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frannyzooey · 2 years

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In The Dark: Chapter 3

Ezra x f!Reader

Rating: Mature, age gap, mentions of drinking

a/n: taglist coming later - enjoy!

Chapter One I Chapter Two

The early morning light just beginning to seep through the blinds in your room, the small space is illuminated with a tinge of blue that washes over everything, including your slowly writhing form on the bed.

The sheets rustle against each other, your body covered almost completely by your thick, floral comforter and when it gets too hot under it, you restlessly kick it off before flipping over on your stomach.

You trap your arms underneath you, your fingers slipping under the elastic waist of your sleep shorts to dip beneath your underwear and when your fingers finally brush against your slit, the curls surrounding it are damp with arousal.

Soft sounds catch in the back of your throat as you get lost in your head, your lips pursing as you let out a slow, shaky breath.

The tight pull of fabric around his shoulders, the line of his tanned throat, the way he handled his tools the other day while you watched him sand. The same desk, but now you propped on top of it, the piece of sandpaper tossed onto the floor as those practiced hands rounded your curves and slid up your sides to palm the weight of your breasts. His mouth - god, his mouth; on yours, on your skin, between your legs, the dark crown of his hair between your thighs –

Your fingers dip to gather silky slick on the pads of them before swirling them over your clit and you open your legs wider, sinking two fingers inside.

A moan spills into your bedding, the humid wash of your breath blowing back over your mouth and you put the weight of your body behind the grind of your hips, slipping your slicked fingers in and out as you increase the pressure on your clit.

“Ezra,” you whisper in a strain, picturing his face in your mind. Remembering the touch of his finger on the inside of your knee, your cunt draws up tight and your thighs start to tremble.

You rock your hips forward faster, keeping your fingers snug inside down the knuckle just how you imagine he would and suddenly your hand turns into his, your brow scrunching as you pull your bottom lip into your mouth with a bite of your teeth. You want to be filled by him so bad it aches; a keening whine let out at the thought of his imaginary cock sliding inside of you.

You can have him like this. This doesn’t hurt anyone, and so you let thoughts of him rapidly slide past the inside of your clenched shut eyelids.

How would he fuck you, on that couch in his living room? What about in his bed, against his crisp cool sheets? Would he go fast? Slow? Would he tease? How thick would he be, would he –

“Fuck,” you exhale with a whine, starting to come and the thought of his mouth laving skillfully smooth between your folds tips you over the edge; your body locking up as a deep, sated moan crawls out of your throat.

Riding it out for a moment, your flooded core ripples with relief, pulsing against your fingers before you slip them out and you lay sweat damp and limp against the bedding, catching your breath.

Wiping your hand on the sheets, your muscles slowly relax and your limbs are sluggish and heavy as you roll back onto your side. You pick up your phone to check the time right as the alarm goes off.

You silence it, and sigh.

–

“Have you heard anything about your submission?”

You shove your hands in your jacket pockets, trying to warm them against the brisk fall air and Cee shakes her head, the length of her strides matching yours as you walk down the street. You side step the other people on the sidewalk in a dance everyone in this city has learned and as a woman passes you, you wonder where she got the scarf she’s wearing.

“No, but I’m not too worried?” She stops at the edge of the curb, watching for a break in traffic before beginning to cross. “They said it could be awhile. A couple of months, or something.”

“I wonder how many submissions they got,” you say, looking at the curled, colored leaves on the ground, gathering in bunches in the wind and catching in the gates of the houses around hers. “It’s overwhelming sometimes to think about that, you know? Just the sheer number of people trying to get their stuff read.”

“God, don’t remind me.”

Climbing her steps, she rifles around in her bag for her keys and you look into the windows of the house, wondering if Ezra is home. It’s been a week since what happened in the living room and you haven’t seen him, not quite able to make up your mind about how you feel about that. On one hand, relieved, because you know you shouldn’t be seeking him out at all and yet when you walk in and it’s apparent he’s not there, you’re disappointed. Seeing him at home would be the safest place to sustain yourself on him, wouldn’t it? It’s not like you’re doing anything wrong hanging out here. No one has to know the secret hope in your heart.

You want to ask where he is, but you can’t decide if asking about him seems too suspicious. You’re thinking about this too hard, you chide yourself.

“I’m gonna pee,” Cee tells you, walking towards the hall. “You can grab something to drink if you want and we can work in here, or in my room. Whatever.”

You glance at the couch, remembering the way his body felt so warm next to yours under the shared blanket — the discarded, soft shape of it now draped over the back of the couch as an afterthought, if nothing happened underneath it.

Fuck. You shouldn’t have come here.

“Hey, Cee,” you call out, walking towards the closed bathroom door. “Do you actually wanna go get a coffee or something?”

“No way,” she answers while opening it, her pants still undone. “I gotta get out of these jeans. You should’ve kept me out — you know I can’t go out once I’ve come home.”

You quirk a smile; you’re the same way.

“Okay.”

—

It’s late, after nine and dinner dishes discarded on the coffee table (Thai, from the place on the corner) you and Cee are sprawled with your heads at each end of the couch, your legs stretched side by side as you both slouch with your laptops on your laps.

You’ve got a book face down next to it, the pages thick with annotations and colored flags as you type your notes and finishing a thought and letting your mind roam for a moment, you wonder for the thousandth time where Ezra is.

It’s not lost on you that the spot you’re laying in is the same place he was when you first met him, sleeping in the same position and then later reading here too.

You shift slightly to burrow deeper into the cushions, pretending like you’re pressing the length of his body along yours, as if you can feel his phantom heat in the fabric. It’s already been plaguing you all week, the concept of what he had seemingly offered right here and being in his home has made it a thousand times worse; his smell surrounding you, his things.

You peek at Cee over the top of your notebook and indulge the train of thought that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you did do it but you dismiss the thought just as quickly as it comes; of course it would. She bites the eraser on her pencil in thought, taps it against her full lower lip for a moment before scribbling something out on her page and you go back to your work, forcefully pushing the idea from your mind.

Or, trying to, because just as you do, the man himself walks in.

The sound of his key in the lock preceding him, the front door opens and he brings the scent of cool air with him, a hint of beer mixed with his cologne.

“How was it?”, Cee asks, not looking up and you watch his face as he shrugs out of his jacket, toeing off his shoes. He looks at you for a moment and seems to hesitate, scrubbing at the back of his neck.

“Uh, it was okay. Didn’t think you’d be up.”

“It’s not that late — must’ve got right to business”, she teases, a sidelong twist of her head to glance back at him before going back to her paper.

His lip curls up and a small, surprised huff of laughter leaves him before he looks at you again, then away. “Yea, something like that. I’m gonna grab a beer, you guys need anything?”

A date. He must’ve just come back from a date.

A heavy ache of jealousy settles in the pit of your chest, and you feel foolish for some reason. Like he was yours and he should have known it.

But he wasn’t. And he didn’t.

“Hey, you wanna go out tonight?” Cee asks, picking up her phone, the screen lit with a notification. Her eyes scan it, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. “Looks like there is gonna be a party tonight in Brooklyn somewhere.” She looks up, wiggling her eyebrows. “Could be some guys there. Could get off this couch. Could maybe get you laid.”

You glance over at Ezra’s back surrounded by the illumination of the fridge in the kitchen and you aren’t sure, but you feel like you can see a shift in the set of his shoulders — stiff, like he’s listening and didn’t like what she just said.

He just came back from a date.

You feel like an idiot for even entertaining the thought that he still might be interested - clearly he was able to forget you faster than you could forget him and suddenly restless, a need to be anywhere but here right now rolls through you. Even though you aren’t very big on parties, you see your chance. You know who you want, your eyes flicking over to that crown of dark hair, those broad shoulders and when you remember the way he pulled away, you make up your mind.

“Sure, let’s do it.”

–

Starting at the center of your top lip, you slowly follow the line of your mouth with a deep maroon lipstick. The other side next, then a steady drag across your bottom lip and Ezra watches the whole thing; his eyes on your reflection in the mirror.

He’s been watching you — a heat creeping over your skin every time you catch him — and you’re waiting for Cee to notice, because it feels so blatant to you. How could she not feel the pull between the two of you? It’s a tangible thing, filling the space you share with a low, pulsing pressure every time you find yourself in the same room - which is a lot.

He’s everywhere all at once, unable to sit still: sitting in the living room pretending to read the paper, grabbing a bucket of hardware to polish at the kitchen table, somehow in the hallway every time you were and now he’s standing in the doorway of the bathroom. Passing by, he halted when he saw your reflection in the mirror.

Your outfit wasn’t anything special - it was, after all, too cold at night now for bare legs - but the tight fit of your jeans was driving him crazy. Your ass. It was so clearly defined, so taut and lush and his palms itched with wanting to cradle it with a squeeze. Even more so with your lean over the sink right now and you look so serious, concentrating on your task even though your eyes met his for a moment.

You pause, holding his gaze for a moment and then look back at the mirror, trying to focus on your breathing. Want - that’s what you just saw in those hooded eyes.

“You look nice.” He says slow and low and Cee rounds the corner, pushing past him into the bathroom.

“Doesn’t she?” she smiles at you in the mirror, grabbing your makeup bag off the sink. She rummages around in it for a moment, the sound of plastic sliding and clicking against each other.

“You ready?”

You look at him in the mirror again, pressing your lips together to set your lipstick. “Yea, I think so.”

Watching you shrug your jackets on, he’s standing in the middle of the living room with a bottle of beer loose in his grip and when he calls out a “be careful”, you meet his eyes before you close the door behind you, seeing a flash of frustration laced with disappointment pass over his features.

–

These parties never had anything good to drink and even if they did, there was never enough ice. You sip your vodka tonic in one long drink, grimacing at the warm taste. You should have grabbed a beer from the fridge - or a water, for all the good the vodka was doing right now.

The guy in front of you droning on about a class he was in, his voice could barely be heard over the music pulsing through the room, and you wish he would stop talking so you could excuse yourself.

Resisting the urge to look at your phone, (what has it been? At least two hours? Three?) you take another drink, disappointed when nothing is left. You bite the edge of the plastic cup for a moment with your teeth before setting the whole thing down on a side table and continuing to feign interest in the conversation, you think about how much you hate the way other students at these things sound so pretentious sometimes. Always humble bragging about things their professor “said”, about plans they had for after school, about things they were working on. You felt like you should feel a sort of comradery with them, but instead it always made you second guess yourself.

Do I sound this boring while talking about my writing?

Realizing you’re not being fair to him, you blame your dour mood on your thoughts. It’s not this guy's fault you’re not having fun. Trying not to be sour and ruin the night for Cee, especially because you knew she was having fun, you try to tamp down your feelings and pay attention to the guy in front of you. What was his name again?

He’s talking now you think about a book he was just assigned for one of his classes and a wave of heat washes over your skin. Christ, it's hot in here.

Suddenly feeling claustrophobic, the tight press of bodies jostling around you and the loud music and the heat all combining together in a sensory overload, you wish you were over by the windows where you might get some fresh air.

You scan the room, seeing a cracked window in the corner and mentally navigating the path to it, you smile, nodding like you understand his question (did he just ask one?) and it must be the right thing to do because he smiles too.

He’s too young - fresh faced and eager, not nearly enough crinkles around his eyes for your liking — not nearly old enough for you and you forget the window, scanning the room now for Cee, finding her in the corner, talking to someone else.

“Excuse me,” you say with a touch on his arm. Feeling slightly bad but not really with how fast you hear him strike up a conversation with someone else, you motion to her when you catch her eye. Pointing outside, she nods her head and holds up a finger.

More crowded than when you arrived, you shuffle your way through bodies, making yourself small as you find your way to the door and you can still hear the thump of the music through it when you make your way down the crowded, worn apartment stairs.

Hot under your clothes with the packed room trapping heat against your skin, the cool air felt refreshing and crisp against your flushed skin when you step outside. You pull in a deep breath, letting it wash away the humidity of the party.

