, bit of blood, sub reader AND dom reader, BOTH baby, light choking, mild mild cumplay, oral (fem recieving)

part 7 of the tozier series [ i ii iii iv v vi ]

guys!! finally the last part, thanks for all the love on this series :) this was rly so so much fun to write for yall, pls let me know how u feel about this/the series in general

(losers and reader are 20+ and in college in this)

4.5k words

♡

"i fucked your friends, anyways." you say with a grin.

"funny, y/n. as if any of them would settle for you." richie snarls, smirking as if he's proud of what he'd said. it makes you smirk, shaking your head. if only he knew.

"richie, i don't think she's joking." ben speaks up. everyone's eyes turn to ben, and your heart pounds as you bite your lip. you look at each of the others quickly - ben's gnawing on his lip and looking at richie uncertainly, mike is staring at the ground in thought, eddie's staring at his lap with an amused grin, bev is smirking between the two boys with her eyebrows raised, and bill is looking at ben with a small look of realization.

your eyes land on stan, who's staring back at you intently, a suggestive look on his face as he tugs a small part of your underwear from his front pocket as he thumbs it with his finger. you send him an intent look back, trying to beg him not to do it.

when you look at richie, he's shocked, mouth agape. "what?" richie says quietly. "you fucked my best friend. it was only fair." you say with a shrug, smiling at him. he looks like he might punch you.

you stifle a laugh, trying to keep a straight face but failing. richie looks furious as he walks up to you, the two of you standing in the middle of the make-shift circle the losers formed in the living room.

"which one?" he says through a clenched jaw.

"all of them."

the room is silent as everyone's jaws drop except yours, bev's, and surprisingly stan's - the latter of whom are smirking. richie looks like he's in utter disbelief. it's silent for a few moments, until someone breaks the quiet.

"who was the best?"

you turn bright red at that.

"shut the fuck up, eddie!" richie yells, no sign of joking on his face; he's red as he stares you down. you don't cower at all in front of him - in fact, you're definitely the one with the most power in this situation, and you smirk.

"so... a-all of us slept with y/n?" bill says in shock. everyone looks around and you're just smirking, your brother furious. "i can't fucking believe you. this isn't funny at all." richie snips.

"this isn't any different from what you did, richie. c'mon, it was just some fun. it's not like it meant anything more to any of us." mike says. you're shocked that they're all taking it so well.. you never expected them to find out, but they seem to be on your side. thank god.

your eyes dart to stan, who's still sat on the couch. he meets your eyes and doesn't back down, his gaze piercing and intense. his eyes course over your figure and you feel a twinge of emotion as you remember his hands on your skin, his lips.... you clear your throat as you look away, hoping to god nobody will notice your lace undies sticking slightly out of stan's pocket.

"-why are you taking her side?" richie hisses, shoving everyone away. his eyes barely leave yours, his fists clenching down by his sides.

"because you are in the wrong, richie. you cannot possibly be mad at me for this." you say with a grin. "sorry, you're just overreacting. plus you're not just fucking cecily, now you're actually dating her. which is way more shitty. and clearly they all wanted me, richie. i'm an angel."

bill snorts from where he's standing, "yeah r-rich, you're the one who always says that girls who suck fingers without being told to go to h-heav-"

richie throws his empty cup towards bill, missing by only an inch as he yells, "can it, denbrough! shut the fuck up!"

you're bright red from bill's words, looking from him, to richie, and then catching stan's eyes again. you swallow, throat dry.

"-wait, who was the best?" comes from bev this time. you bite your lip, watching as richie shoves her lightly. you grin, "well, ben was the sweetest, but mike was the most surprising-" "you better shut the fuck up right now y/n." richie mutters. you shrug, "you talk about cecily all the time to me!" you yell. "plus, i'm not finished. eddie... well, that was the dirtiest." you smirk at him and he grins at the ground, richie moving towards you. you back up swiftly, still talking. "-eddie fucked me in your bed, you know."

richie shoves you hard, looking the angriest you ever have seen him. everyone else gasps or rushes towards the two of you, but as your back hits the wall near the fireplace you barely wince, laughing. "then there was bev... that was the hottest. you were in the other room." you wink.

