#I should make more wave doodles

[physalian]

How To Make Your Writing Less Stiff 5

Movement

Dredging this back up from way back.

Make sure your characters move, but not too much during heavy dialogue scenes. E.g. two characters sitting and talking—do humans just stare at each other with their arms lifeless and bodies utterly motionless during conversation? No? Then neither should your characters. Make them…

Gesture

Wave

Frown

Laugh

Cross their legs/their arms

Shift around to get comfortable

Pound the table

Roll their eyes

Point

Shrug

Touch their face/their hair

Wring their hands

Pick at their nails

Yawn

Stretch

Sniff/sniffle

Tap their fingers/drum

Bounce their feet

Doodle

Fiddle with buttons or jewelry

Scratch an itch

Touch their weapons/gadgets/phones

Check the time

Get up and sit back down

Move from chair to tabletop

The list goes on.

Bonus points if these are tics that serve to develop your character, like a nervous fiddler, or if one moves a lot and the other doesn’t—what does that say about the both of them? This is where “show don’t tell” really comes into play.

As in, you could say “he’s nervous” or you could show, “He fidgets, constantly glancing at the clock as sweat beads at his temples.”

This site is full of discourse on telling vs showing so I’ll leave it at that.

Epithets

In the Sci-fi WIP that shall never see the light of day, I had a flashback arc for one male character and his relationship with another male character. On top of that, the flashback character was a nameless narrator for Reasons.

Enter the problem: How would you keep track of two male characters, one who you can't name, and the other who does have a name, but you can’t oversaturate the narrative with it? I did a few things.

Nameless Narrator (written in 3rd person limited POV) was the only narrator for the flashback arc. I never switched to the boyfriend’s POV.

Boyfriend had only a couple epithets that could only apply to him, and halfway through their relationship, NN went from describing him as “the other prisoner” to “his cellmate” to “his partner” (which was also a double entendre). NN also switched from using BF’s full name to a nickname both in narration and dialogue.

BF had a title for NN that he used exclusively in dialogue, since BF couldn’t use his given name and NN hadn’t picked a new one for himself.

Every time the subject of the narrative switched, I started a new paragraph so “he” never described either character ambiguously mid-paragraph.

Is this an extreme example? Absolutely, but I pulled it off according to my betas.

The point of all this is this: Epithets shouldn’t just exist to substitute an overused name. Epithets de-personalize the subject if you use them incorrectly. If your narrator is thinking of their lover and describing that person without their name, then the trait they pick to focus on should be something equally important to them. In contrast, if you want to drive home how little a narrator thinks of somebody, using depersonalizing epithets helps sell that disrespect.

Fanfic tends to be the most egregious with soulless epithets like "the black-haired boy" that tell the reader absolutely nothing about how the narrator feels about that black-haired boy, espeically if they're doing so during a highly-emotional moment.

As in, NN and BF had one implied sex scene. Had I said “the other prisoner” that would have completely ruined the mood. He’s so much more than “the other prisoner” at that point in the story. “His partner,” since they were both a combat team and romantically involved, encompassed their entire relationship.

The epithet also changed depending on what mood or how hopeless NN saw their situation. He’d wax and wane over how close he believed them to be for Reasons. NN was a very reserved character who kept BF at a distance, afraid to go “all in” because he knew there was a high chance of BF not surviving this campaign. So NN never used “his lover”.

All to say, epithets carried the subtext of that flashback arc, when I had a character who would not talk about his feelings. I could show you the progression of their relationship through how the epithets changed.

I could show you whenever NN was being a big fat liar about his feelings when he said he's not in love, but his narration gave him away. I could show you the exact moment their relationship shifted from comrades to something more when NN switched mid-paragraph from "his cellmate" to "his partner" and when he took up BF's nickame exclusively in the same scene.

I do the same thing in Eternal Night when Elias, my protagonist, stops referring to Dorian as "it" and "the vampire" instead of his name the moment they collide with a much more dangerous vampire, so jarringly that Elias notices in his own narration—the point of it being so explicit is that this degredation isn't automatic, it's something he has to conciously do, when everyone else in his clan wouldn't think twice about dehumanizing them.

—

Any literary device should be used with intent if you want those layers in your work. The curtains are rarely just blue. Whether it’s a simile with a deliberate comparison or an epithet with deliberate connotations, your readers will pick up on the subtext, I promise.

[yuutryingtowrite]

Yandere!Barista who is the “poster boy”of the coffee shop he works at. It is honestly deserved: he has a pretty face, a charming smile and a playful yet sweet attitude. He is especially popular among the girls…who he keeps rejecting. He is just not looking for something casual, you know? He dates to marry, not to be someone’s eye-candy.

Yandere!Barista who, one day, sees you walk into the store. Is that a Corroded Coffin shirt you have on ? He loves that band! This is what he tells you when it is your turn to order. What do you mean he looks too much like a goody two-shoes to be a fan? Alright, Miss “I am so dark and edgy”, what do you want to order? Black coffee? The banter goes on until he has to shoo you away, with an amused smile, as the other people in line are starting to get impatient.

Yandere!Barista who glances your way every chance he gets. Not only are you fun to talk to, but you also look really cute. Sometimes, between orders, he gets to converse with you. He eagerly returns your small wave when it is time for you to leave. As he goes to your table to collect the receipt, he finds your cup still there. On it, there is a small doodle of him along with your number. A pink hue dusts his cheeks as he brings a hand to cover the side of his face. He is definitely keeping that cup.

Yandere!Barista who saved your number under “Cutie <3”. The more you text each other, the more you hang out together, the more he becomes obsessed. It is honestly starting to scare him. The other night, he had your cup in his hands to look at the doodle. Next thing he knew, he had his lips where yours had been when you were drinking from it. It flustered him so much, he threw the cup in the trash bin afterwards…only to go get it back five minutes later…He is asking you out on a date for sure next time he sees you.

Yandere!Barista who does your coffee with trembling hands. He really doesn’t want to do this, but you didn’t leave him a choice. Today, on your usual table, you are sitting with a man other than him. He can’t possibly lose the only person who took the time to get to know him beyond his looks. The drug should work in about fifteen minutes, five minutes after closing time. This should be perfect, you always wait for him to close the shop and walk home together. He can do this, he can do this, he can do this…You will be happy at his house, you will be happy with him. It is with a heavy mind and painful heart that he gives you your order.

Yandere!Barista who you got pinned against the wall of the storage room, one hand beside his head and the other one holding your cup. He is as white as a ghost. He keeps looking around. He is sweating all over. This couldn’t be. You couldn’t possibly know- You firmly grab his jaw and turn his face towards you. “Drink”, you say coldly. What are you gonna do to him after he becomes unconscious? Will you report him to the police? Will you hurt him? He closes his eyes tightly as you bring the cup to his lips. The moment it reaches them, you drop it on the floor and replace it with your lips. His eyes open in shock as you give him a small, tender kiss. “That was my cousin, idiot”, you tell him affectionately. You look at him for a couple more seconds before putting on your bag. He is still frozen in place as you add: “Tomorrow, 6pm, at my house. Alright?”. You leave before he can answer.

Yandere!Barista who slides down the wall until he is sitting on the floor. All that is left of him is a blushing, quivering mess. With shaky fingers, he touches his lips; a small whimper involuntarily comes out his mouth. He is about to combust. He feels so weak, he can’t get up. You scared the shit out of him, but that was so hot ahh…He didn’t know you could be this assertive. And that kiss…he buries his face in his hands and groans. Kissing you is all he has ever dreamed of, yet he stayed still like a dumbass when it finally happened. He is so lame-you make him so lame. Guess tomorrow would be his chance to redeem himself.

[hischierhoney]

Dog Days

dog dad!Nico Hischier x dog mom!reader

masterlist

summary: a dog park meet cute with the potential to change your life. or: months ago, @theemporium & i went down a spiral ab that picture of Nico & the dog with the devil horns. this fic is what came out of it. 10.1k words

warnings: mentions of alcohol, doodle slander (adopt don’t shop)

There’s a guy in the dog park who’s staring at you. Really, you should be more nervous about it, because he’s a large man, and you don’t know him, and he keeps looking at you. But his dog- Bernie, you think he called her- is cute, and she’s getting along great with your dog, so you’re a bit inclined to let it slide. Besides, he’s not being creepy. He’s probably just checking to make sure you’re okay with your dogs playing together. He’s here often- you recognize him well, but it’s the first time the dogs have taken interest in each other.

You watch another dog join the fray, some sort of hypoallergenic doodle, if you had to guess. The type that costs thousands of dollars for no apparent reason. It’s wearing a Patagonia puffy jacket, which makes you laugh. You hide it behind your hand. You watch as the dog bows low between your dog and Staring Guy’s dog, and then the doodle rolls over in the mud, and-

“Excuse me!” Someone yells. “Excuse me- hey, you! Is that your dog?”

You turn and blink, realizing the woman is talking to you. She’s storming your way in her matching Patagonia coat, face red with anger. You stare, eyes wide. Staring Guy is looking, too, not even trying to hide it now.

“Um. Which one?” You ask.

She gestures wildly. “The- that black mutt,” she hisses. You frown. “The one who was in the mud with my Bessie.”

Staring Guy snorts from his spot twenty feet away. Your eyes flicker to his, and he’s holding back laughter. You chew on your lip to keep yourself from doing the same.

“Yeah, that’s Moose,” you say, turning to look over your shoulder. Moose and Bernie have abandoned Bessie in the mud, more interested in sticks. “Sorry, is something wrong?”

“Yes! My dog is covered in mud now!” The woman snaps, and you rear your head back. “I mean, honestly-“

“Oh, yeah, she really seemed to like that puddle,” you agree, nodding. “You know how dogs are.”

She shakes her head angrily. “Not my Bessie. She’d never do that. So.”

“So?”

“So are you going to pay for her grooming? And the dry cleaner for her coat, oh, that coat-“ the woman sighs. “She’d have never done this if she hadn’t been influenced-“

You turn to look over your shoulder, to where Bessie is still rolling in the mud. “I’m sorry. Are you trying to say my dog influenced yours to roll in the mud? And now you want me to pay for- you understand how ridiculous you sound, right?”

She huffs. “Bessie is a well behaved, purebred Bernedoodle. Yours is-“

She stammers, so you fill in the gap. “Moose is a rescue.”

“Right, so-“ she waves her hand. “You see what I mean.”

“No, I don’t.” You say, incredulously.

The woman is so angry, now, that her whole face has gone beet red. She lurches towards you, and you take a couple steps back. Her hands are in fists at her sides. You’re not exactly afraid of her, but you hadn’t been planning on getting into a fistfight in the dog park, and she’s making you feel a little uneasy.

“Hey,” a deep voice says. You turn and find Staring Guy, walking up with his hands in his pockets, brows furrowed. “Everything okay?”

You widen your eyes at him, praying he gets the message. He sends you a smile, turning up the corners of his mouth softly. He has a kind face, warm brown eyes, thick eyebrows that arch over them. The woman goes off on her tirade again, about her precious Bessie and your awful influence of a mutt, and how you hadn’t done anything to stop them from playing in the mud. Staring Guy’s dog comes trotting up as she goes on and on, and Moose isn’t far behind. He winds himself in front of your legs, and you reach down to fix one of his ears, the one that always gets flipped inside out. Bessie isn’t far behind. You chew on your cheek to stop yourself from laughing at the sight of her, soaked in mud.

“Oh, that’s probably Bernie’s fault, actually,” Staring Guy says, dark brows furrowed. “She really loves the mud. She’s the one who started it.”

The woman splutters. “Oh- but- well- I’m not sure-“

Staring Guy shakes his head. He takes a couple steps forward, effectively placing himself between you and her. Your heart melts just a little. Moose looks up at him, and his ear flips back inside out. You sigh at the sight of him- he is covered in mud, and it’s going to be a pain to get him cleaned up.

“I just think she should’ve tried to keep them out of the mud.” The woman says, though she’s calmed down a bit.

Staring Guy’s deep voice and large stature seem to have calmed her down a bit. If you’re being honest, he’s calmed you, too. He’d make a good mediator, you think. He’s soothing.

“It’s a dog park, not a doggy day care,” he says, voice a little bit more tense. “You’re responsible for your own dog. Says so on the sign.”

The woman huffs and looks between the two of you. She seems to realize she’s getting nowhere, and she marches off, leash in hand, headed for poor Bessie, who’s likely in for the bath of a lifetime. You and Staring Guy watch her go, staring as she stomps across the park, to the gate, and all the way out to her shiny car. She steps in a puddle on the way out and splatters mud up her jeans. You hunch over and start to giggle.

Staring Guy lets out a laugh, too. “That was fucking ridiculous,” he says.

You nod, unable to speak as the laughter takes over. Moose sits down on the grass and stares up at you. Bernie sits down next to him and does the same. They both look incredibly concerned. You wipe tears of laughter from your eyes and stand up.

“I mean, she’s probably right, Moose is definitely a bad influence,” you say, cooing down at your dog. “I mean, look at him.”

Staring Guy laughs and tilts his head. “His name’s Moose?”

“Basic, I know,” you shrug. “They were calling him that at the shelter. I felt bad changing it, so here we are.”

Staring Guy shakes his head. “No, I like it. It’s a good name. This is Bernie,” he says, nudging his dog with his knee. “And I’m Nico.”

He sticks out his hand to shake. You do so, and introduce yourself, too. He repeats your name back to you with a soft smile. Bernie seems to take this as a sign, and she walks up to you, sniffing the air, tail wagging wildly. You crouch down to pet her, running your hands through her thick, sandy fur. She pants happily.

“She’s adorable,” you say, looking up at Nico. “Golden retriever?”

He shrugs. “Mostly, I think. She’s a rescue. I thought about doing one of those dog DNA things, but…”

“It never feels important enough,” you fill in. He’s scratching Moose’s head, and he nods, grinning. “Moose is a rescue, too.”

“They’re the best kind of dogs,” he says, finding the spot behind Moose’s ear that makes his left leg thump against the ground. Nico laughs. “No Schnoodles or Whoodles for me.”

You laugh and stand up, wiping your hands on your jeans. Moose looks between you and Nico, tail wagging happily. Not for the first time, you wonder what he’s thinking. You wish you could read his mind.

“Well, we’ve got to go,” Nico says, toying with the dog leash. “But it was nice to meet you.”

“It was nice to meet you both,” you say, giving Bernie one last head pat. “Thanks for your help.”

He shrugs. “Not a problem.”

…..

Weeks slip by, and Nico stays a constant in them. Wednesdays and Fridays, you find him at the dog park in the mid afternoon, Bernie waiting eagerly for you to let moose off his leash. The two of you chat and watch your dogs play and then bid each other farewell to go back to your own lives. It’s nice. He’s nice.

“Are you busy?” Nico asks one afternoon, shoulder nearly touching yours.

Moose and Bernie are playing in a pile of leaves, a week post Bessie-mud incident. You watch as the wind picks one up, and Moose chases after it. Bernie chases after him. You turn to look at Nico, feeling slightly confused.

“Like, now?” You ask.

He nods. “Now, and for a little while? There’s this dog friendly coffee shop down the street. I was going to take Bernie there. Though maybe you’d want to come with me.”

Your heart jumps. He wants you to come with? He wants to see you outside of this dog park, outside of the primary meeting spot. He wants to see you.

You nod. “Yeah, sure, that sounds sweet. You’re not gonna murder me, right?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “No, I’m not. Has anyone ever said yes to that?”

“Nope,” you say. “And I’m still alive, so it’s working.”

The two of you gather up the dogs and head for the coffee shop. They walk together happily on their leashes- matching ones from the same brand. You and Nico chat about the leashes, and dog supplies in general, and your favorite pet stores. By the time you make it to the coffee shop, you’ve run out of dog topics and moved on to other ones. You talk about coffee and New Jersey and home- which is Switzerland, for Nico, which explains the accent. You order coffee and pastries and take a seat at one of the outdoor tables. The early afternoon sun is shining down. There’s an autumn chill in the air, but the sun takes the edge off.

Nico gets dodgy when you start talking about work. At first, you wonder if he’s some sort of politician- he has the face for it- or a business guy. He doesn’t seem like the type to work in the tall buildings in the city, crunching numbers and barking orders. You’re not sure what else would’ve brought him to the US from Switzerland, though.

“D’you watch hockey?” He asks, and you blink.

“Not really,” you shrug. “It was never my thing. A few of my friends are big fans, though.”

“Of the Devils?” He asks, nodding his head down the street, where, if you walked far enough, you’d find the Prudential Center, home of New Jersey hockey.