Thinking of what is waiting for you at Cee’s house, people pass you in groups, the distant sound of conversations and laughter and feet shuffling against the sidewalk coming and going as they walk by. You let them pass, looking at your phone and you check the time, wondering if you can catch the next train home.

“God it’s hot in there,” Cee says behind you, letting the front door of the building slam shut as she joins you on the sidewalk and the two of you start in the direction of the nearest station, her hands gathering her hair to lift it off the nape of her neck.

You feel limp, deflated, definitely not like good company. You don’t know what you do want exactly, malcontent with every option provided to you tonight and you chew lightly on the inside of your lip. It’s like he’s ruined you for anyone else and your gut twists, the ache you feel when you think about him impossible to ignore. This is so fucked.

You stop at the corner, jerking your thumb in the direction you need to go to split off and she makes a face, reaching out for your hand.

“Come on,” she says, pulling you next to her. “You can’t go home all by yourself. Not at this time of night.” Ignoring the protesting look on your face, she continues. “What is it, like seven or eight blocks to your station? And then standing alone on the platform?” She shakes her head. “I don’t think so, missy.”

Following her to the station, she tells you all about a guy she made plans with to meet for coffee, another girl she talked to about a book she was reading and you are quiet, listening.

The train slides smoothly beneath you, your shoulder pressed against hers as you slouched in the hard plastic seat and she keeps going, making you laugh with her observations on the party. This is why you liked her. The ease you feel with her, the comfortability, but also the way she looks out for you like Ezra looks out for her. Like she learned that’s just how you treat people you love and guilt creeps into your mind at the things you’ve been thinking about.

Her, this right here, was why anything between him and you couldn’t happen.

“Did you get that guy's number?” she asks, climbing the front steps of her house, digging her keys out of her pocket. “He looked like he was into you.” She gives you a look, raising her eyebrows with a smile.

“God no, he was so boring.” And too young, you want to add.

She laughs in the dark entryway, the house quiet around the two of you.

“I feel like I can smell that party on me,” she sighs softly with a grimace, toeing her boots off. Wiping her hand over the seat of her pants, she does it again, looking down. “I think I sat in something sticky too,” she laughs quietly. “What the fuck. Gross.”

“Yea, it wasn’t the cleanest place.” Hanging your jacket on the hook, you listen for any sound of Ezra and thankfully, you find none.

Following Cee into the house, you split off from her when she tells you she’s gonna hop in the shower and giving her a nod, you continue down the hall.

Familiar with her bedroom, you click her bedside lamp on and dig around in her dresser for a spare pair of pajama shorts and a loose T-shirt you left at her house, changing into them before sitting down on the edge of the bed to wipe your makeup off. Dark smears of makeup stain the cloth, a peer in the mirror to make sure you got it all and smoothing lotion over your dried skin, you creep into the kitchen for a glass of water.

Trying to be quiet while opening the cupboard door, you see movement at the end of the hall and it’s Ezra, his broadly lean body filling the dim space as he shuffles into the kitchen; sleep rumpled and warm looking. You almost let out a whimper.

“Hey, sorry if I woke you,” you apologize instead, turning back to the cupboard and the shower starts the same time you turn the tap on, filling your glass. You take a swallow to steady yourself, sensing without looking that he’s come closer to you. You almost don’t want to turn around, knowing how handsome he’s going to look in the pale light of the kitchen, knowing he’s something you can’t have.

You turn to face him, your drink on the counter as you hold onto the lip of the smooth formica and the width of his body fills your vision, his face shadowed in the darkness.

“Did you have fun?” His voice is husky with sleep, achingly intimate as he stands so close to you and the sound of it makes your heart pick up speed, your fingers tightening in their hold on the counter.

“It was okay,” you answer. “Pretty boring.”

“Yea?” He shuffles closer, his feet nearly touching yours. “Did you meet anyone?”

You let out a huff, slowly shaking your head. “No. Not a ton of prospects.”

“That’s too bad.” He says the words like he doesn’t mean them at all, his throat bobbing with a swallow and you track the movement with your eyes. He is still for a moment, the pools of his dark eyes absolutely black as they rove over your features and you let him look, feeling trapped under his gaze.

Bare faced now, you look so much younger, sweeter. He comes closer, like he can’t stop himself; the shower running in the background the only noise.

He likes you like this better. You look softer, innocent, precious in a way that he can’t describe. Like he wants to cradle your face, stroke the soft hair at the nape of your neck, pull you into his arms - but he also wants so much more than that.

“About the other night,” he starts, “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I didn’t want that.”

“You didn’t,” you assure him. “I — “, you let out a breath, trying to think about how to word what you want to say. “I liked it. I just don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

He looks at you, his eyes fixed on yours and he eventually lets his head slowly nod in agreement. “You’re probably right.”

Silence hangs between the two of you for a moment, as you each think about what the other said. He looks at the floor before slowly crowding closer to you, bracing his hands on the counter beside yours. You still, looking at the dark crown of his hair for a moment and when he says nothing, you start to lose confidence and feel your heart sink in your chest.

“Well, I should probably —“

“The thing is,” he begins, looking back up at you, “I know it’s not a good idea.” His face is almost pained, like he did think about it. His features shift into a set, determined look, like he’s now made up his mind. “But I can’t stop thinking about it.”

You feel like you can’t breathe; the words all you’ve been wanting to hear for weeks.

His fingers traces the ridge of your knuckles, his eyes slowly dragging up the length of your body to look at you and you feel hot and passive under them; still, for his looking. “Do you think about me?”

You nod slowly, your lips parted only just as you try not to let your eyes slip shut. You swallow thickly. “I do, but…..weren’t you on a date tonight?”

“Is that where you think I was?” His hooded eyes search yours in the darkness, before he slowly shakes his head. “As if I could stop thinking about you long enough to fuck someone else. I wish I could.”

He comes even closer, the front of his body skimming yours. “I didn’t want you to go tonight,” he admits, cradling your face. He’s touching you like you’re made of glass and moving slowly like anything faster will scare you away. Like he’s a snake charmer, slowly drawing you out. “I wanted you to stay with me.”

In a haze, you inhale his sleep warm and masculine scent, wanting nothing more than to fit your face into his neck and breathe him in and he leans in, as if he can sense what you’re thinking. He feels so solid and firm against your body, his height causing you to look up.

His exhale washes over your parted lips and into your mouth. “You look so good like this,” he says, his hand slowly skating down the curve of your jaw, curling around your neck for a brief moment before splaying over your collarbone to smooth down the plane of your chest and your heart is pounding underneath it when he slowly palms the weight breast through the thin fabric. His eyes close tight, a frown creasing his brow when he lets out a heavy breath and you stay still, letting him touch. “You’re so sweet.”

You find yourself nodding after you swallow, a passive limpness overtaking your body and you know he could do anything he wanted to you right now and you’d never stop him. Is this really so wrong? It can’t be, with how good it feels.

His eyes drop to your mouth, a slow slide of his tongue along his lower lip and you wonder what his kiss tastes like - something you find out almost as soon as you think it.

He leans in to kiss you, his lips full and soft against yours, molding in their hard press and when he immediately deepens it, your body instantly responds. Your arms winding around his shoulders to pull him closer, his torso is fitted tight against yours, his arms crushing you to him and he steals the air from your lungs with how intensely he’s kissing you, slanting his mouth over yours to deepen it as much as he can. Cradling your cheeks, he licks his tongue against yours, devouring.

Panting when he breaks away, your lips already kiss swollen.

“You’re all I think about,” he says, before kissing you again. Again, again and you let out a low moan into the hungry cavern of his mouth. “Every night. All the time.”

Your chest floods with a relief so piercing that you let out a whimper, your fingers digging into the nape of his neck as you bring his mouth back to yours and the two of you work together to rest your seat on the edge of the kitchen counter, his hips a neat fit between the cradle of your thighs when you open them for him.

His hands are everywhere - warm and dry on your bare skin when he slides them under the hem of your sleep shirt to cup the weight of your breasts with a needy squeeze, slipping around to your back to follow the line of your spine down to your ass where he pushes them underneath the band of your shorts and you roll your hips against his, gasping for air.

The shower is still going in the background, all sense of time lost in that small kitchen as you devour each other and you feel like you can’t get enough air but you don’t care. Your fingers curl tighter in their hold on his shirt, the muscles of his back flexing under it as he presses you further back on the counter and the weight of his body pushes your thighs apart. His grip on your ass gets tighter, his hips rocking forward as he tugs you tight against him and you let out a moan into his mouth as he –

The shower shuts off, bringing you both back to the present. He pulls away from you, the feral expression on his face slowly shifting into something more aware and he stands up straight, giving you space.

“I –,” he begins, rubbing the back of his neck and watching you slip down off the counter. Your shirt is still rucked up, your chest still heaving and he wants nothing more than to grab your hand and drag you back into his bedroom, but he can’t.

You can see the outline of his half hard cock underneath the thin material of his pants, his fingers pushing through his dark cropped hair and knowing you don’t have much time before Cee exits the bathroom, you say nothing and walk out of the kitchen.

“Birdie, wait –,” he calls out in a whisper, but you don’t. You keep going until you reach her room, climbing straight into bed.

Pretending to sleep like your heart isn’t racing in your chest, like the ache between your legs isn’t a pulsing, needy thing, like your face isn't burning with heat, you try to stay as still as possible when you see his figure walk quickly past her bedroom right before the bathroom door opens.

“Night, Ez,” Cee calls out, and you hear him respond to her. She walks into the room in her pajamas, her hair damp and her feet quietly padding on the floor when she sees you’re already asleep and slipping under the covers as smoothly as possible, she clicks the light out.

You lay wide awake, trying to steady your breathing, thinking about how he is just down the hall.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

#ezra prospect #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect x you #ezra prospect/reader #ezra prospect/you #ezra/reader #ezra/you #pedro pascal

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ffakc · 3 years

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The Weather Outside is Frightful - a Jeffrey Dean Morgan fanfiction

@negans-attagirl @jdmbbycakes @iluvneganandjamie

“For Rhinebeck, we’re looking at up to five inches per hour! Make sure you’ve got your milk and bread, folks, it’s going to be a doozy!” the weather man proclaimed. My husband changes the channel to our favorite trashy reality TV channel.

“I’d like to get five inches per hour,” I mutter for myself with a smirk and snuggle up under a fuzzy blanket.

“What did you just say?” Jeff laughs.

“Oh, nothing,” I sigh. Jeff is still giggling to himself. My silver fox leans over and growls in my ear.

“If you wanted to have sex, all you had to do was say so,” he kisses my neck with an obnoxious “MWAH!” sound.

“You’re so damn cute,” I try my best to climb onto my husband’s lap.

“How are you so hot even in your jammies, baby girl?” I grab his cheeks and kiss him.

“I don’t feel very hot,” I gesture to my VERY pregnant belly. Jeffrey scoffs.

“Nonsense! You’re carrying OUR child, that’s the most badass thing a lady can do!” he kisses my lips sweetly as he rubs the taut skin, “I love my girls.”

“We love you too, Daddy,” I smile and rock my hips against Jeff’s thigh. I moan with delight.

“Think about it this way, you’re rearranging your organs to bring a life into this world! How cool is that?”

“Jeff, that’s gross,” I laugh.

“I guess you’re right,” he chuckles. “So, what do my gals want for dinner, hm?”

“If I had my way, Pizza Hut stuffed crust. I’ve been craving that for a good week now. But I’m not about to make a delivery driver trek through this,” I climb off my man’s lap and rub his knee.

“Sweetheart, I’ve got a massive four wheel drive. Do you want pizza? I’ll get you pizza,” Jeff smiles, standing up off the couch.

“Yes please, Daddy. You’re so sweet.” I pull up the website on my phone, “What do you want?” I run my fingers over my stomach, which is now growling.

“You know I’m not picky,” Jeff grabs his keys and uses his remote start to warm his beast of a truck.

