#I have been hesitating over the post now button for twenty minutes now and I really should not be this nervous. I'm not even rude dang it

[faislittlewhiteraven]

Undertale Yellow: An amazing fangame with one glaring thing I hate about it (that I need to rant about or else I'm going to go insane).

As the title says, Undertale Yellow was a game I really enjoyed playing. Lots of fun dialogue and designs, utterly fantastic art and animation (holy hell that Flowey fight! <3 <3 <3), great music and feels, etc. Seriously it deserves a ton of praise, not only as a fully completed fangame that took years of development, but as genuinely amazing prequel to one of my favorite games of all time.

...Unfortunately. Much as I truly enjoyed playing through the majority of the game, when I finished the True Pacifist route I was intensely unhappy with how that went and while the credits scenes and funeral for Cover helped ease some of the worst of it, I cannot help but wonder who the flipping f$%& in the development team thought presenting Clover's suicide as the 'just and happy' ending that all the friend characters accept with barely any argument was a good idea?!

Now to clarify: I went into Undertale Yellow knowing that Clover was going to die and that there were good odds their death was going to be self sacrificial or involve suicide. Undertale Yellow is a prequel to Undertale after all and children being murdered and/or sacrificing themselves for the greater good of lovable monster kind is an established part of the setting.

I came in knowing this game was bound to end tragically. I was excited to see how this game would pull that inevitable tragedy off while exploring the Yellow soul's theme of Justice and staying true to Undertale's established canon.

And all the way right up to the end of the True Pacifist ending I truly thought they'd nailed it: The constant pressure of the monsters suffering and being trapped in the Underground despite their sweet and earnest natures, Dalv's clear issues regarding a human, Starlow's unintentional reinforcement of the 'one sacrifice for the greater good' idea with his trolley problem reenactment, the repeated back to back betrayals from characters who should be friends (the Feisty Five, Starlow, Ceraba) hurting Clover instead, the dull realization in universe for Clover that all their efforts to find the missing human children were all for nothing...

It was fantastic. There was a real sense of looming dread for me, seeing all those moments and just knowing in my gut that after the desperate struggle with the agonized and grieving Ceraba, ranting about how monster kind is doomed as it stands, that Clover would start thinking of sacrificing their life for monster kind, especially when their 'sense of Justice' at the start of the game had them willingly jump into a gaping pit they couldn't have possibly have known the height of, for the sake of mission they (according to Flowey) easily abandon when offered a loving home instead. (aka implying not so great things about how much they value their own life)

So. With all that 'hyped for tragedy' in mind, there I am at the True Pacifist ending. I've just spared Ceraba, the friends are all arguing as to how to keep Clover (and possibly any future humans who fall) safe and Clover begins to go into something of a zone out, thinking about all the things they've heard and seen over the course of their adventure.

This is it! I think to myself as I watch it play out. This is where Clover, after everything they've been through, makes the tragic yet understandable mistake of running away from their friends and confronting Asgore just as Flowey kept encouraging them to! Not to fight and bring Asgore to justice but to try talking him down and when they fail that, offering up their life to help and 'save' their friends even as the narrative will (matching Undertale) will make it clear that this is a mistake and only hurts everyone involved, just like every suicide and child murder in Undertale hurts everyone involved until Frisk is able to end the cycle of pain by rejecting the Kill or be Killed premise and setting the monsters free! Wow, I can't believe it, they set it up so well, what a perfect way to tie into Undertale's greater narrative via tragic prequel, I love this eeeeee!

Except of course that's not what happens.

My first hint something is off is when the quotes Clover's 'remembering' in their little bubble start being way too positive for the set up (also there's nothing from the trolley problem section). The second is when the music shifts from quiet to holy and then outright happy.

And third is when Clover snaps out of it and point blank tells their friends they choose to die. Now, I'm getting a little confused and wary at this but alright, this is a pretty long sequence already but I guess we get to have one final hope moment before Clover somehow gets away from their friends to die (maybe Flowey if not Asgore?)-

-and then I am left absolutely flabbergasted as the friends who just spent the last huge chunk of the game trying to protect Clover/getting talked out of killing them because 'its not right' end up agreeing with Clover's decision after a pitiful amount of arguing against it (where the utterly stupid 'there's no other option' reasoning is used as the primary reasoning despite all the other options being very clearly stated just moments ago), before the woman who's entire massive trauma arc that is centered around her accidentally killing her own child out of blind faith for 'the greater good', proceeds to assist Clover with their suicide (who she clearly views as a surrogate child despite her best attempts not to) while the other characters meekly say goodbye, give hugs and leave all while bittersweet but mostly sweet 'great job honey, this sucks but we're proud of you' music plays (also Flowey says stuff but like, its Flowey so frankly he could say anything and it'd be fine. He's not the issue here).

...Wow.

What a screwed up way for that to end. Like, I clearly get the 'idea' that Clover is meant to be noble and good and such but like, really? A fan game of Undertale (where one of the main ending messages was 'Don't kill and don't be killed', where a child's suicidal attempts to free monster kind lead to every major tragedy in the game, and where suicide was repeatedly shown to only make things worse through Asgore and Alphys in numerous neutral endings) is the game that decides having its protagonist's pointless self sacrifice should be honored and treated as a good ending by the narrative?????

How did none of the otherwise clearly brilliant people working on this miss the very bad, no good implications of Clover's friends being talked into letting them kill themselves and having the narrative frame it as anything but the worst end?????

I have many, many questions. And concerns. And...

Look, I do get it. Undertale Yellow is still a fangame. There are going to be weird notes in the tone due to different writers and such, and I should just be happy that the game was finished it at all, and accept that this god awful scene is probably just the result of its creators really, really wanting their beloved characters to go out as kindly (and beautifully drawn/animated) as possible with all the hugs and feels of canon Undertale without taking into account how much the very different context might warp the tone and the characterizations of everyone in the entire scene.

But like. God damn. There is something very off putting about not letting brave kind Martlet refuse to take this as an answer and then finding she actually can't stop it happening (and no her saying that after like two sentences from 'Ceraba who's judgement about the human sucks' doesn't count). About Starlow not recognising he and his posse might've had something to do with why Clover is thinking this. About Ceraba not on some level going 'IF THIS IS YOUR CHOICE THEN WHY DIDN'T YOU LET ME USE YOU TO SAVE KANAKO?!' Edit: Also a totally waste of prequel opportunity not to let Asgore visibly make the worst choices we canonly know he made on screen. Yes, he gets to stab Clover in the Flawed!Pacist route but Clover's trying to shoot him in that one; the fact we don't get to see him stab a 'far too willing to die for their friends and not defending themselves' Clover as the friend trio can do nothing to stop it from happening feels like such a cop out I swear XD

I'm all for 'Clover dies willingly' at the end of the True Pacifist but they way they did it was just... Really ugh in a way I'm finding tricky to word and I'm honestly shocked I haven't seen more people point it out (though admittedly that might be because I haven't really looked around much). ...So yeah. I know its too late to change said ending but really kinda hoping at some point one of the Undertale Yellow team realizes this might be an issue and thinks to add a content warning in the game's opening or something because it could really use one of those. Also that for any future projects they do, they happen to do a little more research into how to avoid accidentally glorify suicide as opposed to having it as a tragedy because damn they did not manage that here whatsoever.

---

ANYWAY, with all that rant finally out of my head some other stuff about Undertale Yellow I be feeling strongly:

Flowey's boss battle and the lead up to it is incredible and without a doubt makes the neutral route the most amazing well crafted route in the game. 10/10 may have already mentioned this in the massive rant above but if so gonna repeat it anyway because it's just that damn good.

Genocide route being a deconstruction of the 'disproportionate revenge is justice' 90s Anti Hero is very cool theme wise but the lack of the lack of stuff like notes in shops saying 'please don't kill my family' and monsters with less screen time getting more fleshed out drags it down a little, as does Clover not actually choking on dust or getting attacked by the human souls or something at the very end. Really do love the Martlet battle flashback moments and Axel's horrifically timed confession scene though.

The general uselessness of the ACT menu in big 'endurance' fights as well as the lack of 'alternative sparing ACTS' makes fights a lot less fun than they could be and I found myself a lot less willing to use them in general as a result despite them being my favorite thing about Undertale. Did still adore what fun stuff was in them though so I think it's just a case of them being a tad too out of focus compared to the bullet hell gameplay (which I'm not that good at) for my tastes.

Pacifist route could've really used some more optional hangouts and/or letters from the main friends. As is, the peak 'hang out' part of the game for me was the nap room I spent maybe two minutes in, and Dalv especially could've benefitted a ton from a bit more presence (I got more interaction from Mo and the rabbit who's tongue was stuck to a pole and I'm not happy about that? If nothing else not getting to see the inside of Martlet's house or help Dalv build his new home feel like lost opportunities).

Personal pet peeve and nothing too serious but not a fan of Asgore not getting the kill on Clover outside of Flawed Pacifist. Makes sense on most routes (glares at T!Pacifist again) given the way the plot is set up and all but given Toby Fox has repeatedly stated Asgore killed all the humans who fell post Chara it just drives me nuts XD (As does the poor Blue Soul getting treated as a killer/evil but like, I can see where people are coming on that one and Undertale Yellow uses that to amp up Chujin's nightmare fuel vibes fantastically so I shall reluctantly congratulate that theory's use there and steel myself for the inevitable 'wait you're using Undertale Yellow lore but Axis didn't kill Integrity?' questions that will be posted on my 'will eventually be posted' Undertale fanfics XDDDD)

Love all the main cast, especially Martlet, and I am way too hyped for the day Undertale Yellow and its main cast get their own fandom tags on AO3.

...Kanako's death was incredibly stupid and avoidable but like, that's kind of what I like about it? I really also wanna know which Amalgamite she became (I'm thinking probably the one that tucks Frisk in to sleep and pats them on the head because of her and Ceraba's little 'going to sleep' game but like, I could see a very heart wrenching case for her being part of So Cold as well).

Anyone reading this who somehow hasn't played Undertale Yellow should really stop reading this and go play the game. It's free, its (one major thematic issue I have moral objections to aside) pretty decently written, and hey, more Undertale stuff to have fun making fanworks with <3

Goddamn has Undertale Yellow kicked my drive to write Undertale fanfic into overload XD Thank you Undertale Yellow team for helping me get all fired up again and sorry about all the grr but dang it, it needed to be said and now that it's out of my system I can throw myself into finding ways to incorporate your settings and characters into fanworks of my own (admittedly the AU elements might make things kinda tricky -Asgore having to kill EVERY human child even more so- but that nifty little detail of early Royal Guard Martlet having and being willing to abuse her access to the Hotland Lab allows me so many ways to have Chujin be a well meaning awful person and I am living for it!) <3 <3 <3

[229zmi]

AU REVOIR

PAIRING: Kuroo Tetsurō/Reader

CONTENT: embarrassing moments, you and kuroo are #strangers, kuroo is late to a job interview, phonecall with kenma

WORD COUNT: 1.9k

“Hey, uh. Can I help you?”

Oh, god. Kuroo Tetsurō has never been more embarrassed.

Not even when he was suffering from a particularly bad case of borborygmus in a completely silent lecture hall, or when he accidentally liked someone’s post from 176 weeks ago. Nor was he this embarrassed the time his umbrella turned inside out and cartwheeled out of his hand into a ditch in front of several cars stopped at a traffic light. And who knows how many embarrassing moments he’s had throughout all his years of volleyball— but this moment right here. It still takes the cake.

Pause, rewind, play: this morning, ten minutes ago. The sky was blue, the birds were chirping, and Kuroo Tetsurō? Ten minutes ago, he was suddenly woken up by a loud sound, although it wasn’t the sound of an alarm, no, for there was no alarm to wake up to. What woke him up was actually a call from Kenma, who almost never called him, so he figured it had to be important.

“Hello? Everything okay?”

“Are you on your way to your interview?”

Of course. How typical of Kenma, always straight to the point, no pleasantries or—

Wait.

“Wh—“ Kuroo blinks a couple times to wake himself up, groggily rubbing his eyes. He lets out a yawn loud enough to shift earth’s tectonics before continuing his sentence, “What’d you say?”

“Your job interview,” Kenma repeats from his phone, “it starts at eight-thirty, doesn’t it?”

Silence fills the conversation for a while. Kuroo’s eyes begin to flutter shut, lulled by the faint sound of static emitted by the call. It isn’t until his phone slips out of his hand and hits the sheets with soft thud! that Kenma speaks up, impeding the drowsy man’s short-lived slumber.

“Hello?”

“Hm,” Kuroo hums.

“You are ready, right?” His best friend’s starting to sound concerned. “Like, all dressed up and halfway out the door ready. Right?”

“Mm… hm.”

Kenma restrains himself from somehow reaching his hands through the phone and violently shaking Kuroo by the shoulders. “That does not sound convincing. Please don’t tell me you’re still in bed.”

Still clueless, Kuroo yawns again, rolling over onto his other side. “And if I am? I set an alarm last night, you didn’t need to call me. I can handle it myself.”

“Kuro,” Kenma says. Now he sounds dead serious, like he’s about to be the deliverer of either some grave news or an overdue love confession. Unfortunately for Kuroo, it’s the former; Kenma drops the bomb without hesitation: “You have twenty minutes before your interview starts.”

“I didn’t realise you were so punctual, Kenma. Twenty minutes, that’s plenty of t—“

Oh.

Oh.

(Pause, rewind, play: the night before. Kuroo turned off all the lights. Hopped under the covers. Went straight to sleep. He did not set his alarm.)

Shit.

“I swear I set my alarm last night,” Kuroo speaks into the phone, running a hand through his hair out of frustration. In the past seven minutes, he’s managed to brush his teeth, get dressed, and exit his apartment without any major troubles. Sure, his hair’s a little… controversial in the back, and there’s some noticeable creases in his button-up shirt, but clearly, a bigger issue lies at hand — and no, it’s not the judging stares that the other pedestrians are giving him as he power-walks through the city. “You don’t think they’ll mind if I’m a few minutes late, do ya?”

Kenma audibly sighs.

“I don’t know what that means, so I’m taking that as you telling me they’ll one hundred-percent hire me on the spot.”

This time, Kenma doesn’t make a sound, though Kuroo senses he may have rolled his eyes. Either that, or he made a face akin to someone tasting a lemon.

“I’m hanging up,” his friend finally says, deciding he’s done enough to help today. Even this is something he considers charitable in their friendship; usually, Kenma prefers to treat calls with his friends like another app on his phone and close out of the call without warning, so maybe Kuroo should be grateful on this glorious day, he thinks.

“What? No, you can’t do that. That’s.”

“…That’s what?”

“Treason,” Kuroo finishes. “I still need your moral support. So—“

There’s a dull beep coming from the other end. Betrayed, Kuroo pulls his phone away from his ear only to be met with the image on his lockscreen — a photo of an outing with his friends some weeks ago — and the ever-daunting time, which currently reads: 08:19. A second later, the screen turns black and he catches sight of his reflection, including his unfortunately dishevelled hair and his wrinkled shirt and—

He winces.

His tie needs serious fixing.

The building where his interview will be at is only a few blocks away. After only a moment’s contemplation, he decides it won’t hurt to spend a minute or two trying to fix whatever fucked up knot he made while he was still dealing with the effects of being just woken up several minutes ago, veering away from his line of travel toward a car parked along the side of the street. Using the tinted window as a mirror, he tugs at the fabric in an attempt to undo it, although to no avail.

Then, the window rolls down.

“Hey, uh.” Concerned eyes lock with his. Kuroo short-circuits, his face turning a sickly colour as his mouth drops in horror, giving the illusion of a fish out of water. “Can I help you?”

Tapping along the rim of your steering wheel, you wait for a response. It isn’t that you’re annoyed or mad or anything along those lines; rather, you were almost flattered at first by the sight of a handsome yet serious-looking man speed-walking past your car before doubling back and staring at you through your window with what you misunderstood as passion in his eyes. But after watching him fidget with his tie for a solid minute, the realisation crashed onto you like tidal waves: he was in fact not nervously blown away by your copious amount of beauty, and now you’re more disappointed than anything.

“I’m so sorry,” Kuroo says with an apologetic smile, straightening from his previously hunched position over your window after realising how creepily close he is. A voice in the back of his mind tells him you have pretty eyes — and pretty hands, he notes a moment later as he steps back to put more distance between the two of you — but he pushes back both thoughts. “Really, I didn’t know you were there.”

“Were you planning to steal my car or something if I wasn’t inside?” You intend for this to be a light-hearted joke, but maybe your tone comes off too bland for him to get it, and now that enough time has passed for you to think about it, you’re not sure what you were trying to do with this ‘joke’ either. Nonetheless, you find amusement in the way his expression swiftly switches from aghast to frantic and even more in the transition of his face to a deeper shade of pink.

However, there’s a part of you that feels bad, so you eventually reassure him, “I’m joking. Would you like some help with your tie?”

Out of the benevolence of your heart, you decide to leave out the part where you mention how it looks like a three year old trying to tie their shoes for the very first time.

Kuroo looks grateful, relieved almost. “Yes, please. Thank you.”

“C’mere, then.”

You motion for him to come closer and reach your hands out the window. Kuroo takes a tentative step forth, though that’s not near close enough for you, so you extend your arm and gently tug on the tie, pulling him forward until your elbows are barely past the window. To make things a little easier, Kuroo spreads his knees slightly, creating a wide triangle with the ground and lowering himself so that he’s level with you. For a brief moment, your eyes drift to meet each other’s before immediately looking away. You focus on fixing his tie, and Kuroo acts interested in a crack in the ground all of sudden.

Even if he does look a bit odd standing like this, he supposes it’s worth the judgmental stares from passers-by once again because in only a matter of a minute, you somehow manage to untie the hideous knot. As you begin retying it, you make an attempt to start up conversation.

“Got something important today?”

“Just a job interview.”

You hum, mildly intrigued. “Where?”

He tells you the company and building, and you beam in recognition of the name.

“I work there! Today’s my day off,” you tell him. Once you’re done, you tug at the tie one last time before, without thinking, moving to brush the dust off his suit jacket with your hands. You freeze up as soon as you realise. (Whatever deity of embarrassment that exists up there must be having a field day with the two of you today.)

“Sorry. That was. Force of habit. I mean, I’ve never done that before— sorry, again. I really don’t know why I did that,” you say honestly. Maybe it’s a thing you’ve seen married couples do on television and subconsciously kept inside your brain like some kind of secret weapon to only be unleashed when you want to woo someone, but you think it’ll be more humiliating if you admit that.

Kuroo laughs. It’s a unique sound, and you find yourself liking it a lot, unable to keep yourself from returning a small smile at him. “It’s fine. We all have our moments.”

“What time’s your interview at?” you ask out of curiosity, leaning an arm out the window.

“Eight-thirty.”

The both of you stare at each other in silence for a couple of seconds.

You purse your lips. “Isn’t that…”

“Yeah.” He glances down the street, then back at you, and it looks like he doesn’t really want to leave yet. Even though he really should. Pulling out his phone from his pocket, he reads the time: 08:26. “I probably should get going.”

“Well, it was nice talking to you. Good luck with your interview,” you say, trying your best to not sound dismayed. Right before he leaves, however, something — perhaps the prospect of him not getting the job and you never getting to see him again — urges you to call out to him, “Wait.”

He turns back.

“I, um. Parked here ‘cause I was searching up directions to this café that opened up recently. If you’d like, after your interview, we could go get coffee together. You can tell me all about it if it goes well… or complain if it doesn’t.”

“Of course,” he says immediately. He can’t help but feel giddy inside, internally wanting to kick his feet, twirl his hair, and giggle and squeal like a pig all at once. If he was inside a building or a room, maybe he’d also be comically bouncing off the walls like in cartoons. Regardless of these overwhelming compulsions, he retains his composure, cooly adding, “I’d love that.”

“I’ll wait for you here, then,” you affirm with a smile. “See ya later…” Oh, right. You’ve yet to exchange names, but you suppose that can wait for now. “…stranger.”

Amused, he returns, “Later, stranger.”

As he walks away, a voice in the back of his mind makes note yet again of the fact that you have pretty eyes, pretty hands, and, just now, a pretty smile. Maybe, he thinks, he’ll tell you after the interview.

[strangerthingslover69]

‘This is Enzo’ ~ Part 1 ~

Dmitri + female reader (mid twenties)

An unexpected parcel arrives for your step mother Joyce, your heart races when you see the stamps. Instead of showing it to her you quickly take it to your room. Opening it quickly you take out a strange looking doll, one thing lead to another and now you find your on a plane with Murray and Joyce ready to rescue your dad

‘I’ll get it!’ You shout opening the door whilst your step mum Joyce was taking a call. ‘Hey Y/N, can you let Joyce still no sign of Johnathan’s acceptance letter yet. They like to keep everyone on their toes’ the post man says to you hanging you a rather large parcel with some letters. ‘Sure Larry no problem. Thanks’ you say as he leaves. You move the letters and see who the parcels for ‘JOYCE BYERS’ you’re about to shout her but your heart races when you see the stamps. ‘Hey sweetie any news on Jonathan’s letter?’ You hear Joyce’s voice saying from the lounge. ‘Erm, no sorry, nothing yet! I, I’ve got a parcel just gonna open it in my room. It’s, it’s erm a present so you can’t come in okay!’ You shout throwing the letters on the floor and racing to your room before Joyce can even reply. Closing the door behind you, you put the package down on the bed, slowly backing away wondering if this is a good idea. Before you have too much time to thing about it your grabbing scissors from your draw and cutting the string. You stab open the box and rip it open. You find some packaging, buried under that is a weird looking doll. A Russian doll. You examine it, ‘what the fuck is this?’ You mumble to yourself. You turn the doll around to see if there’s anything on the back. Nothing. Quick thinking you lift up the dolls dress and see nothing again, sighing your about to throw it down when you see what appears to be a crack. Your fingers run over the crack, ‘weird, it’s like they’ve glue it back to together?’ You say looking more closely. That’s when the lightbulb in your head goes. ‘They did glue it back! So, so there must be something inside?!’ You say getting up to look for something to smash it open. Searching in all of your draws you don’t find anything but then you remember Johnathan having a hammer on his room from putting up that picture up of him and Nancy. You open your door quietly quickly making your way over to your step brothers room, luckily for you it’s on his bed. A minute later back in your room hammer in hand ready to smash the doll. You sit down on your bed, taking a deep breath you close your eyes and *smash’. The doll breaks into pieces. ‘Y/N, everything okay?’ You hear Joyce shout up. ‘Yeah, all good just knocked something. Sorry Joyce. Just going to clean it up!’ You about back down hoping she’ll believe you. ‘Just be careful’ Joyce shouts back and you hear her leave. Phew that was close. Moving the broken pieces you catch your finger on a shattered piece of porcelain. ‘Shit’ you say sucking the blood off. You notice something sticking up from the dolls stomach. You take out what appears to be a piece of paper and it out. Your hands shake a little as your unravel the letter.

“Hop is alive. He looks ford too date. Pleeze to make resarvazion, call 7-415-218-4642. Open twelve day P.E.T.T. No govt, pls. Kind regards, Enzo.”

As you finish reading it you can hardly believe what you are reading. You re read it again just to make sure you’ve read it right. Tears fill your eyes as there’s the proof you finally needed. Your dad is alive. You reach for your phone ready to call the number, but you don’t. You can’t. It’s not suppose to be for you. But Joyce has been through so much. You need to help her but you can not do this on your own. You hesitate as your press the buttons but you know who you need to call. Putting the phone up to your ear you wait for the answer.

‘Hello, who’s this and what do you want?’ you hear Murrays voice down the phone.

‘As pleasant as ever Murray’ you say rolling your eyes. You haven’t missed this man

‘Do my ears deceive me or it that Y/N Hopper?’ He says questioning you

‘It’s the one and only. Yup it’s me. Look Murray I’ll make this quick, it’s important. I need to wait till I’ve stopped talking to reply okay?’ You say holding the letter like your life depended on it.

‘Okay I’m curious now. I’m all ears’ Murray replies

‘Well here’s the thing’ -you take a deep breath- ‘Joyce received a parcel today and I opened it. I know I shouldn’t but I have good reason. The stamps they, they were from Russia Murray. Fricken Russia! So I opened it. Inside was this creepy looking Russian doll. At first glance looked fairly normal I guess but upon examining her more I noticed she was cracked under her clothes. She’d been glued back together. So, so I smashed her with a hammer. Inside was a note. A note from my dad! Well from someone who called Enzo. It reads, “Hop is alive. He looks ford too date. Pleeze to make resarvazion, call 7-415-218-4642. Open twelve day P.E.T.T. No govt, pls. Kind regards, Enzo.” Only Joyce and Hopper knew about that date. She told me about it a few days later after dads funeral. I knew they like each other he just never wanted to admit it the grumpy old git. But Murray he’s alive. Hopper. My dad. He’s alive!’ You say happily. You wait for Murray to respond but he doesn’t. ‘You, you still there?’ You ask hesitantly

You hear Murray sigh. ‘So Y/N you are telling me Joyce gets a package and you think it’s a great idea to open it knowing it’s from Russia? Then not only you see the dolls is cracked you think it’s a great idea to just smash it in your house. What if there was a bomb?! Jesus kid I didn’t think you were that stupid. And as for this letter. It just sounds, well terrible to be honest. And please tell me for the love of god you haven’t called it’ Murray says feeling very frustrated

‘What? No of course I haven’t! I’ll admit it was stupid of me to just smash it in my room but c’mon Murray surely this is proof my dads alive?!’ You say getting up from your bed with the letter scrunched up tightly in your hand. ‘Are you sure no one else knew about this date? I mean Jim could have told this ‘Enzo’ anything! You can’t trust the note Y/N I’m sorry but you can’t’ Murray says bluntly

‘I’d bet my life on it. I called you because I thought you’d be able to help me. If you can’t I’ll call the number-’ you reply but Murray cuts you off

‘NO! Do not call that number. For all we know it could be the KJB! The last thing we need is for them to track you and your family down. Look kid I’ll be on the next plane and on my way to you.’ Murray says hanging up

‘But!’ You try to reply telling him not to but the line goes dead.

You call again but no look. What the hell were you gonna tell Joyce about Murray’s surprise visit. Well you had at least until the next day to think about it.

That night you decided was best to stay in your room, you just said you didn’t feel well. You weren’t wrong since opening the parcel for Joyce from your dad you’d been riddled with guilt and it made you feel sick to your stomach. That night you didn’t really sleep. You had to face the facts. You had to tell Joyce about your discovery. You waited till the others had gone to the roller rink before you took the box down with the note and doll. ‘Joyce. I need to tell you something’ you say making your way over to her, hands shaking on the box. Joyce turns from the kitchen and looks at you. Her eyebrows frown as she sees the box you’ve placed on the table. ‘This the present you were talking about?’ She asks coming over. ‘Not exactly.’ You say. Telling Joyce was hard. So fucking hard. When you explained about the parcel and the stamps she looked surprised. Then you showed the broken doll and the note from your dad. As you pass it to her you can’t help but hate yourself from hiding this from her. You see her face as she reads the words. Her eyes fill with tears as yours did, she looks to you mouth open. ‘Y/N, I, I don’t know what to say. Did, did you call this number? How could you keep this from me?’ She says sitting down hands creeping through her hair. You sit next to her. ‘I’m so sorry Joyce. I, I don’t know. I don’t have a answer in all honesty. I saw the stamps and I could help myself. I am truly sorry. I did not call the number but I called someone who can hopefully help’ you say feeling as guilty as a sinner. ‘Who?’ Joyce asks leaning towards you. You open your mouth as your about to tell her.