You nod and swallow a sip of your coffee. “Mhm. S’that what you do for work? You work for the Devils?”

He shrugs, then nods. “Basically.”

You let it go, then. Maybe he’s just trying to be careful- after all, he barely knows you. You’d done the same, been careful about not telling him where you work. He seems trustworthy enough, but you can never be too careful. The two of you move on to more important topics- which donuts are best, and what the best restaurants in town are. The afternoon slips away quickly and quietly, and you only realize you’re late when your friend calls you.

“Shit,” you mutter, standing up. “I know I said I wasn’t busy but- I have to meet my friends for drinks, and I’m probably going to be late-“

“It’s okay,” Nico says, softly. “I’ve gotta go too. But this was really nice.”

You smile softly. “It was. We should do it again sometime.”

You both wave goodbye and take off down the street in different directions- you, back towards your apartment to drop off Moose, and him towards his, you assume. You can’t wipe the smile off your face the whole way, and it’s still stuck there by the time you slip into the booth at the restaurant a half hour later.

“I’m so sorry,” you gush, as your friend Alyssa sends you a glare. “I was out at the dog park with Moose, and then I lost track of time, and-“

Your other friend Nora laughs. “Were you too busy staring at Dog Park Guy?”

Your face grows hot. “His name’s Nico.”

Both of them blink at you. “Did you actually talk to him?”

You let out a long sigh and launch into the story- Bessie and her bitchy owner, Nico’s rescue, the increased interactions, and the cafe today. Their eyes grow impossibly wider.

“Sounds like a meet cute,” Nora squeals.

“If he’s cute,” Alyssa adds.

You roll your eyes and ignore the looks they’re giving you. “We’re just friends. Because our dogs are friends.”

“Like I said,” Nora says. “Cute.”

Eventually they drop the subject. You have your drinks and catch up, and make plans to hang out again the next night. Alyssa wants to watch the hockey game. She’s the biggest Devils fan you know, could name every player and all of their stats. You and Nora agree to watch, as long as she provides the alcohol.

You show up just after the game starts the next afternoon, Moose in tow. You snag a plate and grab some snacks and join Alyssa on the couch.

“Can you grab me a beer?” You call out to Nora, who’s in the kitchen.

She returns with a bottle in hand, passing it off to you. You thank her and curl up further on the couch, turning to look at the TV. You wonder if Nico’s working, if he has to be at the games or if he does more of the behind the scenes stuff. Maybe he runs the charity branch. That would fit him. You take a sip of your beer, and then nearly spit it right back out.

You turn to Alyssa, who has the remote, and make a frantic gesture. “Rewind it.”

“What?” She asks, not looking away from the TV. “It’s a power play, I’m not gonna-“

“Rewind it,” you say again, reaching for the remote. “Lyss, just-“

“What’s wrong?” Nora asks, frowning at you. “You don’t care about hockey.”

“No, I know, I just- I thought I saw someone,” you say, staring at the screen.

“In the crowd?” Nora asks. You don’t answer, so she says your name. “Babe, what is going on?”

Before you can answer, Alyssa throws her hands up in the air and cheers. Goal. The puck is in the back of the net, and the camera zooms in on the player who scored- number 86, the name Hughes emblazoned on his back. One of his teammates comes skating towards him, nearly shoving him into the wall, and-

You gasp when the camera settles on his face. Number 13, Hischier. Nico Hischier, you would assume, unless Dog Park Nico has a doppleganger hanging around Newark. A doppleganger who also works for the Devils. You work for the Devils? Basically. Oh. Nora doesn’t seem to notice anything, but Alyssa turns to you slowly, eyes wide.

“Wait,” she says. “You wanted me to rewind it, to where?”

“It’s fine,” you mutter.

She’s staring at you, while you stare at the TV screen. “You said Dog Park Guy’s name was Nico,” she says, brows furrowed. “What’s his last name?”

You shrug. “Haven’t asked him yet.”

She blinks once, then twice, and when you see Nico on the screen again, you must react, because she leans over and grabs your face. She pulls you to look at her, then at the screen. She grabs the remote and pauses it, and Nico’s face fills up the whole picture. He’s grinning wide.

“What’s happening right now?” Nora asks. “Somebody fill me in.”

Alyssa points at the screen. “That man, right there, is the team captain. Hischier,” she says, pausing for dramatic effect. “Nico Hischier.”

Nora gasps. You shrink down into yourself. You can’t exactly tear your eyes from the screen. It’s definitely him. You’d know that face anywhere. You can see the smile, can picture it in the dog park as he pets your dog.

“Is that Dog Park Guy?” Nora asks. You nod, figuring there’s no point in lying now. “Oh my god, you didn’t mention he was hot.”

Alyssa groans. “I’ve never been more jealous of you in my life.”

“You’re engaged,” Nora reminds her.

“I know,” Alyssa sighs. “But god, he’s dreamy.”

Nora nods. You curl further in on yourself and reach for the remote to hit play. The game starts back up again, and you try to pretend you’re not watching for his number. Nora and Alyssa don’t let it go for the rest of the night. You have a feeling they won’t be letting it go for a while.

When you see him next Wednesday at the dog park, you greet him with, “Hiya, Cap.”

You’ve walked up to stand shoulder to shoulder with him. Bernie and Moose are rolling around in fallen leaves. Nico smiles at you at first, and then, as if he’s realized what you said, he jolts. His brows furrow, and you grin.

“You work for the Devils, huh?” You tease, grinning widely.

His cheeks go red, and he laughs. “You said you didn’t care about hockey.”

“I don’t,” you admit. “But my friend Alyssa does, and she had the game on when I was at her place the other day, and imagine my surprise when I looked up at the screen and saw you on the ice.”

He smiles sheepishly and shakes his head. “Honestly, I didn’t tell you because I thought it’d come off as bragging.”

Moose barks, and you both turn to look, but he’s just playing with Bernie. The two of them have found a stick in the leaves, and they’re pulling back and forth. Bernie has a leaf stuck to her nose, and it makes you smile even more.

“It’s pretty cool, though, isn’t it?” You ask. “Lyss said you’re like. A rockstar. Team captain, first round draft pick-“

“Oh, she went way back,” he teases.

“She’s a Jersey girl,” you say with a shrug. “You’re lucky she’s already engaged or she’d be here, too.”

He laughs louder at that, and his shoulder bumps against yours. Across the grass, your dogs roll around on the ground, happy as can be. It makes you smile wider, makes your heart warm.

…..

Early fall turns into late fall, a change that brings with it colder weather, something you’re already regretting not noticing. Nico frowns when he sees you in the park. He makes his way over as Bernie runs to greet Moose, and he has his brows furrowed. He’s wearing a beanie and a thick hoodie, and you envy him.

“Almost didn’t recognize you,” he says, tugging at the hood of your thin sweatshirt, which you have pulled tightly over your head. “Where’s your coat? And a beanie, maybe?”

You shrug and bury your hands deeper in your pockets- you don’t want him to see you’re not wearing gloves either. “I live on the third floor. It looked warm out, and by the time I got outside, there was no way I was dragging him back upstairs.”

You shrink slightly under the disapproving look he gives you. He sighs heavily, and you smile at him, like that’ll make it better. You want nothing more than to bury your face in his chest, press yourself into his body and soak up some of the heat. You’re sure he’s warm. He just looks like he runs warm.

You don’t stay long at the park, because your hands are freezing and so is your face. Nico bids you farewell with a little wave, and you rush home to your warm apartment.

Two days later, when you show up to the dog park, Nico’s already there. Bernie’s running circles around him, barking happily. She skids to a stop when she spots Moose, and you let him off the leash to join her. Nico waves, a big grin on his face as the two dogs take off together.

“Still no beanie?” He teases, shaking his head.

“I thought the cold day was a fluke,” you mutter grumpily, hands shoved in your pockets. “I worked from home today. I didn’t know it was this cold.”

Nico continues to shake his head. His next move is so unexpected you don’t quite realize what he’s doing until it’s over- he pulls a beanie from his pocket and pulls it onto your head for you, adjusting it carefully with narrowed eyes. You can’t help the laugh that slips past your lips. Then he slips his jacket off his shoulders.

“Nico-“ you protest as he wraps it around you.

“I wore layers, and I’m warm,” he says, holding the jacket around your shoulders and waiting until you slip your arms through the sleeves reluctantly. “Better?”

His jacket is warm and cozy, and you smile and nod. “Much better.”

He grins back, eyes crinkling at the edges. His cheeks are flushed, and it makes your face feel warm, too. You shove your hands in your pockets- his pockets- and turn back to watch the dogs, standing almost shoulder to shoulder with him. The very first flakes of snow of the year begin to fall. Moose and Bernie don’t seem to notice. If Nico notices the way you lean close to him, trying to shelter yourself from the cold, he doesn’t say anything.

…..

The next time you see Nico, he’s stressed. He’s got his beanie off, running a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. Bernie, as if she senses his distress, is sitting at his feet patiently, even though her leash is off. You let Moose run over. He sniffs at Bernie, then at Nico’s knee, and whines.

“You’re really bringing down the mood,” you call out.

Nico’s head whips up, bottom lip still tugged between his teeth. Something twists in your chest. You don’t like to see him upset like this, you realize. You’re growing far too attached. And yet. Here you are.

You cock your head questioningly. “You okay?”

He sighs. “Sorry. Yeah. Just- my usual dog sitter apparently moved and didn’t tell me until this morning, and I have to be out of town starting tomorrow, and so now I’m trying to find someone to watch her or somewhere to board her and-“

“I can take her,” you blurt out.

His rambling comes to a screeching halt, and he blinks at you. “I don’t want to inconvenience you, or…”

“Don’t be silly,” you say, shaking your head and smiling. “Her and Moose get along great, and I already know half of her routine. And I think she likes me alright, too. It wouldn’t be a hassle.”

Nico puffs out his cheeks, glancing up at the sky. “That would be… are you sure? Because. I mean-“

“Nico,” you say, softly. His gaze flickers back to yours. “I’d love to watch her. How long are you gonna be gone?”

He bites his lip again. “Friday through Sunday.”

You nod. “Easy peasy.”

You should probably be expecting it, just because it seems like something he would do, but you yelp a little when he hauls you against his chest. You hug him back, though, and laugh into his shoulder, and the dogs both bark at your feet. Then Bernie takes off running, as if she knows everything is fine now. Moose follows happily.

“Thank you,” he says, chest rumbling against you, and your breath catches.

“Anytime,” you respond. You mean it.

He drops Bernie off the next morning before you start work for the day. He texts you from the lobby of your apartment building to let you know they’re headed up, which is sweet. You hear Bernie before he knocks on the door, and when you open it, Moose perks up from his dog bed. He’s up within seconds, tail wagging, searching through his pile of toys for one to bring Bernie.

“Look at them,” you coo, watching the two dogs greet each other happily. “We’re gonna have such a fun weekend, aren’t we, Bernie?”

Nico’s smiling, too, when you look up and meet his gaze. He has a dog bed tucked under one arm, and a bag of other supplies in the other. You let the dogs play while he unpacks the stuff on your kitchen counter and tells you what little you don’t know about Bernie’s routine. When she eats, what toys are her favorites, and so on.

“Normally I tell people about the dog park,” he says, smiling sheepishly. “But you already know that.”

You nod eagerly. In the living room, Bernie is sniffing Moose’s dog bed.

“Oh, um. Sometimes for the first bit she won’t want to eat,” he says. “I got her when she was young, and it was during the lockdown, so. She wasn’t used to being away from me. She’s gotten better about it, but… if she goes too long, you can put a little cheese on her food and that usually helps.”

You nod in understanding. “Moose was the same the first time I left him. Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of her.”

Nico laughs. “I think this is actually the least worried I’ve been about leaving her, ever.”

You set up Bernie’s dog bed in the living room, a little ways away from Moose’s to give them each their space. Nico lays out her favorite toys for her, and a threadbare red hoodie that you’d bet used to be his. He wavers in the doorway between the living room and kitchen, watching as Bernie inspects her stuff. It makes your chest ache a little bit. He seems reluctant to leave.

“D’you have time to sit for a little bit?” You ask. “I have plenty of coffee.”

He turns over his shoulder and grins. “Coffee would be great.”

It should probably feel strange, to have Dog Park Guy sitting at your kitchen table, sipping coffee out of a big mug that looks small in his hands, but it doesn’t. It feels almost natural. Like this was always how this was going to go. He tells you about the away game he’s going to play, about their odds and the other team and how he’s stuck sharing a hotel room with Jack, who he loves but who also talks in his sleep loudly and denies it. You laugh and commiserate & complain to him about your work day, which is full of meetings. By the time the coffee is gone, he doesn’t really seem to want to leave, but he tells you he has to finish packing and get to the rink, and you’ve got a meeting anyways, so. You walk him to the door. He crouches down to pet Bernie one more time, and lets out a big sigh.

“I’ll see you all soon,” he says, smiling. “Have a good weekend.”

Bernie sits down and stares at him. You see his smile waver, so you step forward and pat the top of her head gently, then scratch behind her ears the way you’ve seen Nico do so often.

“Be safe,” you tell him. “We’ll be here waiting.”

Bernie does get a little sad just after he leaves. You feel for her, because you’re strangely sad about him being gone, too. You take most of your work meetings from the couch so she can curl up with her head on your lap. Moose keeps bringing over his favorite toys and dropping them off for her, but she doesn’t take much interest. Nico texts around lunchtime, just before he’s getting on a plane, and asks how it’s going. You send back a picture of her head in your lap, your work meeting in the background.

she seems very interested in Carol’s progress report.

Nico sends back a little laughing emoji, and then She looks cozy. Thank you again!

After work, you leash up both dogs and walk down to the dog park. You want to keep Bernie’s routine as consistent as possible. The two of them do so well together, walking happily, never tugging on the leashes. You snap a pic of them, and send that to Nico, too. He probably won’t see it for a while.

Once you’re at the dog park, you let them off leash to run around. They take off together, barking happily, kicking up piles of dead leaves like the always do. You sit on a bench and fight the urge to text Nico.

It’s just that in the couple of months since you finally spoke to him, you’ve found yourself really looking forward to your dog park chats. Venting about your days or catching up or telling fun stories about your dogs. It’s not the first time he’s been gone, but it’s the first time it’s hit you like this. It’s odd.

You take them both home eventually, calling them over and clipping on the leashes. Back in your apartment, it’s dinnertime- you heat up leftovers for yourself and give the dogs their food. You try not to watch Bernie like a hawk. Nico had said she might not want to eat at first. But when you do sneak a peek, they’re both eating happily. You breathe a sigh of relief- she must feel comfortable enough.

They wander off into the living room before you do, and what you find makes you stop in your tracks. Bernie’s got her dog bed in her mouth, dragging it over next to Moose’s. He sits on his bed happily, wagging his tail at you. Bernie drops the bed and immediately curls up on it, letting out one of her signature big sighs, the ones that Nico always copies. You let out a matching sigh, and she wags her tail.

You snap a picture of the two of them curled up next to each other and send it off to Nico.

He replies just before you roll over to go to sleep. Did she move her bed??

Yup, you answer. Ate all her dinner, too

He takes a while to type his response.

Adorable. Thank you. Again.

…..

You’re not a hockey fan. You know this about yourself. You’ve watched games enough times to know this. But when Saturday rolls around, you turn on the game anyway. Bernie should watch the game, after all. She should watch her dad play.

You cuddle up on the couch with both dogs, who are definitely paying less attention to the screen than you are. They both fall asleep halfway through the first period, and you roll your eyes. You could turn it off, but you find that you don’t want to. It’s suddenly different when you have a reason to be invested. Nico’s on the ice, at least for some of the time.

When he scores, you cheer so loudly you startle both dogs awake. They look around, bewildered. You snap a pic of the two of them with the tv in the background and send it to him.

Bernie & Moose say good job!!

He doesn’t answer until you’re in bed for the night, again. Time differences and media responsibilities and all that. He heart reacts to the photo, and then you watch him type for a couple moments, the little dots bouncing at the bottom of the screen.

How’d you like the game? He asks.

You waffle a bit on what to say back. You wonder if he’s paying enough attention to notice you’re taking a while to answer, or if he’s moved on.

You settle for sending back, it’s a lot more fun to watch when i’m cheering for you

He’s typing back nearly immediately. My good luck charm!

You laugh and lock the phone, setting it down on the nightstand. Bernie and Moose are curled up in bed with you, snoring away. You’re not sure why you feel so happy, but you hope it brings you good dreams.