“Extra red onions, black olives, and sausage then,” I reply, Jeff hands me his card and kisses my forehead. “Ooh, and maybe a syrupy sweet fountain Pepsi?”

“You better be suckin’ on a breath mint then before you get near these lips! Also, Pepsi? Really? Oh, you better be fuckin’ messing with me.” I rest my sore feet on the ottoman and nod as Jeff pets my hair. “Fine, whatever. I’ll get you horse piss.” I laugh. That man is hopelessly addicted to his Coca Cola. “Anything else while I’m out?”

“Maybe a pregnancy test? I’ve been feeling weird lately,” I joke.

“Oh my god, you’re so annoying,” Jeff rolls his eyes with a grin and pulls on his flannel jacket, placing an unlit cigarette between his lips.

“Drive safe! I love you,” I blow him a kiss.

“I love you too, baby girl.”

***

“That’s your Daddy,” I trace my fingers over my belly, watching a rerun of Grey’s Anatomy that happened to be on. “He’s already wrapped around your little finger and he hasn’t even seen you in person yet,” I giggle. “We are so excited to meet you, baby girl.”

“Dinner is served, darlin’!” Jeff calls out and sets the pizza on the counter. I sit myself up a little straighter. Little flutters ripple across my abdomen.

“Jeff! Babe, come here!” I gesture to my stomach.

“Watching Daddy, hm? Wow, I miss my dark hair,” Jeff laughs and gets to his knees on the floor in front of the couch. I place his hand on my stomach and gently press my hand on top of his.

“Do you feel that? As soon as she heard your voice, she started moving.” Jeff gasps as a wide smile crosses his lips.

“I’m so in love with her already,” he kisses the little lumps where I assume a hand or a foot poked through. “That’s my daughter, my fucking daughter. It’s still so surreal to say. I’ve wanted a little girl for God knows how long,” he lowers his voice to a whisper, “I’ve loved you since the moment Mama said she was pregnant with you. Don’t you break your daddy’s heart, sweet pea.”

“I can’t imagine bringing a child into this world with anyone else,” I reply and kiss my husband deeply. “Alright, I suppose I should get up!” I grab Jeff’s outstretched hand and he pulls me off the couch. I place my pizza on a paper plate. Jeff looks me up and down.

“Look how fucking cute you are, doll. Daddy loves giving his gal what she wants,” my husband remarks and kisses my cheek. I sink my teeth into the greasy pizza and moan with delight. “Is it everything you hoped it would be?”

“God, yes. The grease makes my soul happy,” I laugh. Jeff sits on the barstool at the kitchen counter.

“So, umm, yeah,” my husband clears his throat. “Usually I couldn’t give two shits what people say on social media, but...” Jeff heaves a heavy sigh. “I was scrolling through Twitter while waiting for pizza and I saw a few comments here and there about how I’m too old for this,” he places a hand on my stomach.

“That’s stupid,” I roll my eyes.

“They say I’m too old for you too,” he grabs his phone and adjusts his bifcocals, “‘Jeffrey Dean Morgan’s going to be 72 when that kid graduates and his sugar baby’s going to be 42. You ever think about how weird that is? Ew. Poor kid.’ I keep telling myself it do-“ a single tear falls down his face as he places his phone back on the counter.

“It doesn’t matter, Jeffrey,” I cup his cheek my hand and kiss him. “Aww, baby, come here,” I hold his head against my chest. “You already cherish this baby with every ounce of love you have and that’s literally all our girl could ask for, is a Mommy and Daddy who want nothing more than to love her with all their hearts. Age is but a number, sweetheart. My dad was older when he had us kids and it didn’t affect his parenting one single bit. Also, calling me a sugar baby when anyone who follows me on any social media platform knows I never shut the fuck up about how much I love my husband.” Jeff laughs to himself. “I’d have to be in REALLY deep with the sugar baby thing if I let my sugar daddy put a living, breathing child inside me.”

“Yeah, you are absolutely right,” Jeff sniffles and kisses me. “They can call me ‘old’ all the live long day, but coming for my incredible wife and unborn child? I don’t take too kindly to that. That hurts. I swear, I think your pregnancy hormones are affecting me too,” he teases and flicks his tears away.

“I don’t blame you! That shit is rude and uncalled for!” I exclaim and take a bite of pizza. “Sorry, I got distracted,” I wipe my mouth with a napkin. “What can I say? I’m eating for two.”

“You are indeed,” Jeff smiles, he murmurs something to himself and gives my backside a squeeze. He nibbles his pizza.

“What’s that, Daddy?” I look up at him with innocent eyes and take a long sip of my drink.

“I said, ‘that ass’,” You’ve gotten so curvy, baby. Pregnancy looks real good on you. Who gave you the right to be so damn sexy?” I wiggle my hips as wetness pools between my thighs. “You’re lucky I don’t just shove this pizza off the counter and fuck you right here.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” I smirk. I pull down my top slightly, revealing my overgrown and engorged breasts.

“Baby doll,” Jeff whines. I run my fingers over the zipper of his jeans, earning a moan from my gorgeous older man. He places one veiny, strong hand on my hip and the other in my hair as he kisses me deeply. His hand travels to my belly as his breath shudders against my lips.

“I love these new curves,” Jeff groans. “Why does this big, round pregnant belly turn me on so much?”

“Because you know it means you bred me so good?” I suggest, squeezing my breasts together. “Making my tits bigger, making my hips wider.”

“God yes. What can I do to make my gal feel good tonight?”

“Well, I’ve had another craving that isn’t pizza,” I trail my fingers down his chest, “A hot, steamy shower with my hands in your hair and your mouth on my needy, wet pussy. Oh Daddy, I need you.”

“Oh my,” Jeff clicks his tongue, his face flushing slightly, “You know how much I love devouring that sweet pussy. I could do that all day, every day if you’d let me.”

“I’d let you!” I pipe up, and Jeff laughs, dunking his crust in pizza sauce. “Just don’t put any pepper flakes on your pizza,” I wink and Jeff laughs even harder.

“Good lord, you really think I’d do that to you?”

“I don’t know, maybe! Now, let’s finish dinner, dessert is waiting for you,” I rub my husband’s shoulders and he lets out a satisfied groan. I throw my plate in the trash, “I’ll meet you in the shower,” I whisper against his ear. Jeff shoves the rest of his food in his mouth and chases after me. I crank the shower up as hot as it can go, Jeff grabs me by the waist from behind and rubs against me as he kisses my neck. I can feel how hard he is in his fitted jeans. I slip out of my clothes and my husband does the same, his cock throbbing as he slides out of his underwear.

“Look at what you do to me,” Jeff gestures downward.

“Oops,” I step under the water. I brush two fingers over my clit and whimper, then offer them to Jeff. He sucks them seductively. “Look what you do to ME.”

“Fuck girl, you taste so sweet,” his hands rest on my pregnant belly as I wrap my arms around his neck as we kiss.

“I need to sit down,” I remark and bite my lip. I sit back on the shower bench.

“That’s my good girl. You sit back and relax, pull my hair, and let Daddy enjoy himself. Don’t you move a muscle, let me do all the work, sweetheart,” Jeff ghosts his hot breath against me, smirking up at me. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He lets out a low growl of pleasure.

“You tease,” I whine, “Please Daddy, please. I need it, Jeffrey.” Jeff buries his face in what’s his. The water falls softly against his tanned skin.

“You taste so damn GOOD, girl,” Jeff rasps. A little bit of Negan slipped out with that statement. He breathes heavily as his mouth overtakes my most sensitive parts. His fingers curl inside me. My whole body jerks.

“Jeff! Oh my god!” I gasp. My silver fox groans loudly.

“Oh Princess, I want to make you scream. I want you to make an absolute fucking mess on my face,” he spreads my legs as far as my exhausted body can go and circles my throbbing clit with his ever-flickering tongue. God, what a talented tongue my gorgeous husband has.

“Jeffrey! Jeffrey, oh fuck! I’m so close, baby. Please, baby. Please, I need you so damn bad,” I plead, grasping onto his graying locks. He sucks gently as if I’m his favorite lollipop and smirks up at me. “FUCK!” I cry out, “JEFF! OH MY FUCKING GOD!” I can’t hold back, profanity and filthy, wet mouth sounds fill the air. My orgasm hits me like a powerful earthquake, a tidal wave of pure ecstasy. As if a surge of lightning coursed through my entire body. Jeff pants, planting soft kisses on my inner thighs. I stroke his hair as he kisses me passionately, my legs still trembling.

“Was is it as good for you as it was for me?” Jeff smiles.

“Oh god, better than I could have ever imagined, Daddy. I love you so damn much,” I breathe heavily.

“I love you more than anything. You make me the luckiest, Mrs. Morgan.”

#denny duquette #fanfiction #fanfic #greys anatomy #jeffrey dean morgan #negan #the walking dead #older man younger woman #john winchester #supernatural #fluff #smut

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what-is-your-plan-today · 4 years

Text

Stark Spangled Banner One Shot: A Snack

Summary: Katie’s hungry…and there’s only one snack she’s pining for.

Warnings: Language!! Smut (NSFW)

Pairings: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Rogers (nee Stark)

Square filled: Mutual Pining for @avengersbingo

A/N: This is set in the Stark Spangled Banner Universe, taking place in late 2024. You don’t have to read that full series to enjoy this but feel free to if it grabs your attention. To all my regular SSB readers, as a treat I’ve included the messages referred to at the bottom for a bit of fun too!

Steve grabbed his thermos full of coffee before he headed out to the hallway, meeting Katie at the bottom of the stairs with a fully dressed and clean Jamie in front of her, freshly changed Aurora on her hip.

“You ready son?” he looked at Jamie.

“Just need my jacket.” he nodded.

“It’s on the peg by the door.” Katie said, giving Steve a peck on the lips.

“Love you.” he smiled at her, before he kissed Rori’s head and she grinned at him.

“You too, have a good day.” Katie smiled, as she waved them both out of the door.

The Rogers’ household routine in the mornings always seemed to go the same. Family breakfast, change the kids, wave Steve and Jamie off…but no matter what time they got up in the morning it always seemed to be a rush. And she knew it was going to get even worse when she went back to work in a couple of months. But, as she walked into the kitchen and placed Rori in her bouncer seat with a teething ring, she looked around and realised she wouldn’t have it any other way.

As she tidied and set another pot of coffee going she spotted Steve’s wallet on the side she rolled her eyes and fired him a quick message telling him he had forgotten it. His response was almost instantaneous and she smiled, arranging to drop it in to him at lunchtime.

Once she was done she settled at the table and logged into her emails, smiling as she had one from Emmy asking her to read over one of her essays before submission. She had an agreement with the teenager, that she would proof read and highlight areas where there were errors or parts which could be improved but would point blank refuse to provide either corrections or detailed suggestions as she was keen that the work was Emmy’s own. Not that she needed much help, their eldest was a brainbox and currently flying high in her first Semester at Harvard.

And, according to her email, was coming home this weekend for the first time in 4 weeks.

Which in Katie’s opinion called for a family dinner. So she set about organising it, except the group chat kind of went a bit haywire when Emmy flipped out, sending a copy of a photo she’d seen of Steve that had been taken that morning which was trending on twitter.

Katie snorted at Emmy’s disgust but then her attention diverted fully to the photo of Steve. It must have been taken by one of his students earlier that day, and was apparently posted on twitter accompanied with the tag line of “My tutor is a snack”

Katie had to laugh because as much as she wasn't sure that it was appropriate for students to be taking photos if their tutors on such a way, she couldn't deny that her husband was a snack. In fact, he was more like a 4 course fucking meal in the photo in question. He was sat in a chair, reading a paper. It was ridiculously innocuous, but there was something about it that set every nerve in Katie’s body on edge. His jaw line, his hands, his wrists…holy hell he was channelling some big Daddy Vibes.