*knock knock* You and Joyce turn to the door. The knocking comes again. ‘Y/N c’mon open up’ you hear Murray’s voice at the other end of the door. Joyce gets up and opens to door. ‘You didn’t think to call to tell me what Y/N has been up to? She’s just a kid Murray!’ Joyce says letting him in. ‘I’m not a kid! It’s not his fault. I called him for help he insisted on coming over.’ You say making you my way over to them. ‘Sweetie I didn’t mean it like that. But you are just a kid.’ Joyce says running your arm. ‘I’m twenty six. I’m not a kid. Ive seen so much! I’ve survived! I’ve shot a god damn demogorgan. I’ve crawled to tunnel to escape demodogs. I’ve been captured in a secret Russian lab and drugged. I’ve seen monsters. I’ve seen what you have. I’ve lived through it too. I’m not a kid.’ You say raising your voice louder. ‘Okay, okay your right. I’m sorry. But sweetie you will always be a child to me. No matter how old you are. You’ve been through too much just like the rest of us have’ Joyce says bringing you in for a hug. You hug her back and cry a little. ‘So now we’ve got the loving mother daughter stuff out the way. The letter?’ Murray says setting down his suitcase. You rush over and pass Murray the letter. He sits as he reads it out loud. ‘I like it even less now. I mean seriously. No government please?’ He says throwing down the letter. ‘I don’t trust it either but what other options do we have? Only Hopper and I knew about our date at Enzo’s. This is proof he’s alive. How do we not know it’s from a friend?’ Joyce says sitting down next to Murray. ‘How do we know it’s not KJB Joyce? We’ve got a lot to consider here. We did kill half a dozen commies!’ Murray says feeling frustrated. ‘Okay so we don’t know who the hell it is but like Joyce says it’s proof Hoppers alive. Now please make the damn phone call so we can get my dad!’ You says pleading. Murray gets up from the sofa and walks over to his suitcase. You and Joyce look at one another. ‘What are you doing?’ Joyce asks. ‘Well if we’re gonna call that number, we’re doing it my way’ Murray says opening his bag. You both appear in it. It looks like electrical equipment. ‘Well don’t just stand there. You need to help me set it up, c’mon let’s go!’ Murray says clapping his hands.

Half an hour later and everything seems to be set up ready to make this call to Enzo. ‘Okay, so now you’re calling from Dallas, remember make it quick and we need proof he’s alive’ Murray says reminding Joyce. She nods and dials the number, Joyce signals him and he presses the button ready to record and Joyce puts the phone on speaker. Looking at one another anxiously as the phone rings. After a few rings someone answers

‘This is Enzo’ you hear a man’s voice come through with a thick Russian accent

‘Yes hello Enzo, this is Joyce. I received your message and would like to make a reservation’ Joyce replies

‘Ah yes. Good. Good. But for reservation you need to make a deposit’ Enzo replies

‘Eurghh what kind of deposit?’ Joyce says looking at you and Murray confused

‘$40,000. You have it in Hopper trust yes?’ Enzo replies

‘Yes yes $40,000’ Joyce replies. You and Murray look at one another in shock still

‘Good. Bring to Yuri’s fish ‘n’ Fly in Nome, Alaska’ Enzo says

‘You want me to go to Alaska?’ Joyce says looking at you both

‘Yes. You give Yuri money. Yuri gets me money. I give him your friend. Simple trade. Understand?’ Enzo says

Murray mouths ‘proof of life’

Joyce begins to open her mouth but you speak up. ‘We need to talk to Hopper. We need to know he’s alive!’ You say with panic

‘You are not Joyce. Who is this?’ Enzo says quizzically

‘Y/N Hopper. Now let me talk to my dad’ you say becoming angry

‘Y/N. Yes your father has spoken about you. He said you had spirit but did no mention you were how you say. Feisty’ Enzo says in a teasing tone. You see red

‘Look here you commie bastard let me talk to him. Now!’ Joyce and Murray try to get you to calm but no use

‘Not possible, you see. He’s stuck. I get him unstuck.’ - there’s a banging from the other side of the phone with muffled speaking. ‘You have two days. Yuris fish ‘n’ fly. $40,000.’ -Louder banging and a woman’s voice but you do not understand her - ‘I wish I could to meet you Y/N, such a shame. Do not contact here again.’ Enzo says hanging up the phone

‘No no!’ You scream and the tears come rolling down. Joyce is quickly by your side hugging you. ‘Sweetie we will get him. Don’t worry. We will get that money’ Joyce says stroking you hair. ‘Let’s play is back and listen to make sure we’ve got all the facts’ Murray says rewinding the tape. You all listen to the message at least four times and you know the facts. You sigh getting up. Joyce rewinds it one more time. ‘You hear that?’ She asks you and Murray. ‘Hear what?’ Murray asks. Joyce rewinds the tapes again. ‘That, right there!’ She points to the tape. You can hear banging and a muffled voice. ‘It sounds like someone else is there?’ You say listening more carefully. ‘It’s, it’s Russian? Murray can you translate?’ You ask with hope. Joyce rewinds the tapes again and Murray listens carefully. He shakes his head. ‘I can’t hear it. It’s too quiet’ he says. Joyce gets up quickly taking the tape. You and Murray look at one another and follow her. You see her putting the tape into Jonathan’s record machine and passing Murray the headphones. ‘Joyce you genius!’ Murray says putting on the headphones. He listened carefully. ‘Okay turn it up’ he says. He winches but listens. ‘Okay so she’s mad at Enzo. She, she wants to use the phone. She calls him a ‘mooser’ Murray says. ‘What’s a mooser?’ You ask feeling confused. ‘It translates to English as trash or garbage. It’s like pig, it’s often insinuated at cops’ Murray says taking off the headphones. ‘Or guards?’ Joyce says with a small smile. ‘Hoppers stuck’ you whisper. ‘Enzo can get him unstuck’ Murray says. ‘Enzo’s a prison guard. Hopper bribed him’ Joyce says. ‘Sure does sound like dad’ you say with a small chuckle. Joyce gets up and leaves the room, you and Murray follow. ‘Where are you going?’ Murray asks. ‘To the bank. We’re going to Enzo his money and we’re bringing Hopper home!’ Joyce says taking her bag from the side and opening the door. You and Murray look at one another and follow. This was it. You were going to get your dad back. Little did you know what really lies ahead

[quanticowrites]

Road-Trip Therapy Pt. 2 (Jack Dalton x Reader)

•• Hello! This is Pt. 2 to this fic that I posted in JULY 2022. Listen, I didn't think it was gonna take this long but apparently it has. Anyway, enjoy! ••

Next thing you knew it was midnight. Most of the nearby restaurants had closed by then, and Jack didn't want fast food.

“Hey, use that fancy phone of yours and look up the nearest 24-hour diner.”

“Why can't you use yours?” You questioned, doing what he asked anyway. “Mac use it for something again?”

“No,” He stated, walking out of the bathroom. “But it's a wonder he didn't.”

“The nearest diner is about twenty minutes away.”

“Alright! Let's get some grub!”

You hadn't expected much of a crowd at this hour but when you got there there were only a few booths available. Most of the other patrons looked to be truck drivers or some of the local youth who didn't have anywhere else to hang out. The waitress was nice and sat you both in a corner booth by the jukebox. Jack ordered your drinks before going over and looking at the different song options.

“You want to pick out your dinner?” You joked, flipping the menu. “Or should I just go with your usual?” Jack dug some change out of his pocket stuck it in the machine and picked a song. He had a shit-eating grin as he came back to the table and picked up the other menu.

“Naw, I got it.” The speakers clicked before ultimately starting to play the song he'd picked. You rolled your eyes. Metallica. Of course.

“Who played Metallica!” You heard the cook yell from the kitchen. “Whoever you are, I love you!”

“Love you too, Man!” Jack yelled back with a laugh.

“Okay! Are you two ready to order?” The waitress came back over. As Jack ordered a double cheeseburger and fries, you couldn't help but notice that the waitress had undone a few buttons on her shirt. You ordered a bowl of Mac and Cheese, watching her leave before looking back to Jack, who was already in protective boyfriend mode.

“(Y/n)...”

“The nerve!” You hissed. “Right in front of me!”

“It doesn't mean anything, (y/n).” You leaned back in your seat, taking a deep breath.

“I know that.” You kicked him lightly from under the table. “It's still fucking rude.” He nodded with a smirk.

“Yeah, it is.” You leaned back and Jack thrummed his fingers on the table to the beat. Fifteen minutes later you both had your food and were digging in. It was good! Like, really good! You'd have to hit this place on the way back to California.

You both ate your food and went back to the hotel. Now with full bellies, it was even easier to fall back asleep. Your back pressed against Jack’s body and his arm draped over your stomach. Every so often he ran his hand across your skin, making you giggle. You woke to his teeth nipping at the back of your neck.

“Jack….”

“Come on, Baby, let's have a little fun before we leave.”

“Don't we still have to stop for gas?”

“Still got plenty of time for kissing.” He cooed into your ear before biting the lobe. “And biting.” You bit your lip. Damn this man. You turned as he let go, planting a kiss on his chin before making your way down his chest.

“You're due for a shave.” You mumbled, nuzzling your face between his breasts. “It's like a jungle.”

“Oh, hardy har har.” He smiled, curling his legs around you and pulling you closer. “Maybe that waitress at the diner would like my chest hair.” You laughed.

“I'm sure she'd like your wallet more.”

“Hey, ya gotta tip your waitresses.”

“Not when she wants to get in your pants.” You counter, smirking. You knew it wasn't Jack’s fault he was so good-looking. You couldn't blame the ladies for trying, either. That had been you once.

“Ah come on, you know I only got eyes for you.”

“Mmhmm.”

After another six-hour car ride, you both finally made it to Yellowstone. You found out getting a memorial bench was a little pricey, but you didn't hesitate to start filling out the paperwork with Jack. It was like wrangling a bear to have Jack let you pay for it.

“Whoa! Look at that one!” You turned from where you were looking at some idiot tourists walking a little too close to the edge of a cliff side to where Jack was pointing. “That boy’s huge!” Jack had a smile ear to ear. “I gotta get a picture of that to show Boozer! He thinks his neighbor's Great Dane’s the biggest thing out there!” Jack laughed. You leaned against him as he zoomed in on the huge Buffalo. Something came out from behind it.

“A calf!” You squealed. “It's adorable!”

“Wolf chow.” You gasp, jabbing Jack in the gut.

“Don't say that!”

“Hey, nature’s a relentless mother.” You both watched the calf run around. Jack put his arm around you.

“Thanks for the idea, (y/n).”

“I didn't do anything, Jack.”

“You brought up Wolves.” You blinked. When had you…

“When we were in Russia?”

“Yeah.”

“That was six months ago.” You looked up at him, catching his eye under his aviator sunglasses. “You've been sitting on this idea for six months?” He shrugged.

“It's nothing.” You sighed.

“Whatever you say.” You wrapped an arm around him too. “They say your Dad’s bench will be done by next Spring.”

“What are ya sayin’? Ya wanna come back?” You shrugged.

“Why not? It was a nice road trip.” Jack nodded.

“Yeah, it was.”

Tag list:

@stanathanxoox , @nikkiwierden , @malindacath , @havlindzk , @countrygal17a , @memyselfandmaddox , @octobersmog , @mizzezm , @diaryofafan17 , @emmitheacefangirl , @a-sad-excuse-of-everything , @marennnx, @carry-on-wayward-girl

[lacheri]

11:29 PM, 4/20

pairing: stoner!Eren and fem bodied reader

content: smoking/drugs, dumbification, finger fucking, penetration, porn without plot, minors DNI

summary: eren's been trying to fuck you for years now, and he's got a different angle to play at this time. all it takes are a few pretty words and free weed.

wc: 3.5k

notes: happy 4/20 lmfao i wrote this in two hours and i'm posting this unedited and half asleep

‘Rolling up, you sliding through?’

Your phone illuminated brightly against your face as you held your phone above you, your bed’s soft comforter brought up to your chin. You bit your lip, contemplating Eren’s invitation. Your eyes glanced to the clock in the corner of your phone screen, blinking a couple of times. ‘11:29 PM’ it read back.

‘Pleaaaase, 4/20 is almost over ):’ Eren had resorted to double texting, and you sighed, his battle easily won. You tried to believe it was fought hard, but you knew perfectly well that you were wrapped around Eren’s pretty little finger. He called, you answered. Simple as that.

‘I want a blunt all to myself for this Jaeger. I’m literally in bed right now’ you typed back quickly, clicking the off button on the side of your device, begrudgingly throwing your blanket off your body as the heat escaped. You gazed down at your attire, sweatshirt and sleep shorts bundled up to your form, and you sighed once again. Eren was going to have to accept you like this, because there was absolutely no way in Hell that you could fathom throwing on real clothes this late at night.

‘What’re you wearing? Send pics’

‘Eren I’m LITERALLY!!! On my way to your house right now’. This boy was going to be the death of you, or at least whatever brain cells you had left.

Fuzzy pink slides adorned on your feet, hair thrown up in the messiest ‘neat’ bun you could manage, you pocketed your keys and wallet. You grabbed your bookbag in the corner of your room full of paraphernalia, knowing well by now that Eren was too lazy to buy bongs or bowls, and made your way out of your home, locking the front door on your way out. You hit the unlock button on your car, throwing the bag in the passenger seat and set out for your late night journey.

It wasn’t uncommon for your best friend to hit you up so late, in fact it was Eren’s peak hours for hanging out. He never genuinely inconvenienced you, just an annoyance because every single time you got that invite text or call, your head would have just hit the pillow beneath you, sleep on the horizon. Traffic was the best at this time too, you would reason on the way there, virtually no cars on the road, turning your usual twenty minute ride into a ten minute one.

When you rolled up Eren’s driveway, you could see the dark red lights of his bedroom through the upstairs window on the front of the house. You picked your phone out of your pocket, texting a quick ‘I’m here’. You grabbed your bag, slinging it over your shoulder and climbed out of your car. By the time you made it to his front door, Eren was swinging it open, a goofy smile on his face.

“Just us tonight?” you asked, referring to the lack of cars in the driveway as you glided through the entryway.

“Yeah, feeling greedy. We haven’t hung out just us in awhile,” Eren smirked, leaning back and letting his eyes travel down your spine as you slid by him. He reached and pulled the door closed, locking it quickly and following quickly behind you.

You spent most of your nights here, knowing the pathway to Eren’s room. You jogged up the stairs, oblivious to Eren’s eyes trained in on your bouncing ass in your loose fitted shorts. His bedroom door was wide open, and you navigated over clothes thrown haphazardly on his floor to his unmade bed. You bounced as you sat down, hitting the mattress with your full weight and unzipping your bag, picking out your favorite bowl. Eren lifted the corner of his mouth, clearly amused at how at home you had made yourself.

“Comfy?” he asked, a teasing tone to his voice as he joined you on the bed, rolling tray and jar of bud in hand.

“Mhm,” you hummed, eyeing Eren’s hands as they set quickly to work. His grinder sat on the bed behind him, and after picking out a few clusters of green from the jar, he reached behind him and popped the top off, going through the motions of getting prepped for the smoke session. “What’d you do today?”

Eren shot you a dumb founded look, “It’s 4/20, what do you think I’ve been doing all day?”

You rolled your eyes, throwing your hands up in surrender, “Just making a joke, asshole.”

He chuckled, extending his hand out so you could pass him your bowl, packing it not long after. Eren looked around his mattress for a lighter, eyebrows drawn together as he couldn’t find one. You smirked then, extending the black lighter you had packed in your bag, and Eren smiled gratefully. He flicked the lighter once it was in his possession, pointer finger resting over the choke as he placed the pipe to his lips, inhaling deeply as the fresh green turned to ash. He lifted his long finger off the choke hole, removing the pipe as he held the smoke in for a few seconds, eyes instantly glazing as he exhaled.

Eren was one of those smokers that the second he had a hit of weed, it was written all over his face that he was high, even if he wasn’t. When Eren picked up the habit in highschool, his parents knew instantly what the boy had been doing during his “study sessions” with his friends. Now that he was an adult and moved out of his childhood home, Eren was pretty free in his indulgences, no longer carrying around eye drops to try and help him appear as innocent as possible.

After his second hit, Eren passed you back your bowl and lighter, coughing lightly as he exhaled, “What about you? What’d you do today?”

“Not much, spent all day watching documentaries and smoking my vape,” you laughed lightly, positioning the pipe to your own lips.

Eren’s eyes drank in the sight of your pretty plump lips as they wrapped around the tip of the pipe, fingers copying his as you bent your finger over the choke. The lighter ignited after a single flick, warm colored flames illuminating your face. It was like Eren was watching you in slow motion, but it was always like that with you, even when he wasn’t high. He could see the fire in your eyes as they focused downwards to your actions, and Eren felt his mouth go dry. You pulled the bowl away, making eye contact with him as the smoke exited your lips, licking your face as it traveled towards the ceiling on your exhale.

The two of you made small talk as you passed the bowl back and forth, Eren making a face once the bud was dead. He packed another bowl, repeating the rotation until that one was dead. The two of you thoroughly fried, he put the pipe on his bedside table and leaned his back against the wall by his bed. You mirrored him, resting your head on his broad shoulder as the two of you enjoyed each other’s company.

“We should make edibles this weekend,” you suggested, fingers playing with the drawstring of your hoodie. “Maybe invite the group over and get zooted and play a game or something.”

“Zooted?” Eren snorted. “I haven’t heard that word in years, grandma.”

You shot Eren a glare, which he began to laugh at, “I’m hip, okay? Zooted is making a comeback.”

“Stop trying to fit in with the youth, Myrtle,” he teased, wrapping his arm around your waist to tuck you into his side. “Man, if I was only 50 years older.”

You lightly elbowed his side, “You wish you could bag 70 year old me. I’m a fucking catch.”

“I wish I could bag you period,” Eren confessed, probably for the hundredth time of you knowing him. “How come you’ve never let me take you out?”

“Because, you’d just fuck and dump me and then I wouldn’t have a plug anymore,” you pouted, purposefully snuggling in closer.

“Is that what you really think?” he asked seriously, positioning his neck to the side so he could look down at you.

You looked up, centimeters apart from his face, “That’s what you did with all the other girls.”

“But you’re my best friend,” Eren frowned, taking his hand and pushing your hair behind your ear. “I wouldn't do that to you.”

“Don’t know if I wanna’ really find that out,” you smiled sadly.

“C’mon, let me prove it to you,” Eren licked his lips. “Fuck me, right now, and I’ll take you out tomorrow.”

You felt a pulse in your pussy suddenly, gulping spit down as you broke the eye contact, “I don’t know ‘Ren. We’ve been friends since highschool, what if it makes things weird?”

“You can’t look me in the eyes right now and tell me that you’ve never thought about it, about us,” his voice was a hare above a whisper. “Because I think about it all the time. ‘Is why I hit you up all the time, I like you stupid, I always have.”

This confession was so different from all the other ones. Eren was practically begging to let him in between your legs on a weekly basis, ever since you had met him. Never once had he been this honest though, so genuine sounding about his feelings. He had a point as well, you thought about being with him all the time. You were always at his house or going out somewhere together, you spent all your free time with him, of course you would have feelings for Eren.

“If,” you started, your eyes blinking rapidly as you returned your gaze to his red ones. “I say yes, and things are weird after, we’re going to pretend like this never happened and we go back to being friends.”

“Deal.”

Eren’s lips crashed into your’s, any and all hesitation rolling off your body as you eagerly returned his kiss. His other arm circled you, bringing you in somehow even closer to him as your hands grabbed both of his cheeks, feeling the flex of his jaw as you smashed your lips together. Eren’s hand traveled under the hem of your sweatshirt to the small of your back, guiding you to sit in his lap. Legs on either side of his hips, your tongues slipped through the both of your lips, meeting in the middle.

Maybe it was the high, maybe it was Eren, but the throbbing in your cunt only expanded as Eren smoothed his hands all over the middle of your torso. They traveled up to the swell of your breasts, free from a bra, cupping both tits in his large hands. His thumbs slid and teased your nipples, hardening instantly under his touch. You arched your back, pushing your chest into his palms even more, your hips flicking as he tweaked your nipples between his fingers.

You both moaned into each other’s mouths at the roll of your hips, feeling Eren’s dick harden fast underneath your clothed center. Eren had been wearing a pair of thin grey sweatpants, leaving not much to the imagination while he was in this state. You felt his lips scrape against your bottom lip, pulling it into his mouth and sucking gently. He released it, a string of saliva linking to the two of you together.

“I’ve been imagining this for forever,” Eren’s eyes were glazed and deep red when you met his gaze. “I just never thought this would happen.”

“I’ve been wanting you too,” you admitted, your dirty little secret exposed.

He smirked at your confession, hands still toying with your breasts. Silencing you once more with his passionate kiss, he moved his hands downwards and to your back until he met the waistband of your shorts. He easily slid under the hem, gripping your ass in his palms, kneading and spreading you apart. You felt your pussy flutter, the indirect contact sending you into a deep pit of arousal, your senses heightened greatly.

It was like Eren could read your mind, and his fingers traveled to your spread cunt over his lap, running a finger over your slit over your panties. You whined, pressing your hips down to achieve a greater pressure from his hand, in turn allowing your wetness to seep through the cotton of your panties. Eren chuckled against your lips, reading your body language loud and clear. He pushed the fabric aside, allowing his knuckles to brush directly into your folds. You moaned into his mouth as he spread your arousal around your vulva. When his thumb bumped against your clit, you felt your patience snap entirely.

“‘Ren, need your fingers, now,” you panted, eyes half lidded as his kiss traveled to the underside of your jaw.

“You got it, baby girl,” he hummed into your skin. There was no resistance as he pushed his middle finger into your opening. “Fuck, you’re fucking soaked. This all for me?”

You couldn’t find your voice, nodding and whining out as he pumped his single digit into your pussy. His touch was slow, deliberate, trying to memorize every single ridge and flutter of your walls as you pulsed around him. Eren’s mouth was dry, dick hard and throbbing, completely lost in the feeling of you sucking his finger in deeper. He couldn’t comprehend the fact that his cock would be replacing his fingers soon, finally fucking you like he had imagined for years now.

His middle finger dared to pull out, and you let out a desperate whine, thinking that was his plan. You gasped in relief and pleasure as his ring finger pushed past your entrance, clenching tightly on his fingers. Eren found solace in this, perceiving your flutters as permission to go finger fuck you at an ungodly pace. He positioned his wrist as a more comfortable angle, and his fingers pumped inside of you at the speed of light.

Your eyebrows came together, mouth hanging open as you squeaked and whined, Eren’s other hand finding purchase on your jaw. He squeezed your cheeks together lightly, forcing your lips to pout as he maintained direct eye contact with you. His own lips hung open, and you could see your reflection in his blown out pupils. It only enticed you more, you looked heavenly. Eren couldn’t have worded it before himself if you had verbalized this, whole heartedly agreeing with you.

“You’re so tight,” Eren groaned out, his hand leaving your chin and slipping two fingers in between your lips. “Suck, baby.”

You did as you were told, Eren’s fingers slowing to fuck up into roughly, hitting your sweet spot over and over. Your tongue circled around his knuckles, lips vibrating on his fingers as your moans were silenced. Eren was thoroughly enjoying himself, seeing you completely under his control like this. You were putty in the palm of his hands, literally.

He slid his fingers out of your cunt so suddenly, feeling the gush of your arousal against your inner thighs as his hand left your shorts. His other hand fell out of your mouth, moving back to your jaw as you felt the wetness of your spit spread across your face. Eren brought the hand he was fucking you with to his own mouth, and you were practically drooling at the sight of him sucking your pussy juices off of his fingers.

“Delicious,” he cooed after he pulled them from his lips. “Just like I always imagined.”

You took this as your opportunity to remove some of your clothing. You tugged your hoodie over your head, tossing it on the floor. Eren followed suit, removing his own white t-shirt and reattaching his lips to yours. You tasted hints of yourself, not at all repulsed, in fact the exact opposite. You tasted sweet, tart but sweet.

You pushed yourself away from Eren, scooting off his lap in order to tear off your shorts and panties. Eren mirrored you, almost ripping his pants and boxers off as he slid them past his thighs and ankles to the floor. He remained in his seated position, eyes swirling and fingers twitching at his sides as he watched your crawl back to him. You placed a sloppy kiss to his lips before turning your body around, placing your feet on the mattress on either side of his lap. Sat in a full crouch now, you grabbed Eren’s cock, pumping him a few times with both of your hands in a screw motion. He moaned from behind you, his own hands gripping your ass cheeks to support your frame.

You guided Eren to your hovering pussy, teasing your clit, soaking him in your dripping heat. He cursed underneath you, his right hand moving to your hip as you lowered yourself on his length. Eren groaned loudly as the feelings of satisfaction and relief flowed through his body, his own heightened senses taking over. You moved to rest on your knees when you felt Eren bottom out inside of you, a string of moans and whimpers leaving your lips. You arched your back and Eren leaned back more, eyes stationed on your beautiful round ass.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he ran a hand up to the back of your head, untangling your messy bun so your hair fell free down your back. “C’mon baby, bounce on my dick.”

You lifted your hips, slamming down to his pelvis urgently. It was so overwhelming, the feeling of his cock filling you to the brim making your brain empty. Your eyes screwed shut, mouth hanging open dumbly as drool coated the swell of your lips. You bounced again, and Eren yanked your hair back as he watched your pussy stretch around him, close to snapping and drilling into you as he saw the creamy ring form around his base. You were a moaning mess, unable to think clearly as your body took over. Pushing all your weight into your knees and palms resting on Eren’s thighs, you fastened your pace, ass bouncing every time Eren’s fat tip brushed up against your cervix.

You felt the sharp sting on your cheek and heard the resounding slap of his hand on your right cheek, tears springing to your eyes, “Fuck, Eren, you feel so good.”

Taking your hips into his strong hands, Eren was finally at his brink as he thrusted hard up into. You yelped, letting yourself go limp as he slammed into your cunt at a dangerous pace. He was in full control now, fucking you into a stupor.

Your hand left it’s home of his thigh, traveling to your aching center to rub your clit. Eren’s position was perfect, rubbing the underside of his shaft against your g-spot. When you opened your eyes, you could see his toes curling, legs flexing and twitching. He wasn’t going to last long, your pussy putting him under a spell. You circled your clit with your pointer and middle fingers, throat raw from all the noises escaping you. All you felt was Eren, all you could hear was Eren, he was filling your entire being up, replacing any and all thoughts they may have lingered in your brain.

“Gonna’ cum,” you whined, fingers moving even faster.

“I’m so fucking close, fucking cum baby,” Eren growled, thrusts desperate and becoming irregular.

You stilled above him, a breathless scream heaving from your throat as you gushed around him. Your pussy clenched so tight, and Eren couldn’t hold back. Because as empty as your brain was, Eren was in the exact same state as he shot his thick load into you, filling your tight cunt up with his cum. You milked his cock, walls convulsing in your mind blowing orgasm. Black spots appeared in your vision when you realized you had forgotten to breathe, you took a deep gasp of air.

You were a panting, sweaty mess hovering over him. Eren was in awe, watching beads of his white seed leak out of your center. He’d worry about the consequences when his brain could comprehend what had just happened, but for now, the deep primal urge of filling you up was sedated. Eren didn’t think he could’ve imagined fucking you for the first time any better than this. And when you finally lifted your hips to release him, he felt a wave of sadness, your beautiful pussy no longer surrounding him.

“Did you, oh my God, Eren,” you lifted your hand in front of you, seeing the creamy white of his cum smeared on your fingers. “You came inside of me?”

“Sorry, baby,” he caught his breath as you turned your head over your shoulder to glare at him. “I’ll buy you Plan B in the morning, promise.”

“I’m on the pill, but still,” you huffed, letting the anger leave you as you realized Eren would take responsibility. “You didn’t know that.”

Eren laughed without humor, “Oh well, at least I know for next time. Now c’mere, wanna’ hold you while I roll a blunt.”

LACHERI © 2021: all writing content belongs to LACHERI. I do not allow reposts or translations. this is my only account.

[ahtsumu]

long shots ; miya osamu

pairing: miya osamu x f!reader

synopsis: miya osamu is the teacher’s assistant for food chemistry i. you can’t stop thinking about him.

tag(s): college!au, slow burn, TA!miya osamu, grad student!reader, fluff, reader is a go-getter!! ; warning(s): profanity, suggestive themes, talk of insecurities and imposter syndrome ; wc: 5.6k

a/n: happy birthday to @starrysamu​! i love u. pls excuse any errors. i’ll weed them out later! btw this fic is not a sugar daddy au LOL

HIS NAME IS Miya Osamu and he always looks like he has it all figured out. Comes in every class with his black hair perfectly tousled, the sleeves of his dark button-up rolled to his elbows, a cup of coffee in one hand and the strap of that black messenger bag in another.

“He drives a BMW, did ya know?” Isla says in your ear one morning. Your only friend in Food Chemistry I gives you a pointed look before sitting back in her chair in the lecture hall with a smirk on her face. “Saw it this morning. Bet he’s loaded.” The two of you watch the subject in question walk across the classroom and settle in his seat at the table in the corner.