Nico gets back into town late Sunday afternoon.

There’s a knock on your apartment door. From the couch, you call out “Come in!”

You hear him kick off his shoes in the entryway as he calls out a greeting. He pads towards the living room, and you lean up slightly to see him as he walks in.

“You should really lock your door, you know,” he says. “I could’ve been anyone.”

“But you’re you,” you lilt as he rounds the corner of the couch. “Besides, I’ve got my guard dogs.”

He eyes you skeptically. The dogs are in their same spots as the picture you sent him yesterday. Moose is curled against your chest, while Bernie is laid out over your legs. You’re tucked under a blanket, smiling up at him. Neither of the dogs have moved a muscle, from the knock on the door until now.

“Great guard dogs,” Nico teases.

“Well, they know you. Bernie, look who’s here,” you say. His dog lifts her head, wagging her tail slightly. You shrug. “Guess she likes me more.”

“Can’t blame her,” Nico says, stretching his arms above his head. “You guys look cozy.”

“And you look tired.”

You’re not trying to be mean, but he does. There are purple shadows beneath his eyes, his hair is a mess. The scrubs along his jaw looks to be at least a day old, by your guess.

He snorts. “Thanks. I am.”

You pout. “You could join us, if you want.”

You shift your feet slightly to open up a space for him on the other end of the couch. He eyes the spot with a tired gaze, scrubbing his hand against his jaw. You’re trying to ask casually, to pretend like it won’t make a difference to you one way or the other if he stays or not, but you really do hope he sits down. You’ve missed him- it’s almost embarrassing how much you’ve missed him.

“If I do that I’m definitely gonna pass out,” he warns, voice quieter. “Probably for an extended period of time.”

You nod. “I’d expect nothing less.”

He huffs and drops his car keys on the coffee table. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You laugh when he climbs his way onto the couch. He sits down at the opposite end, his legs side by side with yours. The dogs move to accommodate him, though not without their own grumbling about it. Bernie finally gives in and gets excited to see him, fumbling her way onto his lap. He wraps his arms around his dog and snuggles in, all while you watch, unable to pull your gaze away, heart pounding in your chest. He’s here, in your apartment, on your couch. He looks so soft.

When he falls asleep in no more than ten minutes, it makes you feel even warmer. He trusts you enough to fall asleep here. Bernie is curled against his chest, also falling asleep, reunited at last. You find yourself dozing off, too, brought on by how comfortable it all feels.

You wake up to Bernie pacing back and forth on the living room floor, and Moose standing on the couch, his nose in Nico’s face. You scramble to push the dog away with muffled words and limited success. Nico sniffles and raises his head, scrunching his eyes shut in the face of the sun coming in through your window.

“Sorry,” you whisper, fighting the urge to brush strands of his hair from his eyes. “They're getting antsy.”

He’s adorable when he’s just woken up, eyes barely open, cheeks flushed. He rubs at his eyes with the heel of his hand and pets Moose with the other. You get up and start to gather the dogs’ things while he continues to wake up. By the time you’ve got them both leashed up, he’s sitting up on the couch, brighter eyes than before.

“Best nap of my life,” he says.

You think of how much you wanted to cuddle up on his chest, and you wonder if that would take the winning spot.

Nico puts on his jacket at the door, taps his foot impatiently until you roll your eyes and pull on a jacket of your own, and then the two of you head out, dogs in tow. You keep your hands shoved in your pockets, but when you get to the dog park he hands you a pair of gloves, glaring playfully at you. You put them on, feeling warm and fuzzy, and not just from the fabric around your hands. You let the dogs off the leashes in the fenced in area, and you watch them run off through the light snow.

You bump your elbow against his. “You okay? You’re quiet.”

He nods, leans towards you until you’re shoulder to shoulder. “Yeah. M’good. Just tired.”

You nod in understanding. “C’mon, let’s sit.”

You head over to a nearby bench and sink down. He follows suit. And. It’s cold, so really, that’s probably why he sits so close, his thigh against yours, his side pressed to your side. But then he shifts slightly, and his arm falls to the top of the bench behind you. You try not to hold your breath. Across the park, Bernie and Moose bark happily. You lean your head against Nico’s shoulder, and he sighs happily, resting his head against yours.

He sighs. “Wake me up when they’ve worn themselves out.”

He’s joking- he doesn’t fall asleep, you’d be able to tell. You can feel his breaths, can feel him shift every so often, and he laughs when the dogs tackle each other in the snow. But he stays right there, curled against you, warmer than any jacket or pair of gloves could ever be.

…..

When people say it takes a village, you’re pretty sure it could be said about having dogs, too. You’re amazed at how much easier things are when you have Nico to help out. He’s insistent that he owes you one for watching Bernie, but it really turns into the two of you just trading dog duties.

You get held over at the office on one of the rare days you have to be in person, and he picks up Moose and takes him along to the park with Bernie. Nico gets stuck in traffic on the way home from a game in New York City, and you do the same, leaving a container of leftovers in the fridge for him, too. The dog park meetups and coffee shop hangouts keep happening, much to your benefit. You like spending time with him. Probably a bit more than is healthy, really, but you can’t exactly help it. He’s sweet, and funny, and handsome, too, to top it all off.

When you call him early on a Tuesday evening, you know he’ll pick up, because he’s done with practice for the day. He probably assumes you’re checking what time he’s going to be at the dog park, or letting him know you and Moose won’t be there. He gets nervous, now, if you don’t show up. Texts to make sure you’re alright. It’s endearing.

“Hello,” he says. “Don’t tell me you’re going to break Bernie’s heart and miss out on the dog park tonight.”

“Hi, no- my… my power’s out,” you say, sounding as frantic as you feel. “And like. It’s fine, I’ll survive, but it’s already cold in here, and Moose is giving me evil eyes. But I can’t find any dog friendly hotels, so I was wondering if maybe you could take him for the night-“

Nico laughs on the other end. “Come stay with us. Both of you.”

You pause your digging through the cupboards. “Oh, you don’t have to- that’s okay, Nico-“

“I mean it,” he says, firmly. “I’ve got a spare bedroom. And I just ordered way too much pizza, actually. Come over, bring Moose. Bernie’s bored, anyways.”

“I don’t want to be a burden,” you tell him.

“You could never,” he says. “If you’re not here within a half hour, I’m driving over there to pick you up.”

He hangs up before you can protest again, and you turn to Moose with a sigh. Then you start packing for both of you. 20 minutes later, you’re in the elevator up to Nico’s place, trying not to freak out about all of it.

He lets you in before you even have a chance to knock. Maybe it’s just the fact that your place was cold, but when he ushers you inside, it feels like he’s cranked the heat up a few degrees. Bernie comes racing to the entryway, whining excitedly at the sight of Moose, and you grin down at the two dogs. Then you look up at Nico and find him smiling, too.

“I’ll show you to the guest room,” he offers, nodding his head towards the rest of the apartment. “Pizza should be here any minute.”

It all feels oddly domestic, staying with him. You eat dinner together and watch the news- a habit he picked up from a roommate back in his days playing hockey in Canada, he tells you. Moose and Bernie cuddle up in the middle between the two of you, which you sort of hate. You want an excuse to lean into his side.

You get one when you get up to go to the bathroom. You come back, and both dogs have moved into your spot. Nico smiles up at you and shrugs, patting the spot right next to him. You take a seat without protesting, settling into the soft sofa. He moves the blanket he’s been using so it falls over your lap and rests his arm on the back of the couch behind your head. It probably means nothing, but being so close to him feels nice. Comforting.

When you start to doze off, he nudges you awake and towards the guest room. You fight the urge to lean up and kiss his cheek when he says goodnight. Moose follows you into the room, and you shut the door behind you.

You want to kiss Nico. This is becoming a problem.

It’s just. He’s nice. He’s sweet. He’s a good friend, he helps you take care of your dog, he’s letting you stay with him. But he’s an athlete, and they usually date other famous people, not their dog park friends. You’ve got no chance, probably.

You would roll over and scream into the pillow, but you’re afraid he’d hear it anyways.

…..

You’re standing in his kitchen early the next morning when the front door creaks open. You freeze in surprise- you’d assumed from the fan running in Nico’s bedroom, and the quiet of the apartment, that he’d still been asleep. Maybe he’d gone out for a run already, or had gone to take Bernie for a walk. Footsteps echo in the entryway, and you hear someone trip over a pair of shoes. The muttered swear word is definitely not said in Nico’s voice, and panic bites at your chest. You reach for one of the knives on the counter and hold it at your side. Moose, seeming to sense your anxiety, steps in front of your legs. Your phone sits too far away on the counter, and you swallow. You could yell for Nico, but then whoever is in his apartment would hear you, too.

The footsteps fall closer. The man appears in the doorway to the kitchen, and he jumps nearly a foot in the air at the sight of you, hand pressed to his chest. He looks familiar, with his almost shoulder length hair tucked behind his ears- one of Nico’s teammates. There’s a photo of the two of them hanging on the wall in the living room. You drop the knife on the counter discreetly when he isn’t looking.

“You’re not Nico,” he says, leaning on the counter.

“Neither are you,” you state, heart still racing.

He laughs at that and eyes the dog in front of you. “And that’s not Bernie, huh?”

He leans towards the dog, and Moose presses against your legs and growls. You gasp. Apparently, he hasn’t quite gotten the memo that whoever this guy is, he isn’t a threat. You reach for his collar.

“Moose,” you say in a scolding tone.

“Oh,” the man says, drawing out the noise, a look of understanding washing over his face. “Cool wolf. Is he gonna bite me? I have hockey practice later.”

There’s a flurry of noise before you can respond, and Bernie comes loping into the kitchen. She beelines for the guy, and at that, Moose lets his guard down, his tail wagging happily again. You roll your eyes. A great guard dog until his friend likes the guy, then all bets are off. Nico appears in the kitchen, scratching his head, and his eyes go wide when he spots his teammate.

“Jack,” he says, and the man turns to look at him. “What are you doing here?”

The man rubs his face sheepishly. Your dog scurries over to Nico, sniffing at his ankles excitedly. Your gaze bounces back and forth between the two men.

“You’re Jack,” you say, looking at the early morning intruder.

He nods.

You laugh. “I hear you talk in your sleep.”

Nico sighs while Jack tries desperately to deny it.

Ten minutes later, once Nico’s explained the whole situation, they head off on a run. They take Bernie and Moose with them, on Nico’s suggestion, because both dogs could use a bit of exercise, and, in his words, Jack could use a bit of motivation. While they’re out, you take a moment to tidy up your stuff, and you do the dishes from the night before. Nico had insisted you were welcome to any of the food in the house, so you whip up a light breakfast of cut fruit and yogurt, making sure to save some for him.

He returns a while later, both dogs in tow, minus Jack. He gives you a sheepish smile, sweaty locks of hair falling over his forehead. His t-shirt is clinging to his skin, damp with sweat despite the chill outside. You chew on a piece of strawberry and try not to stare at him.

“Sorry about him,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “I forgot he was coming over. He called, but I had my phone turned down and I slept through it.”

You shrug. “Nico, it’s fine, it’s your apartment,” you say. “Though I did have a knife ready, so he’s lucky he didn’t get stabbed.”

Nico laughs and takes a couple steps into the kitchen, leaning on his hands on the counter. “The Devils hockey organization thanks you for your hesitation.”

You laugh and nod. “I have breakfast, if you want some.”

When he squeezes your shoulder as he walks by, you try not to let it show how nice it feels.

“Thanks, schatz,” he says.

You don’t know much German, but you’re pretty sure that doesn’t mean friend.

…..

Nico goes to practice a bit later and then comes back. The power at your place stays out for the rest of the day. You keep checking, trying to make sure. Realistically, now, you could call Alyssa or Nora and ask to stay with them, instead, but when you offer, Nico looks offended at the suggestion.

He’s laying on the floor with Bernie and Moose both sprawled over him. “I mean. If you want to go, you can, obviously.”

“I just don’t want to overstay my welcome,” you tell him.

He shakes his head and lets it drop back to the floor. Moose shoves his nose under Nico’s chin. “You’re not.”

That’s pretty much the end of the discussion. The two of you take the dogs out to a nearby cafe for a late lunch, a place Nico tells you is dog friendly. He makes sure you’re both bundled up adequately for the chilly walk there and back. In the afternoon, you get some work done on your laptop, Bernie’s head on your lap, while Nico scrolls aimlessly on his phone and plays tug of war with Moose. The routine feels scarily easy to settle into. You make dinner together, pasta and chicken and broccoli. You move around one another with ease, like moons in each other’s orbits. The dogs wait patiently in the living room while you cook. Nico gives them pieces of chicken for their good behavior, and then you dish out dog food while he refills their water bowls. It’s nice. It’s so nice. You’re trying desperately not to get attached to this, to him.

You wake up the next morning to Moose and Bernie in your bed, a text from Nico saying he took them on their morning walk before he left for morning skate, and an alert from your apartment complex that the power is back on. You sigh, kiss the top of Bernie’s head, and roll back over in bed.

He’s gone for most of the day, today, between practices and media requirements and meetings with the team that he’d complained about to you the night before. You could pack up and leave before he gets back, but then you’d be leaving Bernie alone, and it feels weird to not say goodbye to Nico after he let you stay here. So you spend the day how you were planning to, and gather up your things bit by bit.

Nico comes home in the afternoon when you’re halfway packed, and he stands in the doorway of the guest room, seemingly hesitant. He’s frowning. Your heart lurches.

“My power’s back on,” you say quietly.

“Oh,” he responds. “Right. That’s, uh, that’s good.”

You nod. “Just realized I’ll probably have to clean out my fridge, and get new groceries, but yeah. I’ll be out of your hair.”

He frowns, nose wrinkling. “You weren’t in my hair.”

You blink at him. “I just meant… you can have your own space back. You must be sick of us by now.”

Nico wavers, shifting back and forth on his feet. You’re holding one of your t-shirts, and you pull it close to your chest. There’s something hanging in the air.

“I don’t think I’d ever get sick of you,” he says. A spark runs down your spine. “I liked having you here.”

You blink, unsure what to do with yourself suddenly. “I, uh, liked being here. You’re a great host, you know.”

He shrugs, then nods. He opens his mouth, closes it, repeats the motion. Then he releases his grip on the doorframe and takes a couple steps into the room. You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, and you try to keep your breathing steady as he walks towards you.

“You sure you don’t want to stay for dinner?” He asks, looking hopeful.

You blink up at him, the corner of your lips tugging upwards. “Guess it depends on what we’re having.”

You’re trying to be brave about this. Trying to go with the flow, be casual. Maybe he’s just got a meal planned for two, maybe he needs your help to make it. You don’t want to read into it, even as he comes so close that you could reach out and touch him, that you can smell his shampoo and cologne. One of the dogs barks in the living room. You both ignore it, unable to tear your eyes away from each other. The air feels electric.

His hand comes up to touch your cheek, fingertips featherlight. You swallow. Your heart is pounding in your chest. He’s grinning, like he knows it. So sure of whatever he’s about to say.

“I thought maybe we could go out,” he says, casually. “Just me and you, somewhere nice. Let the dogs hang out here and keep each other company.”

You blink, take a breath, nod. “Okay. I can stay for dinner.”

“Cool,” he says, trying to be nonchalant about it. His wide grin gives him away. “Then it’s a date.”

Your breath catches in your chest, but you nod. “It’s a date.”

When he leans down and kisses your cheek, you swear the world stops spinning. When he pulls away it spins faster than it ever has before. You watch him walk away, dumbfounded, heart racing, skin burning.

All that worrying about it all, and it was that easy?

…..

At dinner, you both come to terms with the fact that you can’t really call this your first date. The two of you are too comfortable already, too at ease with each other. Nico claims the real first date was the coffee shop, months ago. You claim it was the day he came to pick up Bernie and took a nap on your couch.

“So I was asleep for half of our first date?” He says, nose wrinkled. “No thank you.”

“Well if it was the coffee shop, then I didn’t get your number for weeks after,” you retort. “So that would be weird.”

Eventually the two of you decide to agree to disagree. Maybe it happened somewhere in the middle without you even realizing. But now it feels official and real, over seafood and wine and warm bread. Nico’s face is lit by the candles on the table, and he holds your hand half the night.

Hours later, you stumble out of the restaurant, wine tipsy and giggling as you lean against his arm. He’s laughing, too, until he’s not, until he’s holding you by your hips on an empty sidewalk, waiting for a cab to roll by. You stare up at him, the dark night sky and city lights behind his head.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, quietly.