She was squirming all morning after seeing that photo. By the time she met Steve for lunch she was ready to jump his bones but there wasn’t really much opportunity to do that in the public arena of the coffee shop.

“Hey baby doll.” Steve smiled as he spotted Katie pushing Rori’s buggy through the door, standing up to greet her, hand on the glass pane to keep the door open slightly.

“Hi handsome.” she smiled, accepting the kiss he dropped to her cheek before he turned his attention to Rori, picking her up out of the pram. She giggled and waved her arms and legs, grabbing at his beard. He sat back down on the leather sofa, Katie dropping his wallet onto the low table in front of them.

“Thanks.” he said “Luckily I had a twenty in my pocket or I’d have been severely caffeine deprived this morning.”

He looked up as the waiter came over and they placed their orders for a couple of paninis and coffees before Katie sat back, nestling into the space under his arm which was resting across the back of the sofa.

Katie smirked “Had a good morning Daddy?” “Stop it.” he said in a low voice, shooting her a look as he bounced Rori on his knee. She flashed him an innocent one of her own back and he rolled his eyes before she laughed.

“I’m sorry but…it really is a damned good photo…” she fished out her phone “And Emmy was right. Steve Rogers Snack is trending.” Steve groaned. “I know, I’ve been getting screenshots off Sam all morning, well I was until I blocked him as well.”

“As well?” she frowned “You mean you actually did block Bucky?”

“He sent me a clown picture.” Steve shuddered “So yeah. I did. I’ll unblock em later. Maybe” he said, waving his hand.

Katie shook her head, watching him for a moment as he concentrated on Rori who was now chewing at her hand. Reaching into the changing bag, Katie handed over a teething ring which he took and passed over with a smile, Rori making some form of babble back as she shoved it in her mouth eagerly.

“She’s looking more like you each day.” he said, smiling and looking back at Katie.

“You think?” Katie asked, looking at her daughter.

Steve nodded. And he meant it. Whereas Jamie was a carbon copy of him, he felt that Aurora was in turn going to be the double of her mother. Her eyes were almost completely green now, and her hair was dark too. She had her mother’s nose and face shape although Katie insisted the cheekbones were definitely from the Rogers’ side, not that Steve could see it. “She’s beautiful.”

“Charmer.” Katie smiled

“Only for you.” he shot back, winking.

****

Seeing Steve at Lunchtime had done nothing to stop or help with Katie’s spiking libido. It really was ridiculous how much of effect a fucking photograph taken on the sly was having on her. She’d been pining for him all day long. In fact, the last time she’d felt this desperate for him had been before they’d even started dating. At the time where they’d both been dodging round the feelings they had for one another for months.

“Mutual pining.” Natasha said wisely as Katie let out a groan, sitting down at her desk.

“No one is pining…” she said, looking at her.

“Bullshit.” Natasha shook her head “If that’s the case then why does he keep refusing to ask any of the girls I suggest out on dates…” “Because he doesn’t want to date.” “And why do you both look at each other like there’s no one else in the room?” “You’re imagining things.” Katie sighed. “Maybe.” Natasha said “But I’m a highly trained Spy with astutely honed senses…so I doubt it. The pair of you are clearly mad about one another, just too stupid and stubborn and afraid to do anything about it.”

Katie ignored her and glanced over at where Steve was stood talking to Rumlow, leaning over a table as they glanced at some sort of map. Steve looked ridiculously good in his stealth suit bottoms, the compression shirt highlighting every single ripple of muscle he possessed, his strong jaw line was twitching as he contemplated what the Strike Leader was saying. It set something off in her lower belly, as it always did, a raw desire. Frankly, if she thought she could get away with it, she’d jump his bones in a second…but there was no way he felt the same, Natasha was wrong.

Steve was aware of her eyes on him, so he didn’t look around. He didn’t trust himself to. The suit was tight enough as it was without a certain extra bulge in the trouser department adding to the issue. One look into her eyes at the moment was enough to send him off like a horny teenage kid. It was ridiculous…not to mention frustrating that he was chasing something he could never have. There was no way she felt the same, despite what Natasha told him.

“Momma!” Jamie called as the door opened. Rori let out a shriek at the sound of her brother’s voice and grinned as he ran into the room.

“Hey baby, did you have a good day?” she asked, looking up from where she was sat on the rug playing with their youngest, and he nodded.

“Yeah but tomorrow is gonna be even better as it’s soccer day!” he grinned. Katie smiled, Jamie hadn’t been at school for very long but he already loved soccer and baseball practice. She ruffled his hair and glanced up at Steve who was leaning in the doorway, still in that fucking jacket…

Steve spotted the look on his wife’s face straight away. He knew it well enough. A thirst, a lust, desire…

“Jamie, why don’t you take your bag upstairs and get changed?” Steve tore his eyes off Katie’s to look at his son.

“Can I play on my computer?” he asked hopefully.

“Just until dinner.” Katie said, looking at him.

He gave a triumphant yell and stood up, bounding out of the room.

“Speaking of dinner I better start it.” Katie said, standing up. “You ok to watch her?”

“Course I am.” Steve chuckled “She’s my daughter.”

“Just checking.” she said, brushing past him in the doorway. She stopped and glanced at him, her hands running up the lapels of his jacket and he gave a smirk.

“You really like this jacket huh?”

“Almost as much as I liked the stealth suit.” she agreed before she looked him up and down, making no attempt to disguise the fact she was as she bit her lip and headed off up the hallway.

Steve waited until she had gone and let out a soft groan. Since her dirty text earlier he’d had a semi-hard on all fucking day. And now, after that little display he was turned on even more. Taking a deep breath he knelt down on the floor and tickled Rori’s tummy where she was grabbing at the baby gym she was underneath. He could hear Katie gently humming and after another minute or two he picked Rori up and carried her through to the kitchen, placing her down in the playpen in the corner of the room.

Without a word he crossed over to where Katie was stood reaching into the cupboard for something. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back towards him, his lips gently skating up her neck.

“This what you want?” he asked softly and she gave a grin, tilting her head to look at him.

“What gave you that idea?” she asked.

“Just a hunch…” he muttered, his lips meeting hers in a soft kiss, before his mouth moved to her jawline, one hand straying to the button on her jeans. He popped it easily and worked his hand into the front of her underwear and she gave a soft gasp as his fingers began to play with her sensitive flesh.

“You know…” he continued to speak as her sighs slipped from her mouth “I’ve wanted this all day doll, you’ve had me pining for you…”

“Yeah, well, the feeling’s been mutual…” she said softly, arching her back and taking a sudden breath as two of his fingers slipped insider her. She pushed back slightly, the curve of her ass pressing into his groin and he gave a hiss.

“Fuck baby…” he said through gritted teeth, and he gave a disgruntled wimper as his hand stopped what it had been doing.

“Steve…”

“Such an impatient brat…”he chastised, his mouth on her neck and as she closed her eyes she could hear the tell-tale sound of his belt buckle being undone and the zip on his flies being pulled down. His hands retuned to the front of her jeans undoing them the rest of the way and sliding them down wither panties to her ankles. As he stood up, his hands gently traced the curves of her calves to the outside of her thighs and he grabbed her hips pulling her back towards him before he bent her gently forward, nudging her legs as wide apart as the clothing round her ankle would permit.

He didn’t say another word as he pushed into her in one glide, burying himself to the hilt. Katie let out a groan, her hands slipping forward on the kitchen counter slightly as he bottomed out, before he gently pulled back and did the same again and again, hands gripping at her hips as he continued. He leaned over to nip at her neck, causing her to whimper, one hand moving from her hip to clasp her jaw, tipping her head round to meet him. His lips crashed onto hers in a hungry, domineering kiss, swallowing her dirty little moan as he picked up the pace, his hips rutting forward faster.

She gave a loud, low purr of delight as he slid his mouth to the pulse point on her neck, before he let out a growl of his own and glanced down at the point where their bodies were joined, the sight of him slamming into her worked him up even more.

His rhythm became faster, and Katie felt her hips banging against the side of the marble surface tops. She knew there would likely be some bruises there tomorrow but at that point in time she really didn’t care. Her hands tightened around the edge of the kitchen counter, her hips bucking back into his, desperate to feel him as much as she could, the feel of him brushing against her spot was finally scratching that itch, satisfying that hunger she’d been feeling all day.

“Fuck you feel so good doll…” he praised, lips warm on the shell of her ear as she arched her back slightly, letting out another keen of desire and she felt the animal in her belly beginning to stir. Steve could read the signs well enough by now to know she was close, and he moved one hand to stroke between her legs whilst he continued his relentless rhythm.

“Stevie…” she stuttered his name, before her voice became nothing but a strangled, hoarse cry and she tightened around him, her legs buckling slightly. He tightened his arm around her belly as he felt the familiar white hot ribbons surge through his body as he let himself go, his rhythm faltering as he emptied himself inside her with a groan.

Katie laughed softly as he moved back, his hands gently gliding up her arms as he kissed the back of her neck softly before he stepped back to allow herself to pull up her clothes as he tucked himself away and fastened his buckle.

“Now I gotta stand here, in damp panties and cook…” she turned and looked at him, sliding her arms round his neck.

“Well, that serves you right for snacking before dinner.” he grinned, as she let out a bark of a laugh before he dropped his head slightly, running his nose up against hers “Let’s hope you haven’t ruined your appetite completely for desert….”

@the-omni-princess @momobaby227 @geekofmanythings16 @angelofhell-666 @thewackywriter @marvelfansworld @cobalt-gear @asgardlover75 @jennmurawski13 @jtargaryen18 @saiyanprincessswanie @navispalace @patzammit @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @icanfeelastormbrewing @djeniiscorner @ayamenimthiriel @coldmuffinbanditshoe @disneylovingal @madzmilllz @sgtjaamesbaarnes @sweater-daddiesdumbdork

#stark spangled banner #steve rogers x original female character #steve rogers x oc #steve rogers #captain america #mcu #mcu fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction #avengers #avengers fanfiction

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theashemarie · 5 years

Text

Meet Me on the Rink | Pearlina

["I like to go fast, Marina told her last week, and Pearl sees it now. The long profile of her body as she moves the quad skates, gliding as fast as she can around all the people, in tempo with Wet Floor’s Don’t Slip. She’s built for it, all those long lines, those muscled legs, the pumping of her arms. It’s intoxicating to watch her, especially for someone like Pearl, who loves these skates and this rink like she loves her home. Someone like Marina is exactly who she needs."]

[Roller Derby AU. A belated offering for Pearlina Week!]

[A collab between @theashemarie and @katiemonz. Concept by Ashe and Katie. Written by Ashe. Companion art piece (and punny nicknames) by Katie.]

[Crossposted on AO3]

☆ Reblogs appreciated! ☆

↪Chapter 1: [Don’t Slip] (You are here!) ↪Chapter 2: [Pick Me Up, Jump Lightly]

------

Ch. 1: Don’t Slip

The rink is almost full, which isn’t surprising. Fresh2Death is a popular team, even if Pearl’s barely heard of the other team, so people will show up in droves regardless of the actual match. From her vantage point in the stands, she can see Marie’s head, her gray-white hair pulled back and barely visible from under her backwards cap, and she easily recognizes the relaxed angle of her shoulders. The match is going well for her team. They’re in the second period and they’re up quite a few points—and, most importantly, her jammer currently has the lead, which means that she can end the jam if their point advantage looks to be in danger.

The jam is over a minute in so Pearl imagines that it won’t last longer, but she’s still on the edge of her seat. Fresh2Death’s current jammer—Loch Mess Monster (Four to her friends)—is small and fast, just like Pearl, and she’s good at finding openings in the pack, especially when her team is setting up for whips and walls. Pearl’s raced her a few times and they’re pretty evenly matched on the open track, though Pearl is better at leaping around the curves. Still, Four is good, so when she takes a hard hit to the side and is knocked out of bounds, Pearl feels her legs twinge a little when she lands on her knees. She can hear the smack of her kneepads all the way up here.