“Shut up,” you whisper with wide eyes. A grin–– far from innocent–– makes its way onto your face. “Imagine being Miya Osamu’s sugar baby.”

“He’s not old enough to be a sugar daddy.” Isla looks at her nails disinterestedly. “And that’s too many AUs in one. He’s already the TA, for god’s sake. This isn’t some shitty Wattpad novel.”

A light giggle slips out of your lips. “I can see the title already. My Sugar Daddy is the TA?!”

Now, if anyone had been listening in on your conversation, they would’ve assumed many things about you. The first being that you’re both gold-diggers. This is untrue–– at least, in your case. Isla, you’re not so sure about, given how your friendship only goes back about one month. But she tags you in memes on Instagram so maybe it’s as real as real gets. Their second assumption would be that you have a big fat crush on your TA. That one’s complicated, mostly because it’s true, but only kinda. It all started in the second week of school when Isla caught you staring at Osamu and slipped you a post-it note with both your initials encircled in a heart. And, because you’re shameless with a good sense of humour, you made a show of kissing it while she was looking. And thus began your meaningless but incredibly entertaining, satirical, co-written fantasy about Miya Osamu.

It also didn’t help that on the first essay you got back, Isla’s paper had been marked up with “are you sure?”s and “this is a jump”s, while yours had “excellent reasoning” and “insightful analysis”. You’d even gotten a little comment at the bottom: y/n, fantastic work. you should speak up in class more often. –– OM

But Miya Osamu doesn’t play favourites because the next week you’d gotten another essay back, this time with another comment at the bottom: y/n, not your best work. you could’ve done better by connecting your first paragraph with the second using grant’s reading. conclusion lacked punch, too. all the best. –– OM

Every time you’d read the words scrawled in blue ink, you’d felt a pair of eyes on you. But you chalk it up to Osamu being a careful grader. A good TA. Someone who cares about his students.

Isla calls bullshit on that. You’re not really sure how to feel about her stance.

The classroom door opens and shuts again. You don’t have to look at your phone to know that it’s nine on the dot. Instead, you and Isla straighten your backs, pull out your notebooks, and focus. Your no-nonsense professor says “good morning” in her usual perky manner before jumping right into her keynote presentation.

“Did you all find the reading okay?” Professor Lee asks an hour into the lecture.

A chorus of “yes”s fill the air. You bite your lip, wondering if revealing that you didn’t understand shit will out you as the class idiot. Or maybe your silence is telling enough–– maybe the people in the seats beside you have noticed the grimace on your face and are having thoughts like ‘gee whiz, am I glad I’m not dumb like her’. Heat rushes to your cheeks. Sometimes you really wonder if you’re smart enough to be here. Occurrences like these do nothing to dispel your insecurities.

You vaguely hear her ask something like, “Any thoughts about the reading?” It’s not that you’re actually dumb. It’s just that this class is ridiculously hard for an introductory course, even for a graduate programme. From the start of the semester til now, fifteen people have dropped the class. There’s just twenty of you left. Guess a ridiculously hot TA can’t save a course’s drop-rate.

Before you can make your mind up on what to say, your professor moves on from her question.

As you look off to the side of the room for a break from your thoughts, you find a pair of blue-grey eyes pointed in your direction.

Everything about you, from the expression on your face to the way your muscles tense, makes you look like a deer caught in headlights–– even though he was the one caught staring in the first place. So maybe your shamelessness works on a scale.

Miya Osamu lifts one corner of his mouth.

And as if the exchange hadn’t happened at all, he looks back down at his laptop and continues typing.

The rest of the lecture goes through one ear and out the other.

“Everyone, I believe Osamu has something he wants to say,” Professor Lee says as everyone begins packing their bags.

The raven-haired TA slides out of his seat and sits on top of his desk. “Yeah.” Osamu clears his throat and crosses his arms over his chest. You notice how the muscles in his arms bulge from the movement.

“Whipped,” Isla mutters, grinning mischievously.

“Him for me,” you whisper back, though your eyes do travel back to his face where they should’ve been all along. Osamu catches your gaze and holds it. And then he looks away again.

“Now, I know you’re all Nobel prizewinners in the making,” he begins, garnering a round of snickers and giggles from your classmates. Most people say that cliques dissolve in college. That there’s no such thing as popularity amongst graduate students. That much, you agree with. But no one ever said anything about popular teacher’s assistants. Especially smart, attractive, witty teacher’s assistants like Miya Osamu. “But in case you didn’t understand the reading or would like to develop a deeper understanding of it, don’t hesitate to email me. I’ll try to host a review session all of us can attend.”

Professor Lee smiles appreciatively at Osamu, adding, “That’s a wonderful idea, Osamu. Guys, please take this opportunity if you struggled with the reading. I know eighty pages is a lot, but our next three classes are structured around the concepts in the reading and the mid-term next week will almost exclusively be about it, too.”

Well, shit.

To: m.osamu@hqu.edu

Hi Osamu,

I was wondering if I could get some help with the reading from last class. To be frank, I couldn’t make it past page 15 and I’m lost like a snot-faced five-year-old in a shopping mall on Black Friday. Sorry. Thanks in advance!

Regretfully,

Y/N

MS Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

From: m.osamu@hqu.edu

no problem. is 5 pm tomorrow at jack’s okay? we start on the concepts from the reading next class so i want to get you up to speed asap. let me know. thanks.

OM

PhD Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

It’s five minutes to five when you pull into the parking lot of Jack’s Diner. The shiny, retrofuturistic eatery is a university favourite but the empty parking lot tells you it’s completely deserted right now (and rightfully so–– who eats dinner before six?). The black BMW parked a few spots from your car, however, says that you’re not alone.

Osamu’s figure comes into view as you reach for the handle to the front door of Jack’s. The twenty-six-year-old sits by himself at one of the bright red tables in the back, typing away on his dark grey laptop.

His head lifts up at the sound of the opening door. Osamu calls out your name and waves you over.

“Hi,” you greet with a smile, sitting down across from him.

“Hey.”

You look around before leaning forward on the table. “Is anyone else coming?”

“No.” Osamu sits back in his seat. “I thought about hosting one big group, but then I realised that it’d probably be stressful for the staff here.” He nods his head in the direction of the kitchen. “And I had a hunch that everyone would have different questions. Forcing everyone to review concepts they already know is a waste of time.”

At first, you nod. That makes sense. But then you furrow your brows. “So how long have you been here?”

Osamu blinks. He hadn’t expected you to ask about him. “Hmm? Oh.” He taps his phone to check the time. “Just a while.”

Quirking a brow, you ask, “And how long is ‘a while’ to you?”

“Seven hours,” he admits, chuckling lightly when he sees your jaw drop. “A lot of people had questions. They just don’t act like they do. Anyway, time flies. Really, it does.” Quickly, he clears his throat and sits forward. “So, about your email.” He grins. “Not sure if you meant it to be funny, but it was.”

“I’m glad my distress was entertaining for you. Do you TA just to watch grad students suffer?”

“Perks of the job,” Osamu says. His grin widens when you giggle. He’s never heard you laugh before and he realises at that moment that it’s really nice. And then that same grin falters. Gracefully, of course, and imperceptibly to you. But not to him. Is it okay for him to be… thinking things like that? About a student? But you’re not really his student since he’s just the TA. Right? Osamu ignores the weird feeling that comes over him and clasps his hands together at the edge of his laptop. “Back to your email. Can ya tell me what you’re confused about?”

Three hours and two Impossible Burgers later, you suddenly understand everything about food molecules so well that you wonder why you’d even been confused in the first place. But besides that, you’ve also picked up things about Osamu. As a person and not an idea. Not that you’d been actively searching for fun facts about your TA. But they’d stuck to your brain like gum at the bottom of a desk. He likes to slip sarcastic quips into a conversation every now and then. Eats burgers upside down (“The right way,” as he’d said, smirking). Is friendlier than he looks.

“You’re really good at explaining things,” you comment as Osamu shuts his laptop closed.

“Well, I kinda have to be,” he says. And maybe it’s the mental fatigue catching up on him or the fact that he’s real fond of the reason why he can break big concepts down into morsels but suddenly, the rest of his thoughts spill out his mouth like wine. “I have a twin brother with potato salad for brains.”

“Oh?”

And before he can stop himself, he tells you about Miya Atsumu, the pro-athlete you’ve definitely heard of but never gave too much thought. And then you hold onto the fact that they were both on the volleyball team and you ask of which school, so then he tells you about Inarizaki, the high school he attended, and then his decision not to go pro to go to college, and then––

“Sorry,” he laughs, cheeks turning pink. “You probably didn’t need to hear all that.”

“No, it’s fine,” you say–– and you mean it. “Your life is interesting.”

Osamu leans back in his chair. “Well, I’m sure yours is, too.” He holds your gaze like it’s the key to your presence. It’s an invitation. The kind that comes from people who don’t really know if they want you around but also don’t want you gone.

You take it.

Osamu shouldn’t–– he really shouldn’t–– but he wonders about the things you didn’t tell him the entire drive home.

Isla laughs when you tell her about what happened at Jack’s. You lay in bed with your phone next to you on speaker, your face turned on your pillow so that you’re staring out the window at the city below.

“He wants you,” she sings.

“Or he was just being nice.”

“Methinks not!” Isla giggles. “He’s intrigued, girl! You’re like that cute little new mystery in his life and he just wants to get to know you.”

“I think he was just being polite.”

“Or he’s crushing on you!”

“In your dreams.”

“You mean yours? Boo, you’re no fun today. Usually, you go along with the jokes.” Isla’s tone is playful on the surface but full of implications.

A few silent seconds pass. Yeah, you think, agreeing. I do.

“Girl,” Isla drags out the word in a high pitch, saying it like a scientist says ‘eureka’. “You’re not playing along anymore because it’s real now. You're actually catching feelings!”

“Am not!” you laugh.

“The Y/N I knew would’ve said ‘nah, bitch, he’s catching feelings’ and I think that says all there is to say.”

“Okay, I think he’s cute but it’s not a crush,” you concede, grinning. “And he’s the TA, Isles. It’d never happen.”

“Not while he’s still a TA in a class you take.”

“Isla.”

“Ask him out once this semester ends! Unless you’re chicken.”

“I’m not asking him out.”

“Knew you were––”

“Have you seen me? He’s asking me out.”

Miya Osamu walks through the door at eight-fifty as usual that next morning, dressed in his usual button-up, holding his usual cup of coffee. But this time, as the rest of his tall frame passes through the doorway, Osamu’s eyes subtly scan the faces in the lecture hall, lingering for just a while over yours. The corners of your lips turn up. You hope he saw that.

“Bitch!” Isla whisper-screams. The students sitting around you turn around at the noise and grin at each other when they realise it’s just Isla being… well, Isla. She shoos them away jokingly.

“What?” you whisper back.

“Care to explain why our TA was literally eye-fucking you?”

“That was hardly eye-fucking,” you retort. “Maybe like an eye-handshake.”

“Yeah, a naked eye-handshake where his thang is handshaking your––”

He does it again the next class.

And the next.

And then he doesn’t. Miya Osamu walks through the door to Food Chemistry I at eight-fifty in the morning in a navy blue button-up with a cup of coffee in his hand and looks through the rows of seats in the lecture hall for your face, only to find it missing.

He debates pressing the matter.

To: m.osamu@hqu.edu

hey osamu,

i wasn’t in class today because i’ve been sick with the flu (no big deal, just feel like i’m dying). a classmate sent me pictures of the slides from today so i think i should be fine, but is it okay if i email you with any questions? thank you very much!

miserably,

Y/N

MS Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

From: m.osamu@hqu.edu

y/n,

of course. sorry to hear that you’re sick. let me know if i can do anything to help you. the midterm is next week. get well soon.

OM

PhD Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

“You writing that the midterm is next week did not offer me any peace of mind, by the way,” you say, spinning around in your chair as Miya Osamu enters your pod in the library.

He offers you a wry grin. “Hello to ya, too.”

“Was that an accent?” You thought you’d heard one at Jack’s, but you couldn’t be sure because it’d been so spotty.

Osamu slips into the seat beside yours and pulls out the laptop in his messenger bag. You catch a whiff of his cologne–– something spicy and woody, but clean. It suits him. “Nice catch. Yeah, I speak a regional dialect. Took me a while to smooth it over but it still resurfaces every now and then.”

“Why?”

“It just didn’t seem fitting for a PhD candidate, I guess,” Osamu explains, opening the slides from the class you missed. A day after your initial exchange, you’d emailed him again (with a much clearer mind) and asked if he could go over the slides with you in person.

i literally feel like i’ve been given the homework from russian lit, you’d written. except the russian has been translated to hieroglyphs and my task is to choreograph an interpretive dance based on the hieroglyphs.

Osamu had snickered when he saw your email. that doesn’t even make sense. must be the fever talking, he’d been tempted to write. But that strange feeling had come over him again, the one that’d screamed at him to keep it professional, goddamnit, so he’d played it safe instead and sent is eight pm at the main library okay? He hates that you’re getting a watered-down version of his personality. Osamu swears he’s a lot more interesting when he’s not, well, a TA.

“I think it’s fine,” you say, smiling. “I like it. It’s you.” And suddenly, you’re wondering if it’s okay to be complimenting your TA. If it’s okay to say that you like things about him, or if that crosses some grey, unclear line. Is it weird to treat your TAs like they’re your friends? It’s not like TAs are real teachers. Right?

A grin–– wide and genuine and almost excited–– grows on Osamu’s face. He rubs the back of his neck as his eyes flit over to the laptop screen. “Thanks. Really.”

You nod. But you feel like there’s more that he might want to say, so you wait.

“I got a lot of shit for it when I came here for my master’s, y’know. Not to my face, of course, but people would refer to me as ‘the guy with the accent’. A professor once said it made me seem crass. Said it’d hold me back in my career.”

“So you changed.”

“Adapted,” Osamu corrects. “It’s hard to admit but conforming is sometimes all you can do when you don’t have the power to change the system. Can’t really make everyone suddenly respect a dialect.”

“And after you’re finished with your PhD, you’ll go back to speaking in that dialect?”

Osamu looks out the window and smiles, probably imagining the plans he’s already made about the future. “Yeah.”

“What if you have to speak the standard language at your job? Like, your boss is all, ‘hey man, if you don’t speak––”’

“I’ll be the boss.”

“Oh?”

And with a little more prodding, Miya Osamu tells you about the restaurant chain he plans on opening after graduation, the slides about food additives left completely untouched.

The librarian knocks on your pod a few minutes before eleven to tell you they’re closing.

“Shit,” Osamu murmurs, running his hands through his hair. You’re still laughing about something he’d said before the librarian interrupted him–– one of his stories from high school–– and he thinks that you’ve completely forgotten that the reason you came to the library was to catch up on the material you were already behind on. And now you’re behind on that. But you look so carefree right now and, actually, you’re very pretty and you’ve got such a good heart and it’s a lot for him to process but he knows he just wants to see you happy a while longer. So Osamu just slumps back in his chair and laughs along with you.

He says your name as his chuckles grow softer. “It’s pretty late. How’re you getting home?”

“I’ve a bike,” you reply. It’s good for the environment and is a pretty solid form of exercise if you do say so yourself. Sometimes you just don’t feel like driving. 

Osamu presses his lips in a thin line. Would it be too much to offer you a ride? “I can drive you home. It’s really not safe for you to be alone outside, especially near midnight. You can get your bike tomorrow. Or I’ll get it for you.”

He drives fast. Not the unsafe fast that speed demons drive at, but the kind of fast where you know he’s got some edge to his character. You bring it up to him–– especially since it’s nighttime, for god’s sake, he could hit something–– and all he does is remind you how there are lamps as bright as the sun lining the entire road to your dorm. And the fact that you live in the least accessible dorm on campus.

“A twenty-minute drive?” he’d exclaimed when he saw the GPS monitor.

“A bunch of roads are closed for construction. It’s a ten-minute bike-ride because I can cut through campus.” And suddenly feeling a little burdensome, you’d added, “Sorry. I can still bike––”

“No.” He’d held his hand out in front of you, gesturing for you to stay in the passenger’s seat. “It’s not a bother at all.” Because it wasn’t. Osamu was… happy. Not that he’d admit that.

“So this BMW,” you start in a teasing tone.

Osamu smirks. “A gift.”

“Can I guess from who?”

“Sure.”

“Atsumu.”

His brows rise. “Colour me impressed.” He hadn’t expected you to remember anything he’d said about Atsumu. Or maybe he had but told himself otherwise to lower his hopes.

“I’m smart like that.”

He snorts. “Not if you keep distracting me and using your review time to…” hang out with me, get to know me, tell me things about you… “…goof off.”

You grimace. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

Osamu makes a turn down a familiar street. It dawns upon you that you're ten minutes away from your dorm and suddenly you wish he’d just make the wrong turn at the next intersection so that you could talk to him some more. It can even be about the health benefits of fish or the molecular makeup of kale–– you don’t mind. You just want to be around him longer.

“I think you’re really smart,” Osamu says quietly. “I think you’re not processing the readings because you’re distracted, or just not fully applying yourself. Obviously, last class’s slides are a different thing, since you were absent. But you really are smart. I’ve seen your papers.”

You bite your lip to hide your grin, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. “Thank you.” You look out the window, too jacked on dopamine to think straight. “I think I still need you, though.”

And that innocuous little sentence floats right out your mouth into the air, settling between you like a little wedge before either of you even realise it. Neither of you says anything. You marinate in the awkwardness before stuttering out a clarification. “To, um, to explain things. Y’know, since you’re, uh, so good at… explaining things.”

Osamu clears his throat and chuckles stiffly. There’s a slightly pink tinge to his cheeks. “Thanks,” he says, looking straight ahead. He can’t even look at you. Fuck. It’s so awkward. “I’ll try to keep… explaining things.” Fuck. What does that even mean?

A few uncomfortable minutes pass in silence. The night can’t end like this, you think. It can’t when everything else had gone so well. You still have to see him for a few more months. “Did you know,” you start, catching Osamu’s attention, “that Jack’s Diner has a location in Italy?”

“Oh?” he asks, making the final turn to the street where your dorm is. He actually hadn’t.

“Yeah. I asked the owner about the chain a while back. Have you ever been to Italy?”

Osamu shakes his head. “I’ve been to Paris, though. To see a friend. He’s a chocolatier.”

Now, if Osamu had been your friend, you would’ve said something like well, let’s go to Italy together, except he’s not. He’s your TA and you’ve been reminded that enough tonight. So instead, you say, “When you open that restaurant of yours in Italy, let me know.”

“That’s gonna take a while,” he laughs. He appreciates how you said ‘when’, though. And he tucks that little bit of confidence you have in him somewhere deep in his mind so that it doesn’t get lost.

“Isn’t that just seven hours?” you shrug, grinning. Osamu’s BMW pulls up outside your dorm and parks as he marvels at what you just said. You’re amazing. You unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to face your driver.

“Thank you for driving me,” you say, offering him a smile.

“Yeah,” he replies.

You stretch out your hand. With a puzzled look on his face, Osamu grabs it and shakes it. Firmly. You can’t help but notice how nice his hands are. Calloused for sure, but they feel nice.

“Goodnight, Osamu.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

He watches you jog into the building before driving away. And it’s like you’ve possessed his car or something because the smell of your shampoo and perfume is everywhere and it’s too much but it’s also not enough at the same time and he can feel your palm against his as he spins the steering wheel to make a turn and for the first time in his life he doesn’t turn on the radio to fill the silence in his car. Osamu replays everything you said in his head.

But he especially thinks about that part where you said you need him.

Weeks melt into months. You turn in essays after essays for Food Chemistry I, each coming back with detailed commentary in an all-too-familiar blue scrawl. All your other classes go well–– extremely well, actually. You might just end the semester with a 4.0 if Food Chem doesn’t fuck you over. Isla still tags you in memes on Instagram. You still tell her about everything that happens with Osamu.

Speaking of.

“That’s the wrong equation,” he says behind your ear as he settles in the seat beside you. The sound of his low voice so close to your ear sends a small shiver down your spine. “You gotta switch the hydrogens.” Osamu knocks on your skull lightly. “What’s goin’ on up in there? Ya got somethin’ on your mind?”

You laugh and elbow him in the side. “Shut up, ‘Samu.” He’d told you during one of his office hours that he’d gone by that nickname because he had a teammate with a foreign name in high school. It sounded so cool, he’d said, grinning.

I think Osamu sounds pretty cool already, you’d teased.

And he’d replied, Let’s trade. I like yours, you like mine, why not share?

You teeter on the line between friends and less-than-friends and, oddly enough, more-than-friends. Sometimes you still play it safe. Sometimes he pauses between texts and real-time conversations, no doubt to scrap an instinctive reply for something more “professional”. Sometimes you say things that make him look at you with the ghost of a smile at the corners of his lips. Sometimes he calls Atsumu to scream about you.

“S’not a no,” Osamu points out. He’s dressed in a black sweater and grey trousers today. You’re suddenly reminded of how the weather’s been getting colder when someone opens the door to the university café and lets in a gust of chilly autumn air.

“Okay,” you admit, setting down the pencil. “I just… don’t really feel prepared for this next test.”

Osamu frowns and looks down at your worksheet. “Your process is correct, though.”

“Right, but… I don’t know. I’ve just not been feeling great about myself lately,” you laugh, looking down at your feet. “Food Chem’s the toughest class I’ve ever taken. And remember how I completely embarrassed myself in that class discussion last week? It’s not really making me feel like I belong here.”

“Imposter syndrome,” Osamu remarks.

“Correct-o.”

He says your name softly and puts a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Maybe you’re not the smartest, but you’re definitely smart. And you belong here. I’ve seen your papers. They’re just as great as anyone else’s and I don’t hand out compliments for nothin’. You’re gonna do some great things but ya can’t improve if you ever give up.” Osamu searches your eyes for a sign of your understanding.

There’re a lot of things you want to say but you don’t know how to put them into words. “Can I hug you?” you finally ask.

Osamu doesn’t even think about it. “Of course.”

He feels you smile against his chest and wonders if you can feel his heart beat faster.

Isla camps out in your dorm as finals come around the corner.

“I don’t understand shit!” she wails, throwing her notebook into the air.

“Isles, it’s okay,” you laugh, slipping out of your chair and walking over to her nest in the corner. “You gotta chill, dude.”

“Not fair! I didn’t have a hunk holding my hand through this course all semester,” she retorts, humour glittering in her dark eyes. “I had the Organic Chemistry Tutor and his accent’s cute enough but, girl, you had Miya Fucking Osamu!”

“You’re literally the worst.” You giggle and sit down beside her. “Tell me what you’re confused about. I’ll try to explain it to you.” The way Osamu does.

You text him that you’d channelled his brains later that night.

His reply comes seconds later. all you, einstein.

From: osamu

good luck on the exam

you’re going to kill it

To: osamu

would u like to divulge any… information about it? 😏 😏 😏

From: osamu

bye

To: osamu

i was kidding :(

From: osamu

fine. tip #1: write your name

To: osamu

not very helpful. 0/10

From: osamu

keep running your mouth and 0/10 is what your score’s going to be

i’m kidding

you got this, y/n

“Holy fuck,” Isla groans as you cross the street to head to lunch at Jack’s. “If you don’t see me next semester it’s because I’ve gotten my grade back and decided to drop out.”

“What would you do?” you ask, amused.

“Maybe move to New Zealand. Raise some sheep. Marry a hot, blond shepherd and fuck off to a cliffside cottage.”

“Solid plan.”

“What about you?” she asks.

“What about me?”

“Remember that conversation we had at the start of the year? About your man?” The two of you reach another red light for pedestrians.

“We’re friends. He’s not my man,” you laugh. Though it pains you to. Something about being Miya Osamu’s friend doesn’t really sit right with you, but you don’t know how to not be his friend. You don’t know how to move out of the corner you’ve backed yourself into.

“But you wish he were! And now you can finally hit him with that ‘Hey, Osamu, I’ve been madly in love with you since the start of the semester, wanna fuck like rabbits and then open that store in Italy?’ and he’ll be all––”

A throat clears behind you. With wide eyes, the two of you turn around.

Holy fuck.

Miya Osamu stands behind you with his hands in his pockets and an enormous smirk on his face.

“He’ll be all what?” he asks, eyes fixed on you.

Isla murmurs an excuse and starts walking on her own to Jack’s.

“Um.” You swallow nervously and shrink in your coat. “You heard all of that, right?”

“Yep.” Osamu grins. He grins. He’s grinning. He’s smiling like he’s won the fucking lottery and you honestly don’t know what to do with that information.

“So, like,” you look down at the sidewalk and kick at a pebble, “what are your thoughts about that?” God, you could die. “‘Cause I know you’re a TA and it’d probably look pretty bad and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you because I like you and it’s cool if we just…”

Osamu interrupts you with a laugh. “My thoughts,” he says, “are that I want to kiss you.” His fingers lift your chin up. “What are your thoughts about that?”

Well, shit. “I think that’s pretty cool, yeah,” you breathe, eyelids fluttering shut as his face comes closer to yours.

He tastes like mint. And his lips move softly, slowly against yours like he’s savouring the moment. And then you feel his hands snake around your waist to pull you closer–– closer because you both are tired of forcing the distance between bodies that want to be near each other, closer because he’s thought about kissing you just like this for so long, closer because you remember the last time he’d touched you was three days ago and it was just a brush of his fingers against your arm and that feeling of wanting more haunted you for the entire night. But holy shit, Miya Osamu is kissing you. He’s kissing you.

And then he pulls away. His dark eyes flit over yours. “I,” he breathes, “I need your course load next semester.”

“What?” you ask, disbelief written all over your features, chest rising and falling as you try to steady your breathing. You just kissed, for God's sake, and he's––

“I need to know which courses not to apply to TA for,” he grins, cupping your face in his hands. “Can’t be teachin’ in a class with my girlfriend as a student.”

“So we’re official?” you ask, beaming.

“If you want,” Osamu replies with a smirk.

You grab the front of his coat and tug him down for another kiss. “Hell yeah, I want to be official.”

[thefanficmonster]

What's It To You?

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Summary: To some people, relationship labels aren’t important. To some they aren’t important only in theory. Well, Y/N finds out she falls in the later category, leading to a falling out with her boyfriend Corpse.

Requested by Anon. You’ll know who you are when you read the fic 😉 Thank you for the ‘angsty argument’ request. I hope I captured what you had in mind and I hope you enjoy the read. Love, Vy 🥰

The time is nearing 7PM and Corpse has barely eaten anything. I always keep track of his meals and time spent in front of a computer screen, making sure he doesn’t spend too much time exhausting his eyes or starving himself. He never notices he’s hungry until he takes a bite of something and his appetite grows in  matter of seconds. The real battle is to get him to take that first bite.

I get up from the couch, walking into the kitchen. I open the fridge, scanning its contents for any ideas that might pop into my head for dinner. When nothing comes to mind, I resort to my last option - asking him. There’s only a slight chance he’ll be of any help. He’ll most likely say he’s not hungry or that he’ll make himself something late. He never does. I’ve gotten used to him being a man-child when it comes to eating. In the eleven months that we’ve been dating, I’ve force fed him more times than he has eaten on his own terms.

I go upstairs, stopping outside the door to his recording room to see if he’s talking to someone so I don’t walk in and interrupt. When no noises come from the inside I knock. 

“Come in.“ 

Upon opening the door, I’m met with Corpse nonchalantly sitting in his desk chair, leaning as back as he can without tipping over. Arms folded behind his head, legs stretched out in front of him. The whole nine yards, suggesting that he not streaming.

“Hey.“ He greets me as he turns his chair a bit in an attempt to face me

“Hey, what’d you like for dinner?“ He opens his mouth to reply the millisecond after I have spoken my question. I already know what that reply will be so I hurry to prevent it, “And no, ‘later’ and ‘I’m not hungry’ aren’t on the menu.“

He sighs, shaking his head as though he’s disappointed that I caught onto his game. The smile that slowly makes its way to his lips, however, suggests that he appreciates my concern. “Grilled cheese sandwiches? I mean, if you feel like it.”

I smile, relieved that the usual convincing portion of our interaction on this specific matter has been avoided. “Ok. Be down in fifteen then.” I give him a nod before heading back out into the hallway.