“Thought you’d never ask,” you reply.

Nico kisses exactly the way you’d imagined- soft and sweet, at first, in a way that makes you feel everything. And then his tongue slips past your lips and his grip on your hips tightens and you wrap your arms around his neck and hold on for dear life. It’s a bit all consuming, threatens to leave you breathless, sends shocks across your skin.

He gets you into a cab and gives his address, and then he leans against you, his lips against your temple, his hand intertwined with yours. He speaks quietly against your skin.

“I’ll follow your lead here,” he says, quietly. “If you wanna take Moose and head home, I completely understand.”

You smile and lean into his touch. “Okay,” you say, deciding to leave him hanging. He laughs against your skin like he knows what you’re doing.

When the car pulls up in front of Nico’s apartment building, you step outside while he pays the fare. He grabs your hand again to lead you inside, through the lobby, and towards the elevator. He’s watching your every move, you can feel it- he’s trying to read you. You think he probably sees right through your little game, but that’s okay.

When the elevator doors slide closed, you turn to him, threading your hand through his hair at the nape of his neck.

“You should ask me to stay over,” you whisper, leaning up to brush your lips against his ear.

He groans softly, his hand falling to rest on your hip. “Yeah?”

You nod.

He swallows. “You want to stay over?” He asks, voice breathy. His stubble scrapes against your cheek as he brushes a kiss there.

You lean in to kiss him again. You think that’s answer enough.

The two of you tumble into his apartment a few minutes later, hands wrapped tightly in each other’s. You muffle your giggles with your other hand, and Nico does the same with his own. The dogs are curled up on their dog beds in the living room, snoring away. You take off your shoes carefully, and the two of you tiptoe through the apartment. If you wake Moose, he’ll be needy, begging for attention. Bernie will be the same with Nico.

You make it to the bedroom, and within seconds, Nico’s on you, pressed up against the closed bedroom door. He latches his lips onto your neck, and you sigh happily. His hands are already roaming everywhere, and your whole body is on fire.

“You’re sure about this?” He asks, between kisses, and you melt.

“Positive,” you say, already gasping for air. “Please, Nico.”

He groans into your skin, and you both start to fall apart.

Later, you lay in bed, your cheek against his bare chest. His hand sweeps up and down your back smoothly. You can hear his heart beating, feel the soft rise and fall of his breaths. There’s a lot of things you want to say, but they all feel far too intimate for a first time on a maybe third date, so you keep your mouth shut. You settle for drawing shapes on his skin until he shivers and laughs.

Seconds later, there’s a dog scratching at the door. Moose whines. Then, so does Bernie. You groan into Nico’s chest.

“They’re so needy,” you grumble.

“Sounds like someone else I know,” he responds.

He pulls away before you can retaliate, reaching for his t-shirt and tossing it to you. You pull it on as he tugs on a pair of shorts. Then he opens the door. Two fur covered, heat seeking missiles come shooting onto the bed, barreling into you, making themselves comfortable atop the covers. Nico crawls back into bed before he loses his spot, nudging Bernie out of the way so he can pull you back into his arms.

Moose rests his head against your side. You rub behind his ears as Nico does the same with Bernie. Something about this moment just feels right. The way the four of you all curl up together, around each other, held tight and warm and safe.

Nico kisses your forehead. “Goodnight.”

You kiss his shoulder. “G’night, Nico.”

In the dark, Bernie whines.

“And goodnight to you too, Berns,” you laugh, reaching over to pat her head.

…..

Nico stops in the parking lot, his arm around the back of your seat. You continue staring out the windshield. In the backseat, Bernie and Moose wag their tails happily. You hope he can’t see where you’re holding onto the seat tightly with your right hand.

“Hey,” he says. His hand brushes against your shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“What if they all hate me?” You ask.

Nico scoffs. “Then they’re all stupid.”

“Nico…”

“Baby,” he murmurs, leaning over, pressing his lips to your temple. “You met Jack, scared the shit out of him, and he still asks about you all the time. And you’ll have the dogs. That’ll win them over immediately.”

You sigh and wipe your sweaty hands on your pants. “You’re their captain. What if I don’t live up to the… I don’t know, Nico-“

He cups your face in his hand and turns your head towards his. There’s a soft, kind smile on his face. You bite your lip.

“You don’t need to live up to anything,” he says, firmly. “I want you there, that’s enough. And if you want to leave, you just tell me. We’ve got the dogs as an excuse.”

You nod. He pinches your cheek lightly, and you laugh. When he climbs out of the car, you follow suit. Moose and Bernie are itching to get out of the backseat- you each unbuckle one dog and get them ready to go inside.

In the stadium, he stops and helps you get the dogs ready- winter coats for them to wear, little shoes to protect their feet that you’ve been getting them used to for months now. Moose still glares at you a bit when you first put them on, but he gets over it quickly.

Nico laces up his own skates and helps you, too, and then it’s out onto the rink, under the lights, staring up at the big empty stadium. The dogs stay close at first, getting used to the slippery surface.

Everyone is here- his teammates, their families, their friends. When he’d invited you, you’d nearly broken down into tears- you know how much it means to him, how much he loves this team and this sport. You’re honored he wants to share it with you. You were the one who suggested bringing the dogs, too. Now, out on the ice, you’re thrilled it all ended up like this.

“Cool wolf,” Jack says, as he skates by. “Hey, Luke- you know what his name is?”

Luke shakes his head.

“Moose,” Jack says, and Luke sighs. “Which one of you is the cuter one, huh?”

“Definitely the dog,” Nico says, squeezing your hand.

“You all suck,” Luke says. He turns to you and smiles sheepishly. “Sorry. Not you. You seem great.”

Nico hooks his elbow in yours and nudges you gently. “Wanna do a lap?”

You smile and nod, and he starts to pull you around on the ice. The dogs follow happily, having found their footing. Across the ice, some of the kids point at them excitedly. You think back to the dog park, so long ago, now, and the lady and her dog Bessie. If she’d never gotten angry with you, would you and Nico have ever spoken? Or would you have just stared at each other from across the park forever? You’re not sure you want to know. You’re just happy it ended up the way it did.

“I love you,” you tell him, leaning up to kiss his cheek.

He blushes and grinned, dimple popping up on his face. “I love you too, schatz.”

He kisses you on the lips, then, a quick peck that still somehow makes your heart skip a beat. At your feet, Moose whines, and Bernie follows suit. You and Nico sigh.

“And we love you two, too,” you say, shaking your head at the dogs.

“So needy,” Nico says.

“Sounds like someone else I know,” you tease, elbowing him.

He grins impossibly wider. You feel warm enough to melt the ice beneath your feet. He tends to have that affect on you, and you don’t think it’ll ever grow old.

thanks for reading!!

[surielstea]

Lunch Break

Based on this request.

Pairing: Modern!Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: Azriel surprises reader at work with food and a clingy attitude.

Warnings: Az being handsy with reader | cursing

2.5k words

I was in the middle of scheduling a meeting on my boss's calendar when the loud ringing of the phone made me jump.

I quickly picked up the phone and tucked it beneath my ear then continued my typing before I lost my train of thought.

“Velaris enterprises, how can I assist you?” I say with a polite tone.

“It’s Feyre, can you tell Rhys to pick up his phone?” A familiar female voice sounds on the other side of the line. A smile curves my lips.

“Hi Fey, I’ll transfer you to him right now,” I say to the woman with a light tone.

“Thank you,” She sings as I redirect the call to my boss who seemed too busy to pick up his wife’s call.

The line ends and I hang up the phone and then return my attention to my desktop, I had only one more report due until I was letting myself take my lunch break, reclining in my chair with a huff as I continue to type, manicured nails clicking along the keys at a fast pace. In the middle of my sentence, the phone rings again and I pick it up blindly, keeping my eyes on my screen.

“Feyre I could knock down his door but I doubt he’ll answer—” I begin but I am cut off by the other line.

“It’s me.” Is all I heard and my spine straightened at the baritone voice that was so very familiar.

“What’d I tell you about calling my work phone?” I say slightly hushed, afraid my coworkers will notice me being off task.

“You weren’t answering your texts,” He defends, his tone playful, making me suppress a smile.

“What’s so important you couldn’t wait until my break?” I ask, the amused tone in my voice unavoidable as I mindlessly doodle on a blank sticky note, unable to multitask when talking to him.

“I brought you lunch, come downstairs,” He replied and a smile tugged at my lips.

“Right now?” I mumble into the phone with a soft sigh.

“Yeah, c’mon gorgeous it’s going to get cold,” He urged and this time I let myself smile.

“Alright, I’ll be down in five just need to finish something up real quick,” I say, and before he can protest I hang the phone up.

I rush to finish my report, doing it in three minutes instead of five, and feeling slightly accomplished with myself as I close the tab.

I stand from my chair, brush my short skirt down, and round my desk to approach the door to my Boss’s office. I knock lightly before creaking open the door, only to spot Rhysand on the phone with his wife presumably, feet propped up on his desk casually as he did anything but work.

“I’m taking my break,” I whisper and he nods, giving me a wave of my hand. I close his office door and pivot in my high heel.

I walk down the aisle of cubicles with a small skip in my step, excited to see my boyfriend, and also the food he brought for me.

“Taking your break already?” A man named Matthew had asked, leaning back in his chair and peering up at me.

“Yeah, I didn’t get the chance to eat anything this morning,” I reply politely, passing by him.

“You should come out with me and some of the other guys after work tonight, we’re going to the bar off Ninth Street,” He gestures westward and my brows raise a fraction.

“Sounds fun, I might have plans but I’ll let you know,” I say with a gentle smile and he nods, then turns back to his desk.

“Have a nice lunch,” He lowly whistles as I continue my path toward the elevators.

Mathew and his friends had always been so kind to me, I hadn’t really known why, they knew I was with Azriel, which meant they knew they had no chance. And they didn’t seem like the type to respect women, especially not secretaries. So it was best to let them down easy and politely decline their offers or at least give them false hope.

I clicked the button of the lift that would take me down to the lobby, the ride was long from the top floor, giving me the chance to wonder what kind of foot Azriel had brought for me since he hadn’t mentioned it.

I bounced on my heels impatiently until the elevator dinged and the doors parted. I smile and walk out, tucking my arms behind my back to contain my excitement. Gods, I felt like a teenage girl meeting her first boyfriend in the hallway.

“Hi, Mrs. Levvy,” I wave to the older woman who sat at the check-in desk in the building.

“Leaving, dearie?” She asks with a soft smile that I return.

“I’ll be back, just going to pick up lunch,” I say and she nods, pushing her glasses farther up the bridge of her nose.

The automatic doors open and I immediately spot my boyfriend leaning against his black bike, arms crossed over his chest as the sun beams down onto him. His eyes lock with mine and a dimpled smile takes over his features as I approach him, taking in the way his compression shirt hugs his large arms or the way his tattoos run up the side of his neck.

“Hey, gorgeous,” He greets, hands coming to my waist as I stand between his legs.

“Hi, handsome,” I return, wrapping my arms around the nape of his neck and pressing a soft peck to his lips then pulling away a moment later. “What’d you bring me?” I ask, pinching my bottom lip between my teeth. He turned to his side, his helmet and a paper bag propped onto the seat of his bike. He grabs the bag and hands it to me. I peer inside and am immediately met with a familiar savory scent. I look up at him with a beaming grin. “My favorite?” I ask and he nods.

“For my favorite girl,” He hums, hands lowering to my hips.

“Thanks, Az,” I sling my arms around him and hug him tightly. He returns it, his head nuzzling into the crook of my neck. He stays like that, not wanting to move away until inevitably I pull back.

“What’s the occasion?” I say, placing the bag beside his helmet, I still had ten minutes left to my break, and I was determined to spend every last second with him.

He shrugs. “I didn’t get to make you breakfast before you left this morning,” He said and I smiled at the memory, how he sleepily clambered from bed only to coerce me back to the mattress with his deep voice and lazy kisses. It hadn’t lasted long before my alarm went off for the umpteenth time and we both knew I had to leave if I didn’t want to be late.

“That’s sweet of you to leave work for me,” I smile down at the bag and then back up to him, one of my hands intertwining into his hair.

“The shop was slow today, I only had a few appointments until I decided to close early,” He excuses and I tilt my head up at him.

“Still, means a whole lot,” I murmur, leaning into his chest as his hands snake down until finding purchase at the curve of my ass. “Az,” I warn.

“What? This skirt is so short and I’m only a man,” He defends and I roll my eyes.

“Keep it in your pants,” I scoff.

“Afraid I can’t, gorgeous,” He shakes his head. “What about all the other men in that office? They shouldn’t be staring at what’s mine,” He practically whines and I look at him in both disbelief and amusement.

“I assure you, they know I’m yours,” I put him at ease, my hands coming to his jaw.

“Now you know how I feel when you wear these slutty shirts,” I say, tugging at the hem of his compression shirt. He smiles because he knows exactly what I’m talking about. The bastard was highly aware of what he was doing to me.

“Guilty,” He smirks, his hands gripping my ass and I squeal, an uncontrollable grin coming to my features, I was going to retort only to be cut off by the alarm from my phone, that familiar ringing that only meant separation for us. Azriel audibly groans as I quickly silence my alarm, my smile fading away.

“I’m sorry, babe I’ll see you at home okay?” I say and he pulls me impossibly closer, stuffing his face back into my neck.

“Don’t go,” He practically whines and I run my hand through his hair reassuringly.

“You know I’d stay if I could,” I sigh and he tears from my neck in favor of looking me in the eyes.

“Come back home, I’ll take the rest of the day off and we could spend it together,” He pleads, the male awfully clingy despite his usual cold demeanor.

“Az, I can’t my boss—” I start.

“Who? Rhys?” He cuts me off and I frown up at him, then give him a dip of my head as a nod.

“Let me talk to him,” He urges. “I promise you’ll get the rest of the day, paid,” He says and I look at him pointedly, not believing him one bit.

“And how are you going to do that?” I retort.

“He owes me,” He shrugs.

“For what—” I start but he grabs my hand and pulls me towards the entrance of the building.

“C’mon, I want to be home already,” He says as I intertwine our hands.

Mrs. Levvy looks up through her glasses at the two of us with an arched brow. “You can sign her out, she’ll be leaving soon,” Azriel says, dragging me towards the elevators. I apologize for his behavior as the doors close on me but she only waves me off with a chuckle.

“Why are you so needy today?” I say, poking his abdomen as the lift takes us to the top floor.

“Can’t help it when you’re dressed like this,” He replies, arms slinging over my shoulders and hugging me from behind.

“So possessive,” I murmur as the doors slide open and I leave his grasp. I walk down the line of cubicles, heads turning as Azriel walks behind me with his hands stuffed into his pockets casually. “I’ll tell him you’re here,” I whisper in the quiet office, dialing on the phone but when I glance up at the brunette I spot him opening the door to Rhysand’s office. Panic rises in my chest and I pale, rushing to stop him.

I enter the room and wedge between Azriel’s frame and the door. Rhys looks at me expectantly. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know what he’s thinking,” I smack my hand against my boyfriend’s chest before gesturing him out of the office. My boss only chuckled.

“Relax, if you think this is the first time Azriel’s barged in on me you’re sorely mistaken,” Rhys says with a coy smile.

“Gather your things, baby,” Azriel says with an outmatched confidence. I stare up at him in bewilderment and he only jerks his head as a gesture to my desk and I glare in warning, silently telling him that I’ll kill him if he gets me fired.

Reluctantly, I leave the office and go back to my desk, the door closing behind me. Anticipation rolls into a mass of anxiety. To distract myself I do as Azriel said, collecting my items and putting them into my purse, slinging it over my shoulder, and by the time I was ready to leave Az had exited the office with a soft smile on his lips.

I look at him expectantly. “You ready?” He asks and my jaw nearly drops.

“Wait, how did you?” I say with creased brows, looking at the closed office door and then at him quizzically. He shrugs innocently.

“When you’ve known someone since you were eight years old it’s easy to convince them,” He explains and I narrow my eyes on him.

“You blackmailed him, didn’t you?” I accuse and a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“I did, yeah,” He grabs my hand and guides me back towards the elevators.

I smiled up at him amused, before halting in my steps when I heard my name called.

I look to the culprit, spotting Mathew with raised brows. “I assume you found plans?” The man asked and I feigned a frown.

“I did, I’m sorry maybe next time,” I tilt my head sympathetically, the way one might pity an animal. My boyfriend’s hands snake around my waist protectively and I nearly roll my eyes at his theatrics.