bev gives mike knuckles out of the corner of your eye and you almost laugh, watching richie as the others tug him back from you. "y-y/n, stop. we get it, r-richie's gotta calm down." bill says as he holds back richie's seething form.

you tilt your head, grinning at bill. "what, you don't want richie to know that you have the best dick game?"

everyone stops, and richie freezes in bills arms. "wh-" bill starts with a cocky smirk, but then richie's wrestling bill to the ground, and your eyes are widening. "richie, knock it off!" bev yells, laughing as richie shoves bill's head and bill just laughs on the ground.

mike and ben get him off of bill, who's sitting up with a disheveled shirt and smirking. "jesus, richie." stan mutters, still on the couch seemingly unbothered.

you feel the need to make it worse, just to rub it in. "richie, it's okay. he felt bad at first, fucking me in my bedroom while you were asleep next door-"

"shut up y/n!" richie yells, loud enough that you think the neighbors could have heard. stan laughs from the couch, and richie turns to stare at stan, who's lounging as if nothing's happening, looking entirely amused and unbothered. it’s hot.

it's quiet for a moment, and it seems like everyone thinks you're done. you mutter, "but stan was the most recent, like ten minutes ago, actually." stan doesn't even really react to your words, he just grins devilishly at richie, dimple popping in his cheek.

you clench your thighs.

richie turns to you again. "you're a fucking bitch. you’re so disgusting, it's no wonder you couldn't get any of my friends to want to date you. so you just tried to fuck them all instead. you're embarrassing." richie spits. your eyebrows draw together and you almost quip back but a movement makes you look to your left. stan rises as he states, "richie. shut up." you and richie both look to stan, as do the others.

"i don't want to hear shit from you, uris. fuck you, i've told you for years to keep your paws off my sister." he spits, and stan tilts his head.

"she's a grown up, richie. she's not just your sister. if she wants me to go down on her in the backseat of your car, why the hell would i say no?"

and then richie's swinging at stan, punching him hard in the face.

"richie!"the others call, bill and mike pulling him away and holding him firmly this time, shocked that he really did it. "stan?" you call, moving toward him as he flexes his jaw and holds the side of his face. he stands all the way up and licks his lip, a smear of blood leaking from the fresh split on his lip. richie's shaking his hand, face bright red under his glasses.

"fuck all of you." richie hisses, turning and shoving eddie and ben out of the way as he grabs his car keys and storms out the front door.

it's quiet after richie leaves, and everyone decides that he needs cool off time before he comes back or before anyone tries to talk to him. so they then get the message to trail out and head to the basement in groups of two or three until just stan remains. "stan, i'm sorry." you say weakly, offering a hand. he lets you lead him to your bedroom upstairs, silently looking at the ceiling as you re-enter the room with a shitty first aid kit.

stan is impossible to read as you tear open a wipe to clean around the cut. your hands shake as they rise to his face. "i'm sorry." you whisper, the guilt getting to you.

you jump a bit as one of his hands lands on the bare skin of the back of your thigh. you meet eyes and stan stares directly at you, "i'd do it again."

you smile shyly, looking down and swiping across his bottom lip to collect the blood. "i never meant for this to happen, i guess. i was just so angry, and i- yeah."

it’s quiet again.

"when did you and bill fuck?" is all he asks after the silence. you blink at him, thinking. "um... a few weeks ago? when we went to kiera gross's party."

he hums, his hand still rubbing your bare leg and making you feel weak. his fingertips graze the skin of your ass before moving back down, making you exhale shakily. you feel like you want stan to know that you don't have anything going on with bill - but you're nervous. "i promise, i- god, would you stop fidgeting?"

your hand grabs his jaw, but he jerks his head away and he tosses you a glare. "i'm fine." he mutters.

"i don't have to be doing this, i can just go back downstairs." you snap, crossing your arms.