Before I am able to close the door, I hear someone else’s voice come from behind me. “Hey Corpse, was that on your end?”

Oh shit, he wasn’t muted

“Yeah man, sorry. Accidentally unmuted myself.“ Corpse sounds unbothered by this, but I am a little uneasy now.

Corpse and I have agreed to keep our relationship by a ‘won’t ask, won’t tell’ rule - if someone asks him if he’s in a relationship, he won’t lie and say no, but we haven’t gone public nor do we plan on doing so without someone asking us about it head-on. Well, not us. Him. His friends don’t know me and neither do his fans. I’m not in the same industry. I don’t stream nor film YouTube videos. The most I do for that platform is help Corpse with some editing when he needs to have a rest. So, if anyone were to reveal our relationship, it’d be him.

“Oooh, who was that?“ A girl’s voice asks teasingly. “Corpse, what are you not telling us?“

By this point, I’m out in the hall but I left my ears in the room. I know I’m not in the right here - eavesdropping is most definitely not nice, but I can’t help myself.

I hear him chuckle, “Nah, it’s just my friend Y/N.”

My heart drops so suddenly for a reason beyond my understanding. I feel like a kid feels when it’s told Santa isn’t real - I can’t believe what I heard. 

I hurry to get back downstairs as soon as possible and also as quietly as I can. It’s tough, running with a pit in your stomach and a knot of I’m pretty sure is tears in your throat. When I’m finally in the kitchen, the aforementioned tears are blurring my vision. I try to blink them away but accidentally send one of them trickling down my cheek.

I’m aware this might be an overreaction and if I stopped to think I could probably find ways to justify what Corpse said. But I’m genuinely hurt, and I hate that I am.

I’ve never cared about what others know about me or think of me. Same goes for my relationships. I don’t put labels on things nor on my connection to people. I am surprised and disturbed by how much the label ‘friends’ bothers me. We’ve been dating for almost a year now, you’d think calling me his girlfriend would be second nature. Guess not.

I swallow the hurt and surprise, deciding to keep myself busy with the preparations for the dinner I was planning to make. However, keeping my hands full and giving my eyes a place to look doesn’t stop my thoughts from eating away at me. 

                                                             * * *

Twenty minutes later the sound of a door opening echoes from upstairs, followed by the sound of footsteps going through the hallway and then down the stairs. 

“It smells so good in here.“ He comments, his eyebrows raising when he takes in the freshly made sandwiches on the kitchen island. “You’re the best, Y/N.“

“Hmm, aren’t you lucky you have a friend who knows their way around the kitchen, huh?“ I reply sharply, not even sparing him a glance.

In the twenty minutes I was left alone with my wilding thoughts I declared that I wouldn’t beat around bush when he comes downstairs. That I would address the issue and tell him exactly how I feel about it. What I didn’t plan was being so harsh. I actually barely contain a wince when I realize how sharp of an edge my words had.

I feel ten times more guilty when I see the regret that flashes on his face, “You heard that.” He grips the edges of the table, leaning down and letting out a sigh, “I’m sorry, I panicked.”

The anger in me evaporates, leaving room for the hurt to keep spreading and take over me. I was never really angry with him, I’m just upset by the fact that his immediate reaction wasn’t to refer to me as his girlfriend. 

“Why would you panic? What’s it to you if they know?“ My voice is barely above a whisper now, the tears I’m fighting back are clogging my throat, not allowing me to sound as clearly as I’d like.

“What’s it to you? I thought you didn’t care.“ He argues back, his gaze travelling from the tabletop to my eyes. I see the guilt in all his features and his body language.

“I thought so too.“ I shake my head, “But hearing you call me a ‘friend’...’just a friend’ stings. I don’t even know why, but it does. It feels almost like you are embarrassed of me. If that’s the case you can just tell me, you know?“

In a blink of an eye he’s crouched down in front of me, one hand holding both of mine while the other cups my cheek. “It’s not. It has never been and it will never be the case. You are one amazing person, Y/N. You deserve the world, not to be stuck with me. I’m just...” He trails off, his eyes not able to focus on mine any longer, “I’m scared of how people knowing about us will affect our relationship.”

My blood starts boiling again. I know I need to get away from him before I reach the point of saying something that’ll hurt him, so I untangle my hands from his grasp, pulling away from him. “Weak excuse, Corpse. You know it will change nothing except make me feel more included in your life. I will no longer feel like I’m a house rat no one knows about.” I stand up, unable to look at him, and start heading for the staircase. 

“Y/N, please! ”I stop dead in my tracks when he calls out my name, his footsteps following behind me. “Don’t be...-”

I turn around, cutting him off in the process, “I need to be alone right now.” I tilt my head in the direction of the dining table, “Sit down and eat dinner. We’ll talk...later.”

                                                             * * *

Now that it’s been almost twelve hours with no contact between us I realize that my reaction was justified only to a certain extent. I understand his concerns and I could’ve expressed mine a little more calmly and in a lot less accusatory manner. But what happened happened and all I can do now is go over to him and apologize, establish a proper communication to resolve the issue that I so stupidly blew out of proportion.

My phone died sometime during the night and has been sitting on the charger but still turned off for a while. I go over to it and press-hold the start button. While it’s powering up I start changing my from my pajamas into my regular clothes, noticing a small stain on my shirt in the process. As I’m examining the stain, my phone starts going crazy with notifications, causing me to jump and drop my shirt.

“Fucking hell.” I mumble, disconnecting my phone from the charger and looking at the huge list of notifications on my lock screen. They are all alerts of new followers, likes and tags, non from people I know. Non except one.

@ corpse_husband tagged you in a post 

Wait what?

I tap the notification which leads me to a picture Corpse posted two hours ago. It’s a picture of me taken in the living room without my knowledge. I’m an oversized sweater and yoga pants, my hair in a messy braid and my attention caught by the book in my hands. My glasses have slipped a bit down my nose, suggesting that I’m too concentrated on the contents of the pages in front of me that I haven’t noticed.

We started off as friends but it didn’t take long for her to become my best friend. And then she stole my heart. I know you’ll read this eventually, Y/N. So...hi. Love you. 

PS - the sandwiches were bomb 🖤

I’m more than caught off guard. Like a surprise hug from behind, warmth spreading all throughout my body. 

Without a second of hesitation I put my phone down and run to the bedroom door. However, I don’t make it very far considering I nearly run straight into Corpse’s chest as I exit the room. He catches me before I knock him straight to the ground, thankfully.

“Aren’t you a rocket this morning. Where are you headed?“ He chuckles, holding onto my upper arms.

One look at his smile, a single word out of his mouth and I’m melting. I walk straight into him, wrapping my arms around his torso, hiding my face in his chest. He comfortably rests his chin on the top of my head, not asking any further questions until I finally answer.

“Right here. I was heading for you.“ I whisper before I pull away enough to be able to look him in the eyes. “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am. I was being childish and overdramatic and I’m sorry about all I said. I was really upset.“

“It’s ok, baby. I’m sorry for making you upset in the first place. I understand now how much it means to you.“ He caresses my cheekbone with the back of his hand. “I...um...tried to make things right by...“

I push up on my toes, pressing my lips against his, putting an end to his timid stuttering. “I saw it.” I mumble in the kiss.

“Did you like it?“ 

“I loved it.“

“Did you read the comments?“

My heart skips a beat when I hear that dreaded term. Just the thought of reading through the comments terrifies me. I tell myself that some strangers’ words aren’t gonna have an impact on me, but I know they will. Especially since these ‘strangers’ mean so much to Corpse.

I shake my head. He pulls away, taking my hand and leading me towards the living room. “You have to. You’re gonna love them.”

I reluctantly follow him, plopping down on the couch next to him as he pulls out his phone and scrolls through the comment section of the picture he posted. He was right. All these people have said such things about me and about our relationship. Some verified names are also there, sharing their support much like the fans. 

“See, this is why I was nervous. I’ll have to do duels for your attention now.“ He glances at me, leaning in and kissing my temple as he sometimes does so impulsively.

“You don’t do duels when you are already sitting at the throne. Right next to me.“ I once again capture his lips with mine, tempted to never pull away, but also tempted to keep reading the comments.

Damn, he might be right about the duels.

He takes his phone from me setting it aside as he slowly lifts me and settles me in his lap, never letting our lips detach.

Nevermind. Fuck the duels

@susceptible-but-siriusexual  @simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @hacker-ghost  @itsminniekat  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17  @chrysanthykios  @maehemscorpyus  @loraleiix  @letsloveimagines  @annshit  @i-cant-choose-a-username-help  @enigmaticmaze

[snelbz]

Tempting the Fates {Chapter 9}

Summary: It’s the final semester of Aelin Galathynius’ collegiate career and she is so beyond ready to be done. Her schedule is packed full of nursing classes and labs designed to test her knowledge and hone her skills for the real world and her “big girl” job. However, she needs one last elective to graduate, so she decides to study a subject she’s always been fascinated by: Mythology. Who would have thought that a class about gods and goddesses living complicated lives would end up complicating her own in such an unexpected way?

A @snelbz X @theladyofdeath collaboration.

Word Count: 3378

Chapters will be posted every Wednesday.

Tempting the Fates Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist 

***Announcement! *** After the completion of I’ll be Seeing You and Tempting the Fates, all of Tara and I’s joint fanfiction will be posted on a separate blog that we run together > @snacmc. Be sure to follow the new blog as we will start posting on there soon!

Hestia

– Goddess of the hearth, home and family

Mondays and Wednesdays always seemed to drag.

Thanks to her lack of Rowan in class, Aelin’s classes were boring and she found herself thinking of other things, rather than the notes she was supposed to be taking. Like the way Rowan’s eyes had been on her as she went down on him in the shower earlier than morning.

At his insistence, she’d begun using his shower for more than just sex purposes, as she’d so eloquently explained to him the week before. She was regularly staying over, getting ready for her own classes in the morning, just as he was. But whenever one of them followed the other into the tiled shower, it was used for practical reasons.

As well as sexual ones.

Suppressing a whine as she thought of the way Rowan had pinned her up against the cool tiles that morning, Aelin crossed her legs and checked her watch. Only another twenty minutes and then she had her break between classes. She wasn’t hungry, thanks to the protein bar she’d eaten just before this class started, and she was close to the gen ed building, so she decided she would drop by her mythology professor’s office. She had a few questions about the homework he’d assigned yesterday and face-to-face was always better to her than an email.

Once her anatomy professor was wrapping up, Aelin was tossing her books into a bag and hauling ass across campus. Rowan’s last class was wrapping up, too, and she didn’t want to miss him before he hurried off to do whatever else.

She could’ve texted him to stay put, but she didn’t want to ruin the surprise.

She made it to his building and dodged by those who were hurrying off to their other classes or their beds, and stopped at Rowan’s office door before giving it a halting knock.

It took him a second to answer, but when he did, he was handsome as ever.

His shirt sleeves were rolled up, the button down tucked into his trousers. When he saw it was Aelin at his office door, a silver brow lifted.

“Aelin,” he began, clearing his throat. “How may I help you?”

“I have some questions about the homework,” she began, voice low, even though no one else was around. “Can I come in for a second?”

Rowan moved aside before she had finished her question. With one last glance down the hall he shared with a few other first-year professors, he shut the door, sealing them into his office. The blinds were open, but on the third floor, it wasn’t like anyone could see the private meeting he and his student were about to have.

Even if he didn’t know what kind of meeting it was about to be.

“Are you on your lunch break?” She asked, leaning back against his desk.

He nodded. “Didn’t plan on taking lunch, but I’ve got a couple hours before my next class. Was going to work on some grading. Why?”

He had stepped closer, pausing beside one of the chairs he kept in front of the desk for students to sit in.

Aelin clearly had other ideas of where to sit though. With a smirk, she reached out and lightly gripped his shirt, pulling him towards her.

“You had questions about the homework,” he breathed, leaning away as she tried to kiss him.

It wasn’t that he wouldn’t kiss her. He just wanted to see her squirm.

And squirm, she did. “You know very well that I turned in the homework yesterday afternoon.”

She tried to kiss him again, but he fell away, even though his arms were around her waist.

“I don’t recall that,” he taunted. “Maybe you could remind me.”

“I turned it in just before I did this,” she crooned, and her lips found his.

Aelin kissed him, slowly, her arms snaking around his neck. She swore she would never tire of the feeling of his mouth on hers.

“Oh yeah,” Rowan muttered, against her lips. “Now I remember.”

It only took him a second to grab her hips and set her on top of his desk.

There was a clattering of something tipping over, probably a cup of pens or paper clips from the sound of it, but neither of them cared. Not as he gripped the outside of her thigh where her legs were wrapped around him, or her hand found its way into his hair. He was both frustrated and very glad she’d worn leggings today. While he wished she was wearing something with a bit easier access, it was probably a blessing in disguise that he couldn’t get his hand between her legs.

Or his mouth.

Or any other body parts.

That wasn’t stopping Aelin from rubbing against him, looking for friction, as their tongues battled and teeth occasionally clashed. She let out a quiet moan and he tugged on her hair, pulling her lips from his.

“We’re not fucking in my office,” he breathed, looking her in the eyes. “It is way too dangerous.”

She nodded, knowing and accepting the fact, but it didn’t mean she was done kissing him.

“Was this morning not enough?” He smirked, trailing his lips down her throat instead of returning to hers.

“It’s never enough,” she gasped. “Every time I’m away from you…”

Her words trailed off as their lips met. It was true. It was never enough. She was so fulfilled with Rowan, and the second he was gone, she longed for him.

“Come over tonight,” Aelin begged. “Stay with me tonight.”

Rowan groaned as his tongue slipped between her lips.

They stayed at Rowan’s nearly every night. The only times Aelin stayed at her own apartment was when she had an exam or homework she had to work on, without Rowan distracting her. Lysandra and Aedion had met Rowan over dinner a few nights before, though Aelin had insisted take out was much more her friends’ speed than a fully home cooked meal. However, Aelin had a lab due the following morning, so after dinner, Rowan had gone back home.

Alone.

“We have class tomorrow,” he replied, lips still on hers.

“So we’ll make sure we get up early.” Dragging her teeth across his jaw, she gripped his shoulders. “Bring over everything you’ll need to come straight to class.”

Rowan hesitated. “I don’t know.”

“We don’t live on campus,” Aelin said, quietly. “It’s not like I live somewhere surrounded by students.”

Rowan pulled back and met her gaze. “It’s important to you?”

Aelin nodded, arms still wrapped around the back of his neck. “I love being cooped up in your apartment. I really do. But, sometimes I wanna be cooped up somewhere else, too.”

Rowan huffed a laugh. “Alright.”

“Yeah?” Aelin asked, a soft smile painted across her light pink lips.

Rowan couldn’t help his own smile forming as he leaned forward and pulled Aelin closer to him as he kissed her, softly. They went on like that, dwelling in those slow, prolonged kisses. There was something personal, something exceptional about a long, slow kiss. Something sensual that made Aelin’s stomach feel like it was going to explode, even though it lacked that animalistic passion they had come to find within one another.

A quick knock at the door had them jumping apart, Rowan dragging a quick hand through his hair, not having a chance to reply before the door opened.

“Hey, Rowan, I was hoping you could— Oh.”

The pretty woman froze in the doorway, taking in the scene in front of her.

It was innocent enough, though Aelin’s lips were swollen from their kisses. That could easily be explained away, especially as her teeth found the bottom lip and gnawed on it.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you had an appointment,” she said, eyeing Aelin, who had thankfully gotten off the desk before she’d entered.

“It wasn’t officially booked,” he explained, slightly stepping in front of Aelin to keep her shielded. “Miss Galathynius had a few questions about the homework I assigned in class and about an upcoming project. She stopped by during her lunch break, since her schedule is so busy.”

Silence built in the office, and after a second, Rowan cleared his throat. “Did you need something, Remelle?”

“Maeve sent out an email about a mandatory department meeting for Thursday night,” she said, slowly, still looking at them both suspiciously. “A couple of us in the building were going to get drinks after, wanted to know if you wanted to come.”

Rowan cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. Sure. I’ll plan on it.”

“Good,” Remelle said, a little too quickly. “And check your mailbox in the office. It’s full.”

With another look at Aelin, then at Rowan, Remelle left and the door fell shut behind her.

Silence enveloped the room.

Rowan slowly turned around to look at Aelin, whose face was pale.

“You couldn’t have locked the door?” she whispered.

Rowan scoffed. “Yeah, because that wouldn’t have been suspicious, being locked in here with a student.”

For some reason, the word student felt like a jab coming from him in that moment. Aelin’s back straightened. “I wasn’t aware that the receptionist randomly barges into your office. If a student found it locked, they probably wouldn’t think it was weird, at all. Offices around here are locked all the damn time.”

Rowan sighed and nodded. He stepped towards her and ran his hands up and down her arms, pressing a soft kiss to Aelin’s forehead. “You should go. There’s only so much we can talk about homework.”

Nodding, Aelin wrapped her arms around his waist, and he wrapped her up in his own. “I’ll see you after class?”

“I’ll run by my place to grab some things and pick up dinner on the way,” he promised, tilting her chin up to look at him. “I’ll see you later.”

She nodded and rose up on her toes to press a kiss to his lips. Grabbing her bag from the chair, she adjusted her messy bun, which was only a little messier than it had been before and slipped out the office door.

Leaning back on the spot Aelin had just been sitting in, Rowan took a quick moment to breathe before setting his desk to rights and heading down to check his community mailbox. It wasn’t full as Remelle had implied, but there were a few things in it, mostly department memos and notes from other professors. He ignored her suspicious look as he made his way back up the stairs to his office and settled behind his desk to work on the grading he’d planned to do during his lunch.

He was halfway through an essay from one of his upperclassmen when his email dinged on his laptop. It had gone off a few times since Aelin had left, but he’d ignored them, assuming they were automatic replies to Maeve’s email about the meeting.

Tapping on the track pad of his laptop to wake it up, he kept reading over the essay as his email came to life, but he waited until he was done to look over at the most recent notifications.

Freezing, Rowan’s eyes flashed over the subject of the email from Maeve three times before he actually had the nerve to open it.

Meeting in my office after your final class of the evening.

We need to have a talk.

*

Aelin felt as if she had been holding her breath for hours.

Which was exactly how long it had been since she had received her text from Rowan.

As someone who was not nervous or paranoid by nature, she hated the feeling of being so freaked out that she was nearly about to vomit. She had already cleaned her apartment once, and was pouring herself a glass of wine as she was deciding what she could clean next. Maybe she would clean out the fridge.

After downing her glass of wine, she did just that, throwing open the refrigerator door and emptying out what had been in there for over a week.

She didn’t even hear the front door open, nor did she hear her roommate and cousin walk into the kitchen.

“Ace?”

Aelin yelped, jumped, and spun around, nearly knocking over her glass of wine on the counter nearby. “What the hell?” she yelled. “You can’t just sneak up on people like that! Doesn’t anyone realize how fucking rude it is to just barge in?!”

Aedion’s brows shot up as Lysandra stepped forward. “Uh, everything okay?”

Aelin’s face fell into her hands as she leaned against the countertop. “Does it look like everything is okay?” she asked, words muffled.

“What happened?” Lysandra asked, gently prying Aelin’s hands from her face.

Her eyes were still shut, as if she could shut out the world. Taking a deep breath, she released it, answering in one, quick burst. “I think Rowan and I got caught.”

She heard something hit the floor, clearly dropped by Aedion, but Lysandra’s hands went slack on her wrist. “What do you mean?”

Letting her head fall to the countertop, she groaned once before standing up straight and looking at them. Aedion had indeed dropped the bag of pretzels he’d pulled from the cabinet.

“We both had long breaks today, so I stopped by his office to see him for a minute. I didn’t mean for anything to happen. I mean… Yeah, I kinda did. I kissed him first.”

“I don’t need to hear about this. Lys can fill me in,” Aedion muttered, scooping the bag of pretzels off the floor and heading for Lysandra’s bedroom.

“We didn’t fuck or anything,” Aelin sighed after he left. “But we did make out on his desk a bit. It was barely even PG-13.”

“So what happened?” Lysandra asked, getting another glass down and refilling Aelin’s glassed wine and filling one for herself. “How did you get caught?”

“The secretary walked in,” Aelin said, staring at a spot on the hardwood. “She didn’t see anything, we broke apart before the door opened, but… I don’t know. She sounded suspicious, looked suspicious.” Aelin took a sip from her glass. “I mean, seriously, who knocks but doesn’t wait for a come in before they open the damn door? It’s rude as hell.”

“I don’t wait before coming into your room,” Lysandra said.

“That’s different, we live together,” Aelin said, unable to control her chuckle.

Lysandra smiled, but it faded as she shook her head. “That man needs to learn how to lock his office.”

“That’s what I said!” Aelin agreed, and topped off her glass before it was even halfway empty.

“So, what?” Lysandra went on. “She came in but didn’t see anything. Maybe she just always looks suspicious. I’m sure nothing will come out of it.”

Without another word, Aelin took her phone out of her pocket and slid it across the counter. Lysandra slowly picked it up and read Rowan’s text.

Got an email from Maeve. I have to go to her office tonight. Says she needs to talk to me. Sounded urgent.

Aelin had texted back. Did she say what it was about?

No, Rowan had replied. But it doesn’t sound good.

“Have you heard from him since he sent these?” Lysandra asked, setting the phone down.

“No, but we’ve both been in class.” Aelin let her head fall to the countertop again. “He’s supposed to come over after he gets out. But now I’m wondering if that’s such a good idea. What if someone sees him getting here?”

“It’s not all students, and we’re not exactly social butterflies. We don’t know any of our neighbors,” Lysandra said, clearly trying to soothe her.

Aelin just shook her head. “I like him, Lys. A lot. I can see a future with this guy, but… What if this is all too much? It’s too dangerous. We’re jeopardizing our futures.”

Lysandra’s eyes softened. “The secretive part of your relationship is only temporary. Besides, he’s head over heels for you, too. Would it really be worth it to give that up?”

“What if Rowan is about to lose his job?” Aelin shot back. “Lys, I would never be able to forgive myself. I have to do something.”

“Always the hero,” Lysandra muttered. “Look, the best thing you can do right now is stay here, drink wine, and let it all play out. Rowan is a big boy. He can handle himself.” Aelin said nothing, so Lysandra went on. “I just want to see you happy. Does he make you happy?”

“Beyond. Happier than I’ve been in a long time,” she sighed, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against the counter. “I know it’s only been a few weeks, but… I care about him.”

“And it’s pretty damn clear that he cares about you, so sitting and waiting sucks, but that’s what you’ll have to do.” Lysandra crossed the kitchen and wrapped her best friend up in a hug. Aelin’s forehead fell to her shoulder. “I can send Aedion to get more wine if you want.”

Aelin nodded.

Lysandra chuckled and said, “Then that’s what we’ll do. Why don’t you—?”

A knock on the front door had Aelin’s head snapping up and she hurried from the kitchen. Throwing open the door, she found Rowan standing on the other side. Before he could say anything, she pulled him inside and wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face in his chest. “Gods, I’ve been so fucking worried.”

To her surprise, he laughed quietly, and it only caused Aelin to lean back, eyes wide. “What could possibly be funny right now?”

“I’m not I’m trouble,” he whispered, arms going around her waist. “We’re safe, we’re fine.”

Aelin blinked, all anxiety fading from her body only to be replaced with confusion. “Why did Maeve call you into her office, then?”

“She just wanted to check how things were going.” He shrugged. “Being new, and her nephew, she just wanted to check in.”

“Gods, Rowan!” She shoved his chest, lightly. “You couldn’t have texted me that? I’ve been a nervous mess!”

“She’s not exaggerating,” Lysandra mumbled from behind them. “Hi, Professor.”

Rowan rolled his eyes. “Hi, Lysandra.”

As Lysandra headed towards her room, he looked down to where Aelin was staring at his chest. He tilted her chin up until she was forced to look at him. His brow furrowed and he was surprised to see silver lining her eyes. “Everything is okay, baby. Why are you crying?”

She shook her head and blinked, but wasn’t able to stop the single tear that spilled over. He wiped it away with his thumb. “I thought we got caught, that I had ruined your life.”

His heart nearly broke. “Aelin…” He wrapped her up in his arms again, holding her as tightly as he dared, as if he could keep her from falling apart. After a second, he leaned back so he could look at her, but didn’t let her go. “Being together isn’t a decision that just one of us has made. We both went into this relationship knowing the consequences. If something were to happen, if someone finds out, you aren’t ruining my life.”

Aelin snorted, and framed his face in her hands. “So we’d both be ruining your life?”

“No one’s life will be ruined,” Rowan promised. “I’m going to be with you, Aelin. Now, and when you graduate, we can have a normal relationship, whatever the hell that means. If you’ll have me, I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s a big promise to make so early in our relationship,” Aelin breathed, running her thumbs across his cheeks.

“I have a good feeling about us,” Rowan followed, melting into her touch.

Leaning down, he pressed his lips to hers, but pulled back and smirked. “But maybe I’ll start locking my office, just in case you decide to make another unexpected visit.”

Aelin threw her head back and laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck as she rose up on her toes to kiss him again.

The day had stressed them both out, but throughout it all, there was only one thing Rowan could think about: he didn’t know what his future held, but there was one thing for sure.

He wanted Aelin in it.

[weasleylangs]

lightweight - g.w

Pairing: George x Fem!Reader Summary: Y/N’s never been the best at holding her alcohol. Luckily, George is always there to help her. Warnings: Alcohol, a drunk confession, fluff, brief mentions of underage drinking, one line about throwing up. Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: Short Georgie fic today! I have work so I didn’t want to commit to any of my super long ideas but I still want to keep writing! Also, I’m not promoting excessive drinking whatsoever. As always, constructive criticism is appreciated and requests are open!

This is also being posted while I’m asleep because I’m stuck on the other side of the world to the rest of you. Any asks will be replied too when I’m up!

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

George stands in a corner of the Leaky Cauldron, firewhiskey in hand as he looks at the crowd. Their yearly reunion has been going on for a few hours now, and George has finally started to feel the alcohol buzzing around his head. Despite having already downed quite a few whiskeys, he’s barely been feeling it all night considering he’s always been a heavyweight, given his large stature.

The same can’t be said for the girl George’s eyes are trained on. Y/N Y/L/N. She’s currently dancing with Angelina Johnson, the rosiness in her cheeks evident from both the exertion from dancing for hours on end and the alcohol in her system. George has fond memories of Gryffindor parties, when Fred, Lee and himself would flirt their way into buying alcohol from Madam Rosmerta to sneak into parties that would eventually end with the girl he’s watching dancing her heart out.

“Babysitting already, mate?” Lee asks as he takes a swig of his beer and George chuckles, shaking his head. “No, not quite yet. I probably will be in, say…” He checks his watch and the time reads 1am, “... half an hour.” 

George developed a habit when they were sixteen, of looking after Y/N at parties. The girl never seemed to learn her own limits and more often than not, drank herself stupid at parties. Y/N was one of George’s best friends, and he’d never forgive himself if he ever let her get hurt at a party, so he happily settled for basking in the party atmosphere while keeping a close eye on Y/N. And then, in the morning he’d tease her while she threw up the contents of her stomach and she’d apologise profusely before they’d walk to breakfast together.

It’s been 10 years and they’re still dancing and drinking and George is still looking after her, but instead of walking her up to her dorm, George drags her back to his apartment above Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and tucks her into his bed while he takes the couch. Granted, Y/N’s has developed some better limits than when she was sixteen years old, but it’s a force of habit at this point, and besides, George rather looks forward to it nowadays and his night would feel incomplete without knowing Y/N is 100% safe and sound 100 meters away from him. 

Fred approaches them, and they aimlessly stand around and chat. Mostly about quidditch, very rarely about work. These days, the hot topic of conversation is about how Lee’s been splitting his time between London helping the twins out with the shop and Romania, where his dragon trainer girlfriend lives. Sometimes, a few people approach them and ask the question if they’re the ‘famous Ginny Weasley’s twin brothers’ which always causes them to laugh and their chests swell in pride for their little sister. 

It’s probably only twenty minutes later when he hears a squeal come from the dance floor as some muggle band’s song comes on. George thinks Y/N probably convinced Tom to let her hijack the music and he vaguely recognises the song as one she’s played before. He searches the dance floor for her, and when their eyes meet she winks at him and quickly spins around to dance with Angelina again.