“Maybe,” Azriel restates, emphasizing the low chance of it.

“Right, next time,” Mathew nods, and the male behind me tugs at my waist, urging me along.

“Have a good rest of your day, Mat.” I give him a small wave.

“You too,” He nods and I pivot on my heel, Azriel glaring daggers at anyone who stared for a moment too long.

Once we were back in the elevator, alone, he dropped the menacing act in favor of his original clingy one. “So are you going to tell me what you blackmailed Rhys with?” I tease and his brows raise.

“I’m sorry, gorgeous, but there are some things I can’t speak of, even to you,” He sighs and I giggle, knowing it must be bad if he didn’t have it in himself to tell me. I dropped it, knowing I wouldn’t be able to get it out of him if I tried.

The doors opened and we both exited. “I need to sign out,” I say to Mrs. Levvy, approaching her desk. She waves her hand dismissively.

“I already did, dearie,” She says and my brows raise, looking to Azriel who only had a cocky smile on his face.

“Then have a good rest of your day I suppose,” I say, backing away towards the doors.

“You have fun you two,” She waves and I return it before Azriel has me outside.

When we get back to his bike he opens the hatch at the front, the compartment holding my helmet. He hands me the light pink item and I smile, putting the helmet over my head and securing it tightly, flicking down the visor.

“You’re so cute,” He admires.

“Shut up,” I say, my words muffled through the helmet and mount the bike.

“You’re not driving,” He looks at me pointedly and I grasp the handles, looking up at him cheekily.

“Why not?” I arch my back playfully and his eyes trace down the crescent shape of my body, then back to my covered eyes.

“No,” He declares before grabbing my waist and taking me off the bike, placing me back onto my feet as I pout up at him. He straddles the bike and puts his helmet on. I huff and get on behind him, my arms wrapping around his torso reflexively. “Ready, gorgeous?” He turns his head to look back at me.

I nod, pressing the side of my helmet to his back, squeezing around him tightly, beyond excited to be going home for the rest of the day instead of heading back to work.

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Azriel Taglist: @coolepowersthings @lovely-giggles @quiettuba @ilovewarner45 @judig92 @tothestarsandwhateverend @je-suis-prest-rachel @call-me-a-fool @brieflyclassymortal @cherryjain17 @stqrgirlies-blog @chelsiemp @nyxbranwenn @dnfhascorruptedme @summerandsalt @annamariereads16 @thisiskaylin @itsbonniebabe

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[vmlnrznotfound]

HEYYY BB if you’re requests are open how about dating hcs for nagi and/or sae 🤭🤭

sfw or nsfw idm 😳😳

DATING BLUE LOCK BOYS.

characters: nagi, sae(separate)

a/n: lumi my love! your wish is my command!

nagi seishiro

he has a habit of telling you about his dream first thing in the morning as if you're his dream journal. cute scenario: one time he saw you in a pretty adventurous dream he had and immediately took his phone to voice message you. "yeah...that happened...and what else um. yeah that happened too, but i don't remember...and then...and then nothing. i woke up,"

whether you're talking or walking together, he's simply lean in to capture your lips/cheeks in a quick yet lingering kiss. in short, he has a habit of stealing kisses when you least expect it, "i just felt like it."

at school where you would sit next to him, nagi would pull up your sleeve—a canvas awaiting. he'll doodle on your arm. and when you take your hand back, he'd simply pout.

sei doesn't dislike your friends, rather he envies them if you spend more time with them than him. after spotting you as you were talking with your friends in the hallway, he'd simply say your name softly and hug you from behind. your friends would laugh and wave you bye to leave you alone with your clingy boyfriend.

seishiro treasures the quiet moments you two share. words won't be necessary. his love language is simply physical touch and quality time.

despite his laid-back nature, seishiro enjoys teasing you. he'll lightly tug on your clothes or whisper something suggestive in your ear, just to see you blush. his favorite pastime is watching your reactions, finding them both adorable and enticing.

when sleeping together, sei is most affectionate when he's half-asleep. he loves those quiet, early morning moments when you snuggle into his embrace. he’ll murmur sweet, sleepy words, sometimes not fully aware of what he's saying, but always making you feel cherished and loved.

during quiet moments, sei likes to just watch you without saying anything. he’ll sit beside you, observing how you interact with the world. whether you’re focused on a book or chatting with friends, he finds comfort and affection in these silent observations.

asking you stuff out of the blue. they may be random or just some would you rather questions. "you're picking the second option? i would pick the first if i were you. we don't get along. we should break up...nah, don't leave me,"

itoshi sae

sae has a complex way of showing love—whether it’s through subtle actions like buying your favorite snacks or grand gestures like an apology filled with kisses. his approach to romance is a mix of practical and emotional, reflecting his deep feelings for you.

sae often surprises you with small, meaningful gifts that reflect his attention to your likes and interests. he pairs these with intentional moments of quality time, hence his love language [gift giving + quality time].

sae is protective of you, sometimes in ways that might seem over-the-top but are deeply affectionate. he may grumble and complain, but it's his way of showing care and ensuring you’re aware of how much you matter to him.

sae has another wild dream where a soccer match determines the fate of the universe, and you’re the only teammate. he wakes up still fuming about the game but finds comfort in your presence. as you help him get over his grumpiness, he playfully accuses you of being the cause of his dream’s chaos and showers you with affection. read that drabble here.

sae would prefer you doing his skincare. while you're sitting on top of the sink, sae standing closer between your legs and arms wrapped around your waist. the skincare can simply be applying moisturizer or a whole set of steps, he doesn't mind.

sae often shows his affection through small, subtle actions. he might leave you a cup of your favorite coffee on a chilly morning or send you a quick message to remind you of an inside joke, showing his care in understated ways. [inside jokes are rare!]

sae’s comfort is simple yet profound: a warm embrace and the gentle assurance, “i’m here, i’m here,” his presence a steady anchor in your storm.

after a fierce argument, sae leaves with his usual cool demeanor intact. when he returns first, it’s not out of vulnerability but with a calm resolve. he kisses you in the bed, apologizing just enough with his intimacy.

after that, he would love sensual baths with you. his apologies are never "sorry" but always "forgive me, please," and his confessions are never "i love you" but always "you mean everything to me,"

[artytaeh]

hello. hi! 🌷 do i have your attention now? nice. ♡

because let me tell you something, reader; if you were to date theodore nott, your spot— yours and theo's, the corner of hogwarts that belongs to you, where he doesn't take any other girl and you better not take any other boy, is the astronomy tower.

♡ : SMOKING UNDER THE STARS, as the smoke joins the fog and few clouds seen in the night sky, is a time of the day that theodore enthusiastically awaits— from the moment he wakes up, to the time he falls asleep, tolerating classes with the hope of night arriving at a faster pace. sometimes, theo even uses those classes to sleep; a slumber over the wooden surface of those desks, all for the sake of being able to be fully awake for a few more hours, later when he's with you.

initially, theodore feels somewhat guilty to indulge a new bad habit of yours; constantly fighting with his conscience and that selfishness of his, because theodore longs for the companionship— for a woman that embraces his whole being. not just the attractive part, not just the pleasant lust; to have someone accepting his problems that have those nasty, bad habits as a coping mechanism, a consequence.

when you share a cigarette with him, theodore doesn't know whether he finds it terribly attractive (the sight of your lipstick lingering on the cigarette, where he puts his lips too, an indirect kiss [how childish of him, to think that!]) or if theodore nott should melt in front of you.

a drag from that cigarette you share, is perceived as a gentle try to take a weight from his shoulders. someone willing to listen. to know, to show interest about what breaks his heart, even though theodore is a challenging person to get any kind of personal information from.

theo runs up those stairs as if the dark lord himself was chasing him— he runs with a huge grin on his face, like a bloody child in christmas' morning; however, theodore takes a deep breath, brushes his long fingers through his hair, regains his stoic posture; as if he had taken his sweet time getting there.

as if that hand of his doesn't twitch in excitement to open this damn door, that is keeping you and him at a room of distance.

and when you smile at him, waving with your lighter in hand, one that he has put on stickers and silly doodles for each smoking session together?

theodore nott accepts the fate of his broken heart; pieces melting like butter in a pan, mushing together with hope as glue, daring to slowly put the pieces back together— if someone is capable of mending theo's heart and belief of being a lost cause, it's you.

and all you had to do was listen and smile at him.

⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🪻 ’

♡ : STARGAZING WITH THEODORE NOTT is a must; an unofficial date of yours, even before you started dating. at first, blankets are brought to lay on top of them; because the night wasn't chilly yet. however, when winter approaches hogwarts with snowy days and cold nights, the chance to share a blanket isn't wasted by theo— who nonchalantly wraps his arm around your shoulders, bringing the blanket with him, so your backs and arms are warm with the soft, warm fabric. this nonchalance, this smooth movements of theodore; they're all a facade, because his mind races with prayers that you're not able to hear his heart beating so loudly inside his ribcage.

theodore used to think that winter is a bothersome season; having to wear more layers of clothes, waking up in the middle of the night from the cold breeze (blaise has this irritating habit of leaving windows open to ventilate the bedroom) or because he, unconsciously, kicked the sheets away only to wake up freezing cold.

now, winter is a prayer, is a pleading to the gods or whoever deity brings the snow, the cold, the fog, the rain, the cold wind: "Dio mio, per favore, rendilo freddo come l'Antartide, così posso coccolare la mia ragazza con una scusa!" (God of mine, please, make it as cold as Antarctica, so I can cuddle my girl with an excuse!)

he brings a blanket. why not two? you'd ask one fateful night; theo was thankful for his wit, for that quick tongue of his, because the excuse he found was believable enough.

apparently, mattheo riddle is easily cold; and impolite, too, since he steals some of theodore's rightful blankets to warm himself up.

huh, who'd say that about the dark lord's son. thankfully, hopefully, this white lie will never reach mattheo's ears.

⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🪻 ’

♡ : DEEP CONVERSATIONS ABOUT everything and anything, shouldn't be a surprise for you either. after all, despite his group of friends being constituted by a doberman willing to fight any moving student, a womanizer with a pretty face, mama's boy from the quidditch team and nepo baby gone wrong— theodore nott is an intelligent young man.

and truthfully, as much as theo adores his friends and having a laugh with them... nothing beats these conversations between you two. where theodore has asked you about your philosophy; what do you believe? in your perspective, deities exist? what happens after you die? how are your dreams like? where would you go, if you could go to anywhere in the world? after hogwarts, what will you do— he wants to know your idealistic and realistic plans!

the more he learns about you, the deeper he falls for you, he thinks.

even when you tell him about some silly fear of yours. despite that embarrassment moment that you retold him, making the two of you laugh and almost cough amidst the smoke. those little quirks, even things you'd be ashamed to tell anyone else, your deepest, most secret thoughts...

theodore nott loves them all.

his blue eyes, unfeeling and void of any happiness, soften at the sight of you. theo perceives you as the most perfect being in the world— his Dea.

Dea mia, he calls you in his own thoughts. theodore discovers that he admires your flaws, more than he ever tolerated anyone else's— qualities and good traits can be shared among many people.

but flaws? thoughts, ideologies, habits? that makes you, well, you.

that's what makes his Dea different from other girls of your house. that mole that you find silly, that insecurity that you wished to remove from your body, that habit of yours when you're nervous or when you have to lie— those are so charming to him.

it's charming because it's you, theodore admits to himself one day, when he's smoking alone, already missing you by his side. such a realization makes him sigh.

wasn't love the most terrifying emotion, for a boy who only knew pain and devastation?

⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🪻 ’

♡ : HOWEVER, YOU MUST KNOW THAT when something is wrong— be it a stressful day for theodore, a letter from his father, a wave of depression, a fight between you two; he'll be there. on the spot you share, that little secret of yours: the astronomy tower.

he'll be there; be it because he finds a shade of comfort to be there where you've spent time with him once, or because some silly part of him hopes that you'll notice his missing presence, that somehow, you'll read his thoughts and know that he needs you.

even if theodore is angry with you, he'll wait there. unconsciously, of course! i doubt that theo himself rationalizes this habit, of seeking refuge on the place that "belongs" to you and him, as a way to await for the moment where you'll find him, to talk things over.

even if he'll be smoking his lungs out of stress, out of anger, out of sadness, out of hope that maybe if he smokes enough, he'll drop dead with his sorrow.

depending on what he's feeling and the reason why he's there, waiting for you . . .

theo hugs you tightly. of course, such a thing requires a closer relationship with him; even as a friend, theodore will find comfort on you. to have your body inside his arms, to feel your warmth, your scent; suddenly, that hopelessness inside his heart, that void, is filled with love for you. theodore nott doesn't cry; it's weak to do so. what the eyes don't see, the heart doesn't feel— so if he buries his face on your shoulder and you feel your clothes getting wet from tears... well, that might be your imagination. for the sake of his sanity and peace, please, don't comment about it. just hug him back. theo doesn't feel the kindness of comfort ever since his mother died.

theo averts his gaze, taking a drag of his cigarette before opening his heart. this would be a consequence of a stressful day. usually where anger for himself and hatred towards his father subsides to melancholy. an anguished cry of his heart, where theo isn't sure if he's allowed to pity himself or to scream at the world for what he lacked, what he deserved to have during his childhood and teenage years. he'll take to you, eventually— maybe after a cigarette or two. because theodore knows that whatever you talk there, won't leave those four walls. that's how much he trusts you.

theo leans against the window frame, smoking, pretending as if he didn't see you entering the tower and walking towards him. letting you lead the conversation, introducing the topic of that fight between the two of you. as intelligent and witty as he is, theodore couldn't start a sincere conversation about feelings, honesty and vulnerability even if his life depends on it.

⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🪻 ’

BUT PLEASE, FOR THE SAKE OF EVERYTHING, don't bring another boy there. not to the astronomy tower— to yours and theo's secret place, a silent agreement between you two, that this is a spot, a moment, a deal that is special and exclusive to the other.

after all, before theo can feel sadness, anger will consume him like a vicious virus. fury boils on his blood, spreads through his veins, as jealousy burns on that aching (and fragile) heart of theodore nott's at the sight of his ragazza with someone else.

the silent threat of someone being on his rightful place— oh, that drives him insane.

so, like a child, like an immature and impulsive guy, theodore returns the favor: bringing another girl there. anyone, really; the first one that falls to his feet.

and he'll kiss her there, too. theo's lips show no mercy, roughly kissing that girl that he barely remembers the name, imagining that it's you on his lap— as if he's taking revenge on you for breaking his heart, diminishing the value that theo thought he had. out of spite, he'll bite that girl's lip; making it hurt, almost bleed, when his mind cruelly invades his thoughts with the image of you and that bastard smiling in the astronomy tower.

a place that should be reserved for him.

soon, theo regrets this. as awful as it sounds, he's not particularly worried about that girl's feelings— he's worried about yours. theodore panics at the idea of you finding out, as if he hadn't done this to get some sick sense of revenge, of having his feelings avenged in some kind of way.

and you betrayed this silent agreement first!

nevermind that. theo is terrified that if you find out he did this, then any chance he build up with you, with such effort and daydreams, is crushed by his stupid, impulsive hot-headed behavior of his.

theo genuinely despises the idea of having another woman by his side, on that window frame, touching his pack of cigarettes; lighting them up with a lighter that isn't yours. engage conversation with someone that isn't you, on those nights spent talking and smoking together.

it doesn't matter if you find out or not— theodore shows up at your door, with flowers on his hands; picked by himself, stolen from professor pomfrey's garden. his abandonment issues, the terror of the idea of being alone as he was before he had a glimpse of you, makes the prideful slytherin beg.

and he does. no more games. no more longing gazes that wonder if the feelings are mutual or not.

he wants to be yours. please, be mine. his blue eyes gaze into yours, seeking for the truth of your soul, pleading for a sign that you were meant to be. sii la mia ragazza, non riesco a respirare quando non sei vicino. soffocherò senza di te.

⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🪻 ’

the next time you enter the astronomy tower, you'd find that the place had a different tranquility to it. something like little lamps, with a blanket on the floor— facing the window, where the stars shine so bright, as if the universe required such a beautiful starry sky for you and theo only; nevermind the students who are already sleeping, exhausted from the day full of classes.

theo didn't have the time to buy you something; at his command, there were only food and snacks in the castle's kitchen, warm blankets, pillows and two willing best friends to help.