Four gets up easily and is forced, as according to the rules, to reenter the pack behind the person who knocked her out. Just barely, Pearl sees her glance at Marie, who is shaking her head. Keep going, she’s saying. We can score more points.

Because she was the first jammer to break through the pack at the beginning of the jam, Four has control over when to end the jam before the two minute limit is reached. The safe move there would have been to just end the jam, because the knockout put her back quite a few feet. However, her teammates, the blockers, are doing a great job stopping the other jammer from passing them and scoring. Plus, Marie is known for her risky moves, even on a runaway game like this one. She’s a legend in Inkopolis’s derby scene for a reason.

Four gets back on the track and is immediately accosted by the skater who knocked her out of bounds. Luckily for Four, a vertical grate is right in front of them, scattering the pack as everyone either sails through it in squid form or attempts to swerve around it. Just beyond, there’s a patch of green ink—Four’s team’s color—and Pearl sees her eyes land on it. If she can get herself into it, she can free herself of some of the blocker pressure and get some speed.

But the other team’s blockers see it too. And Four’s blockers see them. The other jammer is somewhere in the pack, closed on by Fresh2Death’s blockers and stuck behind a wall of two skaters. The other two blockers move to play defense, attempting to keep the other team from walling Four off.

Pearl feels her leg start to bounce. Four jukes toward the left, heading toward the inside of the curve, but then swings to the right. She passes one of the other team’s blockers, gaining a point, and then is blocked off by two more. The skates are loud on the floor as they shove at her, trying to knock her out of bounds, but she lowers her center and sails right into them. They throw their arms out, blocking her pass, and she jukes again, this time using the curve of the floor to head left again. Two of her own blockers meet her and they whip her forward, right into the ink.

She slides in and disappears, nothing more than a small ripple. Two of her blockers follow, flanking on either side, and when she hops out, she’s passed all four of the other team’s blockers. Marie waves her arms and whistles, a sharp, high pitched sound that Pearl knows well, and Four jabs her hands onto her hips multiple times, signaling the end of the jam.

“A grand slam,” the girl sitting beside Pearl says. She’s one of Pearl’s teammates, a blocker that keeps Pearl safe while she’s running jammer. Their team, Creatures of the Smack Lagoon, is Fresh2Death’s rival, and both Pearl and her companion are here to scope out the competition. Three (“Kraken Skullz” during a match) is one of Pearl’s closest friends on the team, and one of the most skilled blockers Pearl’s ever had the pleasure of playing with. She trusts Three more than she trusts herself sometimes.

“All thanks to Eight.” Pearl indicates one of Fresh2Death’s blockers, a tall, dark-skinned girl with the strangest hair Pearl’s ever seen. She’s one of Fresh2Death’s strongest skaters, and she’s currently looking up into the stands, probably trying to spy Three.

Eight (“Agent 8”—a joke Pearl isn’t sure she gets but which brings Three intense glee) and Three are close. Closer than they should be, considering they’re on rival teams. But, the captains don’t know and Pearl isn’t going to tattle. No fraternization is the rule, but Three laughs in the face of most rules. Eight, who is quiet and seems to have a wicked intelligence behind those eyes, doesn’t seem to care either, but Pearl has trouble reading her sometimes. Still, they seem happy, so Pearl isn’t going to say anything.

Three waves down at her, trying to get her attention. “Yeah, I saw. That was a sick whip. She grabbed Four’s hand and threw her so fast toward that ink. It’s like she’s got super strength or something.”

Pearl grimaces, because she gets that. Eight is notorious for her whips, specifically because of that strength of hers. Sometimes, Pearl doesn’t think it should be legal, but other times she sees plays like that and she doesn’t care.

“Looks like she’s off the next jam. I’m gonna go see her,” Three says as she stands. Eight is tugging her helmet off and slapping another blocker in so Marie must feel pretty confident in their lead now.

Pearl nods and watches Three go. Her long hair sways as she bounces down the stairs and Pearl sees her lean over the railing to give Eight a hug.

Alone now, Pearl checks her phone. No new messages from Callie. The last one is seared into her memory—find the new girl. She groans and stuffs her phone back into her pocket. Easier said than done, apparently.

“This seat taken?” A new, unfamiliar voice asks, and Pearl looks up. The only thought she has is tall before her brain gives up entirely. Because she is tall, but she’s also beautiful, and smiling, and has long, strange hair just like Eight’s which is also somehow nothing like Eight’s. And yeah, she’s talking to Pearl. She’s smiling at Pearl. Pearl in her dark, desperately-needs-a-wash hoodie and her baggy eyes and her bruised knees.

“Sorry,” the woman continues, and her voice has a musical quality to it, all lilting and enchanting. Of course it does. “This place is packed, and I saw your friend leave. I hope it’s okay...”

“Uhhh,” Pearl begins, suddenly losing control of her tongue. She shakes her head to snap herself out of it. “I mean! Yes! Fuck, yeah, it’s open. Please.”

“Oh good. Thank you.” She sits primly next to Pearl and tugs impulsively on her jacket. She’s wearing tight, ripped jeans, a bandanna around her head, and a leather jacket over a soft, green shirt. She’s also got boots that Pearl really admires.

“Marina,” she continues, holding out a hand for a shake. It’s so formal that Pearl almost has to do a doubletake.

“Pearl,” Pearl answers, limply grabbing her hand. Marina’s hand is calloused like a Turf War regular’s, but her shake is strong and Pearl forces herself to tighten her grip. Competitive to a fault, she’s not going to let anyone one-up her.

Even if she is undeniably gob smacked.

“You ever been to a roller derby before?” Pearl hears herself ask.

Marina laughs, a high chiming sound, throws her head back with it, exposing the long expanse of her neck. Pearl feels her stomach bottom out. It’s such a strange feeling; she usually isn’t this desperate or pathetic.

“A few,” Marina answers, covering her hand with her mouth to hide her smile. “You?”

“Me? Oh, a few. Yeah.” Pearl looks back to the track, wishing that they’d just get on with it so she’d have something to focus on other than how hot she feels under her hoodie. Carefully, she shrugs out of it, so she only has her tank top between her and the world.

“Excellent,” Marina says. She leans forward on her knees. “It’s always nice to sit next to someone who knows what’s going on.”

Pearl swallows and decides that she very much doesn’t know what’s going on. Not really.

+++

Roller derby has been an underground sport for a while. Adapted from human roller derby, it never really reached the same notoriety as Turf War or Tower Control or Rainmaker or Splatzones, mostly because it didn’t require much ink. The rules were left mostly unchanged from the human sport, though a few obstacles were added to make the game more interesting, both in an attempt to draw more fans and to challenge the players, who had no problem jostling and skating around in circles for two minutes.

Grates were added to break up the packs and add a little variety and forethought. It wasn’t just skating in circles anymore. Now the skaters had to look further ahead and plan their moves well in advance. Jammers could escape walls in a grated section of the track, blockers could get in front of jammers, and pivots could maneuver into a better position. The skaters could either squid through the grates, losing a little momentum, or go around, breaking up the pack. (Personally, Pearl thought anyone who went around was a chump. She preferred to flip through the grates, maintaining as much speed as she could by pushing off with her skates into a forward roll, sliding into squid form, rolling through the grate, and then landing on her feet, losing only a little of her speed in the process. It was an advanced move, patented by Pearl “The Pearlverizer” herself, but she still thought the best strategy was to just take the momentum hit if it meant remaining in the pack.)

Ink was added to increase strategy. Before each period, the captains were given a precise amount of ink to lay on the track. The amount was the same for both teams and the captains could use it both defensively and offensively, either giving their team long stretches of breathing room where they could gain speed or providing a roadblock for the other team. Jammers usually always go for their ink, because it enables them to score easy points, so enemy blockers often have to cut them off before they can get to it, often by herding them away from it. Other times, the captain may put a long line of ink on the track perpendicular to their movement, forcing the enemy team to cross paths with it. They either have to jump over it or risk losing momentum or even getting stuck.

Otherwise, the rules were the same. Each team fielded a jammer and four blockers. The jammer was supposed to lap the other team’s blockers to gain points. The first jammer to break through the pack at the beginning of each two-minute jam was named the head jammer and could then control when the jam ended (before the two-minute time period was up). The blockers attempted to both block the other team’s jammer and to assist their own jammer in scoring points. The pack was a dangerous place full of shoving.

Needless to say, Pearl loves it.

She once had dreams of making it on the Rainmaker scene, but then her teenaged rebellion kicked in and she decided she needed to do something more dangerous and unorthadox to get her father to pay attention to her. Growing up rich and largely isolated on a massive estate had done some things to her sense of the world, so when she stumbled onto roller derby, with its team play not unlike what she was used in Rainmaker (except now with physical violence!) she was smitten. She joined a small team and quickly found her place as jammer. Small and fast was the name of the game, and Pearl was one of the smallest and fastest.

Derby became her home, even as she moved from team to team. Eventually, she ended up on a team with Three. Then they ended up on Tsunami Calamari, headed by Callie and Marie. Now she’s on Creatures of the Smack Lagoon because Callie and Marie can’t get along when it comes to derby. And she still loves it. She adores it, and not for the same reasons her teenaged self did.

Things are good. She has a family. She has a passion. She has a place.

And now, apparently, she has a crush.

+++

Fresh2Death wins the match, unsurprisingly. Marie puts Eight back in after they lose a few points and Four is traded out for a few jams so she can rest, but it’s still a blowout. Three never returns to reclaim her seat, most likely because she can see Pearl’s flushed, panicked expression from her new spot near the front. She even sends Pearl a thumbs up, the cheeky little shit, and mouths something that looks like “she’s gorgeous!!!” with a huge smile. Sometimes, Pearl regrets letting her friends know just how gay she is, because then she ends up in situations like this: in public, suffering from a panic because a cute girl is talking to her with no help coming her way. Some wingman.

Most surprisingly though, Pearl manages to get herself under control after a couple jams. Marina is clearly more interested in the match than in her, if the way she’s leaned forward onto her knees with her hands over her mouth is anything to go on. Her eyes are trained on pack, especially on Four as she’s put back on the field, and she hoots and hollers with the crowd when the blockers get rough or a jammer breaks through. At one point, she even springs to her feet to yell at Four to push it, and when Four shoves her way through, gaining three more points, Marina cups her hands around her mouth and hollers so loud that Pearl feels her hearts stop, simultaneously, for a second.

Between jams they talk, mostly about the match, but sometimes about the weather. Pearl hangs on every word but tries to make herself seem aloof and calm, answers with a smoothness that she definitely isn’t feeling, and she can tell that Marina is interested in her, especially when she smiles her most wicked, killer smile—the one she reserves for moments like these, when she’s trying to impress someone with the sheer force of her suave persona. She’s realized that most people are drawn to someone who seems comfortable in their own skin, and Marina seems to be no exception.

“How long you been into derby anyway?” Pearl asks after Four calls the end to another jam. She’s been the lead jammer far too many times this period, which is making the match kinda stale, in Pearl’s opinion. She likes them best when it’s an equal fight—more interesting that way.

Marina, who had been standing and bouncing slightly as Four hopped the corners and was whipped forward by Eight again, plops down next to Pearl. Her jacket, long discarded during the heat of a jam, is pooled on her seat but she doesn’t seem to mind as she sits on it. “A little bit.” Marina’s face is flushed with excitement, tinted the same neon green as Fresh2Death’s outfits and ink, and her hair is wild, moving as if it has a mind of its own. It bounces with each head movement and even brushes into Pearl’s bare shoulder a few times, igniting a few sharp nerve endings under her skin. She has to stop herself from shivering every time.

“You really like Fresh2Death, huh?” Pearl indicates Marina’s hair, its color, and her shirt.

Marina shrugs and looks down at her hands, suddenly pensive. “I’m new in town and they’re the first team I stumbled on. Plus, they’re one of the best.”