“I can’t believe she’s not even your girlfriend and you practically babysit her, mate. We’re 26, when are you making a move?” Fred teases but George ignores him. He notices Y/N catch his eye again and when she goes to wave him over, he sees her wobble slightly and her eyes widen out of fear of losing her balance. 

Truthfully, George is too scared to admit his feelings for Y/N. While he knows their friendship entails more than what a normal one does, George has never been the best at reading signs when people are romantically interested in him so he well and truly does not know where he stands with Y/N. He never wants to make people feel uncomfortable, so he lives blissfully unaware until someone yells in his face they’re interested in him. 

“Piss off, Fred. Like you can talk about me not making a move. You’ve liked Angelina since what? Sixth year?” He pushes Fred slightly at the shoulders as he scowls and slowly makes his way over the tiny girl in his sights. 

“Hi Georgie,” she slurs as he finally makes his way over to her and she’s quick to slot herself into his side. George is well aware Y/N is both a sleepy and clumsy drunk the second she stops dancing, and as George checks the time on his watch again, it now reads 1:30am and it’s well past intoxicated Y/N’s bedtime. 

“Hi, love,” he can’t help but use the nickname for her, especially when her cheeks flush an even deeper shade of red when he uses it, “time to get you to bed?” 

She pretends to think for a second but George knows she’s all danced out when she sighs and tucks her head into his neck. He spots Lee and Fred, who are now imitating whips at him, and shakes his head as he waves goodbye. He makes sure to tell Angelina, Katie and Alicia they’re leaving as well so they don’t worry, and George pretends to miss the giggles and winks they give Y/N as he holds onto her. 

Thankfully, the Leaky Cauldron isn’t far from 93 Diagon Alley and soon enough George is placing Y/N in his bed and finding a change of clothes for her. It’s the middle of November, so he grabs a random old sweater his mum knitted him a few years back and while he looks for the pair of leggings she left here last time, he hears her soft gasp. 

When he turns to look at her, her eyes are fixated on the sweater in his hand. “That one’s my favourite.” 

George has a million sweaters, enough to fill a whole drawer full of them all in different colours, so he’s confused how Y/N knows which one this even is. 

“It’s the one with the frayed hand-holes, right?” George laughs at her usage of ‘hand-holes’ and unfolds the sweater to take a look at the sleeves, and sure enough, right where your hands pop out, the sleeves is fraying. 

“Why is this one your favourite, darling?” He questions, passing her the sweater. He turns his back to her, giving her some privacy as she takes her top off and she hums happily as the scent of George engulfs her senses. “It’s one of your oldest ones. So the Georgie-scent is the strongest.” 

George feels his cheeks heat up as Y/N slips the leggings up under her skirt and then struggles to undo her buttons. “Georgie-scent?” 

She hums in agreement as she finally gets the skirt off and drops it on the floor next to her. She’s curling herself up under the blankets when she looks at George and before her sober thoughts can catch them, drunk words are tumbling out of her mouth, “Reminds me the most of my Amortentia.” 

George pauses and stares at her, processing the words she just said. George only received three O.W.L’s during his time at Hogwarts and none of them were potions, but of course, he’s well aware what Amortentia is. He sells them at work, after all.

The most powerful love potion in the world.

“Firework smoke, Molly’s home-cooked meals and… Alcohol.” She mumbles when George doesn’t speak and she looks like she’s fallen asleep but George knows she isn’t. 

“Sure it isn’t Fred, love?” He laughs as he asks but his insecurities are there, shoved way down into the pit of his stomach, threatening to spill out. Firework smoke and his mum’s home-cooked meals scream both of them without a doubt, and George can’t help but convince himself that Fred could definitely have an explanation for the alcohol. 

Now she’s realised what she’s said, and she takes one look at George and she shoves her head into the pillow. “God, this isn’t how I was planning to tell you.” She’d actually never planned on telling him, convinced someone as perfect as George Weasley would ever love her back, but her brain had other plans.

“Tell me that you like my brother?” He jokingly questions, the insecurities fading but still feeling the need to tease her. When she laughs and rolls her eyes, George knows he’s calmed her down from a perch she didn’t realise she was on. She sits up quickly and her face looks a little green at first for how quick she moves. “Who looks after me when I’m drunk, George? I don’t see Fred anywhere.” She’s smirking now and George has to resist the urge to crawl into bed with her and kiss her senseless. 

“My Amortentia smells like you as well, by the way.” The smile Y/N gives him is bright enough it could light up the City of London. “Really?” she questions, and the way she sways in bed George can tell she’s still intoxicated and he can only hope she remembers this conversation in the morning because he knows he won’t be brave enough to initiate it again. 

“Really. Sunflowers, chocolate and…” He hesitates, laughing at how dumb they both are, “Firewhiskey.”

She screeches in embarrassment and before he knows it, Y/N’s dragging him into his bed and she’s giggling. “That’s so embarrassing!” she exclaims, “But so expected.” 

They roll around in the sheets for a few seconds, trying to grab at each other and laughing at the coincidences before George gets up and changes. Y/N watches him intently, trying her best not to objectify him in her mind but he’s just so damn gorgeous she can’t help it. She wants to kiss every inch of his skin and let everyone know the wonderful man standing in front of her is her's.

And when he goes to slip out of the room, thinking she’s fallen asleep, she pouts and clears her throat, causing him to turn and face her.

“You. Me. Bed. Cuddling. Now.” She says, nay demands and he has no choice. He slips into bed beside her and once again, for the second time that night, she’s slotted herself next to him. 

“I really do love you, you know.” She mutters against his neck and she feels his breath hitch. “I’m not just saying it because I was drunk. I mean, like I said it because I was drunk, but it’s true.”

George pauses, not wanting to upset her with what he says next, “Are you going to remember in the morning?” He’s trying not to let his fear be known, but with how close Y/N is, he knows she felt his body react subconsciously. Y/N’s had nights when she doesn’t remember anything she’s said- not because she’s drunk too much, but she’s naturally a forgetful person and the alcohol doesn’t help. 

“Of course, and if I don’t because I don’t remember tonight… I’d hope you’d tell me.” She reassures him, looking up at him and pressing a soft kiss to his chin from her position in his arms. 

George lets out a breath and looks at the girl in his arms and decides that he can’t keep it to himself anymore and that he’d shout it from every rooftop that he’s in love with Y/N Y/L/N. So he presses a kiss to her forehead, next, her nose, then her cheeks and lastly, a soft kiss on her lips.

“I promise I will. You and me forever.” 

[hawkinsindiana]

i don’t want you to worry

ALMOST PARADISE: PART THREE - CHAPTER ONE OF ELEVEN (?)

pairing: steve harrington x henderson!reader

word count: 3.8k

a/n: six months later, here’s part three! i’m not gonna lie to y’all, i have no idea how many chapters there are gonna be or if it’ll get updated regularly, but fuck it. i’ve been sitting on this for a while and figured we could use a bit of levity! thank you for your patience! hope you enjoy! lmao i didn’t feel like making a gif pls forgive me

masterlist

Fog is hovering just above the ground; you can practically feel how thick and wet it is against your skin. The hairs on the back of your neck all stand as a gust of wind flows through the air - the freezing temperature makes you shiver.

The ground is wet, squelching underneath your sneakers as you move forward, still uncertain of where you are; the environment’s been completely coated in the dense fog. When your surroundings finally begin to clear a bit, your heart starts to race in fear once you recognize where you are. 

It’s the junkyard.

“Stay close, yeah?” 

The voice sounds like it’s right inside your ear, but at least he’s here - you’d recognize him anywhere.

Steve’s to your left, bat slung effortlessly over his shoulder, and his presence helps calm your nerves. You won’t have to face this alone. 

You want to thank him before the situation gets any worse, but your mouth won’t cooperate. All you’re able to reply with is a nod. 

Suddenly, the palm of your hand feels heavy with the weight of your weapon; Steve presses on, moving through the space to approach the threat that lurks beyond. A form begins to take shape behind the grey clouds, hunched down on all fours as it stalks towards your position. Your fingers tense as you prepare to fight and adrenaline begins to overtake you, until the silhouette rises onto two legs. It’s not supernatural, it’s human. 

You want to call out to Steve, tell him to fall back because it’s too dangerous but your voice still doesn’t work - you can’t warn him what’s coming. The soles of your shoes dig into the ground as you run to catch up with him, fingers extended out to grab and yank him away. 

But it’s too late. One moment he’s right there in front of you, the next he’s gone, vanished right before your eyes. You blink.

On the ground, Steve’s in the dirt, blood spilling from his face; Billy Hargrove quickly approaches.

And then, it’s just like that night. You’re unable to move, unable to save him as Steve tries to fight back but Billy’s too quick. His crimson colored fists are tearing skin with each impact until the brunette boy on the ground is lifeless, as if all warmth was drained right from him. Billy’s twisted grin never falters as he relishes in your pain, tears streaming down your face until-

You wake with a gasp, body jolting, hands shaking. 

God, it feels so real, like you’re still there; your nose can smell the disgusting metallic scent from the blood, skin still chilled from the temperature, veins still threaded with adrenaline. 

That was only a dream… right?

As soon as that thought is introduced to your worried mind, you throw off the covers before grabbing the nearest hoodie off the bed post. Tugging it over your head, your bare feet skid across the hardwood floor as you rush to the phone in the living room. 

Your fingers are trembling as you press the buttons of the number; you have to know if he’s okay. You have to confirm it was just a dream.

“Fuck, Steve,” You start to mutter to yourself, counting the rings to attempt to steady your breathing, “Come on, pick up, pick up.” 

The longer it takes, the more nervous you become. The darkness that surrounds you starts to close in, and when you squeeze your eyes shut, the image of him bloodied and lying dead in the dirt haunts you. 

“I swear to Christ - Dustin, if that’s you and those bozos again, I’ll come kick your ass myself,” Steve’s voice, tired and very irritated, comes through the speaker.

“Steve! Oh my god-” The back of your throat starts to burn at the feeling of tears welling up; the relief crashes over you in a wave, “Are you okay? Where are you?”

“What? Jesus-” He pauses, his tone softens once he hears it’s you, “Why wouldn’t I be okay? It’s nearly-”

Steve stops again; you reckon it’s to glance at the time.

“Shit, sweetheart it’s nearly two in the morning, what’s goin’ on?”

You sigh, finally realizing that you must’ve awoken him, “Fuck I just-”

The phone is gripped tighter in your hands as you speak, “I really just needed to know that you're okay. It’s stupid, I shouldn’t have called. I’m sorry-“

“No, no it’s okay-”

“But I-”

“No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about me,” Steve’s reassurance helps to slow your pounding heart; he’s okay. He’s safe at home. 

There’s nothing to worry about anymore.

You repeat that to yourself multiple times, whispering it to yourself under your breath. At this point, you think that you’d do anything to forget that night. 

Your back slides down the wall as your body grows exhausted from the severe reaction; Steve’s voice continues through the phone, “Did something happen?”

“I had-” You force a deep breath through your lungs, face scrunching in fear at the memory, “I had a really bad dream, Steve.”

Your arm wraps around your knees to pull them into your chest, forehead coming down to meet them and dig into the soft material of your pants, “I woke up and fuck, I was so scared. I was so scared and all I could think to do was call you. And I’m all alone. I’m all by myself tonight and I hate that I can’t be alone anymore. And I haven’t slept through the night in weeks-”

“Weeks? What do you mean weeks? I mean - I knew you weren’t sleeping well right after, but Christ it’s been nearly two months!”

You curse at yourself for rambling, words suddenly escaping your mind as you hesitate to respond. With your silence, Steve huffs; you can imagine the disappointment and worry over his face, “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

You bite down on your lip before answering, only letting up on the pressure when the taste of blood touches your tongue; you’re ashamed of the answer, “I don’t know… I’m sorry, Steve.”

All you feel is guilt in the moments that follow. Something like this… dreams about him dying in front of your eyes isn’t something that should be kept from him. 

“Hey,” Steve’s soft tone reels you back in, “You call me whenever you have to. I’ll always pick up, okay?”

You exhale as you nod, before remembering that he can’t see your reaction through the phone, “Okay, yeah. Thank you.”

“Of course, anytime. Are you okay?” 

You weave the phone cord between your fingers, “I’m better now. Uh, I’ll let you go then.”

“Okay. Try to get some rest, for my sake,” Steve pleads. You twist the cord tighter, “I will.” 

He sighs at your oath, finally able to relax a bit more, “Hey, we don’t have to do anything tonight, if it’s too much. Or if you’re tired… ” 

You hum at his words, head leaning back against the wall. A smile creeps over your lips at his consideration, wishing that you could thank him in person for his words, “No, no let’s do something. It’ll be good for me.” 

He laughs a bit; even with how horrible the quality might be through the receiver, it still makes your stomach flutter with butterflies, “Okay, good. I’ll see you tonight. Get some sleep.”

“I’ll try, Steve.”

After wishing him a good night, you place the phone back onto it’s base. Standing up on wobbly legs, a shaky exhale leaves your lungs when your fingers remove themselves from the smooth plastic. The image of him is still there when you blink.

Fuck - you should’ve told him.

—

Three taps against the window pane startle you awake. Rubbing your eyes as you sit up, you check the time - you were only able to finally fall asleep twenty minutes ago. Anxiety starts to creep over the back of your neck - until you see the culprit. 

“Jesus…” You mutter to yourself. You can’t help the small smile that erupts over your face at the sight of Steve, fingers nervously drumming on the window sill. His expression relaxes a bit once you come over, and you’re already rolling your eyes as you move to pull it open.

“You know that I’m the only one home, right?” 

Steve nods, not following your logic, “Yeah? And?”

“You could’ve just come to the door, Steve.”

The boy in front of you shifts at your words; his retort stutters as he tries to come up with an excuse, “Okay, alright. But you know, I didn’t want to scare you or anything!”

You step back to cross your arms over your chest, “And coming to my window while I sleep seems a whole lot better to you?”

“Alright whatever, Henderson,” He answers quickly, waving off your tone, “Will you just let me in already?”

You gesture for Steve to enter, laughing quietly to yourself as he does. As soon as he’s crawled his way through the opening, you latch and lock the window closed. He huffs, “You have no idea how thrilled I am that your house only has one floor.”

“Did you drive across the neighborhood just to scare me?” You ignore him, pulling the cord on the lamp by your bedside. The light illuminates the worry on his face.

“No, I just-” Steve pauses as he fiddles with his keys, “I couldn’t stop thinking about what you said. I had to know you were okay.”

You nod, crossing your arms over your chest once again, “Y-yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Steve’s brow raises at your deflection, “Um, did we not have the same conversation over the phone?”

“We did,” Your answer is laced with a bit of aggression, “You didn’t need to come all the way over here, okay? I’m fine now-”

“But are you?” Steve interrupts. His voice is genuine, soft, and you want to spill everything because he has that look in his eye; you’re not sure you can push him away forever.

“Of course, Steve-”

“Don’t lie to me,” Steve puts more force behind his words - it’s like a demand. He takes a few steps closer, “Please don’t lie to me.”

Hearing Steve plead with you like that makes your heart shatter. It’s killing him to watch you stand before him like this. He’s known you long enough to know when something’s not right, and he’s gotten especially good at reading you over the past few weeks. And by the way your jaw clenches, Steve knows you’re about to crack.

A shaky inhale comes through your lips; you have to tell him something. But how much?

“I just… I don’t want you to worry,” You mutter. Your voice is just above a whisper, although it doesn’t matter; it’s not like there’s anyone home to overhear. You’re scared to admit there’s something wrong. He shouldn’t have to do this for you.

Steve almost laughs. He runs his free hand through his hair, “It’s like, a year too late for that, you know.” 

You sigh, realizing that he’s absolutely right. Of course he should worry, especially with how vague the conversation over the phone was. Letting him in is something that you’ll have to get used to.

Even though you’d been friends for a while, it was always more about him than you. You always wanted to be there for him, if he ever needed anything, how he was doing. It’s something neither of you understood was happening until your relationship became more; it was no one’s fault. 

All of a sudden, Steve realized just how much you’ve done for him - he’s wanted to return the favor. And this… is all new to you; you’re not used to someone checking in. 

“Oh god, you’re right,” You mumble under your breath. Your hands come up to cover your eyes in shame as you continue, “I’m sorry, Steve. I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

Witnessing your sudden change in mood, Steve moves towards you; he sets his keys down on your nightstand as he does. He goes to reach for you, pulling your body into his, “Hey hey, it’s okay, it’s fine.”

He wishes he could come up with something better to say. You’ve always been better with words than him. You’re better at a lot of things than him. But he’s trying - he’s trying to be better to be worthy of you.

Your arms wrap tightly around him once Steve’s pressed against you. He smells like freshly washed cotton, like pulling sheets from the dryer when they’re still warm.

It’s all so overwhelming, it makes you want to cry. You feel like you should, but the familiar burn behind your eyes never comes. Instead, you resume speaking.

“I guess I just…” You trail off, wanting to give him a reason - he deserves one.

Your fist knots the fabric of his tee; Steve’s palm slides up over your back, “I’m just not used to leaning on others for help. I’m trying to get used to it.”

“Sometimes it’s okay,” Steve’s reply is muffled by your hair. He ponders what to add, lips pressed into a firm line as he thinks, “Sometimes you gotta do stuff on your own and sometimes you need somebody else. That’s just how life works.”

Your chest heaves as you sigh at the weight of his words, this moment cements a single fact inside your brain - you won’t plan on hiding anything from him.

Well, except for that one thing. You’re still not ready to admit that to him yet. 

You wish that pulling away didn’t mean losing his warmth; but his gentle eyes meeting yours mimics a feeling like it that fills your chest. 

“You can lean on me, you know,” Steve says, and the smile that was already pulling at your lips widens even farther. And then he nudges you - his mouth curls into that stupid smirk of his, “However you want.”

You crack a laugh, accompanied by a roll of your eyes, “Yes, I know. Sometimes I just need a little reminder."

Suddenly, you remember just how lucky you are to have him. How fortunate you are to have him there to brighten your darkest moments, even if he’s sometimes battling his own demons at the same time. 

“Thank you,” You say, bringing your gaze back to meet Steve’s again. He nods slightly, tone genuine and soft as he answers, “Of course. Anytime.”

The pads of your fingers graze over his cheekbone before tucking a strand of brunette hair behind his ear; Steve shivers a bit at the gentle touch before you meet his lips in a kiss.

He still gets a bit nervous each time, only because this feels so much more different than the others. The level of comfort and security he feels when you’re in the room was never there before he met you. Like really met you.

And you - well, you’re still so overwhelmed that you finally, after all that time, get to be with the one you love - you feel like you could jump out of your skin with joy. You’ve treasured every single moment, because it’s never been lost on you how it all could be taken away in an instant.

The brilliant grin you two share after pulling away shakes it all from your mind. Your fingers move to grip his hands in yours; you just like being able to do it, even if it is in the privacy of your own bedroom.

But then that feeling settles in your stomach, the one that doesn’t go away until morning. The dread that something’s going to happen. Steve can sense your growing anxiety - it’s almost like the air surrounding you changes. Leaving you now, something about that doesn’t sit right with him.

“I’ll uh, stay if you want.”

He mentions the idea quietly because, well, you’re not officially together. But to be fair, he hasn’t asked - but neither have you. Even though your hands are still in his, pressing into his skin, Steve finds it important to ask and make sure you’re on the same page.

You can’t lie - the idea of Steve spending the night makes you a little nervous. Although, knowing that you’re safe with each other might just be the push you need to relax. And with that thought, you’re stepping away from him, “Okay. Yeah, sure.”

The doorknob is so cold against your skin as you exit to grab an extra pillow from the closet in the hallway. The darkness of the living room seems to go on forever; it almost feels like something’s creeping up your neck once your back is turned to it.

After quickly shutting the door once you’re back inside, you turn around to see Steve, perched silently on top of your comforter - his presence warms the entire room, bringing life and love into it.

He hasn’t spent that much time in this space; he’s trying to take everything in, because it’s very reflective of you. There are neat piles of VHS tapes and comics on top of the dresser, a closet dominated with dark colors and sneakers, and some of your well worn denim tossed over the desk chair.

But his eye catches on a stack of photographs on the desk’s surface, and he’s halfway across the room before you can interject. You clutch the pillow a little tighter to your chest as Steve flips through them, laughing at one of you and Dustin from a few years ago at Christmas wearing matching pajamas.

He spins to show it to you, “I’m never gonna let him live this down.”

You approach his side when he finds another one of you as a child, playing with a cake battered spatula in your previous house. Baby curls framed your face, and your eyes were wide with adventure and wonder, “Holy shit, look at you!”

“I don’t know why I remember that day so much,” You mutter.

Steve’s silence pushes you to continue, “It was Mom’s birthday, and my grandparents baked her a cake - double chocolate I think. I wasn’t tall enough to reach but I wanted to help so badly. So they sat me on top of the counter and let me mix everything. They even let me tell her that I made it.”

You laugh quietly before the memory turns cold in your mind, and your wistful smile turns to a slight frown, “I haven’t seen them since we moved here.”

Steve isn’t even looking at the picture anymore. He listened to every word that left your mouth; you don’t speak much about the rest of your family. Instead of trying to probe further, he leans over to press a kiss to your forehead, a gentle and silent reminder of his support.

This feels strange. Opening up to him like that, making yourself that vulnerable - that’s a level of intimacy you haven’t explored quite yet. At least not with him… or anyone really.

Thankfully, it hasn’t seemed to scare him off. If anything, Steve’s more relaxed. He likes knowing how you feel.

Steve flips through the others while you rest your chin on his shoulder, your eyes intently watch his reaction to each one - you think you could stay in this moment forever.

And then he comes across one - an image of you and the kids on Halloween a few years back all dressed like Jedi. He pauses on it, “When do you think we should tell them?”

A sharp inhale comes through your nostrils at his comment; you hadn’t thought about that.

In all your bliss, you had completely forgotten - no one else knows. Not even your brother.

“Oh God, Steve-” You start, removing yourself from him, “I don’t even know how we would do that.”

“What are you talking about?” Steve replies, turning back to meet your gaze, “We just… tell them. It’s not rocket science.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as you answer, clenching the pillow a bit tighter in your grasp, “It’s really not that simple with them, Steve. You know that. And honestly, I still feel like I’m trying to figure out how to do all this.”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair, knowing just how messy involving the kids could make your relationship, “I’ve kinda liked it just being about us. You know, we’re together because we wanna be, it’s not for anyone else. And trust me, they’ll have so many opinions-”

“So let’s keep it to ourselves then,” Steve interjects, shrugging his shoulders a bit as he answers, “We’ll tell ‘em when we think it’s right, when we’re sure if this is serious or not.”

You hated keeping your feelings for him a secret. You hated that you were never able to tell him, but this is different. The idea sends a rush of excitement through your veins, you can’t deny it.

He smiles a bit and sets the photos down before continuing, “I know it might be too early to tell, but I feel like this could last, you know.”

You feel blood rise into your cheeks when he looks at you like that - irises filled to the brim with admiration. His hands come up to cup your face as you reply, “Me too.”

Steve leans in to drink a slow kiss from your lips, the kind that leaves you breathless when it’s over.

“Good,” He mutters, earning a small grin from you. Steve takes the pillow out of your grasp, “What do you say we try and get a couple hours of sleep in? I guess Dustin wants to go to the arcade before lunch.”

You laugh, pushing your hair back away from your face as you answer, “I will never be able to get used to that, I’m sorry.”

Steve tosses the pillow onto the empty spot on the mattress while you pull back the comforter. The bed dips as you both settle under the covers; Steve’s arm starts to slide over your waist before stopping abruptly, “Is this okay?”

You clear your throat, “Yeah, yeah that’s fine.”

The darkness washes over the room after you pull the cord to the lamp; it doesn’t feel as scary with Steve lying behind you. His touch stops your mind from wandering as it so often does - it can’t concoct anything to torment you with.

That being said, the sight from the earlier nightmare does appear behind your eyelids when you blink.

“It was about you,” You mutter, “The dream.”

It’s spoken before you can stop yourself. You instantly regret it, due to the lack of a reply that follows.

But then Steve tugs you closer, and you feel like you could melt against him. He tucks his nose right underneath the base of your hairline, deeply inhaling as you relax into him.

“I’m sorry,” He mumbles against your skin; your fingers curl around his as a quiet thank you.

Steve thinks that this is probably what home is supposed to feel like - warm clothes, the scent of your shampoo, a comfortable silence to lull you both to sleep. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more comfortable.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, the pair of you have finally found a bit of peace.

—

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[jae-daddy]

Duff (6)

jaebum au series

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight masterlist

pairing: im jaebum x reader  genre: angst, smut, cheating, CEO! i guess too now “ plot: you are the duff and guys use you to get close to your best friend, Heather, and turns out Jaebum is no exception. but as time goes on the tension between you and your best friend’s unofficial boyfriend grows a/n: im sorry for posting after so long. i got busy with new year celebrations and then started struggling with a creative blog. not edited. hope y’all enjoy it! <3

“So, how is it working for the hot new Director?” Naina asked, watching you take a bite of the fries on your plate. You narrowed your eyes at her anticipating face, waiting for any drop of new information.

You frowned at her instead, “Naina, you ask me this every time we meet.”

Naina only pouted in reply, before picking up a fry from your plate and popping it into her mouth. Before you could complain, she lifted up a quarter of her wrap and dropped it on your plate, “I only ask because you never know when situations can change. One day your secretary and boss, and the next day, you both are hooking up on his sexy desk.”

“Did you just call his desk sexy?”

“Come on,” Naina blew gaping at you as if you were the one insane. “Have you seen that majestic dark wood slick piece of beauty?”

“Oh my god, the Director’s desk right?” Pam settled next to Naina. Naina gave you a told you so look, and you just rolled your eyes at their antics. You didn’t say anything as the other two ladies drifted into a conversation about how sexy furniture could be.

You would have normally joined them, and told them about the three thousand dollar coffee table at Heather’s apartment. But you couldn’t participate in their conversation. Not when your mind was elsewhere; somewhere so much more interesting and sexier than furniture.

What Naina had said had planted another seed in your garden of fantasies about Jaebum and you.

This time you imagined yourself spread on his dark wood desk. Your bodies holding on to each other, desperately trying to get closer as he fucked into you.

You swallowed, as you popped a fry into your mouth, making you choke. You coughed a few times to avail before your hands reached out to your friends who turned towards you with wide eyes.

God, this was so embarrassing. You were going to die from choking on a piece of fry at the company cafeteria.

“Y/n!” Naina and Pam panicked, jumping in their seats. They held your hand staring at you horrified and lost. You had such idiot friends, you were truly about to meet the devil any second now.

Suddenly, you were pulled up from your seat and arms wrapped around your waist. You felt the person behind you press into your stomach from behind, making you heave. The smell of rose and vanilla enveloped you as you felt softness behind you.

“One more time,” a smooth voice grunted into your ear. You nodded, frantically, before the person pressed once more. The piece stuck in your throat flew out. You fell forward, your arms catching the table in front of you. Arms covered in a grey jacket held you steady as you caught your breath.

You heard claps, and you were so embarrassed.

“Are you okay?” You turned around and your breath got caught in your throat from the beauty in front of you. Her almond-shaped eyes crinkled as she gazed at you with concern.

Her pouty pink lips drew into a straight line before her fingers gently brushed the hair from your face. Your heart skipped a beat at the touch, before you nodded, holding in your breath, “I’m okay. Thank you.”

The goddess in front of you smiled, her short hair brushing her shoulders slightly, “Chew your food properly, doll.”

She shot you a wink and walked away with ease and confidence. You remained standing there, your hand over your pounding heart.

“Wow,” Naina gasped from behind you. You slipped into your seat, seeing their face mirror your awe, “I think I'm in love.”

“Me too,” Pam and you replied.

//

You walked into the office after two quick knocks for the sake of formality, and to piss of Jaebum.

Jaebum hated it whenever you did something that an employee was supposed to do, especially when no one else was around.

Jaebum’s office was supposed to be empty with just him sitting on the couch, he worked from.

So imagine your surprise when you walked into his office to find Jaebum and the gorgeous woman from the cafeteria tangled into one another.

You noticed how she was slightly perched on the dark wood of the sexy desk your friends had gushed about. You noticed how Jaebum’s hands spread on her back, and how her head dipped into his neck.

“Oh,” was all that left you. You didn’t know if you should walk back out or stand there until they noticed your presence.