"yeah, perfect, why don't you go let bill fuck you again?" stan quips. "he was the best, right?" you roll your eyes, shaking your head as you look at his pouty lips. "stan, come on. and tilt your head up."

it's silent again and stan's staring up above you, avoiding your eyes as you wipe a bit of alcohol over his busted lip. "y'know, i hate to say it, but this is kind of hot." you whisper.

he stares at you dryly. "you think your brother socking me in the face is hot?"

you laugh, "no, i think me telling you what to do is. you take directions well." his face blooms light pink at your words and you feel proud. he’s watching you carefully, "really? that's cute coming from you. i seem to remember you begging for me to tell you what to do not even an hour ago."

you swallow, cheeks going red, but you notice his are too. "maybe you just need to be put in your place, stan." you whisper, leaning forward to capture your lips together. he winces slightly, his busted lip tender against yours, but his hand grips your ass immediately, tugging you towards him.

you slide onto his lap, straddling him easily. the kiss starts slowly, but quickly heats up when he pulls you down to grind on him, causing you both to let out shaky moans of pleasure. then you gently push his shoulders back, “wanna feel you inside me.” you whisper, noticing his knowing smirk as he lays back, propping himself up on his elbows to watch you.

you slide back on his lap, undoing his pants and sliding them down his legs. his cock springs up and you bite your lip, hand wrapping around his base. you pump slowly, watching as he bites him lip and tilts his head back. you're filled with desire as you take in his size, desperate to feel him. then you're pressing a kiss to his lips, balancing up on your knees and teasing him against your slit, spreading your wetness. he groans, bucking his hips up but you shush him, kissing him again.

he pulls off your shirt, and you quickly do the same to him, taking in his toned torso. you silently thank whoever made stan so goddamn good at baseball. he groans as you place his hands down and off your body, gently sinking down onto him.

you both let out loud groans, relishing in the feeling of him stretching you out perfectly. his head falls onto the wall behind him as you start to move on top of him, stabling yourself on his chest. “fuck, y/n.” he groans lowly, eyes shut in pleasure.

he looks so perfect under you and you move yourself quicker, loving how he fills you. one of your hands slips into his hair, pulling and making him groan, his hips stuttering. “stan…” you moan as he places kisses on your neck and chest, moving your hips as you bounce. his teeth nip at your skin, his hands rising to grip your ass, hiking up your skirt.

leaning forward, you find a new angle and bite your lip to keep from screaming at the feeling. stan's biting his own bruised and split lip, his face flushed and chest heaving. he’s hitting deep inside you and you feel full, moaning as you bounce up and down. you moan into his skin, sucking dark marks up and down to column of his throat,

you lean to press your hands against his chest, changing the angle again. “fuck.” he mutters and you moan, your legs burning but the pleasure flowing through your body. he all but growls, his head falls against the wall again with a groan of pleasure, his hands raising to your hips and fucking up into you, eyes scrunched. his hips are stuttering and he’s flushed, looking like heaven under you. "stan," you moan, "you feel so good, fill me up s'good." you whisper, unable to stop yourself as you moan.

through breaths, he's whispering into your ear. "sorry, who did you say fucked you the best?" he asks as you clench around him.

"shut up." you whisper into his ear as you bounce on him, your hand rising to his throat.

his eyes lace shut, screwing with lust as he moans, hands hard on your hips as he fucks you down onto him. you squeeze his throat lightly, feeling him swallow under your palm. your lips meet and he bites down on your lip hard, moaning at the feeling of your hand on his neck.

"who fucks you this good?" he says, and you can feel his voice vibrate under your palm, his lips in a sexy grin as his eyes flutter shut. "shut up, stan." you say again, "don't make me leave and let you finish yourself off." you whisper in his ear.

he moans at that as you move your hips, your hand still around his throat.

his hand rises up your back, palm sliding over your bare skin and then gripping your breasts, starting to thrust up. you moan loudly, forehead falling to his shoulder at the new angle as stan stretches you and hits perfectly deep inside you. your hands fall to his chest, clenching around him as you whimper.

your legs burn and it's almost like stan can tell, because he's lifting you off him and then swiveling you so that your back falls onto the mattress. he hums, "no, you won't leave."

you raise your brows as he grabs your legs, pulling you down towards him on the bed. "what makes you think i won’t just get up right now?" you ask.

but then he's sliding into you, one leg held by his hand and the other behind him. he fills you up and makes your toes curl and your vision cloud in pleasure with one stroke. and then he's thrusting, your whole body bouncing as he pounds into you, hitting your g spot perfectly and making you gasp sharply in pleasure.