Pearl can’t argue with that. Both Fresh2Death and her own team are top ranked, always winning their matches, but she’s also a little biased. “What about Creatures of the Smack Lagoon?” She tries to sound nonchalant and not like Marina’s answer has the possibility to destroy part of her. After all, her team is her family, but, for some reason, Pearl finds herself very invested in Marina’s opinions.

“They’re good,” Marina answers, causing Pearl to relax a little. “They play a little dirty, but I admire that. Their main jammer is a sick skater. She’s so fast.”

Pearl looks up at her then, suddenly terrified that Marina is playing with her. She has to know, right? This can’t be a coincidence...

But Marina’s face is so earnest, without a hint of deceit, and Pearl has no choice but to believe that she really just doesn’t know what Smack Lagoon’s main jammer looks like. It’s possible, considering the helmets and the face paint and the speed.

(And the fact that Pearl tries very hard to keep people from figuring out who she really is. She’s not the rebellious teenager anymore and she understands what kind of press Hime Houzuki: Roller Derby Princess would get. She has a deal with her father that she keep a low profile—as low a profile as she can manage while playing on one of the top teams—and in return he lets her do what she wants without comment. He even helps fund the league, albeit under a false name. Really, it’s amazing what a difference a change of hair and clothing will do to keep you hidden. When she’s doing things on behalf of her father, she’s all soft edges, soft expressions, longer hair, and poofy dresses. But in the derby scene she’s all teeth, sharp edges, ripped fishnets, studded bracelets, short, bobbed hair, and snarls. No one ever recognizes the soft, humanitarian princess from the news.)

“Yeah,” Pearl answers, trying not to sound too proud. “She’s fuckin’ stellar. She’s one of my favorites.”

Marina smiles then and nods. “I’ve only been to one of their matches, but I plan on going to more. Would you like to join me?”

Pearl has a flash of panic, because she can’t very well agree to that. But she so desperately wants to say yes. But she can’t. Oh fuck, what will she say?

“Oh wait...” Marina cuts in, as if reading Pearl’s mind. Is her facial expression that obvious? “Creatures of the Smack Lagoon doesn’t have a match for two weeks.” Pearl breathes out softly, because she forgot about that. Callie is out of town and they can’t very well have a match without her.

“The Fishnets are up against Fresh2Death next weekend,” Marina continues. “Wanna meet up then? It’s nice to have a friend who’s into these things.”

Pearl doesn’t want to sound too eager, but she also is so eager, so she says “Yes!” way too quickly. It makes Marina laugh and she smiles again, a warm thing that makes Pearl ache inside.

+++

A few days later, Pearl and Three are skating around The Lagoon, the skating rink nearest Inkopolis Square. (There are at least three in downtown.) There are two rinks in this building, one banked and one flat, and Pearl and Three have made a tradition of a weekly Wednesday meetup, where they race each other around the banked track and then take to the flat one, Wet Floor blasting over the speakers, lights flashing in disco patterns. They skate together, talking and practicing jumps, spray ink on the rink and see how much speed they can gain in the smallest splotch possible. It’s an excuse to goof off and let off steam, Pearl from her double life and Three from whatever it is she does during the week. Pearl really has no idea what she gets up to and knows better than to ask at this point.

The truth is that this rink belongs to Pearl. Her father built it as a birthday present a few years ago and it’s what Creatures of the Smack Lagoon calls home. It’s also what Pearl calls home, especially on the weekends, when she’s free of any sort of responsibility. If she could, she would spend all of her time in here, skating in circles, screaming her lungs out along to every song that she knows. She feels her freest when she’s on skates or when she’s singing, so when she’s doing both she’s pretty sure she could fly.

“So,” Three says as she and Pearl skate together on the flat rink. Their rhythm matches the song and their feet move in synchronized movement, only falling out of sync when they come to a corner and Three has to lengthen her stride to get around at the same speed. “Did you see Fresh2Death’s new blocker? I never found her.”

Pearl sighs, because she forgot all about the whole point of being at the match. Rumor had it that Fresh2Death had a new blocker, one who was supposed to change up the whole team dynamic, and Three and Pearl were supposed to get a look at her, see how she played. Callie was adamant that they find out about her before the annual Fresh2Death/Creatures of the Smack Lagoon rematch next month, so they could adequately prepare. But it seemed like Marie was hiding her away for now.

Callie and Marie were cousins, everyone knew that, and they got along most of the time. But, when it came to derby, they couldn’t stand each other. Too many different opinions on how a jam should be played, how a team should be organized, how strategies should work. Most of the time, they were best friends, hanging out together during the week without problem, but when the weekend came and matches took over their lives, they were like acid toward each other. It was incredible to see, truthfully, but Pearl understood it. She led a double life too, albeit a completely different kind of double life, but she understood how it worked.

“Why don’t you ask Eight?” Pearl says eventually as they round another corner. The rink is empty, as it always is on Wednesdays, so she feels pretty safe talking about Three’s compromising relationship.

Three shakes her head and flips so that she’s skating backwards. Her expression is serious. “She would never tell me. You know how it is. When it comes to derby, we’re enemies.”

That’s true and Pearl knows that it hurts Three a little. She loves Eight with her whole being and it’s hard for her to turn it off when they’re facing off on the track. Eight, meanwhile, is way better at compartmentalizing her life, though Pearl has noticed that she tends to lighten up on her blocks when it comes to Three. She never really shoves Three too hard.

“Well, I guess Marie’s hiding her away until the big match. Guess we’ll just have to think on our feet.”

Three nods and flips back around so she can match Pearl’s stride again. It’s pretty uncommon for them to just skate in circles like this, all told. Usually, they skate erratically around the rink, dancing to the music, flipping from one foot to the other, jumping, skating on one foot, just generally showing off to each other. But, today, something is different. Pearl begins to feel a little antsy as they complete their third circuit.

“So,” Three begins again. “Who was that at the match anyway? She seemed into you.”

There it is. Pearl bites her lip and focuses on her feet for a second. She’s not sure how much she wants to say. She trusts Three like a sister but this whole thing with Marina feels precious in its newness. Does she want to tarnish that with idle chatter?

Oh, who is she kidding. Of course, she wants to talk about it. “She’s just a girl,” she says, trying to sound nonchalant and not like she was completely blown away. “She’s new to Inkopolis and she’s really into Fresh2Death.”

Three winces and cuts across Pearl’s path so she can skate in the middle of the rink while Pearl continues her circuits. The playlist Pearl loaded up is almost over, only a few quiet songs left, so they can easily hear each other from across the rink. “Ouch man. That’s rough. Too bad she’s not into Smack Lagoon. Then you’d actually have a chance.”

Pearl can’t help but laugh at the gentle teasing. “Hey!” she calls, indignant, and she cuts her loop short so she can speed toward the middle, where Three is rolling around on one foot, clearly taunting her. “You bet your ass I have a chance! She asked to meet up next weekend!”

Three puts her foot down and pushes off toward Pearl. They circle each other, in a sort of familiar stare off. “Wow, I’m impressed. When I saw her sit down next to you, I was sure you were gonna piss yourself. Congrats on holding it together.”

Pearl takes a light swing at her head but Three easily dodges by bending over backwards. “You’re the fuckin’ worst. Why do I hang out with you?”

Three grins a toothy grin and heads toward one of the entrances to the rink. Easily, she hops up onto the carpeted half-wall. “Because I keep your ass safe on the track!” she calls, and she begins to unlace her skates.

She has a point, but that doesn’t mean Pearl has to say so. She skates up to her and allows herself to slam into the wall with a loud bang, like a child skating for the first time. Three drops a skate to the ground and tugs at the laces on the other.

“You gonna go?” she asks. “Because I think you should. Fishnets versus Fresh2Death right?”

Pearl leans back on the wall, stretching her back and getting some of the pressure off her aching knees. Skating is fun, but it puts a lot of stress on her legs. “Yeah, and of fucking course I’m going. You think I’m gonna pass this up?”

Three shrugs and the other skate lands next to its twin. Three hops down and stretches down, a cooldown exercise to help the muscles in her legs. Her socked feet slide a little on the slick rink floor. “It’s hard to tell with you. Sometimes you flip and run away. Sometimes, good girl Hime gets in Pearl’s way.”

“I do not—”

Three grabs up her skates in one hand and waves over her shoulder. “Whatever you say. Just don’t screw this one up. She likes you. I can tell.”

Pearl watches as she slides into her clogs and leaves. Then, she looks down at her own skates, pink and scuffed, the same pair she’s had for years. With a sigh, she hops onto the wall and picks at the laces. When she lands back on solid ground, everything feels too heavy and slow.

Desperately, she wishes she could live on those skates.

+++

That Saturday, Pearl finds herself a seat in around the same spot as last week, and she waits. The Fishnets are a better team than last week, but word on the street is that Four was injured in practice the day before. Usually, that kind of thing would barely phase her, as a quick ink bath would heal her right up, but a pulled muscle is another matter. Those sometimes don’t heal right away.

Still, Pearl spies Four’s familiar helmet as the team skates in. She has the star, so she’s still going to be the jammer, at least here at the beginning, which makes Pearl worry a bit. She doesn’t want Marie to push Four too hard before the big match. She wants a fair fight.

Fresh2Death and Smack Lagoon don’t face each other often, just once a year, in a giant celebration of the sport and to ring in the summer. It’s usually a packed house and all proceeds go to charity, but it’s always a tight, heated match. The past two years have seen two giant upsets, wherein Three was almost splatted against a grate the first year and taken out of the match (Smack Lagoon lost that year) and where, the next year, Pearl managed her first grate flip, kept her momentum, and managed to grand slam (pass all four enemy blockers and score all four points) in the last jam, which gave them the win last year. This year though, it’s anyone’s game, and it all comes down to that mystery blocker that Marie’s hiding.

Pearl watches all of Fresh2Death skate in and doesn’t see the blocker. She didn’t think she would, to be honest. If Marie is keeping her hidden, then she’s not going to put her in in small potatoes match like this one. Besides, she probably knows Pearl is here.

Pearl sits back and waits. She’s dressed in nicer clothes today, because she likes to believe this is at least a little like a date—dark-washed jeans that fit like a second skin and a flowy, pink crop top. A gray leather jacket is tied around her waist and she’s wearing her favorite pair of boots. They’re heavy like skates and make her a few inches taller, and she sincerely believes that they bring her luck.

Fishnets has a solid lineup, so they hold out pretty well in the first period. (It also helps that Four is a little shaky and has to be traded out after every jam she plays.) Fresh2Death is only ahead by a few points, which keeps Pearl on her toes. Still, between every jam, she glances around, trying to spot Marina, but she’s nowhere to be found. It’s pretty disheartening, and when the first thirty-minute period is over, and they send in a Squee-G to clean up the ink so that the captains can change the layout if they so wish, she can feel her stomach tying itself in knots. (The Squee-G is a new addition and there’s rumor that they stole the plans from the Octarians. Pearl isn’t sure if she believes that though.)

When the second period begins, Pearl decides that she’s had enough waiting. If she’s going to be stood up, she’s not going to just sit here and take it. She could be at home right now, stuffing her face with ice cream, or at The Lagoon skating in circles with screamo music pounding against her head.

She stands to leave and makes it halfway down the stairs when she hears a voice calling after her. She doesn’t want to believe it, but when she turns she sees Marina, standing where she was just sitting. Marina waves her over, her long arm easily identifiable over the crowd and Pearl tries to keep herself from smiling too big. She takes the steps back up slowly, not as the pouncing, two-at-a-time pace that her body desperately wants.

“Sorry I’m late,” Marina says, playing with the end of one of her tentacles. She’s dressed similarly to last time, with those jeans and the green shirt, except this time she has a forest green flannel tied around her waist. “I was a little nervous...” She chuckles unsteadily and Pearl is shocked at her honesty.

Carefully, Pearl puts herself back in her seat, right next to Marina, and decides that she might as well tell the truth too. “It’s okay. Glad I’m not the only one.”