Jaebum noticed you immediately and untangled himself from the woman instantly. You bit your cheek to hold in the urge to roll your eyes. He was going to pretend that you didn’t just walk into a moment in case you went back and reported to Heather.

Typical.

All men are trash.

And you knew Jaebum was just like everyone else already. You knew that the moment he decided to jump the boat from you and Heather literally five minutes after meeting you. He was no different to every other sleazy shit head to walk this earth.

The caught look on Jaebum’s face told you couldn’t hide the distaste from your face as your eyes settled on him.

“Hey, it’s you!” Her smooth voice chuckled, “You work for JB?”

“Everyone here does,” you gave her a curt smile back.

She could have saved you from hell but that didn’t excuse whatever her and Jaebum were up to before you walked in.

Your eyes drew back to Jaebum. The top button of his shirt open, his hair a mess and cheeks flushed. Biting your tongue, you tore your gaze away from him and the mess he echoed.

“She’s my assistant, y/n,” Jaebum finally croaked out. His eyes watching you.

You looked at the iPad in your hand instead of the pair in front of you, “You have a meeting with Mr Mark Tuan in twenty minutes, and dinner with Jackson Wang at eight.”

“No mister for Jackson?” the lady rose an eyebrow at you.

You gave her a polite smile, “No.”

She held your gaze for a moment longer, before turning to Jaebum. She let out a sigh as she hugged him once more. Jaebum hugged her back hesitantly this time, aware of your dark eyes watching them.

He patted her back twice and she moved away.

“It was nice seeing you after so long, JB,” she smiled at him. Jaebum smiled back at her this time, nodding in agreement. She patted his shoulder before picking up her bag from the chair next to the desk. “Oh, before I forget, guess who is back in town and wants to get into business with you?”

Jaebum frowned, and you watched the pair, almost sulking from your corner.

Her smile brightened with secrecy that made you listen intently, “Park Jinyoung.”

Your heart stopped.

“Hey y/n!” You blinked back to reality to find Jaebum in front of you. His eyes staring into yours as he rose his brows in question, “You alright?”

The grimace formed on your lips before you could hold it back. You didn’t even know what you were feeling but it wasn’t pleasant.

You felt it towards Jaebum and how he was hugging that girl. Not because of your feelings, but because he was with Heather.

Not that you had feelings for him or anything.

God, this was so confusing. On top of that, he was back in town.

You felt your frown deepen into a scowl as you glared at Jaebum.

You hissed at him, making him jump back slightly, “Get ready for the meeting. I’ve sent you the report for the meeting already.”

He opened his mouth to something, but you cut him off, “With notes, sir.”

You turned and began walking out of his office.

“Y/n,” Jaebum called out, but you ignored him.

//

Your foot kept tapping against the carpeted floor as you watched the numbers increase on the screen. You hadn't been able to keep still since the moment you heard the news.

Im Jaebum was no help either. All you wanted was to be left alone but he kept on trying to talk to you or kept on sending you to get coffee.

He didn’t take a single sip of those five iced americanos he ordered. All the cups piled on the floor next to the couch he sat on watching you with those dark eyes.

As soon as the clock hit seven-thirty, you called for Jaebum’s driver and rushed out of the office. You didn’t head home, you didn’t even consider going home for a second. Your feet without hesitation led you to Heather’s apartment.

You entered the code, your birthday, and entered the chilly room blasting with the AC high.

“Heather, I need wine and a good movie for crying. You won’t believe what I just- oh MY GOD- AHHHHHHH!” A bloodcurdling scream escaped you, as you fell onto the wall behind you.

When your scream settled as you took in the figure standing in the pink robe belonging to your best friend, you straightened, confused.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You sneered.

“Wow, such a kind greeting for me,” Bambam rolled his eyes, before continuing to sip the glass of orange juice in his hand. You stared at him, your mind puzzled and trying to figure out what the fuck was going on.

“So what’s the tea?” Bambam smacked his lips before licking the droplets of juice remaining on them. He slammed the glass on the white marble, grinning at you. “Why do you need wine and a sad movie? Time of the month?”

“Why- What- How- Pink robe?” You stammered over your words pointing at him. Bambam stood there as if there was nothing weird about this situation. As if standing in nothing but another girl’s pink robe in a stranger’s kitchen was a normal occurrence for him. Your eyes narrowed at him, “Where’s Heather?”

“Y/n!” Heather appeared through her bedroom door. You took in her wet hair and silk robe, your eyes going to Bambam’s also wet hair. You frowned in confusion, and a fire blazed inside of you as an evil thought sprouted somewhere in the back of your mind.

Did they... Are they cheating on Jaebum?

Jaebum’s face from that night at the club invaded your mind. The smile on his face, the look in his eyes as he watched Heather with such softness, “It’s good she gets to live her life how she wants to.”

God. God.

What do you do?

You glared at Heather. Your eyes burned with betrayal from your friend and the anger that spread through your veins as you thought of Jaebum. You couldn’t bear to even imagine the sight of him heartbroken, defeated and cheated. You would rather the world end than see him like that.

“No, y/n!” Heather huffed taking a step towards you. The droplets from her long ember hair darkening the pink silk wrapped around her body. She took a step towards you and you almost took one back. But your feet remained still, as you saw the panic in her eyes, the desperation, “Let me explain.”

“So, what you’re telling me is that he is homeless?” You grunted at a dressed Heather sitting in front of you.

Bambam sat somewhere behind you, snorting, “I’m not homeless. Just low on cash and have no place to go.”

“That is literally homeless,” you turned towards him, giving him a smile.

“Basically,” Heather nodded, ignoring Bambam’s protest in the background. “I’m letting him stay here for a few weeks until his apartment problem is sorted out. I’m living at home anyways, but I came here today because I spilt coffee all over myself.”

“Oh,” you nodded. You weren’t completely convinced. She could’ve gone home, it was just ten minutes away. And why was both of their hair wet from the shower, when there is only one shower in the apartment. Maybe she might have kicked him out of the shower pulling ownership rank.

You had to believe her. There was no other explanation. The alternative was too cruel, and you would rather believe this than consider the dangerous alternative.

And how could you possibly not believe her? You knew Heather would do this in a heartbeat for anyone, she would do so much more then let others stay in her house. She had done the same for you once upon a time, she had done so much more.

She was even willing to buy you a house and you had to talk her out of it.

Yeah, there was no way anything was going on between Heather and Bambam. Whatever she said was the complete and absolute truth, there was no other alternative explanation needed or present.

Heather would never hurt someone else purposefully, she was pure and kind. She was not you.

“How come you’re here?” Heather asked, changing the subject.

“It’s nothing,” you shook your head.

“She's lying,” Bambam butted in. “She came in asking for wine and a movie that will make her cry. Something happened, or she’s on her period.”

Heather turned to you with a grave look, “What’s wrong, babe?”

You glared at Bambam, before turning to Heather. You let out a sigh as you picked your fingernails nervously. Heather instantly took your hands in hers making you meet her concerned green eyes, “What’s wrong?”

You frowned. Your lower lip trembling, “It’s -”

Ding Dong.

You and Heather turned towards the door, and then at Bambam. He let out an exhausted sigh, before he getting up, groaning.

“What am I meant to do? Send them away or- Oh, it's JB,” and without hesitation, he let the dark-haired male in.

Your frown deepened as you glared at the doorway he appeared through. His eyes landed on you right away and stayed on you. You held his gaze, your face darkening into a glare.

His rosy lips parted, his dark eyes filled with desperateness and despair as he held your gaze. It was as if all he saw in the room was you; as if the rest of the people, all disappeared.

It terrified you. It terrified you how this single moment made your heart flip and race. He terrified you.

“Oh good, you’re here Jaebum,” Heather spoke from behind you, and finally, Jaebum looked away from you. But it didn’t stay there, his dark eyes fell back on you, watching you intently.

Was he scared you would tell Heather what you saw in the office?

You scoffed at him, shaking your head as you looked away from him.

“Take Bambam out for a bit,” you heard your best friend’s sweet voice tell her boyfriend.

“I’m not a dog!” Bambam protested. Heather laughed behind you, but Jaebum and you didn’t as much as attempt to smile. Your eyes glittering with fire remained on him before you smirked at him.

You noticed his jaw tightened.

He was so pathetic.

You couldn’t believe you were worried about Heather cheating on him when he was almost dry humping another girl in his office. Well, you didn't see the humping, all you saw was the embrace, but you never know.

You can never know with guys like Im Jaebum, with their bad-news piercing and bad fuck-boy ways.

“Come on, let’s go,” Bambam began dragging Jaebum away, making him look away from you. “Clearly the ladies want us out.”

The door clicked behind them, and you felt your throat dry up.

Heather felt the tension too. She gently placed her fingers under your chin making you meet her gaze, “Now tell me, why do you need a sob night?”

“Heather,” you breathed. Your heart felt as if it would escape out of your chest. Your palms clasped sweatily, as you fisted them in your lap.

Two thoughts bounced around in your head, debating which one do you tell her.

Do you tell her about Im Jaebum who might have cheated on her if she hadn't walked in? Without any proof, without any certainty?

Or do you tell her what you wanted to, what had been bothering you since the afternoon?

“Heather,” her name left you shaky and weak, you gulped, your throat dry, “he’s back, and I might be seeing him around.”

Heather looked at you confused, and you continued, “He wants to get into business with Jaebum, and I'll have to be there.”

“Who, y/n?”

“Park Jinyoung,” you held in your breath.

Rage blazed through her emerald eyes matching the fire of her ember curls. She shot up from her seat, her fists clenched on her sides, “Fuck off if that asshole thinks he can come anywhere near you.”

You snorted, “He isn’t trying to come near me, Heather. He’s trying to do business with Jaebum.”

“I’ll talk to Jaebum to-”

“No.”

“No?”

You shook your head, “No, I can do this.”

Heather looked at you for a long moment.

You leaned into her, letting her engulf you into her arms, “Just let me be sad tonight and get ready for tomorrow.”

“My baby is all grown up,” She kissed your forehead, pulling you closer to her, “I’m so proud of you, but I’m always here for you.”

You nodded, you knew that.

The door of the apartment opened and you slightly turned to find Bambam walk in with four bottles of wine, “Are you guys ready to cry?”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't help but giggle as he popped one open and offered it to you.

“Fuck yeah!” Heather cheered. You all turned to her, surprised. Heather didn’t talk crude, but tonight she didn't care to act proper. She just rolled her eyes, “Tonight, we are improper human beings.”

Bambam turned to Jaebum who stood a few feet away, “You in?”

His dark eyes travelled to you once again. After a long moment, he nodded, finally, tearing his gaze away from you and to Bambam.

“Good, go get the glasses,” Bambam ordered him laughing. He turned to the front and pulled out the remote, “Notebook, Titanic --”

“One Day,” you say.

They all gasp and stare at you. You just shrug and take a sip of the wine.

“You really chose heartbreak today, huh?” Bambam snickered, pulling up Netflix. “One Day it is. Jaebum get the tissues ready.”

[winterscaptain]

intellectual guesswork.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: another ajf update that requires absolutely no context to enjoy! i love you all so much. send some extra love to your favorite writers this week :)

one quick thing - if you’re on my taglist, please consider dropping a reply or a reblog! i love to see what you all think, and it encourages me to keep going :) it’s also getting a bit long, and i want to make sure my mutuals and people who engage are seeing everything - tumblr sometimes has a hard time with a lot of mentions. 

words: 1.6k warnings: none!

summary: “ignorance of the law excuses no man - from practicing it.” - addison mizner. au!may 2008

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist | what do you want to see next? edited: january 12th, 2021

You all settle into one row. Aaron’s on the end beside you, looking very sharp in a crisp black suit, his favorite Rolex, and a settled kind of confidence you’ve only seen in him a few times. It’s like he’s in his natural habitat. 

Aaron’s record as a federal prosecutor speaks for itself, of course, but you’ve never seen him in action. As often as they can, the bureau’s leadership sends him in as an expert witness. This time, the case happens to be one of yours. The judge hasn’t required a sequestration for Aaron, so you get the treat of sitting together in the courtroom. 

He’s scoffed and mumbled snide remarks under his breath all morning. You’re just itching to see him get up on the stand and give this joker an education. 

Emily leans over, whispering in your ear. “I promise you’ve never seen anything like this before. Hotch is going to rip this clown to shreds.” 

You stifle a laugh and look over at Aaron. He heard her. Leaning toward you, he murmurs, “All my JD does is collect dust. When I use it, I’d like to enjoy it.” 

“Your Honor, the prosecution would like to call our expert witness, Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, to the stand.” 

He takes a breath and rises, buttoning his suit jacket and crossing the courtroom. His presence commands respect and everyone in the courtroom seems to shrink before him. 

The prosecution’s questions go over smoothly, and the defense attorney stands with an unreasonable amount of confidence. 

Emily leans over. “He thinks he can get Hotch with at least one of these questions, and he might. But just watch.” 

You nod, taking everything in. 

“So you’ve stated that it was your profile of the killer that led you and the police to my clients door that night.” 

“Behavioral analysis was a factor in our investigation, yes.” 

Without hesitation, the attorney follows up. “And was behavioral analysis also a factor in the Olympic Park bombings case in Atlanta?” 

“Yes, it was.” Aaron’s eyes and tone never waver, no hint of arrogance or cheek. 

“And was that suspect you identified,” the attorney asks, far too aggressively, “Richard Jewell, ever convicted of the bombings?”

The prosecution objects, and you watch Aaron. Every part of him observes the proceedings with an outwardly detached interest, but his eyes are alive - strategizing and anticipating. It’s like you can see the wheels turning as the lawyers bicker. 

 The judge ends the squabble. “I’ll allow it.”

Aaron, now with permission, answers simply, “No, he was not convicted.”

“Because he was innocent. Your profile led you to the wrong man.” 

Oh, give me a break. It takes everything in you not to scoff and you can feel Emily’s eye roll.

“Jewell was not the perpetrator, but if you look at the real Olympic Park Bomber, Eric Rudolph, you’ll see that our profile was dead-on.” 

Dead-on indeed, Aaron. 

“Well, how about we look at the Baton Rouge Killer? Your unit said that he was white and living in the city. He was Black and from the suburbs.”

Aaron’s eyes narrow and you feel Spencer shift beside you. Emily shakes her head. “Don’t worry,” she whispers. “He always recovers, never in the way you’d expect.” 

“How do you know?”

Emily’s face pulls into a little smile. “I’ve read the transcripts. Hotch is terribly clever.” 

“You said that Dennis Rader, the B.T.K. Killer,” the attorney continues, “was divorced and impotent. He turned out to be married with two kids.” 

JJ huffs, and you hear her whisper to Spencer, “Can we quit with the sermon?” 

His lips turn up. “Just wait.”

Dave leans over and stares them down over Derek. Stop talking. 

All of you look down at your hands like chastised children, but your gaze floats back to Aaron right away. 

The prosecution objects again, this time on the grounds of preaching. The judge forces a question, and the attorney turns back on Aaron.

“Having been wrong on those cases, isn’t it possible that you were wrong about Brian Matloff?” 

“No.” Your chest squeezes. He’s completely firm in his denial. 

How does he do that?

“Fact is,” the attorney continues like Aaron didn’t speak at all, “behavioral analysis is really just intellectual guesswork. You probably couldn’t tell me the color of my socks with any greater accuracy than a carnival psychic.” 

“Objection!” 

Her outburst is unnecessary. Aaron has a plan. His eyes track to you as if to check in. Are you paying attention? 

If you weren’t watching before, you’re certainly watching now. Always. 

“Withdrawn.” 

“Charcoal grey.” His flat assertion makes you gasp and you immediately cover your mouth with your hand to stifle the sound. 

The attorney turns around. “Well, look at that,” he exposes his socks to the court, and they are, in fact, charcoal grey. “He got one right.”

Aaron’s not finished. “You match them to the color of your suit to appear taller. You also wear lifts and you’ve had the soles of your shoes replaced. One might think you’re frugal, but in fact, you’re having financial difficulties.” 

You do your best to school your expression and remove your hand from your mouth. Checking down the row, you see six smirks watching the witness box. 

“You wear a fake Rolex…”

And you’d know. 

“...because you pawned the real one to pay your debts. My guess would be to a bookie.” 

Is he smiling?

“I took this case pro bono.” There’s tension in Mr. Charcoal Grey’s voice. You can hear it behind the false confidence and it pulls a smile from you. “I am one of the most successful criminal attorneys in the state.”

Hotch continues, completely bypassing him. “Your vice is horses.” There’s definitely a little smile on his face now. “Your Blackberry’s been buzzing on the table every twenty minutes, which happens to be the average time between posts from Colonial Downs. You’re getting race results.” Your smile gets wider, and Emily grabs your hand. 

“Just watch.”

“And every time you do, it affects your mood in court, and you’re not having a very good day.” There’s something that looks almost like concern on Aaron’s face, but you know it’s nothing if not facetious. He’s ripping this poor man to shreds without changing a single thing about his presentation.

I love - 

Don’t finish that thought. 

Why not?

Remember how he’s freshly divorced?

I know, but have you seen him?

“That’s because you pick horses the same way you practice law -” 

You lean forward and Emily follows, her thumbnail between her teeth. 

The final blow. 

“- by always taking the long shot.” 

If this was any other setting, you’re sure the entire team would be on their feet, shouting and jeering. But alas, you’re in court, so you settle for a wide smile and a suppressed laugh. Amused brown eyes meet yours from across the room and you shake your head just the tiniest bit. I can’t believe you.

His lips twitch. 

“Well, you spin a very good yarn, Agent, but as usual, you’ve proven nothing.” He’s just trying to recover something, anything left of his dignity. He fails, miserably. 

“If I’m not mistaken,” Aaron says, his eyebrows raised just a little, “the results from the fifth race should be coming through any minute.”

Just then, his Blackberry buzzes on the defense table. “Why don’t you tell us if your luck has changed?”

You raise your hands to your face to cool the rising heat in your cheeks. 

“Your honor, this is - “

The judge takes matters into his own hands. “What do you want me to do? Either show us your Blackberry or cut him loose, counselor.”

Hotch and the defense attorney share a loaded look. It’s a battle of wills. 

Aaron wins. 

“Nothing further.”

+++

When you all leave the courthouse, you practically latch onto Aaron’s arm, completely floored. 

“How did you do that?”

He laughs and Derek jumps up beside him, shaking his shoulders. “Come on, Hotch. That was incredible.” 

“Why have a law degree if you aren’t going to use it?”

+++

He offers you a ride home later that evening and you take him up on it. You’re both still in the car, idling in front of your house. 

“That really was impressive today,” you admit, your eyes on your hands.

You can feel his soft smile rather than see it. “Thanks. I know it didn’t quite go the way we wanted as far as the case itself, but there’s more to come.” 

“It’s never as bad as it looks in the first couple of days.” 

“Exactly.” He sighs. “Thanks again for being there today. It’s…” his lips twist as he thinks, “nice to have the team around.” 

You reach out, squeezing his forearm before immediately letting him go. “Of course. We’ll always be there for you. Plus, there’s nothing better than watching you tear blowhard lawyers to shreds in a court of law.” 

“I’m not sure that’s exactly how it went.” 

“You’re kidding!” You laugh. “That’s just what happened. The man left without half his soul! You absolutely tore it from his body.”

The pair of you quiet, and you move to get out of the car. He stops you with a hand over yours as you unclip your seatbelt. “Really. Thanks for being there today.” 

“I can’t emphasize this enough - it was my pleasure.” 

Enough of a pleasure as it was, his smile in the dark of the car is the best part of your day.  

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @wandaswitxh @hurricanejjareau @fics-ilike @ange-must-die @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @gublergirls @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @micaiahmoonheart @ogmilkis @thatreallyis-americas-ass @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @joemazzello-imagines @pinkdiamond1016 @sebbybaby0 @pan-pride-12 @hotchlinebling @lee-rin-ah @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @nohalohoseok @giveusbackourbucky @writerxinthedark @bauslut @yourlovelynewsbian @sparklingkeylimepie @aili28 @kingandrear @reader4027 @spnobsessedmemes @rogers-mouth @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @hotchnersgoddess @buckybau @phoenixfyre374 @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandi-ass-prentiss  @dontkissthewriter @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @ahopelessromantic @violentvulgarvolatile @andreasworlsboring101 @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @lcvischmitt @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @garcia-reid-lovechild  @cevanswhre @colbyskoalas @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor @spencers-hoodrat @infinity1321

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Lost and Found

Request: Hello, I’ve never requested any type of imagine so I’m sorry if this request sucks. I just love the way you write post-Azkaban Sirius and I was wondering if you could write something about reader getting pregnant just before he was sent to Azkaban and never got to tell him, fast forward to 1993 and how Sirius reacts to finding out about his son/daughter. Hope this made sense!

A/N: Here’s your request! I really enjoyed writing this, and I kind of used a different format that I've only used once or twice so I hope it reads okay! There's a flashback in this and it’s in italics! Thank you so much for requesting. As always, I hope you like!!

Pairing: Sirius Black x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, swearing, pregnancy, first meetings, a gross overuse of commas and semi-colons BUT THERE IS A HAPPY ENDING!!!

Word count: 4.7k

1981:

The front door slamming shut wakes you from your slumber. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but Sirius had left so late in the night; you wanted to wait up and see what the hurry was.

He storms into the living room; boots heavy on the floor. His hands run through his hair rapidly and he shakes his head repeatedly as if he can’t come to terms with whatever’s happened.

But then he stops his pacing.

He holds a hand up to his mouth.

And he begins to sob.

He bends in two; sobbing and sobbing, unable to catch his breath from the power of his cries.

You fly off the couch, rushing to him. Wrapping him in your arms, you sink to the ground where he stands, unable to walk to the couch for the sheer emotion taking over him.

It feels like hours before his sobs calm enough for him to get the words out.

In between his sniffles, Sirius manages to choke out, “James and Lily have been killed. Harry taken by Dumbledore.”

Your tears join Sirius’. You think of the family torn apart tonight; you think of the broken hearted man sat at your side. The family he had found for himself ripped from him in less than fifteen minutes.

It was incomprehensible.

They were only twenty-one; they were protected, and they were planning for their future. They had a fifteen month old son who needed his mother and father now more than ever, but he wouldn’t have that.

They had the world at their feet.

And in a single instant, it all changed.

----------

The test come backs positive, and it makes you cry harder.

A shaky hand places itself on your lower abdomen where in nine months, a bump would surely be.

You blink away the tears that are making it hard to see.

You stare at the wall; listening to the nothingness of the empty house you now sat in.

******

The sun was shining when Sirius made the decision that would impact both of your lives forever. The sun was shining when Sirius left the house with you still in bed.

At the front door, he hesitated for a single instant. He hesitated because he didn’t know what was going to happen to you after he does what need to. He hesitated because he so desperately wanted to crawl back into bed with you, but as he closed the front door ever so quietly behind him, he knew he wouldn’t get such a luxury for a while.

Sirius hadn’t been home all day; you had woken without him, but that wasn’t entirely unusual. What was unusual was his constant absence as the day progressed, and soon enough, dread floods your veins.

Remus shows up on your doorstep at some point in the afternoon; looking very much as if he hadn’t slept in days. He paces the kitchen with you; Sirius hadn’t told him the exact details of his plan – just that he was going to right a wrong, and that hadn’t sat right with Remus at all; no matter how much he desired retribution for the death of his friends and the orphan now in the care of his muggle relatives.

You yelp in panic when there’s a knock at the door; mind already thinking the worst.

Opening the door, you find that your mind is correct.

Two Aurors stand there; both with sombre looks on their faces.

You don’t hear what they say wholly; you only hear bits and pieces as your hearing zones in and out.

You hear, ‘Sirius’, ‘Azkaban’, ‘no trial’ and with no words of apology, the two Aurors leave your doorstep.

It’s Remus who catches you when you fall to the floor, sobs heaving from your chest.

******

The nausea rises with the end of your memory. You haul yourself over the toilet, emptying your stomach. You rest your head on the cool surface of the porcelain before dragging yourself to the sink to wash your mouth out.

An appointment at the Healers was needed, it seemed.

-------

The ultrasound jelly is cool as it is spread on your stomach; you shiver from the feeling and the nurse smiles at you apologetically.

“How are we feeling?” She asks kindly, setting up the machine.

You bite your lip, “I’m really nervous actually.”

She chuckles, “All new mothers are, but you’ll find the fathers are the most nervous.”

You want to laugh, but instead you smile wanly.

Using her wand, the nurse hovers it over your lower abdomen, moving it right to left and back again as she scans there.

A few clicks on a button later, she says, “There we are! You look to be about twelve weeks already,” She continues to move her wand, “Baby looks healthy, and is a good size. Would you like to see?”

You nod wordlessly. The nurse smiles at you as she turns the monitor your way.

And for the first time, you get a glimpse of the little baby.

You hold one hand to your mouth, and the other stretches out to touch the screen.

The nurse stands, “I’ll give you a moment. I’ll be back in a few minutes, dear.”

You let a few tears fall as you shuffle closer to the screen, wiping the ultrasound jelly off with the tissue from the side. Your hands grab both sides of the monitor, pulling it to you even closer.

There – the little blip on the screen. The little blip that was your baby.

-----

Remus lives in a flat within walking distance of Diagon Alley. After your appointment, you head there, struggling to hold back more tears threatening to make an appearance.

You climb the stairs to his floor; finding his flat easily enough.

Raising your fist, you knock on the door repeatedly – getting faster and louder the longer Remus takes to answer the door.

Remus yanks open the door to his flat, ready to shout at whoever is making that much racket so early in the morning. His words die in his mouth when he sees that it’s you and that you’re so close to tears.

You brush past him, striding into his flat and into his kitchen where you promptly fill up the kettle and set it on the stove to heat up. Watching for a flame, you know that Remus is going to need caffeine to hear the news.

“(Y/N)?” Remus asks warily from behind you, “Are you okay, love?”

“No, Remus. I’m not, but I can’t tell you until you have a coffee in your hand. And Remus, I love you like a brother, but will you please put on some trousers.”

Remus glances down at his clothing; only just realising that he’s stood in his boxers. He chuckles and leaves you to get dressed; pulling on some jeans and a Henley he finds in a drawer. As he’s getting changed, you make him a coffee and yourself a tea.

You sigh, thinking to yourself that this would be the last time you have caffeine for a long while.

Remus ambles back into the kitchen fully dressed and takes a seat the breakfast counter, “So what was so important it had you waking me up?”

Your fingers tap out a nameless song on your mug as you announce, “I’m pregnant.”

Remus knocks over his mug, sending it and the coffee inside flying across the kitchen. He leaps up from his spot, swearing up a storm as he grabs a tea towel to clean the mess up.

You stand to side, letting him finish cleaning. He’s done in a matter of moments; turning back to you with happiness and pity reflected on his face.

“You’re pregnant?” He asks.

You nod, “Had it confirmed today. They even did an ultrasound.”

You grab the picture of your baby from your bag, handing it to Remus with a shaking hand.

Remus grabs your hand as he looks at the ultrasound. There, in front of him, is a little blob that’s the baby of you and Sirius.

“What are you going to do?” He questions – his voice no louder than a whisper.

You run a hand through your hair, “I’m keeping it if that’s what you’re asking.”

Remus nods, “Are you sure though?”

“I’m sure. It’s half Sirius. We had talked about having children the month before James and Lily were killed.”

“So you’re going to be a mum?”

You laugh, tears shining in your eyes, “I’m going to be a mum.”

------

The pregnancy is tough without Sirius by your side. You find yourself asking for his opinion on everything – from the cot, to the colour of the nursery walls, to the name.

Then you remember he isn’t there, and he won’t ever be.

Remus, however, steps up. He isn’t there to be a father to the child, but he makes damn sure he is there for every appointment and to assemble every piece of furniture.

It’s Remus who holds your hand through the labour, and it’s Remus who hands you your son.

1987:

James begins to get curious about his father’s whereabouts on the approach to his sixth birthday. Question after question leaves his mouth – why didn’t he have a dad? Why were you alone? Did you feel lonely? Do you miss his father?

Eventually, the inquisition from the youngster becomes too much, and you give in on a Friday evening.

James sits on your knee, already invested in the story long before you even start.

“Are you comfy?” You ask.

You laugh at his eager nod.