"because," he whispers into the shell of your ear, "nobody can make you cum like i can."

you let out a shaky breath, the last ounce of dominance gone from your body as he fucks you into the mattress. he slips his thumb into your mouth and you wrap one hand around his forearm, sucking on his thumb and swirling your tongue over the tip of the finger as he stares into your eyes.

he bites his lip, grinning. "what was it bill said? that girls who suck fingers without having to be told go to heaven?"

you blush at that as he thrusts into you, and he coos as he slips the finger out of your mouth with a light pop. "yeah, guess he's right. you are my good girl."

and then he's rubbing your clit gently with that thumb, his hips rocking into yours and making your legs shake. you moan loudly, the pleasure making you squeeze your eyes shut.

he hums, "you'd better be quiet or everyone's going to know who's really your favorite." he whispers cockily against your lips, and your eyes roll back as you moan quietly.

he smiles at you, other hand smoothing your hair. your eyes fall to the marks from your fingers around his neck, and you get shiver of pleasure knowing the effect you have on him. "you need me. say it." he whispers against the skin of your chest.

you let out a strangled, "n-need you, stan... i n-need you." you rush out, feeling dangerously close to your second high of the day. he smiles, kissing you sweetly as he thrusts deeper than before, making you moan into his mouth a low whimper. the aching need is becoming almost unbearable, and you pull him closer to you, clenching around him as you near your high.

"it’s okay, i need you too, babylove." he whispers into your ear, kissing your hairline as he tugs your leg up more, hitting a different angle. the new sensation pushes you over the edge and you're moaning his name in ecstasy, eyes screwed shut as you pulse around him. you feel euphoric as he rocks you through your orgasm, kissing you softly.

his name falls from your lips as you hold him tight, your nails leaving small half-moons in his skin. you come down from your high and stan's right behind you, only a few more thrusts until he stills slightly, his breath shake as he props himself above you.

he pulls out and pumps himself, biting his lip as a bit of blood lingers from the split. you're breathless as he cums in spurts on your stomach, enthralled by the sight of his beauty. "god, y/n." he whispers, the david star charm on his necklace glinting in the light against his bare chest.

"didn't want to cum inside you." he whispers against your lips, but you pull him closer, "it's okay, i'm on the pill anyways." you whisper. he swallows, sighing in relief as he collapses next to you. "good girl." he whipers breathlessly. you smile into his neck as he pulls you closer to him, your naked limbs warm against each other's bodies. you lay there for a few moments, listening to his rapid heartbeat calm down as he plays with strands of your hair.

he gets up suddenly, though, and pulls on his own underwear and then pulls your own from his pocket of the pants on the floor. you swallow, watching him as he slowly slides your underwear up your legs slowly. he watches you, too - "did you fake it?" he asks.

you blink at him. "no, actually." you admit, face red. "never with you."

he smirks, kissing your bare legs as he makes his way up your thighs. you swallow, heart beating quick. "wh-what are you doing?" you ask. he shrugs, "you look so beautiful when you cum. i want to see it again."

your throat dries up as you try to swallow to avoid choking at his words, shock coursing through you along with desire. holy fuck. "but your lip-" but he shakes his head, "-don't care." he says, eyes already focusing on your heat.

"o-okay." you say shakily, "god, please," you add, looking at him as his breath hits you. he watches you as his tongue sticks out, licking a stripe up your pussy before swirling on your stimulated clit, making you gasp in pleasure.

the feeling is sharp and pleasant as he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks lightly, tongue running over your folds. his hands move to hold your thighs as he delves in, your moans quieting as the pleasure increases after already being so overstimulated.

you're already shaking. his mouth moves on you expertly, his tongue sliding to fuck up into you and making your hips buck, his nose brushing against your clit. you tug on his hair and he groans, sending vibrations through your body that make your toes curl. "stan, f-fuck," you say quietly, whimpering.

its soft as he looks up at you, his tongue working you so well that within a few minutes, you know you’re already about to cum. your fingers tug his hair hard and then he's reaching to cup your face.

his thumb presses against your lips and you kiss it softly, making smirk in between your thighs as he kitten licks your clit and draws a gasp from your lips. “stan, oh my god, i’m so close.” you sigh out, overwhelmed by how good you feel, by the pleasure coursing through you and the affection for the boy you’re with.