Marina smiles then, at ease. “So, what’d I miss?”

Pearl launches right into a quick play-by-play, watching Marina’s face as she intently listens.

+++

After the match, Pearl walks Marina through the parking lot. There aren’t that many cars because almost everyone takes public transportation so it’s pretty deserted. Still, Pearl will feel better if she sees Marina off, especially because she can see her own car with its familiar driver idling nearby. She’s not sure if she’s ready to explain that to Marina quite yet.

Marina walks right up to a motorcycle, parked illegally on the sidewalk. “I was in a hurry,” she says sheepishly as she pats the seat. “I was scared you’d be gone by the time I got here. And I was almost right!”

Pearl almost feels bad for that, but what else was she gonna do? She’s been stood up one too many times.

“Well, I’m glad I stuck around as long as I did,” Pearl says instead of all that. “Didn’t know you had a bike.”

Marina tugs the helmet on and flips the visor up so Pearl can still see her eyes. “Yeah, I like to go fast.”

Pearl can relate to that big time. “Yeah? So do I.”

“You want in?” Marina opens up the storage compartment and produces another helmet, this one almost exactly like the ones that the skaters wear on the track. “I promise to drive carefully.”

Pearl glances toward her car, at her driver who’s watching her with the low lights on. She so wants to hop on that bike, but she’s not sure where the night will take her, or where she’ll end up. And she has a brunch tomorrow with some of her dad’s associates’ kids. Hime getting in the way. Just like Three predicted.

She sighs and pushes the helmet away. “Nope, sorry. I have to be responsible tomorrow. You know how it is. Besides,” she grins then, trying to be coy, “we just met.”

Marina doesn’t seem that hurt by her refusal, which is a good sign. She drops the helmet back into its spot and closes the storage. “That’s cool. Same time next week?”

Pearl nods. “Of course. Don’t be late!”

Marina laughs and swings her leg over the bike. She turns it on and speaks a little louder to be heard over the engine. “I won’t! See you next week, Pearl!”

She speeds off, hopping the curb and swinging out into traffic with barely a turn signal. Pearl, feeling windswept and a little warm, watches her for a few seconds before trotting to her car. When she gets into the back, she slumps into the seat and doesn’t say a word to the driver.

+++

Next Saturday finds Marina waiting in the parking lot for Pearl. Unlucky, but not the end of the world, Pearl thinks as she thanks her driver and gets out. Marina’s in overalls today, a light denim with a green tub top underneath and her leather jacket around her waist. Boots again. Pearl threw on her shortest jean shorts and her biggest, pinkest t-shirt, tied in the back to give it a little shape. Boots again. They both love boots.

“Nice ride,” Marina says as Pearl jogs up. Her eyes don’t leave the car, where the driver has expensive sunglasses over his eyes.

“It’s my dad’s.” It’s not a lie. Pearl gently touches her hand. “It’s nothing.”

Marina looks down at the touch and smiles a small smile. “Right. Just unexpected. Let’s go in.” She reaches down and squeezes Pearl’s hand between her fingers briefly, sending a sharp spike of warmth through Pearl’s whole body.

The match today is boring, in Pearl’s opinion. There’s too much of a skill mismatch so Fresh2Death has the whole thing cinched in the first period. But all is not lost because Marina leans over after the first period is called and mutters, “let’s get out of here,” right next to Pearl’s ear. Pearl shoots to her feet and leads the way.

Pearl’s car is long gone so their only option is the bike, which Pearl hoists herself onto with only a little hesitation. Marina’s second helmet is a little too big on her, and she has to keep pushing it up when it slides over her eyes.

“Where to?” Marina calls over the rev of the engine.

Carefully, Pearl wraps her arms around Marina’s middle. She can just feel one of her hearts against her arm. “You like to skate?” Pearl asks, on a whim.

“A little, yeah!” Marina laughs.

“You know where The Lagoon is?”

“Of course!” Marina kicks the kickstand back and pushes off. Pearl leans into her back, only a little terrified. “Hold on tight! I’ll have us there in no time!”

+++

Because it’s Saturday, The Lagoon is packed. Marina parks a decent distance away and they walk in side-by-side, hands barely brushing. There are teens hanging out around the entrance and they all recognize Pearl. She gives them a hard look and, somehow, they read what she means: don’t say anything. One even opens the glass door for them.

Inside the music is pumping. Pearl isn’t sure who’s DJing tonight, but they’re using one of her playlists so at least they have good taste. She offers to pay and sends Marina off to find a table after getting her shoe size. In reality she just walks up to the counter and the skate attendant hands her two pairs without a word. Then, she goes by concessions and orders some soda, just in case.

Marina has her boots kicked off by the time Pearl finds her and she accepts the skates without a word. They’re in pretty good shape because Pearl has standards, even for her rental skates, and Marina pulls them on easily. She begins lacing without a single moment’s hesitation and that’s exactly when Pearl begins to realize that Marina might be better at this than she thought.

Pearl scrambles to pull her skates on as Marina quickly laces up the second one and stands. She easily glides toward Pearl and turns in a short circle right in front of her.

“When you said a little...” Pearl begins as she comes to her feet. These skates aren’t the ones she’s used to, so she slides a little before she gets a feel for them.

“I was being facetious,” Marina admits with a smile. “I love to skate!”

She reaches a hand out, palm up, a clear invitation, and Pearl easily accepts it. Marina tugs, skating forward on the hard floor. Easily, they crest onto the wooden floor of the rink and watch as the crowd of people circles around the rink. The lights paint their bodies with splotches of green, purple, yellow, red, blue, and Pearl gets lost in it for a second.

“I hope you can keep up,” Marina teases.

“You kidding?” Pearl scoffs. “I was born in skates.”

“Hm, we’ll see.” Marina looks down at Pearl with a gentle twinkle of mirth behind her eyes. “Short stuff.”

Pearl puffs up like an angry bird. “Hey, if we were all tall mountains like you, then no one would be!”

Marina chuckles. “I guess you’re right. Shall we?”

There’s a lull in the flow of people coming up, where a couple kids just left for pizza. Pearl easily pushes off and sails right into the gap. “Keep up with me!” she calls, and is rewarded with Marina’s frowning glare, eyebrows pulled tight as she follows quickly. She overtakes Pearly quickly and gets a little too close, bumping right into her. But, Marina’s instincts are fast and she grabs Pearl before she can fall, towing her close to her side.

Pearl feels herself flush and she quickly tries to recover. Easily, she gets her feet back under her and pulls away, but Marina refuses to let go of her hand.

They skate side-by-side like that, hands clasped, for a few rounds. Marina’s stride is longer than Pearl’s but Pearl keeps herself angled toward the center so that when they take the curves she can keep up. On the straightaways, Marina tugs her, going a bit faster, so that Pearl has to speed up or risk getting left behind. It’s not so bad though—Pearl is used to going much faster than this, with nine other people pushing and shoving her, so this is a delightful change of pace.

After the fourth or so circuit of this, Pearl feels a little braver. She lets go of Marina’s hand—which causes Marina to make a sound of discontent—and easily angles herself behind her so that she can grab onto her hips. A conga line of two, Marina picks up on what she’s doing quickly and puts on hand on top of Pearl’s for a second, just to make sure that she’s holding on. Then, she speeds up.

Pearl pushes too, sliding her feet in short busts to get as much speed as she can, but she can feel herself dragging a little, especially as Marina takes the curve wide to avoid all of the people skating on the inside. Really, they’re not supposed to be going this fast, but Pearl is the owner so no one will say anything to her. She feels her hands tighten on Marina’s sides, fingers digging into the fabric of her overalls, and, eventually, she gives up trying to skate with her. Instead, she squares her stance and allows herself to be dragged. On the corners, they drift like a drag racer, Pearl sliding wide to overcompensate for the speed, and she whoops as Marina pushes even harder.

I like to go fast, Marina told her last week, and Pearl sees it now. The long profile of her body as she moves the quad skates, gliding as fast as she can around all the people, in tempo with Wet Floor’s Don’t Slip, she’s built for it, all those long lines, those muscled legs, the pumping of her arms. It’s intoxicating to watch her, especially for someone like Pearl, who loves these skates and this rink like she loves her home. Someone like Marina is exactly who she needs.

Marina throws her hands up, lets out a loud yell, and coasts through the next straightaway, giving up the speed for a small moment of relief. Pearl lets out a yell of her own and the people around them echo it, everyone joining in a moment of celebration. The DJ turns the music up a little and the crowd speeds up in return. Slower people filter to the edges while everyone else begins to move their feet a little faster.

Marina takes them to the wall, where she slams into it. Pearl easily detaches herself so she doesn’t crash into Marina, and stops next to her. Together, they lean against the wall, the carpet biting into their palms, breathing heavily, and Marina begins to laugh.

It’s a free sound, one that Pearl hasn’t heard in a long time, and Pearl watches as it takes over Marina’s whole body. She shakes with it, breathless, and falls over so that she’s leaning against Pearl. Her head lands in the crook between Pearl’s neck and shoulder and she can feel Marina’s breath against her skin.

“Thank you,” Marina mutters once the laughing has passed. “I needed that.”

Pearl, her body alive with the sheer sensory overload of everything that just happened plus Marina, merely leans her head so that it’s resting on top of Marina’s. “So did I.”

+++

That Wednesday, Three and Pearl don’t talk, just skate wild circles around each other in an attempt to push themselves to go faster. There’re small patches of pink ink scattered around the banked track, which they hop in and out of to gain even more speed. Pearl pushes herself hard, but then thinks briefly about Marina and nearly takes a tumble at a speed that would have definitely left her a little splat of ink on the track. That’s when she decides she’s had enough.

She skates to the wall and grabs her water bottle, which she squirts into the mouth and down her throat. When she puts it down, Three is there, sitting on the wall and kicking her heavy skate-clad feet against it.

“So, your mystery girl.”

Pearl can’t help the giant grin that crosses her face.

“Oh, you sly squid.”

+++

After that, Pearl has to set her sights on the big Fresh2Death/Creatures of the Smack Lagoon match. It’s only two weeks away, and Callie has them scheduled for matches or practice both weekends. As a result, Pearl is prepared to make some hefty excuses if Marina asks to see her. But, to her surprise, the requests never come. When Pearl texts her asking if she wants to hang out, just in case, Marina tells her that she’s busy for the next couple weeks but that she misses her.

It’s a surprise, since she never mentioned anything. But then, they’ve been on like one date. Maybe two if you count the first time they purposefully met at the match. Maybe three if you count the time before that. Pearl isn’t exactly in a position to be asking questions.

Still, she’s a little disheartened. During the week, she stays home and doesn’t talk to anyone (except on Wednesday) and on the weekends she finds her way to The Lagoon, where her team easily wins their matches. Pearl “The Pearlverizer” falls back into the jammer groove quickly, and Three “Kraken Skullz” does a great job on blocker, like always. The matches are easy as pie.

One evening during the week, when she’s sick of her own shit (she spent the day playing video games and sunning herself out by the pool, all the while moping because of how lonely she was), she texts Marina asking for coffee. Marina answers quickly. I can’t today! But how about this time next week?

That’s after the big match, which means that Pearl will be free as a jellyfish. ok! u coming to the big match at the lagoon this weekend???

Marina’s reply is fast and curt. I’ll be there. ;)

+++

The day of the match, Pearl opens the rink early so she can make sure everything’s ready. The staff have been briefed and she’s paying them massive overtime because today’s going to be hectic. The banked track is on the second floor and only one set of elevators is working, which means that they’ll probably have quite a few impatient people hanging around the lobby. Also, the lower, flat rink is closed, which is another thorn because it’s Saturday—their busiest day—but Pearl can’t spare the staff to run it.