( while lorenzo kept giving suggestions to further increase the romance of this surprise date between the two of you, looking more excited about it than theo himself— well, mattheo riddle lends more than a hand, to make sure that he'd stop hearing such nonsenses about you. every. single. day. from the moment when theo wakes up sighing because of you, eats as he steals glances at your table, rambles about you and dares to avert each topic to your existence. mattheo might sympathize with you— but god, theo is so in love with you, that mattheo's eye starts twitching at the mention of your name. )

it's for the best if you don't make him wait; in those five minutes that he spent waiting for you, theo fixed the blanket to be an inch straighter. two minutes in, and theodore considers changing the position of the blanket and those snacks perfectly pilled up, his mind playing tricks that this blanket is crooked.

and he stresses. as if he'd lose the love of his life because he couldn't put a blanket on a perfect straight position. thirty seconds later, he's fixing the places he put the lamps; checking with an attentive eye if they're symmetrical.

maybe he should have brought a ruler.

because there's nothing else he can fix, theo's critical eye stares at the snacks. some he likes, most of them food that he knows you like.

however, theo is panicking. what if you're suddenly allergic to a food he brought?

does he know how to deal with a person having an allergic reaction?

thankfully, this paranoia spiraling on that genius mind of his reaches its end— the door opens, and you enter the astronomy tower; eyes shining at the sight of that familiar room, now decorated. beautifully decorated. the cherry on top is theodore nott standing there: smiling at you, looking somewhat shy, because theo never really put such an effort for someone.

never cared this much. never loved this much. never craved the approval, never needed the praise from someone of his age.

you spend hours there. if theo was nervous at first, such anxiety dissipates into thin air— the familiarity of being alone with you here, in the astronomy tower, calming his senses, subsiding such a silly nervousness with the happiness of being with you.

you definitely cuddle. and if you two fall asleep there, in each other's arms, probably holding hands, warm between blankets and pillows— well, that's a secret shared between you two.

morning arrives with the interruption of such peaceful slumber; the sunrise bringing too much light for you both. of course, theo walks you to your dorm, even to your room if you let him; saying goodbye with a tender, soft kiss that displays the vulnerability of his stolen heart.

heart that is on your hands. heart that remains with you, as he walks away to his own dorm, already missing you. your scent. your voice. your touch, your warmth.

and even though you'd have to wake up in a few hours for breakfast at the great hall— well, theo still misses you, anyways.

unable to sleep, theo spends those three hours looking at the ceiling. a silly smile on his face, that makes mattheo riddle groan at the sight of this.

god. theodore nott would NOT shut the fuck up for a whole month.

౨ৎ you know where to find me, ♡ ͡

and i know where to look . . .

🪻 ; . . . fandom : harry potter.

— by far, my weakest work. but it was written in fifteen minutes, so why not post it! as always, you're more than welcome to interact with me + send messages. tysm for the feedback!

the headers + gifs + icons aren't mine. credits to the respective creators ! 🌷

[sweetsweetjellybean]

Your crush on Eddie was better off a secret and a kiss that should never have happened leads you into a storm.

I wasn't happy with my first version of chapter 4. So I polished it up and added a little more dialog. Feel free to wait for the next chapter but if you'd like to read it, either as a refresher or for the very first time, please let me know what you think. XOXO-Jelly

Masterlist Listen to Fake Plastic Trees Here

What to expect: Second Chance Romance set in 2012 Chicago.  Eddie and Steve are in their 30s. Fem!Reader is given a pet name from each of the guys. No other name mentioned. No use of Y/N. No physical description. Reader does have a bit of personality, as I find it nearly impossible to keep her blank for such a long fic. You may find yourself at times making choices that you wouldn't normally make, but I hope you can put that aside and enjoy the ride. Sensitive Content. 18+ Mentions of DV. Smut Guaranteed happy ending. This is my love letter to Eddie Munson.

WC: 11646 beta'd by @superblysubpar

A sharp chill nips at your cheeks as gusts of autumn wind blow through the amber-leafed trees surrounding Hawkins High's parking lot. You pick at the splintered wood of the picnic table beneath you, etched with initials and scribbles. The anguished croon of Placebo plays through your headphones, drowning out the sounds of the start of another school day. Shifting the pile of books on your lap, you steal a glance at where Eddie stands with his back to you a few yards away.

Lately, it’s like your best friend has purchased real estate in your brain. Daydreams resulting in hearts doodled in the margins of your notebooks a little too close to where you printed his name. His dark curls spill over the collar of his worn denim vest, shadowing the frayed edges of the Dio patch he had sown on last week. He's deep in conversation with Dan Shelter, a senior in the same class that Eddie would have been in if he hadn’t missed so much time after his mother passed. They both turn and look at you at the same time.

Eddie’s eyes narrow as his brows pull tighter into a frown. You push one of your headphones back, and the noise of everyday chatter and car engines bursts into your reality. 

"You know your girlfriend is deeply weird, Munson," the spiky-haired jock says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his letterman jacket, not even trying to hide his distaste.

Girlfriend. You’ve both tried to stamp out that rumor—yet no matter who else you go out with, those sparks never last and pale in comparison to the steady flame you feel around Eddie. Would it really be so bad if it were true? The answer scares you more than you expect. 

"She’s not my girl," Eddie retorts with a swift shake of his head, his voice edged with that familiar bite of annoyance. His foot scuffs against the asphalt, the white Reebok stark against the black jeans clinging to his narrow hips. An impatient sigh pulls the fabric of his Hellfire Club t-shirt tighter across his chest, outlining his lean frame. "You in or out?" His fingers snap near Dan's face, the sunlight catching on his silver rings, "I've got other places to be, and you're not my only customer."

"Sure, whatever," Dan grumbles, extending a hand with a few crumpled bills.

Eddie accepts the cash with an easy smirk, teasing the dime bag between thumb and forefinger, letting it sway like a pendulum. Dan’s hand hovers while he glances around for prying eyes, but Eddie lets the bag drop to the ground before he can take it. 

"Oops," Eddie’s voice drips with feigned innocence before he pivots on his heel and walks away without a backward glance.

Dan’s face ignites with anger as he stoops for the bag, muttering a curse.

"Always a pleasure," Eddie calls over his shoulder, flashing a dismissive two-fingered salute. A gaggle of pink-cheeked girls from the sophomore class crosses his path, eyes trailing over him like he's their favorite song come to life.  

"Ladies." He extends an arm, waving them on, his voice as smooth as a melody. They flutter past with giggles and heated glances. Despite their whispers of 'freak' in the corridors, they all vie for a chance to climb into the back of his van when no one is looking – to be the subject of the rumors they'd later deny.

He never hides his interest when he likes a girl — everybody knows when Eddie Munson is into someone. But he’s never looked at you that way, never given you that smile meant for those he desires. And that’s something that has never bothered you. Now, it stirs something else — a green thorny vine wrapping around your insides. He’s just Eddie – your friend. The same old Eddie, you reaffirm, even as your heart whispers lies of a different tune.

Without missing a beat, he saunters over, the rhythmic clink of his chain wallet punctuating each step. He leaps onto the picnic table, landing beside you with a thud, sending vibrations through the timeworn wood. His eyes linger on the girl's retreating forms.

"You need to be careful, Eddie," you warn, tipping your chin toward where Dan is stalking off in a dark cloud of annoyance.

"Careful is my middle name, doll." He smiles a big, sly grin, dimples deepening, causing a flutter in your chest, an unexplained sensation that's become strangely frequent these days.

He nods at your leg, eyes dropping to your thigh. "What’s this?" His dark lashes make half-moon shadows on his cheek as his thumb brushes over the square field of bright white crosses covering the denim patch on your jeans.  A trail of tingles follows, unbidden and unwelcome. You disguise the shiver as a chill from the wind, even as you crave more of his touch.

"It’s called sashiko," you explain, hyper-aware of the warmth of his skin as the ghost of his touch lingers. "The art of visible mending." 

"Looks cool." His gaze meets yours, a little too intense and a little too long. Your fingers clutch your notebooks tighter, a shield against whatever this feeling is.

"Are you coming over after school?" Your voice is steadier than you feel.

"I’ll drop you off, but I’ve got to go back to the trailer after," Eddie replies, his eyes still holding yours in a silent conversation you can't quite interpret. "I’ve got stuff to do." Something in his tone suggests layers you're not ready to peel back. "Not your kind of stuff."

The house where Eddie grew up doesn't look the same anymore. Someone else has moved in – keeping the lawn perfect and fixing up all the broken things, erasing any traces of tragedy. The neighborhood has moved on, absolving themselves like they hadn’t just turned their back and let it happen. As if it wasn't their problem. Eddie's staying on the other side of town now with his Uncle Wayne in a tiny one-bedroom trailer. Wayne's heart is in the right place, even if he drinks too much, just like Eddie's dad did. But he's not bad, just... lost when it comes to dealing with an angry teen, and with him working nights, Eddie's on his own to figure out how to deal with it all. 

"I can keep you company?” You try to keep the offer casual despite the hump in your pulse.

He shakes his head, a shadow crossing his features. "Nah, I’ve got to stop at Rick's, then a run." There's a hardness in his eyes that wasn't there before.

You frown and look away, hiding your disappointment. "I don’t see what the big deal is," you argue, keeping your voice low, "We smoke together all the time."

"The big deal," he says, reaching out to lift your chin and forcing you to look at him. "Is that this is business, and I don’t want you involved. Alright?" His voice is firm, letting you know he won’t budge. "I’ll pick you up later," he promises. "Movie night. Just us."

The shrill ring of the bell is your cue to retreat, to put distance between you and these feelings threatening to upend everything. You nod at him, shoving your books into your bag. His gaze holds you for a heavy beat before breaking away. There's a shift in the air, a prelude to something you can't name, like the static before a storm. Eddie's last glance sears itself into your thoughts when you part ways at the door. 

As you make your way to class, those feelings nag at you like a forgotten lyric. You hug your arms, trying to squeeze out the persistent ache that spreads through your limbs. It's a tangible pain, this longing, like a hand squeezing around your heart, making it hard to breathe.

But you push it all down, guarding it like a secret. To lock it away in the confines of your ribcage, where it can't taint the one thing you value most. The friendship you've built is too important, too rare to risk on a silly crush that might only live in your head and fade with time. It’s a gamble you won’t take. You can't lose him. You won’t watch that light in his eyes dim for you, awkward silences replacing the laughter. Without him, you’d be alone.

Cold gray days give way to dark, inky nights. The stars and moon are veiled behind thick cotton clouds, stealing the light earlier as fall edges closer to winter. Winds gust, sending wet leaves sticking to the glass of your office windows as the bare fingers of the boxwoods planted around the brownstone scratch against the house in protest.

Lowering the lid of your laptop, the light in the room dims as the brightness is trapped between the two halves. Your arms stretch over your head, loosening the tension in your neck as you push away from your desk, drifting towards the sounds of life from the living room. Steve’s long legs are stretched out on the chaise end of the couch, a Bulls game on the TV, but his attention is stuck on the laptop resting on his thighs. 

“My eyes are going to fall out my head if I stare at that screen for any longer,” you declare, rounding the corner of the couch.

“Well, then, come stare at this screen instead.” He nods at the TV, extending his arm to make space for you to crawl onto the couch next to him and fit yourself into his side. 

“You’re so warm.” You nuzzle into his chest, and his lips touch the top of your head. “Don’t let me fall asleep.”

“I’ll wake you up when it’s time for bed. I still have a few hours of work left,” he sighs, his finger sliding down the trackpad as he scrolls through a document that never seems to end. 

“Is that for the launch?” Your eyes squint at the brightness of the screen. 

He groans at the ping of another incoming email while toggling between the many windows he has open. “Yeah, we're in the final stretch. The event team is trying to finalize the details. Maroon 5 and Fallout Boy are locked in to perform, but we’re still waiting to hear back from a few other acts and about a million other details that need ironing out.”

“It’s going to be a great night, baby. Everyone will be so impressed,” you assure, the arm you have draped across his stomach tightening, trying to impress your words into him. “Everything is going to go smoothly, you’ll see.”

He scoffs, doubt clouding his voice. “I wish I had your confidence. The server's capacity is still a question mark, and we're racing to fix streaming delays. Fuck!” The heels of his hands press into his eyes. “All I need is this thing to fail at the last minute, especially with Richard and my dad watching.” He imitates his father's stern tone, “Typical. He’s always been a fuck up. Chokes right before the buzzer.” Letting his hands drop, his eyes turn to you. “I should have listened to you and not invited my parents. I actually never thought they would agree to come. Now I’m running around trying to get things ready for them too.”

“Hey,” you take one of his hands between yours, “That’s not going to happen, Steve. If the servers have issues or if there's a lag, it's just a hiccup. You've got a team to handle that. You've put in the work, and you're brilliant at what you do. Your parents will see that. Everyone will.” 

He manages a smile, but it’s just a placation.

“What can I do to help?” You ask, “I’ll make sure we have some Pellegrino stocked and that cheese your parents like.”

There's a pause as he weighs his next words. “I’ve already called the housekeeper and told them to put fresh sheets in the guest room in case they decide to stay here, but I still need to make a reservation at the Four Seasons as a backup.”

Your jaw tightens, but you curb your annoyance at how John Harrington has everyone trained to cater to his high-maintenance whims, but this is for Steve’s peace of mind. “I’ll call first thing tomorrow. Consider it done. Anything else?”

He hesitates, a little apologetic. "My suit... the dry cleaner closes early tomorrow. I hate to ask, but I might not make it in time–"

“No problem. I’ll make time.”

His lips lift at the corners, and this time, his smile reaches his eyes. “I love you.” He leans forward, slotting his lip softly between yours. “I’ll put the ticket in your bag. Thanks for helping out, Ace.”

“I just have Eddie's interview tomorrow afternoon. I should have plenty of time." Standing, you tug at his hand. "Now, can we go to bed? Everything will look better after a good night's sleep.”

His mouth sets in a determined line as he shuts down his laptop, yielding to your pull as he rises. His hand finds a place on the small of your back, grounding you both as you climb the stairs together. 

Hitching the strap of your messenger bag higher on your shoulder, you kick at a loose stone on the sidewalk in front of the brick building. Car horns blare in the distance as traffic rolls by in the busy neighborhood.  The sun casts a glint off the steel CursedSound sign, its metal already weathering with a faint tinge of color. The heavy door is yanked open, its clank and whine making you jump. 

"Hi," Eddie greets you with a soft tone from the other side of the threshold.

"Hi," you return, shyness adding a tremble to your voice that shouldn’t be there. His fingers grip the edge of the door, and light flashes off the Rolex peeking out from under the cuff of the plaid flannel he wears over a fitted v-neck and jeans, the fabric snug against his defined shoulders. It’s still a novelty to see how his slim build has filled in over the years. Part of you still expects the boy you knew instead of this man in front of you. He looks you over in the same way, like he’s trying to decide if you’re really there. Maybe it’s the differences he sees in you, too, or does he still see the lonely girl he once knew? You shift your gaze down the street, your toes curling inside your Converse as warmth climbs up your neck. "Are you going to let me in?"

"I don't know." He pretends to ponder, a smile forming, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Where's your hard hat?"

Tilting your head to the side, you purse your lips until he breaks into a chuckle. He swings the door open wider, welcoming you in. You pass him with a shake of your head and continue down the hall. 

The lobby is in chaos.

"Sorry for the mess. The maid took the week off," he quips, watching you take in the space. 

The brown paper has been removed from the windows, allowing bright light to stream through the streaked and dirty glass. All the furniture has been pushed toward the center of the room, and ladders and paint cans litter the floor space. A large mural wrapping around the windows and front entrance has been outlined but not completed. In the same graffiti style as the one upstairs, this one displays more cityscapes with waves of the lake breaking at the forefront. Winged skulls and guitars blend with colorful swirls of clouds rising toward the ceiling. 

"It’s perfect," you tell him as your eyes follow the sweeping, colorful lines around the room. “Really beautiful.”

"Was that a compliment?" He asks, coming up behind you, his breath a warm whisper against your ear. "I thought it was a dump."

"Well, what can I say?” You spin around. “It’s growing on me." Your fingers move to your lips, concealing your smile as his deepens with your praise. 

"You look really good." His low voice bounces off the empty walls, "I mean…your, uh, outfit is nice." He waves his hand toward you before wiping it on the front of his jeans. 

Your brows raise as you glance down at the jeans and plain Lolla tee you put on this morning. None of the trendy outfits you usually wear for interviews seemed to fit right today. 

"Wow, that was smooth," he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I don’t know why I’m so nervous."