“I met your father at Hogwarts when we were sorted into the same house. We weren’t friends then, but I knew who he was; it was hard to miss him – he was very loud.

“We became friends three years later in our Fourth Year; your father sat next to me in a lesson and pestered me until I would be his friend. I’m very happy he pestered me now.

“We fell in love in Sixth Year,” You break off, chuckling at your son’s crinkled nose, “Well we did, honey. There wasn’t anything else after that. I loved your father and he loved me.

“When we graduated Hogwarts, we moved into this very house and started to make it a home. Our friends, Lily and James, had a baby and both your father and I were named godparents – we had to protect the baby if anything happened to them.

“James and Lily died after that and it was very sad for both of us but especially for your father as James was his closest friend in the entire world. Your father left the house to make those who hurt his friends apologise, and it led to him having to go away for a very long time.”

“How long?”

“A very long time, my love.”

“Where is he? Maybe we could visit?”

“I don’t think we can. He’s in Azkaban, sweets.”

James’ eyebrows crinkle together, “The place where bad witches and wizards go.”

You nod, “The very same, but your father isn’t a bad wizard. He just made a bad choice one day.”

You finish talking, choked up with emotion. James pats your cheek with a small hand, and you squeeze your son a little tighter; wondering when he had grown into such a caring child.

James thinks over your story; plays it through in his head. He had seen other children his age playing with their dads and wondered why he didn’t have one. He was very happy with you, and loved you very much, but still, he wondered.

“But we still love him, right?” James asks.

You pause; thinking over his question, “I think I’ll always love him, James. He’s your dad.”

“Can I see a picture of him?”

You nod, not expecting this question. Patting his side, you tell him to get off so you can climb to the attic to find one. James follows you all the way; his little legs struggling on the steep stairs to the attic.

He finds you rooting through an old, dusty trunk, chuntering to yourself as you try to find what you were looking for.

“Got it!” You shout, pulling a framed photograph out from underneath some old clothing.

You run a finger over the picture; looking at faces you never thought you would see again. James, Lily, Marlene… Sirius. They all smile up at you as the camera flashes; permanently sealing the memory within the photograph.

You wrap an around James’ shoulder, pointing down at the photograph. “Tell me, do you recognise anyone at all?”

James gasps, “Is that you? And Uncle Remus?” His small finger points at the two figures he recognises the most; Remus as he went through his long hair phases that truly didn’t last long after the photo was taken, and yourself, standing straight-backed and proud next to Sirius whose arm was on your lower back.

You laugh, “That is me and your Uncle Remus, yes,” You point to the two figures in the front, “That’s James and Lily – two of my closest friends.”

“Is that who I’m named after?”

You nod, “It is. James was your father’s best friend; he even lived with him for a brief time. When I found out I was having you, there was no doubt in my mind that you were to be James.”

“Which one is my dad?”

You sigh, shifting your finger so it hovers over Sirius’ permanently handsome face, “This is your father.”

James takes the picture from your hands, holding it closer to his face as if he could get a better look at the man who should have been raising him beside you.

“Do I look like him?” He asks in a small, vulnerable voice.

You smile, pushing the dark hair back from his face, “In all the best ways, sweetheart.”

1993:

Tears fall freely as you flatten your son’s hair. “Mum,” he gripes, “It’s fine.”

“I’m just going to miss you,” You sniffle, dabbing at your eyes with your handkerchief.

“I’m going to miss you too, but we can write to each other and we’ll see each other on the holidays. It’s going to be okay, mum.”

You caress his face, wondering when your son had grown up, “When did you become so wise?”

He rolls his eyes, “I always have been.”

“Okay,” You start, taking a step back, “Do you have everything you need?”

He checks over his belongings one last time, “I’ve got everything.”

“And you’re going to be okay?”

“I’m going to be okay,” He promises.

“And you’re going to write me a letter the moment you get to your dorm room to tell me what house you’re in?”

“I promise.”

“Okay then,” You drop one last kiss to your son’s cheek before sending him off to the train, “I’ll miss you!” You shout.

He sticks his head out of the window of his compartment, unashamed of showing his feelings, “I’ll miss you too! I love you!”

You wave and wave as the red and black steam train departs from Kings Cross, carrying your son all the way to the highlands of Scotland where he’ll roam the corridors as you once did with his father.

-------

Remus is the first to alert you of Sirius’ escape from Azkaban. He apparates from Hogsmeade one weekend; his first words when you open to the door to him being, “He’ll come here, you know that right?”

You let him into your house. He trails after you, checking for signs that Sirius hasn’t already landed on your doorstep.

You hand him a mug of coffee from the fresh pot on the side, “I know that Remus, but I think he’ll go find Harry first. He doesn’t know about James.”

“I know that, but he’ll come back for you. Are you ready for that?”

“I’ll be ready when I need to be and that’s that. I wasn’t ready for my son or for his father to be imprisoned but he was, and I dealt with.”

“Magnificently if I say so myself,” Remus comments with a smile.

“You’re a flatterer, Remus Lupin.”

He laughs but it does nothing to hide the worried light in his eyes, “Send me an owl every week please? Let me know you’re okay.”

You nod, “I will. And you do the same for me; keep an eye on my son, Remus. It’s his first year.”

Remus sits back in his chair, “He’s in my class. He refuses to call me Professor, preferring to answer questions with ‘Yes, Uncle Remus’,” Remus chuckles, “Eleven years already. I remember him being born.”

“You should – you were there.”

He chuckles, “I had to be present for the birth of my godson didn’t I?”

You laugh, reaching through it all, “You were great through it all. I never worried about a thing, I had you next to me.”

“It should have been Sirius,” He sighs.

“You’re right, but it wasn’t. And I don’t regret that for one moment.”

-------

The knock at your front door is your only preparation really. An owl from Remus warned you that Sirius had left Scotland and was heading south. Harry had helped him escape certain death, and a surge of pride and gratefulness makes its way through your body – thankful for the godson you hadn’t seen since he was a toddler pottering about on shaky legs.

“Remus told me you would come,” is your greeting to man you hadn’t seen in over a decade.

“Remus is a very smart man.”

“Isn’t he?”

You stand aside, letting the man you’ve loved for most of your life enter the house he once shared with you.

You make your way to the living room; his footsteps sounding behind you. Your heart races with every possibility running through your mind – it had been hard to avoid the news of his escape, and you wondered how long it would take him to come to you. You were just thankful that James hadn’t felt the need to find his father himself; the sensible head on his shoulders telling him to wait and come back safely home to you.

Sirius steps further into your living room; his eyes dancing around the room he had spent so much time decorating. He smiles to himself; remembering the paint fight you had – he had splattered you with the brush causing you to retaliate by painting a long white stripe down the right side of his face.

It’s hard to miss the photos lining the walls or the mantle piece. His eyes dance over the framed photograph of the Order in favour of the smaller photograph next to it. A polaroid in a frame; taken by Remus on the day that James was born – it’s of you, hours after his birth with your hair still a mess but you’re smiling at the camera, looking elated.

Sirius turns to you; his mouth wide open, ready to say something but then he notices the other photographs of James on the wall – him at three years old; him at five years old sat on Remus’ lap; him at seven on his birthday, blowing out the candles on his chocolate cake.

You watch him from the side, absorbing everything.

Sirius does the maths in his head, and then his eyes finally settle on you.

Betrayal. 

Hurt. 

Longing.

They flash through his eyes and across his face in a matter of seconds before understanding finally settles there.

“Why don’t we talk about this over a cup of tea?” You ask; ready to have the conversation that should have been had twelve years ago.

“When did you find out?” Sirius counters, and you sigh, clearly not to be sorted over a cup of tea then.

“About two months after you’d gone. I was a month along when you went away so neither of us would have known,” You sigh once more, rubbing your temples in a circular motion, “I should have worked out a way to tell you…”

Sirius shakes his head, “No. You shouldn’t. It would have made things even harder in there.”

“How bad was it?” You ask; your voice a whisper.

Sirius’ face pales; lips thinning, “It’s not something I would wish on my worst enemies.”

You nod your head; not wanting to dwell on the tortuous subject any longer, “Would you like to meet him?”

Sirius’ eyes widen, “Are you sure?”

“He’s your son, Sirius. I’ve never hidden that fact from him. He’s only grown more curious over time.”

“What if he doesn’t like me?”

“Ridiculous. He doesn’t know you, but in time, he will.”

“You’re willing to give me that?”

You nod, “Sirius, love, if you hadn’t have gone away, we would be raising him together.”

“Did you ever find anyone else?”

“It’s hard to date when you’re a single parent, Sirius.”

He rolls his eyes.

“No,” You clarify, “There has been no-one for me but the father of my child.”

“I want to be in your lives – yours and his,” He states, “If you’ll have me.”

“I never stopped waiting.”

Tears line his eyes, making the grey even more striking. “Come on, let’s introduce you to your son,” you say, holding a hand out to the man you would never stop loving.

Together, you climb the stairs to your son’s room. Knocking lightly, you ask, “Love, am I okay to come in? I have someone I want you to meet.”

“It’s open, mum,” His voice rings out and you hear Sirius’ sharp intake of breath at the first time hearing his son’s voice.

Your grip on Sirius’ hand only tightens as you open the door.

James sits on his bed; his face the picture of curiosity. He leaps up when he sees the man standing behind you.

“Mum?”

“Honey, this is your father, Sirius Black. Sirius, this is your son, James Regulus (Y/L/N).”

“Regulus?” Sirius asks; his eyes never leaving his sons.

You nod, “I miss him too.”

Sirius takes a tentative step forward, dropping your hand. He stretches the hand that dropped yours out to his son.

James glances in a circuit between the outstretched hand of his father, his father, and you. With a gentle nod, you convey to James that it’s okay.

James steps forward and folds his hand into Sirius’, shaking twice before letting it drop.

Sirius coughs, “It’s nice to meet you at last.”

James nods; posture standoffish.

You glance between them, “I know. Why don’t we move downstairs so we can about this over a cup of tea?”

“A cup of tea mum? Really?”

“A cup of tea can put the world-”

“To right. Yes, I know,” James chuckles, “Let’s go.”

“Your mother used to say the same thing at Hogwarts and after,” Sirius states; watching his son’s figure make its way downstairs.

James pauses on the stairs for a moment before carrying onto the kitchen where he fills the kettle and drops three tea bags in three pots.

Sirius lingers in the doorway to the kitchen; everything has changed but everything hasn’t too. There was still the mark on the ceiling where him and James got too eager with a jinx, and the cracked vase from him and Remus throwing a ball about was still on the windowsill.

“Sugar? Milk?” His son asks; holding both up for Sirius to choose from.

“Both please.”

James nods before returning back to the drinks at hand.

He hands you your drink first before sliding Sirius’ cup to a spot at the breakfast bar. Sirius shuffles over to it, sitting down in the spot the drink is placed at. James remains standing, leaning on the counter, ready to leave should he need it.

“Mum told me about you when I was younger,” James comments.

Sirius glances at you. You take a nonchalant drink of your tea, shrugging, “He asked. I wasn’t going to keep it a secret all his life.”

“What did you say?”

“How you two met and why you weren’t around,” James states, staring down at his drink, “I didn’t think I would ever get to see you. I’d come to terms with it and then I see your face all over the newspapers in my first year at Hogwarts.”

“Yes, I’m sure that was a surprise.”

James shrugs; not knowing what else to say to the man that had been absent for the first eleven years of his life.

Sirius stands from the stool, making his way to James where he cautiously puts both hands on his shoulders. James wants to avoid eye contact with his father, but Sirius manages to keep his hold, “I’ve already spoken to your mother about this, but the decision comes down to you, James. I want to be in your lives. What happened all those years ago was not supposed to happen and I paid the price for over a decade. If your mother had known she was pregnant with you, I would have stayed and I would have raised you, but that didn’t happen. James, I’d like to get to know you, but I wholeheartedly understand if you do not want to know me.”

James processes the words his father says. His eyes dart to you for help, and all he can see reflected in your face is love for the both of you and pride for how he’s handling this.

He has wanted to know his father for so long; didn’t think he would ever be handed the chance to meet him let alone get to know him. Yet, now that he’s here, standing in front of him, he feels conflicted as to what he should do.

James continues to glance between you and Sirius; the gears in his mind whirring away. Sirius begins to lose hope when his son starts to nod.

“I want to get to know you too.”

1994:

You felt at one with the parents standing on the platform. It wasn’t going to get easier to send your child off for their education for nine months of the year.

“I’ll write as soon as I’m settled!” Your son promises; shouting from his window where he sits with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. He waves and waves as the train pulls away; you do just the same, remaining on the platform until the Hogwarts Express has chugged out of sight, taking your son with it.

An arm wrapping around your waist, and a kiss being pressed to the crown of your head keeps your grounded in the aftermath.

“It’ll be October before you know it.”

You sniffle, nodding, “I know, I just can’t believe he’s gone again.”

Sirius grip tightens on you, “If this is what it felt like the first time, I can’t imagine how you did it on your own.”

“I was a mess,” You laugh, “Sobbing and crying and everything.”

Sirius chuckles, “It’ll fly by won’t it?” – he asks for his own peace of mind.

It’s been less than a six months since he broke out of Azkaban to find out he was a father to a gangly teenaged boy. In that time, a relationship has been formed, and whilst he found himself loving his son as a father should, he knew that the trust built was as fragile as glass – one wrong move and it shatters.

In that time, he had fallen in love with you all over again. He had never stopped, but the love he felt for you in Azkaban was different from the love he felt for you now. In Azkaban, you felt like a dream – like a ghost haunting him with a past he couldn’t be sure was real; it had him feeling like he were the main love interest in a Bronte novel.

Now, however, his love for you shone out of every pore in his body. The horrors he faced in Azkaban paled when he rolled over in bed to find you sleeping peacefully next to him.

Sirius stands on the platform beside you, gazing at the absence of the train. He thinks of how his son had hugged him briefly before boarding the train; at how much that meant to Sirius, that in those few moments, his son had whispered ever so quietly that he would miss him, but he would see him soon.

Sirius thinks of all that he has lost and found, and with one look at you, he knows he has found enough.

*********

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @obsessedwithrandomthings @harrypotter289 @dreamer821 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @the-hufflefluffwriter @figlia--della--luna @bforbroadway @idont-knowrn @summer-writes @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @teheharrypotter​ @chaoticgirl04​ @accio-rogers​ @msmimimerton​

Sirius Black taglist: @approved-by-dentists​ @fific7​ @susceptible-but-siriusexual​

[theycallmebecca]

Drabble: The Clause in the Will

I never planned to write a Ransom story. And then @eurynome827 posted her 2K Celebration and the opening to Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice was one of the prompts. I’m a whore for anything Pride and Prejudice... and my brain automatically connected the quote with Ransom. And would not let go.

To make an already complicated drabble even harder... I decided to write it with each section being exactly 100 words. It was both a blessing (this story could have SNOWBALLED quickly) and a curse (if you’ve written a 100 word drabble, you get it).

But it’s finished and I love how it turned out! And I was quite proud of myself for the very-Eury way I ended it.

So to @eurynome827​ congrats again on 2,000 followers!

Title: The Clause in the Will

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x reader

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: some language, some minor violence/threats, suggestive

Note: This is AU and it uses the characters from Knives Out but doesn’t follow the story.

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife." Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

“Bull. Fucking. Shit.” Ransom Drysdale muttered as he wadded up another of his late grandfather's marriage-related quote notecards. They were hidden everywhere.

It had been nearly a year since his grandfather, the famed author Harlan Thrombey, had passed away, leaving Ransom as the head of Blood Like Wine Publishing. A role that he had spent the last twenty years being groomed for.

Ransom had worked his way through the ranks of the company following college and had been prepared when the time had come.

Well, prepared for everything except his grandfather's cluttered office.

At least the houses weren't his problem.

-- -- -- --

You’d started at BLW Publishing as an marketing intern after college and you’d climbed your way to the vice president of that department in the twelve years that had followed.

You loved every single part of your job.

Or at least you had until Mr. “Call Me Ransom” Drysdale had taken over the running of the company.

He had spent his years at the company floating between departments, to learn everything he could. Which meant the two of you had worked together multiple times.

But he seemed to enjoy pushing your buttons. And knew exactly what buttons to push when.

-- -- -- --

"You told me months ago that the marriage clause wasn't legally binding," Ransom fumed. "And now you're telling me it is?!"

His lawyers avoided his gaze.

"Get out!" Ransom shouted and they scurried out.

He had seven days to find a wife and marry her.

If he didn't, he lost the company.

It was just like his grandfather to pull a stunt like this. Even from the grave.

He should just let his prick of an uncle have the company. Just to prove a point.

But he knew he couldn't.

His uncle would ruin everything.

Ransom wouldn't let that happen.

-- -- -- --

"You're not the pizza guy," you said, opening your front door to find Ransom standing on the other side with a bouquet of roses and your pizza.

"Met him in the elevator. Can I come in?"

Stepping aside, you let him in. Only noticing as he passed that his normal confident aura was missing.

"What's wrong?"

He explained everything while the two of you ate pizza.

"Walt would destroy everything," you commiserated.

"Exactly."

Then he pulled out a ring box.

"Will you marry me and help me save the company we both love from ruin?"

How could you say no?

-- -- -- --

"I got married."

Ransom had chosen a public setting to share his news in hopes that his uncle wouldn't make a scene.

The fact that it was day six of his seven day window was pure coincidence.

Glancing at his wife, he found her staring across the table at his uncle, who, Ransom soon saw, was nearly purple with rage.

"This can't be legal!" his uncle shouted over the congratulations from the others. "It should have been mine! All of it!"

Then Walt pushed his chair back and stormed out of the private dining room, his wife and son following.

-- -- -- --

Logically, you knew marrying Ransom would mean moving into his house, but you'd thought you'd have more time.

But with his uncle looking for any reason to question the legitimacy of the marriage, you and Ransom agreed it had to happen now.

The two of you packed up your apartment and then had everything you were keeping moved to his house.

To his credit, Ransom made as much room for your stuff in the common areas of the house as possible, wanting you to feel at home.

But the only place that truly felt that way was your private bedroom.

-- -- -- --

Ransom sat in the hall with Walt as their lawyers met with a judge behind closed doors following another of Walter's attempts to fight the will.

"I’ve heard rumors," Walt said, his tone was nonchalant, but it was laced with venom. "About how your wife became v-"

Ransom had his hand around his uncle's throat before Walt could make another sound.

"That is my wife," he growled. "You will not say one more fucking thing about her or I will sue you for libel. Do you understand me?"

Walt let out a squeak of acknowledgement and Ransom let him go.

-- -- -- --

You'd known Ransom for years.

But after living with him for a few weeks, you realized you hadn't really known him at all.

Work Ransom demanded the respect and attention owed to the boss.

Home Ransom was softer and wore faded blue jeans instead of three piece suits.

He liked spending Saturday mornings at the market and he loved to cook.

And boy could he cook!

The one on one time with him at home had given you a whole new appreciation for your husband.

He opened up to you about things you were sure he'd never told anyone else.

-- -- -- --

Ball buster.

That's how he'd described her the first time he had worked with her on a project.

It was the reason he had recommended her for the vice president role when it had opened up.

Kind. Funny. Caring. Passionate. 

Those were the words that came to mind now when he thought of her.

She was the type of woman who could tell a dirty joke one minute and then have a serious conversation about his upbringing.

He'd been hesitant to include her at first, but their Saturday morning shopping trips were quickly becoming his favorite activity of the week.

-- -- -- --

You loved Ransom.

It hit you like a ton of bricks as you sat in the middle of a meeting at work, a month later.

You were supposed to be paying attention, but your eyes kept going across the table to where Ransom sat.

You couldn't explain how you knew, you just did.

When had it happened? You didn't know that either.

All you knew was that he was handsome and he was all yours.

At least on paper.

The joy faded from you as you remembered the two of you were roommates. Nothing more.

You wished that could change.

-- -- -- --

Ransom didn't know when it happened, but he realized one Saturday morning, a few months in, that he was in love with his wife.

He hadn't planned to fall in love with her. He'd envisioned them being married for a few years, to solidify his role at the publishing company, and then divorcing as quietly as they had married.

Being in love complicated things.

It made him think about her happiness above his own.

Was she happy with him?

If she wasn't, was he prepared to walk away from her and the company to ensure her happiness?

Yes, he decided.

-- -- -- --

"We need to talk," he said, setting a manilla envelope on the kitchen counter.

"What's that?"

"Annulment papers."

"What?!" you asked in complete disbelief.

"I love you," he confessed. "If you're not happy, I'm -"

"I love you, too," you cut him off, joy filling your heart.

Moving around the island, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him in for a long, slow kiss.

"An annulment would have cost you everything," you said.

"Your happiness means more to me," he said. "Even if it meant giving everything to Walt."

"The company is yours," you told him. "Forever."

"Ours."

-- -- -- --

"Are you coming in?"

She stood in the doorway to what had been his bedroom.

After their declaration of love, he'd properly courted her.

Taking her out on dates. Sending her flowers just because.

They'd kissed a lot and had made it to all the bases, as they say, except home.

That was the plan tonight, she'd told him.

They'd gone out for dinner and then she'd asked him to take her home.

Home to their home.

To their bedroom.

Her eyes met his as she reached behind her back and unzipped her dress. Letting it fall to the floor.

[thatesqcrush]

Voire Dire, Pt. 3

Rafael Barba x Reader. Episode references: 22x4 “Sightless in a Savage Land.” CW: NSFW - smut (oral, male & female; p in v sex). 

AN: Here it is, the final chapter. I hope to revisit them in the future. 

AN2: For Valentine’s Bingo, using “Love Me Like You Do” by Ellie Goulding & Blue Jeans by Lana del Rey (lyrics denoted in bold).

WC: 4,654

***

When you and Rafael finally made good on that raincheck, two weeks had flown by. You exchanged various text messages - some purely innocent, others downright filthy, and others, more pragmatic - such as the age discrepancy (it was reassuring to Rafael that you really did not have a problem with it), sexual history and what forms of protection you each used. While you loved your job, it did have a high percentage rate of cock-blocking you. Relationships were hard - most partners did not adjust well to your schedule - and the ones that did, did not understand the horrors that you saw and prosecuted. Of course, that was never an issue with Rafael, having been in the seat you were in years prior. 

You managed to secure a rare day off and you jumped on the chance for another date with Rafael. The weather that day called for some on and off snow showers, but nothing out of the ordinary. When your buzzer rang, you gave yourself a once over in the mirror in the bedroom. You wore a speckled oatmeal sweater dress which hit your knees and brown knee boots. You made sure your makeup was perfect and then hit the button to allow Rafael in. 

The date seemed simple enough: drinks at Huckleberry Bar, known for their craft cocktails and small plates, followed by dinner at Lighthouse, a restaurant offering New American fare as well as a raw bar. 

“Rafael, you grew back the beard!” You exclaimed as you let him in. 

Rafael let out a chuckle. “Hello Y/N. Long time no see.” He was carrying a bouquet of hot pink double tulips. “For you.”

You smiled and took the flowers, before pressing a kiss to his lips - instantly your mind went to a filthy place as you wondered how that beard would feel in other places. “Thank you.” You murmured. “I’ll go put these in water. Make yourself comfortable.”

You disappeared into the kitchen as Rafael made his way through your apartment. You lived on the second floor of a walk-up in a surprisingly quiet neighborhood lined with trees. The apartment featured wood flooring throughout and a charcoal leather couch which sat across a mounted television. A single window occupied the living room. In wall shelving hosted a variety of books and nick-nacks, which showed off your personality. A framed pennant hung by the television, which showcased your law school. If Rafael had journeyed to your bedroom, he would have found that it overlooked an open courtyard.

“Your place is lovely.” Rafael called out. He heard the sound of a faucet being turned on. He hesitated on taking off his coat - made no sense since you would both be out soon enough. 

You came back out, now carrying a vase and you set the flowers on your coffee table. “Thank you again; they’re lovely. What time is the reservation again?”

Rafael checked the time. “Twenty minutes. Why do you ask?”

You approached him and tugged on the collar of his peacoat, drawing him down. “So I can do this.” You pressed your lips against his, kissing him. Rafael wrapped one arm around you, his other hand moving behind your head. He gently tilted your head so that he could deepen the kiss. He pressed his tongue against the seam of your lips and you parted your lips, allowing his tongue to slide in.You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing up against him. You allowed yourself to get swept away in the heat of the moment, wanting nothing to drag him back to your bedroom. Rafael broke the kiss, leaving you gasping, which then turned into a moan as he sucked a mark into a very sensitive spot along the slope of your neck. 

Reluctantly, Rafael removed his mouth from your neck and peppered kisses back up your neck, across your cheeks, and then to your lips. “We should get going.” He husked in your ear. 

You let out a pathetic whimper, but agreed. As you both exited your building, the cold open air served as a welcome relief. You both walked towards the bar, which was just around the corner. Conversation flowed easily with Rafael. Over a mix of cocktails and a shared plate of antipasto, you discussed the latest happenings - you were second chair on a case with Carisi and Rafael was assisting with post-exoneree legal support with The Innocence Project. 

Rafael insisted on paying the tab, much to your protest. “I remember what that early A.D.A salary was like.” 

After, you and him walked the five blocks over to the restaurant. During the walk over, snow began to fall. You mentioned to him how you always loved the first snow - how serene it made the city appear. You both agreed that was short-lived and then the great melt takes over - the streets turn into gross black slushie, resulting in playing a mental game if the puddle was shallow or a deep drop. 

Dinner was fantastic - you settled for Thai and Rafael had sushi. You were sitting by a window and waiting for a refill on your wine when you noticed how hard the snow was coming down. You must have had a worried look on your face because Rafael called out to you, stirring your attention back to him.

“I’m sorry - just the snow is really coming down.” You replied, looking out the window some more. 

“I agree. Let me check what the weather says.” Rafael replied as he reached for his phone. This time he frowned. “It’s going to get a lot worse. I have an idea - if you’re okay with it, of course. How about we take everything to go, and have dinner at your place. We can watch a movie?”

You nodded eagerly. “Perfect.”

**

The walk back to your place was equally unpleasant, as the wind whipped around, creating a near white-out. Suddenly the short trek seemed as if it was never ending. By the time you both made it back to your apartment, you were both frozen to the bone.

You unlocked the door to your apartment and held the door for Rafael. The lights flickered on and you made a beeline to your thermostat, to turn up the heat. It was times like this that you wished you had a fireplace. The door shut with a click as Rafael made his way in further. 

You returned to take his coat. You couldn’t help but find a frozen, red faced Rafael look adorable, especially with some snow lingering on his hair and beard, which garnered a small giggle.

“What?” Rafael asked as a shiver went through him.

You reached up and wiped some snow that hadn’t yet melted off his beard. As you did so, Rafael turned into your palm and kissed your hand. You were still cold, but that small, simple kiss sent a jolt of heat through you. 

As Rafael turned to face you, your eyes met his - they were sparkling with desire. You felt your cheeks burn  in response; never in your prior relationships (if that), did you ever feel so wanted. You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry as if you had a mouthful of crackers. Of course that then lent to the thought that you wanted a mouthful of something else. Your pulse began to pound and you wondered if Rafael could hear it. “I’ll set the food to reheat.” you manage to croak out. “Kitchen is this way.” You pointed towards the kitchen.

You and Rafael puttered around the kitchen and you pulled a bottle of wine from the fridge. “You will note - it is white wine.” You laughed. “After that last disaster, I couldn’t take the risk.” 

You grabbed some wine glasses and set them on the table and finished putting the food in the oven to warm up.

“I wouldn’t call that date entirely a disaster. It was turning up until we were so rudely interrupted by SVU.” Rafael winked.

“Such a shame. Who knows what would have happened.” You replied, approaching him. Between the kiss to your palm and the cranked up heat, you almost felt suffocated in your thick sweater dress. “Maybe later, we can pick up from there?” Your voice was hopeful.

Rafael gave you a lascivious grin in response and you felt your cunt kick. Dinner didn’t seem so important at all. 

**

Dinner did occur, however. You set up your coffee table with the heated food while Rafael brought over the cutlery, glasses and bottle of wine. The movie of choice was 1917, a personal story woven through the backdrop of WW1. It was fast moving, full of action, tension, emotional and bloody. 

Your lights began to flicker and the wind howled outside your window. Suddenly the two of you were plunged into darkness. There was a pregnant pause and then Rafael finally spoke.