he just holds you tighter to his face, lapping your juices up and flicking against your clit before sucking, your thighs tightening. “stan, please, i’m gonna-” and but yourself off with a high moan, hand covering your mouth as you hit your high. you cum for the third time on his tongue, your legs shaking as you ride it out, your fingers combing through his curls. you sigh in bliss as you come down from your high, full of affection and need.

stan rises from between your thighs, pressing a kiss to each before pulling up your lacy underwear and kissing your lips.

he's wordless as he leaves the room, coming back moments later with a warm washcloth to clean himself off your stomach. you watch him the whole time as he smiles, your handprint fading from his neck. your stomach flutters as you pull on a sweatshirt and press a kiss to his nose.

but the door opens and shuts from downstairs and you both share a look: now is not the time to test richie.

stan looks to your window, then back to you, "i'm going to go. it's probably best."

you pretend not to be disappointed. "y-yeah. makes sense." stan stares at you for a second with a gentle smile before standing and quickly getting dressed the rest of the way.

you watch silently with an aching heart as he pulls his shirt on, grabbing his shoes and then leaning to kiss you quickly. "hey." he says softly, and you meet his eyes. "i'll... see you soon."

"okay." you whisper as he slips out your window and down to your roof.

you don't see stan for almost eight days after that. he doesn't phone the house, the losers don't come by much, stan not at all. richie doesn't speak to you, only in passing and only micro aggressions. it's lonely.

it's almost sunset when the door knocks, and you take your time walking to open it.

you swing the door open and do a double take as you see the boy standing on your doorstep, hands in his pockets. he looks nervous, but when his eyes catch your figure, his face turns red.

stanley uris looks devastatingly gorgeous in the dying light of the afternoon.

"-oh, i thought..." he clears his throat. "i thought richie'd be here." he says, swallowing. you raise your brows, "he's at work right now, actually." you respond, toe drawing circles in the ground. "why did you even try to come and talk to him? he's a nightmare right now, he'd definitely try to beat you up again." you say softly. he chuckles a bit and your heart keels over and surrenders to him.

stan shrugs, "he's been my best friend since we can remember. it's not as bad as he seems to think, i know we can get through this."

you nod, heart then deflating as you realize that stan's intending to apologize to richie and beg for him to forgive him - of course friendships are more important than hook-ups, but after last time... and the way stan had stood up for you when richie was being mean... you'd hoped things would be different with him.

because you think you've loved stan for a long time.

"anyways, he has to learn to accept that i have feelings for his sister. i'm not going to sacrifice my happiness just because he's acting like a child, or that he's mad that i spend all my time thinking about you."

your head snaps up to him and your eyes widen, heart soaring at his words. "wh-wait what?" you ask, suddenly shy. "you-" you just smile, not knowing what to say. stan shrugs, as if it's as simple as saying the sky is blue.

"i think about you all the time, y/n. i like you as more than a friend, more than just a good fuck. i want to be yours, i want you to be mine. always have."

you smile so big you think your face may split in two. "i think about you too, stan. haven't stopped in a few years. i missed you last week."

"then can i take you out?" he asks boldly. "promise i'll hold your hand and buy you dinner."

"he'll kill us." you say, looking into stan's bright honey eyes. they're full of confidence and mischief and you think he's absolutely irresistible. stan's large hand finds purchase on your waist lightly as he smiles, "has that ever really scared you, y/n?" he asks.

you smile as you take his hand. "of course not."

he kisses your forehead as you step towards him, his arm pulling you closer and releasing hordes of butterflies in your stomach. "think we should go visit him at work? order a shake with one straw and make out in the corner booth?" stan asks, the light catching the purple and yellow skin of his fading bruise.

you laugh as you walk towards his car, shoving him a bit. "you're an asshole." you say, butterflies rampant. his laugh makes you warm and he leans towards you. "you can say that all you want, but i know you've had a crush on me since we were kids." he teases.

you roll your eyes. "you're really testing me, uris."

"it's okay, tozier. i think you're beautiful even when you're mad." he says, pecking you on your nose. "well you better get used to it, i guess." you mutter, and he chuckles a bit as he kisses your forehead.

"i will never get tired of you, no matter what you do or what your brother thinks."

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