The fluttering in your stomach matches his energy.  “Maybe it’s because I’m going to get you to spill all your secrets and print them so the whole world can sit in judgment."

 A choked sound comes from his throat as his eyes widen into saucers.

Unable to keep a straight face, you giggle. "Relax, Eddie. I already told you I’m not writing some hit piece. You’ve got nothing to worry about. Besides," you shrug, "It’s only me." 

A sharp breath escapes as his shoulders lower. "Yeah, you’re right." He says, taking a step forward, his gaze locking with yours. "After all these years, it's still you.

"Eddie." His name comes out on a breathless sigh as you look away.  The shield of anger between you is heavy and battered, and you aren’t sure how much longer you can hold it up. He takes another step forward, and you clear your throat. "Why don’t you show me what else you’ve done?"

He rakes a hand through his curls, "Of course." His lips tighten into a flat line as he gestures toward the stairs. "After you." 

You lead the way to the second floor, where the smell of fresh paint permeates the air. A ladder leans against a half-painted wall, and orange extension cords crisscross the carpet in the hall, winding into the studios like work has been suddenly halted.

"Where is everyone?" You look around the abandoned space before stepping inside Studio A. It's come a long way since your last visit. The deck that holds the mixing board is ready, and the wiring is underway.

"I didn’t know how long you’d be here, so I told them to take the rest of the day off." His eyes follow the movements of your hand, brushing over knobs and sliders of the soundboard that's still sheathed in a protective layer of plastic. 

"You didn’t have to do that," you say, walking back out into the hall. 

"I didn’t think we needed the audience," he shrugs, walking along with you to the next room.

"I hope you don’t fall behind schedule." The walls of the small Studio B are covered with walnut slats to create an acoustic barrier while still keeping the room open, while the mixing room kept the original exposed brick.

"I’ve got time."

"Even so," you move to the window. The sun glints off the mirrored surface of the tall building across the street. "I’m sure you're eager to open. Put out that first album with the CursedSound logo in the liner notes."

"Of course I am." He comes to stand beside you, taking in the bustle of the city at midday. "It’s gonna be good to have nothin’ between me and the music. Let the artists be as creative as they want. Their management can deal with the corporate A&R people and leave me out of it."

"You never did like playing by the rules," you smile, catching his eyes in the reflection of the glass.

He turns his head, studying your profile. "Why should I?" he continues, his tone more determined, "The rules sure as hell never helped me. I'm gonna take my chances as I find them, even if I have to play a little dirty. I deserve happiness the same as the next guy."

"Of course you do." The world has done nothing but take from him. 

"What about you?" He asks as you return to the hall. "The rules seemed to be treating you well."

You raise your shoulders with a warm smile gracing your lips, one you have no intention of concealing. "I love my job. I like the city, and…I have Steve."

"You ending up with Steve Harrington," his voice curls around the name, a sneer you can almost see, "I gotta admit, I didn't see that one coming."

Stopping, you pivot to face him, crossing your arms over your chest. "He's a good guy, Eddie."

He sighs in a short, almost defeated breath. "I know he is, doll."

The unmarked door at the end of the hall provides a convenient distraction. "Where does this go?" You wonder with your hand closing over the knob.

"My apartment."

"You're living here?" You let it go like it burned you, swallowing the lump that has made a sudden appearance in your throat. 

"Sure. Can't beat the commute." He reaches around you, turning the doorknob to reveal another flight of stairs. "Do you want to go up?"

Flashes of that day are more vivid than they should be for memories two years old. The closet carpet is soft under your fingers as wet tears rain down on the glossy pages. Steve's voice gets closer as he calls out your name. A tightness grips your chest as you attempt to step back, momentarily forgetting that Eddie's right behind you. He supports you with a steadying hand on your hip as he faces you, seeking your reaction.

"No, that's okay. I think we're fine down here. I  wouldn't want to disturb anyone," you say, attempting to sound confident as you wipe your palms along the sides of your jeans.

Eddie scratches the side of his head as his brow wrinkles. "Who do you think it up there?" 

A hot breath passes your lips as you turn away, walking back down the hall toward Studio C. "I don’t know," you call over your shoulder, too chicken to face him. "Skyler Simmons. Rock royalty. Media darling. According to the magazines, your long-time girlfriend. The one you own a house with. Ring any bells? Isn’t she here with you?"

"My what? Skyler Simmons?" The deep belly laugh that follows has you spinning on your heels to face him.

"Wait. You’re serious?" His dimples make an appearance as his smile deepens. "Me and Skyler?" He can barely get her name out without chuckling. 

"The one you’re photographed with constantly."

His brows shoot up. "Keeping tabs on me?"

"Oh, don’t flatter yourself," you huff. "It came up in my research. Do you have a relationship with her or not?"

"I know her," he offers, shaking his head, "She’s a friend. We go to the same group." 

"What group? The one for annoying assholes." 

He pauses, his arms crossing over his chest. "The one for people with addiction in their families. That okay with you?" His voice escalates. The simmering anger in his eyes mirrors the intensity of his tone. "Skyler is gay. Her girlfriend's usually hanging around, too. Does that mean I’m fucking her too? Jesus."

Frigid water clashes with your hot blood as the fight drains away. Glancing at your feet, your voice diminishes to barely more than a whisper. "Why hasn't she come out in the media?"

"Maybe because it’s none of anybody's fucking business." His piercing gaze bores into you as the sharp words land like heavy stones in the sour pit in your stomach. "Hold on," he waves a hand in front of you, "Why do you even care?"

"I don’t," your voice falters as the dishonest answer leaves you without hesitation. Your eyes trace the patterns on the floor. "It just makes for a better story, is all." 

His hands run through his hair, fingers tugging on the ends as his tone softens. "Doll," he pauses, taking a deliberate step closer. His warm fingers cup your jaw, forcing your eyes to meet his. Those amber swirls, always seeing beyond your surface. "No one else is in my apartment, and no one else is gonna be."

His touch sends a searing heat spreading through your skin as the weight of your engagement ring pulls on your finger. "You’re a grown man, Eddie. Do whatever you want." Stepping back, his hand falls from your face as you turn and enter the studio.

"Fucking stubborn," the low murmur carries under his breath as he follows you inside.

"It looks like this one’s almost finished." You spin around the room, taking in the progress, before letting your bag slide down your shoulder and sinking onto the couch. 

Gray triangles of acoustic foam now adorn the live room walls in contrasting patterns, and layers of soft carpeting line the floor. The mixing room's mural stands completed, and the furniture has all been placed. 

His eyes move around the room, the pride evident on his face. "Just some wiring and the vocal booth, and I’ll be ready to start setting the levels."

"This one’s your favorite, I can tell," you shift, tucking a leg under you as he joins you on the couch. 

"Shhh," he hushes you, raising a finger to his lips. "The others will get jealous."

Rolling your eyes, you pull your phone from your bag, open the recording app, and set it between you both.

"How does this work?" Eddie's eyes are fixed on your phone while he rubs the back of his neck.

"Well, typically," your hand slips back into your bag to retrieve the neatly stapled pages of your notes, "I ask a question, and you provide the answer." You set the pages in your lap, drawing in a steadying breath. He’s sitting in front of you with a key to a locked door  – one that might be best left closed and forgotten, but it’s time to hear him out. 

"Eddie Munson interview, part one."

"Mr. Munson." You slip into your most professional tone. "Thank you for granting us an interview during this busy time. All of us at Stax are very excited to welcome CursedSound to Chicago."

He leans forward, his voice dropping slightly in timber as a much smoother, older Eddie begins to answer, "Thank you. I always have time for my favorite magazine." He winks.

Your lips press into a line as you tilt your head to the side, taking a quick glance at your packet. "In April 2003, Fever to Tell was released by a relatively new band and a completely unknown sound engineer. It went on to sell over a million copies, putting The Yeah Yeah Yeahs and the name Eddie Munson on industry minds. Fever to Tell is still, to date, one of my favorite albums. Were you aware of the significant impact this record would have when you were working on it?"

"At the time, we were really just hopeful, you know? We believed in the music we were creating. Karen and Nick, and Brian flew out from New York with their last dime, and we just got to work. Karen had this kind of raw, untamed energy, and I wanted to capture that, to add an edge to the album. It was this post-punk dance-floor-friendly racket that injected a much-needed dose of authenticity into a musical era that was getting stagnant."

"It's not an exaggeration to say that record helped shape the direction of indie and alternative rock for years to come. But what I want to ask is you before all that. What was the road like moving from Hawkins to having your dreams come true in LA? Was this the path you first set out on, or were there curves in the road?"

"I think 'curves' is a generous term for the absolute shit choices I was making for myself back then," he chuckles. "As you know, I left Hawkins about a year after I graduated. That town had already decided I would never be anything more than a freak– a loser with no future. If I had stayed, that's exactly what would have happened. I was trying to outrun my past without a clue what I wanted for my future. I had my own band back then, and sometimes, we’d open for slightly bigger bands that rolled through town. One of them was about to tour and invited me to go as their one and only roadie, and it felt like a free ticket out."

"Bananafish," you interject, swallowing and glancing down at your notes.

"Yeah, Bananafish. God, they sucked. Did you know they started as a Spin Doctors tribute band?"

"No," you laugh, "And that wasn’t a red flag for you?"

"It should have been. I wasn’t with them for long anyway. I think I lasted for three weeks before they cut me loose for getting in a fight with the drummer." He pauses, shaking his head. "I never knew when to shut my mouth. At that point, they had hooked up with another band called Everly. Slightly better, but not by much. I managed to hold it together for a few months. I was high or drunk most of the time, the only reason they kept me around was because they liked the way I babied their instruments."

"I remember,” you nod. “You’d spend half an hour polishing that Warlock every day after school." 

"Got to treat a lady right if you want her to sing for you," he says with a sly rise and fall of his brows, draping an arm over the back of the couch, shrinking the space between you.

"I was surprised that you left it behind." 

Eddie's expression turns more solemn. "There were a lot of things I wished I could’ve taken with me. But back then, I couldn’t even take care of myself."

"I don’t believe that," you swallow, the words sticking in your throat, "You could have tried."

"If I had tried, they would’ve ended up broken, and I’d‘ve lost them anyway." His fingers brush your shoulder, and you flinch. The leather creaks as you sit back against the arm of the couch, just out of reach. 

"Back to Everly. Why did you part ways?" 

"Oh, well, I fucked it up, of course. They had landed a spot at Bonnaroo, and I got so fucked up the night before I missed sound check. When I managed to pick myself up off the floor of the van, they handed me my duffel and a twenty and told me to pound sand." His eyes drift away, fixating on a point across the room. "I had barely been outside of Indiana, and there I was, stuck on some farm in Manchester, Tennessee, with no ride, no money, and no one to call. I was angry at the world and never felt more alone. People always talk about hitting rock bottom, I thought that was it, but now that I look back, it was more of a crossroads. If I had followed that darker path, there would have been no coming back. I was wandering around backstage where they park buses, hungover, maybe still half in the bag, and that’s when I met Max."

"Max Navarro?" You shuffle through the pages of your notes.

"Yeah. You know him?" Eddie’s eyes brighten as his gaze drops to the pages in your lap.

Your head turns from side to side. "You referred to him as a mentor in the Stones interview, but I couldn’t find much on him besides his name being listed as an audio engineer for several tours."

"That’s Max." Eddie breaks into a smile. "He’d tell you he likes flying under the radar. He was hanging out in front of the bus playing guitar with a couple of guys when I walked over like a cocky shit, picked one up, and started playing. He gave me something to smoke, and it wasn’t weed. All I know is that I woke up face-down in the dirt the next morning. I don’t know if he liked me or just felt bad for me, but he dragged me on the bus and had me start assisting him with the sound for Faith No More."

"Faith No More? Are you kidding me?" Your hands fall to your lap, slapping against your thighs, jostling the cushion enough for your phone to slide toward the back of the couch. "You had their poster in your room. If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you had a charmed life."

"Well, even the sun shines on a dog's ass some days," he laughs.

"So Max is who taught you about engineering?" 

"Max is who taught me about everything." His voice holds a reverence when he says his name.  "He kept an eye on me. Showed me how to work the boards.  He said he could see shadows following me around, so when we got to LA, he took me out to the desert, fed me some tea, and exercised my demons."

"Did it work?" Max wasn't the only one to see shadows looming. Consequences of decisions made by others. Expectations of a community that turned its back. They clung to him like an impenetrable fog. 

"I’m not sure. I felt lighter after, but it could have been the gallon of water I sweat out," he chuckles.  "After that, he cashed in a favor and got me an internship with a small studio in Laurel Canyon. I parked cars at night and lived in a room the size of a closet at Max’s house. I worked my ass off. I went to therapy–" 

"How very L.A. of you," you chime in.

"Don’t knock it until you try it." He looks at you from under raised brows. "It’s, uh, good to talk about things. Be open, you know?" 

"No thanks. I tried that once," you tell him pointedly, the tightness in your chest returning, "It didn’t work out for me."

Your arrow hit the target. Regret flashes in his eyes. "Doll–" 

"You decided to stay in L.A. and work at a studio instead of going back out on the road?"

"I like studio sessions. Makes me feel like I’m working towards something. I like completing an album and putting it out in the world. Some people thrive being out on tour, like Max. Not me," he scratches at his chin. "Too many ghosts on those old roads." 

Like the ones back in Hawkins that jolt you awake in the dead of night, murmuring past shames of a lovesick and foolish girl. Robin had seen it, and so had the entire town, but you aren’t her any longer. She lies resting beneath the frigid earth, her memory an unmarked grave. You've moved forward, and you’ll never go back, the city drowns out the remains of her cries.

"So you stayed and built your life there," you conclude, flipping through the pages of your notes, ticking off the points from your outline.

Eddie leans back, a contemplative look on his face. "I guess you could say that. I got my own place, made some great friends. Sundays are for Max's family and Chile relleno. The weather is always beautiful. But I really stayed for the music,” he shrugs. “Have you been? I could take you some time. Show you around. Max would love to meet you, the girl I won’t shut up about. I think you’d like it there."

The girl he hasn’t bothered to call in a decade. "To Los Angeles?" Your gaze rises from your notes to meet his nodding response. "I've been a few times. With Steve. Mostly for work."

"Oh yeah. Makes sense." His jaw tightens, and he averts his gaze. "Well, I guess the rest is history. Is that enough for your story?"

"Yeah." You reach for your phone, tapping the red square to stop the recording. "It will be a great opening piece for the series." You pick up your messenger, hauling its weight into your lap, tucking your notes inside. The afternoon is ending on a flat note. A stone sits on your tongue, holding back questions that you lack the courage to ask, but maybe it’s better this way.

Eddie sits up suddenly, snapping his fingers. "Speaking of history, I want to show you something." He stands up, looking towards the door and back at you, "Um.. wait here, okay? I’ll just be a minute." 

"Okay-"

He holds up flat palms. "Don’t go anywhere." His eyes close as he winces, " I mean, you can wander around if you want. Just don’t leave."

"Eddie-" 

"I’ll be back." He holds up one finger as he exits the room. 

With a sigh, you push up from your thighs, rising to your feet, walking through to the live room where a drum kit stands at the ready. The snare looks a little worn, and the symbols have lost their shine. Your nails tap the high hat, and you smile at the shimmering sound.

"What am I doing?" You whisper, spinning the gold band on your finger.

The sound of the floor creaking echoes through the hall.  Eddie enters the room with the large box he's carrying obscuring his upper half.  His name written in Wayne's shaky handwriting, peeking out from underneath his fingers.

"What's all this?" You ask as he sets down the box with a heave in the center of the room and sinks to his knees, hovering over the taped flaps.

"I have no idea," he grins mischievously. "Wayne gave it to me when I stopped by last week and told him I would see you. But you know him, he never throws stuff out. It could be anything." His hand smoothes over the top as he raises a brow. "Wanna find out?"

Your hands slide over your jean-covered thighs before your feet carry you forward. "Mrs. Click better not be in there." 

His head tips back with laughter. "I make no promises," he jokes while you take a seat on the floor on the side of the box.  

His mouth quirks up, watching you get comfortable. With a fluid motion, he leans and grabs a box cutter beside the soundboard. His shirt lifts slightly, offering a glimpse of hair trailing down his belly and the sculpted muscle beside his hips. His tongue lightly grazes his upper lip as he expertly flicks the knife open, his jeans snug on the contours of his strong thighs. Exhaling slowly, you avert your eyes, scanning the room instead as you wait for him to slice the tape. 