Everything goes smoothly for the most part. Tickets are bought and collected, concessions goes smoothly, the stands fill steadily. No one forgets their skates. Callie paces back and forth, her long hair swinging wildly against the back of her legs. The grates are in their places. The Squee-G, on loan from another rink because Pearl hasn’t gotten around to ordering one, works perfectly. Judd appears with two splattershots and two ink tanks, already adjusted to the two colors, which Callie inspects to insure they’re equal. He sweeps away to let Marie do the same. Three’s helmet is missing but they find it in a locker.

Pearl stretches before putting on her skates. Her fishnet tights are ripped from last match, but she hasn’t bothered to buy new ones yet. Her white, cropped tank top and black athletic shorts are the same ones she’s been wearing all year and they’ve seen quite a few tumbles, but they’ve held up. Her skates too, white and pink, recently cleaned of scuffs, are familiar, the pair that she’s been using for two years, frequently repaired and cleaned.

Everything goes a bit too smoothly. It makes her suspicious. Before the match, Callie calls everyone together and gives a speech, but Pearl hears none of it. She’s too busy scanning the bit of the crowd she can see, trying to find Marina. Once Callie’s done, they all put their hands in the middle of the huddle and chant their old chant, Smack! Smack! Smack! Lagoon! before throwing them up and breaking. Three pulls Pearl away, fidgeting, looking nervous, and Pearl braces because this is it. There has to be something wrong. There always is.

“I need to tell you something,” she says, but is interrupted by the announcer, booming out “It’s the moment we’ve all been waiting for! Welcome Fresh2Death to the rink!”

The crowd roars and Pearl watches as the team skates out, followed closely by Marie. Marie and Callie lock eyes from across the rink and Pearl can practically feel the lightning that sparks between them.

But then, her attention is dragged away because a very familiar sight appears right behind Marie. Tall, with her wiggling hair—so much like Eight’s yet nothing like Eight’s—pulled into a high ponytail, and dressed in a green and black checkerboard skirt and black crop top. It’s—

“Holy shit,” Pearl hisses. “It’s Marina! Marina is their new blocker?” She rounds on Three and sees her face, not surprised like she expected, and something inside her shifts uncomfortably.

“That’s her name? It’s nice,” Three says.

“You knew,” Pearl accuses. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Three holds her hands up, a gesture that proclaims innocence. “Eight told me like ten minutes ago! I didn’t know!”

“How did Eight know?”

“I guess Marina talked to her! Look!” Three points across the rink, where Eight is clearly caught up in the same argument with Marina, if their body language is anything to go on. Marina turns to look at them and her hands rise to cover her mouth. It almost looks like there’s tears in her eyes. “Looks like Marina didn’t know either. Small world.”

Pearl stares across at Marina and sees her shake her head. Her hands come down and she mouths something slowly, hand stretching out toward Pearl. Didn’t know. Pearl deciphers. Talk later?

Pearl breathes out slowly, tries to calm herself. She nods once, right in Marina’s direction and it seems to calm Marina down immediately.

So, it’s just like Three and Eight then. During derby, they have to pretend not to know each other. Fine. Pearl can do that.

(At least, she thinks she can.)

#splatoon #splatoon 2 #pearlina #pearlina week #off the hook #ashe writes #ashe talks #katie #i took the time to post this here #even tho i'm pretty sure it's not gonna get reblogs #oh well i'm proud of it #i wrote this in about 6 hours. my wrists are DEAD #long post

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sweetpeaismybae · 6 years

Text

Keep You Safe || Sweet Pea x reader

“Can I request a Sweet Pea x reader where a group of Ghoulies harass the reader and Pea gets defensive because he likes the reader? And because he hates Ghoulies. But they don’t stop just yet and gets reader alone?”

From @demigodofthesun

A/N: AHHHH thank you guys for all the support on my first imagine!!! All the feedback truly means the world to me. <3 <3 <3 I sorta ran away with this idea a bit, since I just wasn’t satisfied with my original plot for this story, so it doesn’t EXACTLY match the request, but the general idea is there.

Words: 1.7k

Warnings: swearing, a little fluff, some violence, protective Pea

The sun had just dipped below the horizon as you made your way back to your trailer from the Whyte Wyrm. You hadn’t realized you had been out so late and started to walk faster, not wanting to get caught alone in the dark on the Southside. Sure. the Southside was your home, but even Southside residents were aware being alone on the streets at night was NOT a good idea.

You had lived on the Southside for as long as you could remember. After your parents divorced when you were three and your dad ran away from Riverdale, never to be seen again, you moved to the Southside with your mom and became an honorary serpent. Even though you weren’t technically in the gang, they brought you in as one of their own, especially due to your father’s serpent blood. Your father’s ties with the Serpents was part of the reason your mom split with him, so when she found out you were in cahoots with Serpents, needless to say she was not happy. It lead to an uneasy balance in your relationship, but it didn’t matter that much anyway because your mother was rarely home, working long, low-pay hours as a flight attendant.

You could see the trailer park in the distance and picked up your pace even more, wanting to get home as quickly as possible, when a rough hand grabbed you by the shoulder and shoved you against a fence. Instinctively, you threw your fist out, catching your assailant across the cheek. He muttered a curse, slightly loosening his grip on you. You took the opportunity to kick him firmly in the stomach, causing him to collapse by your feet.

You started to run, trying to get away from him as quickly as you could, when you rammed straight into another person’s chest. You looked up and found a Goulie leering down at you, his thin lips stretched across his crooked teeth, forming a haunting smile. “Where do you think your’re going?” He drawled, grabbing you by the forearms and pushing you back against the fence. The first man you attacked, who you now saw was also a Goulie, marked but the silver-studded leather jacket, had managed to stand up again.

“This here’s a fiesty one,” he chuckled as you struggled to get out of the grasp of the other Goulie. You knew he would leave bruises on your arms tommorow, if you managed to make it out of this encounter in one piece. “What’s a little bitch like you doing out alone on the Southside at night?” the first Goulie hissed, getting up in your face. You could smell the alcohol on his breath, reeking.

In response, you spat in his face, which did not bode well with the Goulie. “Listen here, princess. You’re our slut now, and for each time you lash out, your punishment just gets worse and worse,” he growled, saying the last few words with a cruel smile.

Fear pulsated through your veins, and you felt yourself close your eyes, trying not to cry. You didn’t want to admit it to yourself, but you were scared. Suddenly, the hands clasped around your arms were ripped away, and you fell to the ground in shock. You glanced up and saw a tall, male figure beating up the Goulies. His strong arms rippled with muscles as he repeatedly punched both your attackers. You instantly recognized him, and could only watch in awe as he easily overpowered the Goulies, despite his two to one odds. His eyes flashed to yours for a split second, their dark irises filled with hatred and revenge, but softened for a moment when he met your gaze.

Once both Goulies were on the ground, faces bloody and bruised, your savior, the one and only Sweet Pea, grabbed one of them by the collar. Their faces barley inches apart, I just managed to catch SP’s words to the Goulie. “I’m the only one who gets to call her princess.”

His menacing whisper was the last straw for those Goulies, and they quickly got up and scrambled away as fast as their beaten-up bodies would take them. The moment they were gone, Sweet Pea immediately turned to you. The rage that had filled him only moments ago was quickly replaced by concern. He hurried over to you and dropped to his knees by your side.

“Y/N! Are you hurt? I swear, if those bastards did anything to you…” SP quickly gave you a once over, and the moment he saw the bruises on your arms he cursed under his breath. “Shit, that’s not good. Okay, let’s just get you back to my trailer, and I’ll get some ice.” Realizing you still hadn’t said a word, Pea looked at you, his softer, more protective side shining through.

“Sweets, you really didn’t have to do that for me,” you managed as he helped you up. He gave you weird look, then said, “Of course I did,” as if him not helping were completely out of the question. “You’re basically a Serpent. Serpents stick together, right?” He said.

Of course. That was the reason Sweet Pea had rushed to your aid. He felt like he had to. Of course, his dislike of the Goulies might have played a part as well. For a moment, you were convinced it might have meant something else. You had been harboring a small crush on SP, and over the years, that small crush started to grow until it was no longer small, but quite large. Of course, he was a Serpent, so you two were kind of friends, but not really. You more knew him simply through Toni and Jughead. You were about to apologize profusely for making him drop whatever he was doing to come help you, when he swept you up into his arms bridal style. Your breath caught as he held you against his chest, walking you the short distance to his bike at the curbside. You could hear his heart beating and his breath was warm against your arms wrapped around his neck. He carefully settled you behind him on his bike, then wrapped your arms around his waist. His gaze caught yours, and for a split second, you stared into each other’s eyes, some unknown emotion flickering across his features.

The moment passed, and SP quickly tossed a warning over his shoulder. “Hold on.”

You had ridden motorcycles before, so you knew Pea was going rather slowly, most likely because you still seemed fragile and neither of you were wearing helmets.

Rather than taking you back to your own trailer, SP rode the short distance to his. So about ten minutes later, you were seated on his couch, holding a bag of ice against your arms. Sweets was sitting across from you, his fists clenched at his sides.

“Y/N, please, just tell me what happened,” Sweet Pea said again. He had only witnessed the end of your encounter with the Goulies and had been trying to coax the rest of the story out of you all evening. Finally, you caved, telling his what happened before he arrived. When you recounted how you managed to get a pretty good punch in on one of the guys, SP chuckled. “Well, I’m glad you managed to kick his ass a bit before I got there,” Sweets commented with a smirk. You smiled shyly back and turned away, trying to hide your blush.

“Hey, so you can crash here tonight if you need to,” Sweet Pea said. He then motioned to the couch, saying “I can sleep there, you can take the bed.” He tossed you a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants to change into, then told you to try and get some sleep.

That night, as you were on the verge of falling asleep in Pea’s bed, drifting between wakefulness and sleep, you heard the bedroom door creak open. A figure moved closer to you and pressed a kiss against you forehead. You could have sworn you heard him mutter, “Goodnight, princess,” before leaving again. The following morning when you woke up, you had completely forgotten about the incident, but the boy who had slept on the couch most definitely had not.

The following week you were still slightly shaken about your encounter with those Goulies, but nonetheless you went to school, attended most of your classes (you went to Southside High, it was uncommon for anyone to go to all their classes in a given day), and joked with friends. At one point you found Sweet Pea looking at you from across the lunch table, and once again the two of you exchanged a “look.”

Later that day, you found yourself running late to your last class. The hallways were nearly empty, and as you went to grab your textbook, someone firmly slammed your locker shut. You glanced up and saw not one, not two, not three, but FOUR Goulies leering at you. One of them cracked his knuckles as another got up in your face. You held your ground, hoping that they might back off if you didn’t show any fear.

“Well, well, look who it is. Y/N, right? We heard some of our friends were just having a friendly chat with you a few nights ago, when that Serpent boyfriend of yours showed up and beat the crap out of them,” the Goulie sneered.

“He’s not my boy..” you tried to retort, but before you could finish, the Goulie slammed his palm against the locker next to you, trapping you with his body. “Look,” he hissed. “I really don’t care. We’re just here to deliver a warning. Don’t. Mess. With. Us. And make sure you pass that message on to your not-boyfriend.” With that, they were gone, disappearing down the hallway. You still had your back pressed against the lockers, breathing heavily. Suddenly, you heard footsteps coming towards you, and you prepared yourself to run, thinking the Goulies had decided to come back.

“Y/N?” you heard Sweet Pea’s voice as he turned the corner, coming into view. Relief filled your body, and before you really knew what you were doing, you rushed forward, collapsing into him. His arms instantly snaked around you, and for once he didn’t ask what was wrong. Instead, he just held you. You stood there, wrapped up in his embrace, for who knows how long. All you knew was that right then and there you wouldn’t have felt safer anywhere else.

A/N: Just wanted to say again that I really appreciate all feedback and love it when y’all tell me what you think. I also think I might start a tag list, so let me know if you want to be included!

#sweet pea pod squad #sweet pea #sweet pea x reader #sweet pea x oc #sweetpeaspodsquad #rivedale #riverdale imagines #southside serpents #southside

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