“Ah fuck -- it’s like the universe is out to--” 

“Don’t say it.” You interjected through clenched teeth.

Rafael sighed. “I won’t.” A light shone brightly and he realized you had turned on the flashlight on your phone. You stood and moved the light so it was on him. Rafael raised his arm to block the light on his face. 

“Let me turn mine on.” Rafael spoke. “Do you have any candles?”

“In the kitchen, under the sink. The building has a back-up generator so I am not sure what the hell is going on.” It was your turn to sigh. 

Rafael followed you into the kitchen. You squatted down to pull out the various scented candles you had hoarded over the years. You were pretty sure the combined scents - ‘rainshower’, ‘moonlight path’, ‘coconut lime verbena’ - to name a few, would be a good mixture, but this was no time for semantics. 

“Where do you keep your matches?” Rafael asked as you continued taking out candles. 

“Upper cabinet, over the forks and spoons.” You replied. 

There was a knock on the door and Rafael opened the door cautiously, with you peering over his shoulder. It was Mr.Hunt, the building supervisor. 

“Just came by to let you know I am working on getting the generator up and running. Wind knocked down the line outside the building.” He replied. “Hang tight as best you can - do you guys need anything?”

“No, we’re all set, but thank you.” You replied. “Stay safe.”

After, you and Rafael lit up a few of the candles. The apartment began to come back to life, with the glow of the candles casting a glowing ethereal effect. You gnawed on your lip, looking up at Rafael. “Well, shit at least we tried.”

Rafael laughed. “I’m sorry, but if we don’t laugh about it, we’ll cry.” He enveloped you into a hug, squeezing you tightly. You nuzzled his chest, the scent of his cologne wafted over you and you felt a sense of calm wash over you. Rafael pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

“Stay the night?” You asked against his chest. “I’ll need some extra warmth.”

A low rumble emanated from Rafael’s chest. “I thought you’d never ask.” he husked. 

“Let’s grab the candles. Follow me through the dark.” You replied as you led Rafael towards your bedroom. The candles were set on various furniture - your writing desk, on your tall drawer chest, and on the nightstand. 

Standing in front of you, Rafael slipped his hand through your hair. You closed your eyes and tilted your head into the caress. 

“Are you sure about this?” He asked. “I'll let you set the pace.” You opened your eyes and smiled. 

“Never more sure. Are you?” A rush of breath pushed past your breath.

“God you have no idea.” Rafael rubbed his hands over his face. You licked your lips in eager anticipation. 

“Then what are you waiting for?”

Rafael cupped your cheek once more and then with his other hand, pushed some of your hair behind your ear. Your heart was pounding in tandem with the pounding of arousal between your legs. Cupping both sides of your face, Rafael leaned in and slanted his lips against yours. 

Instant fire and electricity shot through your body. You placed your hands on his chest and moved them up to his neck, holding onto him. Rafael tilted his face and deepened the kiss, pressing his tongue against your lips and you opened up for him. His tongue sought yours and teased it. You gasped as he trailed his lips along your jawline to your ear. His breath was heavy in sensitive areas of your neck and chills ran through your spine. Rafael pulled you even closer, if that was even possible, moving his arms around you and dug his fingers into your skin. 

You pressed your hands to his chest and put the smallest of spaces between you and him. “Let's take this to the bed. I want to see more of you.”

Rafael pressed a kiss to your forehead and began to remove his clothes. You eyed the prominent bulge in his boxers and you smirked, enjoying the feeling you had done that to him. You followed suit, making quick removal of your own clothes until you were standing in front of him, wearing nothing but a strip of black fabric that dared call itself underwear. 

You watched as Rafael’s eyes swept over your near nude form. You were exquisite; your nipples were hardened diamonds, thanks to the chill in the air. And tonight, you were his. “You’re beautiful.” He closed the space between you and him and picked you up. You wrapped your arms and legs around him and allowed him to carry you to your bed. Rafael’s cock throbbed even harder being so closer to your pussy. 

Now on the bed, you and Rafael were a tangled mess of limbs. Rafael covered your body with his, leaning up slightly so he could lift his hands to your breasts, pressing your flesh together, his fingers teasing your nipples. You let out a soft sigh as he dipped his head down, flickering his tongue over your pebbled flesh. He shifted once more and his hand dropped down between your legs. His fingers ghosted over the fabric and you bucked your hips trying to get his touch.

“Touch me Rafael.” You whimpered as he swirled his tongue over your before sucking on it hard. The feel of his beard on your skin only served to heighten your pleasure. You ran your fingers through his salt and pepper hair. 

He pressed kisses along your abdomen as he made his way down to your legs. He hooked his fingers into the thin strips of your underwear and removed them up and over your legs. You rose your hips to help him with the removal and then lifted your ankles into the air. Rafael balled your ruined underwear in his hand and brought it to his face, inhaling deeply.  

“Spread your legs for me.” Rafael quietly ordered. You did as he requested, feeling both vulnerable and completely turned on at the same time. Though the light was dim, Rafael could see how wet you were as your pussy glinted with your essence.

Rafael pulled your legs by your calves, so that your legs draped over his shoulders. You propped yourself onto your elbows so you could watch. Rafael alternated placing kisses and love bites along your thighs before nestling in between your legs. His breath was hot on your pussy and he wanted nothing more than to bury his face against your body and taste every ounce of what you would give to him. He inhaled your scent deeply once more, almost reveling in it, before diving into your folds. His tongue was warm and wet; you threw your head back as his tongue performed in ways you didn’t think was humanly possible - he was as silver tongued in the bedroom as he was in the courtroom. You squirmed and Rafael laid a heavy forearm against your hips, stilling you. 

“Oh Jesus fuck.” you groaned as you fell back onto the bed. You pulled at his hair, tugging as your hips threatened to undulate against his mouth. Rafael snaked two fingers from under to slip into your warm sheath and you sighed in contentment. You murmured his name repeatedly as if in prayer. You tugged on his hair again, trying to keep him close as you felt your orgasm begin to build. Rafael pressed his thumb to your clit and massaged it in tandem with the finger-fucking he was giving you.

Rafael paused his actions, resting against your thigh, in an attempt to catch his own breath. You whined as his mouth left you. Rafael chuckled low and you could’ve sworn he said that he wasn’t done with you. You were an addiction he never knew he needed until now. 

He looked up at you and the sight was his near undoing: your body was quivering, your breath uneven. Rafael dove back in, lapping at your pussy, alternating long swipes with flicks, as he added another finger. The room was silent except for your moans and the wet sounds of Rafael’s oral activity. Your pussy clenched and you tilted your head to the side, closing your eyes. Rafael curled his fingers, finding the spot and used his thumb to rub your clit. You tried so very hard to keep still, but it was futile and you rocked against his hand as your walls clenched around his digits hard. You let out a whine as you were on the edge of paradise.

“That’s it - let go, let go for me.” Rafael commanded. 

“Fuck yes, Rafael. Oh fuck, oh my God!” You cried out.

“Let go hermosa. Just let go.” Rafael commanded once more.Your body obeyed his command as the tendrils of orgasm washed over you. 

Rafael continued to stroke you, wanting another. The second orgasm built up easily, rolling in from the first. There was a pressure inside of you and it snapped, and your back arched as you came once more. Wetness coated his hand and he inwardly beamed with pride. 

You fell back onto the bed, your chest heaving. You rubbed your hands over your face and giggled. “Oh fuck that was good.”

“You’re welcome.” Rafael smirked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Rafael made his way back up to your body, and he kissed you deeply. You could smell and taste yourself on his lips and beard. You pressed your hands up to his chest and pushed gently up, and Rafael took the signal and rolled you so were on top. 

“I want to return the favor.” You stated, but did not get a chance to as Rafael moved his hands to your waist, pulling you, your tits, flush against his face. One hand immediately reached for one while his mouth was on the other nipple instantly, suckling and nipping. 

You threw your head back as Rafael grazed his teeth along your sensitive flesh, sucking a mark on your skin. His tongue swirled along the bruised skin, soothing it. You push away, encouraging Rafael to lay back down.

“I told you, I want to repay the favor.” You replied as you ran your nails through his chest hair, slightly scraping. Rafael let out a grunt in response. You shimmied down his body until you reached his boxers. You palmed Rafael’s cock through the material, reveling in the feel of how hard he was - for you. 

Rafael removed his boxers and his cock sprung at attention, red and weeping. Rafael was thick and veiny. Your mouth filled with saliva at the idea of blowing him. You pumped his cock a few times before you wrapped your lips around the crown of his cock, running your tongue over it. The salty taste of his pre-cum flooded your mouth as your tongue. You flattened your tongue and then took the entire length in your mouth. Your tongue lavished every ridge and vein. Rafael let out a hiss of relief as he buried his hands into your hair. You relaxed your throat, taking his length more and more until he hit the back of your throat.

Rafael watched his cock disappear in your mouth and his eyes rolled back. You hollow your cheeks, and groaned around his cock, which sent vibrations up and through him. “Keep doing that… uhh… don’t stop.”

You look up at his face and Rafael’s eyes meet yours. You bob on his length with more gusto and use your hand in tandem, stroking. You dipped your head, sucking on his balls gently, and licking the seam, before giving him a gentle squeeze.

Rafael weaved his hand into your hair and pulled you up. Your chin was slick with saliva and he ran his thumb across your lips. 

“Keep that up and I’ll come in that pretty mouth.” Rafael husks as he pulls you back up onto him. “And I want to come in your sweet pussy.”

You both resume making out, hands touching and exploring everywhere and anywhere. He rolls you so you’re back onto your back and he sits back on his haunches, stroking his cock. 

Through the candlelight, Rafael watched as you crooked a finger to him and then pressed your own tits together. You let out a small moan and then snaked your hand to your pussy and began to finger yourself. 

“Fuck, watching you play with yourself is hot.” Rafael sighed, as he stroked his cock. He then removed your hand and brought it to his mouth, sucking them clean. Finally, Rafael lowered himself over you and rubbed his cock along your slit, gathering your wetness. You were hot, wet, and ready. 

Rafael pushed the head of his cock inside you and then pushed into you agonizingly slowly. Yo whimpered as he finally sank his length into you, bottoming out.  Your eyes fluttered close as you adjusted to his size, a mix of pleasure and slight burn as he stretched you. He fit you better than your favorite sweater. You grasped at his back, your nails pressing half-moon marks into his skin. Rafael pulled out again and then thrust back in, harder than before. You let out an obscene moan. “Oh Jesus fuck!” 

Rafael picked up the pace, pushing into you over and over. He hooked your leg and pushed it up to your chest, changing the angle of his cock stroked your walls. “You feel so tight around my cock, hermosa.” He grunted.

“Give it to me, give it to me, I need it.” You whined. Rafael reached for your arm and pulled it over your head, gripping it tightly. 

The sounds of grunts and moans along with skin on skin, fill the room and you can feel his balls slap against your pussy. The sensation was perverted and made you only want more. Rafael lowered his head down, pressing his forehead against yours. Your bodies are slick with sweat and beads of sweat roll off Rafael onto yours. 

Rafael continued fucking you deeply, sliding into you over and over in deep, long strokes. As he felt his own release approach, Rafael moved his lips to your neck and sucked a mark onto your skin. You are chanting his name over and over again, feeling your own orgasm approach. You snake your hand down and begin to rub your clit. 

“I’m going to come, oh shit, oh shit, Raf!” You come completely undone, wailing his name. 

“Come for Y/N, come for me. I’m going to come too!” Rafael groaned. Feeling your walls flutter around his cock, seeing your wrecked face - it was all too much for Rafael and with a strangled cry of your name, he stiffened and painted your walls with his release. 

The two of you come to a still, your breaths both uneven. Neither one of you spoke, and the only sound was rough-breathing and the howls of the storm outside.

Finally Rafael rolled off you and got up from the bed. You frowned. “What are you - where are you?” Dread began to fill your stomach.

“Blowing out the candles. Fire hazard.” Rafael said. “I’m not going anywhere hermosa.”

The room eventually plunged into darkness once more and as Rafael climbed back onto the bed, he brought the duvet over your bodies. You instantly rolled to him, resting your head on his chest, stroking lightly. He wrapped his arm around you tightly and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Best date ever.” You murmured, feeling sleep begin to settle in. 

“Can’t wait ‘til we do it again.” Rafael replied, his own eyes drooping. Soon you were both asleep, in each other's arms.

The sun shone brightly in your bedroom and you stirred awake. You were cognizant of a heavy arm over you, pinning you in place. You shifted carefully and turned to face Rafael who was still asleep. Feeling secure, you closed your eyes and drifted back to sleep.

After some time, you stirred awake again. This time Rafael’s body was pressed against your back. And you very much felt his erection pressing against your ass. You wiggled against him and Rafael let out a small moan as his arm wrapped around your waist, holding you tightly.

You felt his beard brush against your shoulder as he pressed kisses along your shoulder and then he tilted your face back so he could kiss. The kiss was tender, soft, but still full of passion. 

You hesitantly broke the kiss. “Good morning.” You replied, turning over to face him.

“Good morning.” Rafael’s voice was gravelly, still full of sleep. His eyes went past your shoulder to the blinking clock behind you. “Looks like the power is back on.” 

You turned over and checked. “Huh, how about that. I hope this doesn’t mean you’re going to ditch me now that my heat is probably working again.”

Rafael grabbed you and rolled you so that you were on top of him. You let out a squeal as he did so. You pressed your arms down on his chest.

“Ditch you? How very much dare.” Rafael laughed, his eyes crinkling as he did so. “I was hoping we could…” He wiggled his eyebrows.

You bit your bottom lip, feeling lust coursing through you. You rolled your hips languidly, causing him to buck up. You bent down to kiss him, lifting your hips slightly so he could line his cock with your entrance. You let out a sigh as he filled you deeply. His hands were steady on your hips, guiding as you rolled your hips some more.

That day, you and Rafael hardly left your bed, except to rehydrate and order food. 

**

[Two years later]

Rafael walked down the street, tightening his scarf around his neck. It was another wintry evening in Manhattan. He was meeting you for dinner and as he bounded up the steps of One Hogan Place, he still remembered that day you met in December, when he first saw you through the blinds of Carisi’s office, which was now your office - Carisi was prompted and now resided in Barba’s old office. Rafael was scanned and searched for hazards by security. He emptied his pockets, tossing his wallet and keys. The wand beeped and the security guard glared at him. Rafael shot the guard an apologetic look as he fished out the velvet box from his pocket.

The guard nodded and waved him through. He gathered his things and put them all away, including the box. He had arrived at the elevator bank when the door opened to you. 

“I thought I was meeting you upstairs?” Rafael questioned as he pressed a kiss to your lips. 

“You were, but I finished early. Ready for dinner?” You asked as you slung your work bag over your shoulder.

“As I’ll ever be.” Rafael murmured, taking your hand as you walked out into the snowy mix that began to fall.

FIN

**

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[j-wont-stop]

Title - The Scarred (Chapter Eight)

Word Count - 2938

Fandom - Batman: The Dark Knight

Pairing - Ledger!Joker x OC

Summary - Penelope Bishop works at a florist shop in Gotham, barely getting by in the corrupted city. Her life is shrouded by therapy and judgement with little light to find her way with. However, when a certain painted face starts making himself known to her, things take a turn.

Warning(s) - Minor errors, brief smut

Inspiration - Cold (Aqualung & Lucy Schwartz)

Masterlist

A/N - Hello, lovelies! I’m sorry for the later post, I’ve been going through a lot lately and I’m trying to get myself back on track... I tried to make it a little longer to make up for it ❣️

Penelope hesitated to unlock her door, in a way expecting The Joker to be behind it once again. Once it clicked she opened it slowly, a waft of lavender washing over her as she walked into her now empty home. Her brain was foggy, eyes sore. Mind racing with thoughts of the menacing clown, but one thing stood out the most.

She wasn’t entirely scared.

She thought about what Liam had said to her. To worry about why he was curious about her rather than what he said. He held her under a knife. He had every chance to kill her, take advantage of her somehow. Use blackmail, even. But he didn’t.

She remembered how he towered over her, at least a foot in difference. She remembered the overwhelming smell of gunpowder and gasoline, yet a hint of his own smell which she couldn’t pinpoint. The way he stared into her eye with an intensity that was almost unbearable.

She shook her head to clear it once she felt her face begin to heat up.

Stupid. Penelope mentally scolded herself and began her nightly routine, starting with her bandages as per usual. She thought about talking to Liam, but her body felt too drained after her appointment.

She was tired. Tired of breaking. Tired of worrying. Tired of living in fear. Of being humiliated, stomped on and cast out. Tired of crying. Just tired. The thought of having to wake up and do it all over again alone made her feel exhausted.

Penelope slipped under her blanket and turned off the lamp, yet she couldn’t bring her eye to close. She stared at the wall in front of her as if it was her lifeline. She stared until she lost the will to stare anymore, and that had always been frightening to her.

“J -“ The woman gasped. Her mind was clouded with the movement of his hands as they caressed her. Her mouth was parted, eye fluttered shut and head tilted back against her soft pillow as he guided her into oblivion. Their mixture of sweat and pants only ignited the atmosphere and he buried his head in her neck to lick a trail up to her jawline, earning a shiver beneath him. All too suddenly, she felt a sharp pain and her eye snapped open.

The space above her was now empty, her body covered in a mush of ash and sweat as the room grew brighter with flames. Quickly they became angrier, a more fierce heat enveloping her until it was just within her reach. It inched its way closer by the second, closer -

Penelope shot up with a shriek, gasping. She balled up the fabric of her shirt and coughed, a false hope to properly retrieve air. She ran a hand over her face and spun to sit on the edge of her bed, the only provided light was the moon that shone bright through her blinds from above its wooden frame. The lines drew themselves across her hunched figure, shoulders beginning to slow with the rise and fall of her every breath. She looked over at the alarm clock sitting on her nightstand.

3:00am.

Chewing on her cheek she reached for her phone and stared at it in thought. Her nimble fingers flipped it open and began searching through her contacts for her Irish friend. Penelope felt terrible. She felt like a nuisance, doing this from time to time. It wasn’t common, but it wasn’t uncommon, either. Her thoughts raced a few moments longer before she pressed the call button.

One ring. She bit down particularly hard, drawing blood. Maybe I shouldn’t do this.

Two rings. What if he gets irritated with me?

Three rings. Her heart picked up its pace, skipping a beat. I don’t want to upset him…

Four rings. I shouldn’t do this -

“Penny?” Her heart dropped at the sound of his groggy voice.

“Hey…” She whispered into the phone. “I’m so - I’m sorry, I don’t mean to bother you…”

“‘Ey, ye know it don’t bother me none.” He noticed Penelope's hesitation. “How ye, luveen?”

“Can I come over? I - I can’t sleep.” She heard him sigh from over the phone and squeezed her eyes shut. She knew she shouldn’t have called. She knew he would be irritated. She knew -

“I thought we were past ye havin’ to ask.” She could hear him rustling in his bed in the background. “Come on, then.”

The earthy smell of the apartment was what began to calm her down first. It was subtle, relaxing. Fitting for her friend, though he himself wasn’t quite subtle. Penelope laid the uncovered side of her face on one of the pillows of the queen bed, curled into herself protectively. She felt the bed dip behind her, followed by a stronger waft of that same smell.

Her heart began to slow just knowing that she wasn’t alone, knowing that she was with someone she trusted. It was something that Liam could provide more easily than Emma. He was just a couple of doors down while she lived twenty minutes out, so it had only been on more serious occasions that Penelope spent the night at her place. She decided to give Emma a break, just to push it on to Liam instead. And there was not one time that she didn’t feel guilty about it.

He stayed sitting up against the bed frame rather than lying down beside her. She could feel his stare as his hand gently tucked her short hair behind her ear, and it wasn’t until then that she closed her eye. What Penelope wasn’t aware of, however, was the turmoil that occurred in his own head.

He told himself that he was just doing his job, acting the part. That he didn’t truly care. That he wasn’t attached in any way, shape or form. And in the back of his mind, he felt guilt. Every hug he gave, every smile, every moment they shared. It just added on to one, big, chaotic lie. It was nothing new to him. He was a professional, after all. Yet this was different. This felt more personal. It stood out from all of the other jobs he accomplished in the past. That’s what concerned him the most.

-

“Don’t make another appointment. “

“I told her I would when -“

“Don’t make another appointment.” The brunette shot her a warning look. The acting mother could see the amount of conflict in her eye as it danced around the countertop. “You already know she doesn’t care, Penelope, why do you insist on wasting your money on a therapist who can’t even do their job!”

“I’ve told you why -“

“And I’m telling you it’s irrational!” The shop went silent. The tension was thick. It drowned out the ambience, the cars, the clock. Penelope’s vision blurred and she sniffed, running a hand through her hair to find something, anything, to do besides acknowledge the topic of discussion.

It was rare when Emma raised her voice, for them to bicker. But the woman had enough of seeing her friend suffering unnecessarily. She could tell that Penelope’s ‘therapist’ was doing more harm than good, and she was determined to put an end to it.

“Penny…” The softness of Emma’s voice did nothing to calm her down, but was needed when the tears spilled over. “I’m just -“ She sighed to recompose herself. “I’m just trying to help you, sweetheart.” Penelope sucked on her bottom lip and just nodded, trying to hold everything in. Emma took hold of her shoulders and gently pulled her in, her own eyes glazing over at the sound of her sobs finally breaking.

Once things started dying down the bell at the door went off and Emma snapped her head in its direction, only for her shoulders to drop when it was just Liam. His eyebrows scrunched together at the sight of them and he pointed to Penelope in a silent question. When Emma slowly shook her head he gave a knowing look and walked around the counter to join them, resting a hand on their mutual friend’s back.

“Liam?” Penelope sniffed.

“Aye.” His thumb began to rub against the thick material of her jacket and she sighed.

“What time is it?” Liam glanced at the watch on his wrist.

“Almost quarter ‘til five.” Emma looked between the two of them and offered Liam a small grin.

“I’ll let you go, Penny.” She whispered, causing the woman to look up with a large eye.

“But the -?” The brunette shook her head, still holding the same smile.

“It’s just twenty minutes, hun.” She giggled as Penelope pulled away.

“Okay…” She glanced over at Liam, then back at Emma. “Thank you…” Liam used the hand on her back to guide her out of the shop, keeping it there as he opened the passenger door of his car parked along the side of the road. “Where are we going, Liam?” She asked when they drove past their apartment building. He took a deep breath, gaze focused on the road.

“You’ll see.” He threw her a smirk before turning on the radio. She decided to leave it be and looked out of her window, chin resting in the palm of her hand as the city blurred by. She noticed how the further they drove, the darker the buildings became, how they looked more and more run down and abandoned.

“Liam?” The man hummed.

“Why are we in The Narrows?”

“Short cut?” He shrugged and a familiar body of water gradually came into view. Penelope grew more confused.

“I thought it was a weekend thing?”

“It is.” He parked the car and stepped out to open her door, helping her stand before shutting it. “I juss found somethin’ I thought ye’d like.” His long strides moved in the direction of a smaller building in the distance, no greater than the size of a small cabin. She had to trot a bit to catch up to him and he chuckled at the action. He jiggled his keys once he pulled them out and smiled when he inserted one in the lock of the door, twisting until they heard a ‘click’ to open it. The door squeaked as it pushed open and Penelope’s jaw dropped at the sight before her.

There was a strong smell of fresh wood and new furniture, and that was exactly what they had walked into. The exterior of the building was deceiving to those who walked by. It blended in perfectly. Rusty metal walls, finicky doors and broken windows. But it was all an illusion. Inside, the house was pristine. It was no larger than her current living space, if anything it was smaller with its studio layout, but it certainly was an upgrade. It held a darker tone with subtle yellow accents that were strategically placed. Nothing felt too extravagant nor too cheap. It was simply moderate.

“Didn’t take as long as I thought it would, to be completely honest.” The door shutting behind them helped Penelope come to. He watched her expressions, but he couldn’t decipher them.

“What is this?” The woman whispered in awe as she stepped further into the room.

“Erm -“ Liam made a face. “Consider it yer home away from home?” Penelope immediately whipped around to face him.

“Mine?!” Her friend reached for her good hand and slapped a set of keys into her palm, then forced it shut and patted it.

“That is what I said.” His mouth opened when he noticed a panic start to set in her eye.

“Liam, I can’t - what - how am I gonna pay for it?! This is too much!”

“Who said anythin’ ‘bout ye payin’ fer it?”

“Who is, then?” She noticed the look he gave her and she vigorously shook her head in disapproval. “No. No - you’re not paying for two places, Liam. That’s not -“ She let out an exasperated sigh and looked up at him with a pleading eye. “Liam…”

“Technically, my boss is payin’ fer it. I’m juss handlin’ the process.” Her eye squinted at him.

“Yeah, that’s - Liam, that’s how paychecks work.” Liam rolled his eyes and let out a short chuckle before spinning her around by her shoulders.

“Look around before it gets dusty.” Her fingers anxiously fiddled with the new keys as she curiously wandered around the place.

Everything seemed to be perfectly put together, exactly how she would’ve wanted it if she were to have decorated it herself. The cushions of the plush couch placed along a wall were soft, not too hard or too fluffy. Similar to her own apartment, a coffee table sat in front of it with a rug laid beneath both.

The small kitchen was the cleanest one she had ever seen with its stainless steel refrigerator and marble countertops. A petite walk-in closet was built in at the end of the counter containing jars of spices and various bottles of oils and sauces. Penelope already had an array of dinners and desserts planned out in her head with everything already stocked.

She continued to the back of the room and plopped onto the queen bed that was tucked away, a somewhat bland dark oak bed frame complimenting it along with two nightstands with matching lamps. Her head turned to the side towards the bathroom, protected by a privacy window that slid open as opposed to a wall. With a glazed eye her head moved back up towards the ceiling with a lopsided grin.

“Ye like it?” She heard Liam’s footsteps grow louder until they stopped at the end of the bed.

“I could get used to this…” She mumbled more to herself before she spoke somewhat louder to Liam. “I don’t know if I want to go back.”

“Ye don’t have to.” She shuffled over to allow him room to lie down next to her, now both of them staring up at the ceiling. “It’s a closer walk to the shop.” He attempted to convince her.

“But more dangerous.”

“Not if ye have a car.”

“You know I don’t have a car.” He shrugged.

“Juss a thought.” They then sat in the quietness of it all, thinking to themselves. Now this was a common occurrence. The two of them basking in the other’s presence to ease the day’s tensions. The moments of silence they had when they first started talking were awkward, at least for Penelope. But Liam, as extroverted as he was, had a way of easily sparking up a conversation should things start to go awry. He was her opposite. Her compliment. Where she failed, he succeeded and vice versa. It was the reason their relationship had grown so quickly, Penelope came to realize.

They always learned from each other and grew to understand the other person’s side of things. For one, Penelope taught him how peaceful silence really could be if chosen at the right time. Liam, on the other hand, taught her the difference between being rude and standing up for herself. She was slower at learning than he was, but he never blamed her or grew frustrated with her for it.

Liam looked over at Penelope, examining her before he spoke. “I need ye to promise me somethin’, Penny.”

“Yeah?” She then turned her own head towards him.

“Ye can’t tell no one else ‘bout this place.” Penelope sat up on her right elbow in curiosity, Liam following suit.

“Why’s that?”

“I mean fer it to be a safe haven fer ye.” He watched her expression grow soft, glossy with parted lips as she gradually realized what he meant. “If anythin’ should happen, Penny. Anythin’. Ye call me and we’ll come straight here. Or just run, if need be. I’ll know soon enough and come lookin’ fer ye.”

“What about Emma?” He began shaking his head before she could even finish. It confused her, sure, but she knew that there was more to why he did this. There was a reason no one else could know, and even if she didn’t know why, she knew it was important. So she decided to comply and keep her mouth shut.

She turned onto her knees and hooked her arm around his neck, hugging him as best she could. She could feel him tense at first before he grew acquainted with the feeling and returned it. He heard a heavy sniff from where her head rested against his shoulder and he pulled back slightly to look at her. He quickly realized that she wasn’t crying because she was troubled, she was crying because she was grateful. She couldn’t remember the last time someone went to this great of a length for her happiness, her protection, since the accident. It filled her with a melancholic feeling that she just couldn’t ignore.

“I promise.” Penelope finally answered with a gentle smile as Liam brought a thumb up to brush away her tears.

“Ye hungry?”