"Score!" He pulls out the ragged-edged sheet that was folded and tucked into the top of the box. "Corroded Coffin," he reads aloud the words scrawled across it with something resembling shoe polish.

"Oh no," you laugh, your head turning side to side as you rock in your seat. 

"Hey. This is rare band memorabilia. It’s probably worth money," he defends, holding it up proudly. 

"Yeah, to the guy you have to pay to haul it away," you giggle.

"Alright, Alright," he folds it up, the smile never leaving his face as he reaches into the box. "These are yours." He pulls out a stack of comic books and hands them to you.

"Still in good shape." You thumb through the copies of Tank Girl and Witchblade.

"My campaigns." He pulls out a pile of notebooks and sets them aside before reaching back in. "Some CDs." He comes out with a hand wrapped around a stack of jewel cases, the one on top catching your eye. 

"Hey, that’s my Cranberries Cd!" Your fingers dig into the carpet as you tip forward, yanking it from his hand. "I looked for this everywhere. I knew you took it, you thief."

"I don’t know how that got there," he scratches his head, "You must have left in the van."

"Nice try, Munson." your eyes narrow, "I checked there." You lean over the box, poking a finger into his chest, "I knew you had a crush on Dolores."

"You got me. It was the accent," he admits with a grin full of dimples, his hand closing around your finger. 

"I’m keeping it." You drop back into your seat and pick up the case to examine the disc.

"Holy shit."

You raise your head to meet his wide chocolate eyes, a look of sheer delight written across his face. "Close your eyes," he instructs, pulling back the flaps of the box, hiding whatever he's found.

"Mrs. Click?" You set the CD on top of the comics.

"Better," he says excitedly, waving a hand toward your face. “Come on. Close your eyes."

"Fine." You leave one eye open, folding your hands in your lap.

"No peeking." He wags a finger.

Your lips purse as you close your other lid, waiting for the big reveal. Plastic clanks against something heavy, followed by the rustle of cardboard.

"Okay. Open."

"Daisy!" Your hands fly to your mouth before you reach out with wiggling fingers.

He winces as he hands over the two-foot garden gnome. "How can you call something so ugly a pretty name like that?"

Taking the heavy lawn ornament in both hands, you gaze down at her droopy hat and too-large ears, which stick straight out beside her bulging eyes and porcine nose. Her rubbery lips are pulled back in a smile, showing off her buck teeth and flowery dress that barely conceals her body. 

"She's beautiful." You cradle her in your arms. "Besides, you're the one who stole her."

"You’re the one who dared me to," he scoffs. 

Your cheeks already ache with an unrestrained smile as the memories from that night surface. "I didn’t think you were going to wake up the whole neighborhood crashing into the bushes in Mr. Lawson’s yard." 

"I was drunk," he defends, his face turning red.

"You tripped over your feet and ripped your pants," you gasp for air, trying to get the words out with your laughter, "You had on those Garfield boxers with the hearts."

"Of course, you remember that." His laughter joins yours, easy and familiar. "You're the one that woke up the neighbors, making the van backfire."

"It was the first time I drove, and I didn’t have a license." You clutch Daisy tightly to your chest as you try to catch your breath. "Mr. Larson came out in his bathrobe, screaming about shooting you in the ass."

Eddie shakes his head as you laugh at his expense. "He almost caught us when you stalled out. All for that hideous thing."

"Shh," you cover her ears with your hands. "You can’t get rid of her."

"Never," he agrees, reaching out for her. "I’ll find her place of honor around here somewhere."

"Put her on your nightstand," you suggest, handing her over. 

"Ugh," he says, setting her aside, "I’ll have nightmares."

You burst into laughter once more, and his eyes ignite. He smiles like he’s savoring every sound, like your happiness is a hard-earned treasure he's been longing for. 

The shards of the past press against the scar tissue encasing your heart as if struggling to free themselves and reassemble in the present. Your hand finds its way to your chest, pressing gently on the tender center, trying to quell the ache and remain in this moment—with him.

"What else? What else?" You clap your hands, bouncing in your spot. 

"Okay, okay," he gives in, happy to indulge you. "Um, a pack of crayons, a monopoly piece." He places them aside. "Thanks, Wayne. Could have done without that. Looks like some clothes. Oh, this is yours." He tosses a ball of red fabric at you, and you catch it with both hands before he continues to search through the box.

"Is this what I think it is?" His voice brims with excitement as he pulls a rectangular tin from the box. He shakes it, and a sharp sound follows. "Yes." His tongue sticks out from the corner of his mouth as he pries off the lid. 

His voice fades into the background as your focus turns to what you're holding. The fabric of your Musicland vest unfurls as you hold it out in front of you, the gold name tag still pinned to the front catching the light. A heavy sensation settles in your stomach, tightening and cramping as a sick, painful feeling creeps in and spreads — nausea churns as each inhale becomes battle. 

There’s a scrape of metal as the lid pops off. "Polaroids," Eddie declares, his attention lost to the thrill of his find as he flips through the stack of photographs.

Your heart races as the room seems to shrink. "Stop it," you whisper, your voice quivering, your trembling hands twisting the vest as if folding it small enough can make the pain disappear.

"They’re pretty faded, though," he goes on, unaware. 

"I said, that's enough!" The balled-up vest flies from your hands, landing back in the box. Adrenaline surges through your veins as you push yourself up on unsteady legs. "I need to leave."

Eddie's laughter dies in his throat as he looks up, the joy in his eyes replaced by confusion. "Wait a minute." He gets to his feet and follows you. The small pile you made topples over, forgotten as you pick up your bag from the couch. "What just happened?" He moves in front of you, blocking your path. "I thought we were having fun."

"Fun?" The word is a shard of ice. Without hesitation, you sling your bag over your shoulder and maneuver past him towards the door.

“Just hold on a minute.” He blocks your path again, hands up, eyes searching yours for answers. “Tell me what's going on.”

"What do you want?" The words slice the air, eyes locked, a bare blade of anger.

"I wanted to-" His eyes flick toward the abandoned box in the center of the room.

"No." Your head shakes, "Why are you here? Now?  After all this time? What do you want from me?"

"I just wanted to see you." His arms cross over his chest as his voice turns softer. "I missed my friend."

"Your friend," sarcasm drips from your words as you quirk a brow, "So you show up here with a box of crap and a ‘hey doll’,” your voice lowers to mock him, "And I’m supposed to what? Forget about everything that happened and hand you a clean slate. Drop everything in my life to follow you around like a puppy because you feel like paying me some attention?"

"That’s not…I’m not asking for that." His hand runs through his curls, frustration building in his tone. 

"I'm not going to sit here with you wandering down memory lane and watch you pretend like you cared." Your eyes sting, but tears won't fall. You've shed your last one for him long ago. "Like any of it mattered."

"No one's pretending here, doll." He steps closer, his hands falling to his side, fingers rubbing at the seam of his jeans. "Of course, it mattered—all of it."

Your bag falls from your shoulder with a resounding thud, its weight matching your resolve as you push your hand against his chest. "I don't believe that for a second. If it mattered, you never could have done what you did."

"Done what?"

"Left me!" Your hand lands flat across your heart. "Without a goodbye, just some shitty mixtape full of songs that I can't listen to without my heart breaking over and over."

"You're right, okay." His voice rises to match your volume, his fingers closing around your biceps. "I was a fucking coward, and I ran. I couldn't see that look on your face again, the one you had when I told you I was leaving. I should’ve said goodbye, but I knew you'd try to convince me to stay, and that was never going to happen. I'm sorry I hurt you, but I can't be sorry I left."

"Hurt me?" You push his hands away, taking a step back to control the cracking in your voice. "You didn't just hurt me, Eddie. You destroyed me."

He swallows, looking away. "You were better off."

Fresh anger surges, along with the strong desire to escape – to leave this dead and buried, maybe for another decade until the hurt isn’t so strong. 

"See, that right there is why I'll never believe you," you snap, pointing an accusatory finger his way as you step around him, your hand closing around the doorknob. But at the last moment,  you turn, wanting him to hear it. At least once.

"I didn't quit Musicland. I got fired. I was a mess after you left. I cried for days, but I clung to this pathetic hope that you’d call to explain everything. To say it wasn't the end for us. You wouldn’t just throw me away, right? Not after everything we had been through together. I wouldn't leave my room, not even to eat. I was so afraid that the second I left, the phone would ring."

There's regret in his eyes as he steps forward, getting closer until he can touch you again, one hand gently gliding up your arm.

"But that call never came, did it, Eddie? Not one. And every day that passed, I died a little. But then I wasn't sad anymore. All those tears, they turned to hate," you say coldly, locking your gaze with his. "I hated you. I hated every song that came on the radio, reminding me of you. I hated Hawkins and everyone in it. But most of all, I hated myself for trusting you. For believing that you ever cared about me. That I wasn’t alone. That's what you did to me, Eddie.”

“You made me hate myself."

"I’m so sorry, doll," his words barely crest the silence as his gentle hand cradles your jaw. “There’s so much I want to explain to you.”

His touch is hot, but inside you, a coldness lingers–inside your stone. "You kissed me. And then you left me the next day. You knew how I felt." 

"I know. I know. I’m sorry." He steps closer, trying to pull your rigid form into his arms, lips brushing your temple. "You don’t even know how much. I’ll spend the rest of my life apologizing. Trying to make it up to you. But you’re wrong. It all mattered. I did care. That kiss..it’s the reason…" He pulls back and looks into your eyes, "You knew me, you always did, but there were things I couldn’t tell you. Things I couldn’t admit even to myself. I was scared and angry all the time."

Your head shakes as you swallow hard. "You're not even real!" You shout in his face, your fingers clutching the doorknob behind you. Spinning, you tug hard, but his hand slams against the door above your head, keeping it shut. 

"Stop, doll," he pleads. “Let me explain,” but the push-pull intensifies. You're no match for his strength. "Stop it!" he yells. His hand pushes on your shoulder, turning you to face him. Anger flashes in his eyes, and his cheeks flush.

"I made you up.”

“No.”

“The boy I knew could never have done that. He could never have hurt me like that." Your shoulder jerks, breaking his hold as you attempt to turn away again.

His fingers wrap around the side of your neck, keeping you in place. "That boy could never have given you what you wanted. He wouldn’t have had the first clue how to handle you."

"Is that why you’re back?" You ask, still defiant even as his thumb presses into your throat, tipping your head to meet his gaze. "Dragging this all up again, ruining my life? Because you do?" 

"Damn right, I do." 

His words are a gravelly assertion, barely escaping before his mouth descends toward yours. For a heartbeat, the world pauses until your mouths finally meet — urgent and fierce. You part your lips eagerly, tongues finding their way together in a hungry and unapologetic dance. The firm pressure of his mouth moving in sync with yours is a spark, igniting a fire that seems to spread with each touch. The scent of clove and cedar leaves you lightheaded as the flames lick through your body. The scruff on his cheek is a rasp against your skin, a roughness contrasting with the smoothness of his kiss. He tastes like cinnamon and a hint of coffee. This kiss is filled with years of longing, swelling and crashing like an orchestra's finale.

Minutes slip away, yet your greedy mouths remain desperate. The room falls into a hushed stillness, save for the sharp intakes of breath and the sensuous wet slide of lips. The kisses seem endless, broken only by fleeting gasps for air, compelling you to pull each other closer, savoring every taste. Your fingers tangle in the soft waves at the nape of his neck, evoking a low, guttural groan that mingles with your shared breaths when you tug. His hands trace the curves of your body, touching every inch as they follow a path beyond your hips and ass, seizing the back of your thighs. With a firm grasp, he lifts you, pressing you against the unyielding door. You gasp as he positions you just how he wants — aligning himself hot and hard against your center. 

"Fuck," he growls against your lips as his hips roll, igniting fireworks through your body. Your eyes flutter shut, and a kaleidoscope of colors burst in the darkness.

He nips at the plush of your bottom lip, teeth grazing in a tender claim, a muted buzz begins in your bag—a sharp, insistent sting—that yanks you from the haze back into the real world. His eyes remain closed when you pull away. He leans closer, chasing your mouth, but the moment is already shattered. 

Your stomach plummets as the harsh reality sets in. His kiss now tastes like the ash of betrayal. The distressed whimper escaping your throat finally has him looking at you, shock written clearly across his features. Slowly, he releases you, your body sliding against his until your feet meet the floor. He takes a step back, hesitating, swallowing, "Doll —"

"No." You shake your head, your hands covering your mouth. The gold band on your fourth finger is a cool scorch against your swollen lips. "I have to go." You spring into motion, rushing to gather your bag.

"Stay, and we can talk about this," he implores, moving one hand to his hip while the other rakes through his hair. 

"Please don’t," you plead. "Don’t ask me for anything else." You swing the strap over your shoulder. "I just ch—" But the word stays stuck in your throat, as your eyes swim with tears.

His face falls, "It's not your fault, okay? I kissed you."

"Eddie—"

"You didn't do anything wrong. It was me," he insists, frustration in his voice as you scrub your face with your hands. "I don't want you driving when you're upset."

"I'm sorry," you say with an aching heart, pushing past him and closing the door behind you.

The sidewalk blurs under your feet as you race to your car. Fat raindrops splatter against the concrete like a spray of gunfire, each one a cold, wet slap against your skin. The sky chooses this moment to crack open, unleashing a torrent that feels personal. Your car comes into view, a bright orange ticket flapping under the wiper. Perfect. Just perfect.

With hands slick from the rain, you fumble with your keys before throwing yourself into the driver’s seat. Snatching the ticket from under the wiper as you go and crumpling it into your fist, stuffing it into the glovebox to be dealt with later. The downpour drums on the roof, enclosing you in a watery cocoon as you search through your bag for your phone. A missed call from Steve and a text reminding you about the dry cleaning. You spill the contents of your messenger onto the passenger seat, pens and lip gloss tumbling into the footwell. "Shit!" The word is a half-sob as you clutch the receipt marked with today's hours in unforgiving black ink.

Glancing at the clock on your dash, it hits you with the subtlety of a wrecking ball– six minutes until closing. It might as well be in another time zone, given the snarled rush hour traffic and the river that the streets have become.  Your car roars to life, and you pull out onto the roadway, tires hissing on wet asphalt, windshield wipers barely keeping up with the deluge. Your skin still sings with Eddie’s touch, but it's the burgeoning storm of words—cheater, adulterer, betrayer—mixed with the soft hazel of Steve’s disappointed eyes that tattoo themselves across your conscience. This is the unforgivable sin, and you can't undo it, but you'll be damned if you don't at least try.

You're double-parked now, hazards blinking a frantic rhythm. The 'CLOSED' sign on the dry cleaner's door mocks you as you rattle the unrelenting metal handle. "Please, please, please," you whisper, pounding on the uncaring glass, your unheard pleas bouncing off the empty shadows within. A car horn cuts through the rain —"What the fuck, lady?" The other driver yells, uncaring of your predicament.

"I'm moving, I'm moving!" The words are a rain-soaked shout as you slosh back to your car, drenched and defeated.

Another angry horn sounds off as you pull into traffic, carelessly cutting off a Yellow Cab in your haste. Rainwater drips from your hair, soaking your shirt. Even with the heater set to blast, it does little against the chill that has settled deep in your bones. Down the road, a bright blue sign glows like a beacon, and you jerk the steering wheel, the car fishtailing as you skid into the lot. 

The pharmacy's fluorescent lights are too bright and too sterile as you grab a small bottle of mouthwash off the shelf in the travel section and wait in line to pay, the store's generic electronic music grating against your already frayed nerves. Outside, you stand on the corner, swishing and spitting the minty liquid onto the sidewalk, repeating the process, trying to cleanse more than just your mouth. A passerby wrinkles their nose at you from under their umbrella. "This is Chicago! You've seen worse!" You snap, arms thrown up in exasperation while the rain and your regrets mingle on the cold pavement.

With pruney fingers, you pull the cardigan you had left at Stax off the back of your office chair. Shrugging it on, the material dampens from your wet t-shirt but offers a little warmth. Your phone buzzes as you settle at your desk — five missed calls from Eddie and four texts. The roar of the heavy rain and being buried deep in your bag had muffled its sound, not that you would have picked up. 

Eddie: Answer the phone, doll!

Eddie: Look, I need to know that you’re okay.

Eddie: I swear to Christ if you don’t pick up.

Eddie: Okay, have it your way. I’m driving to your place.

What? No! Your thumb presses the call button, and it rings twice before it connects. There’s no hello, just the slight hum of an engine and the rain pelting glass. 

“I’m okay,” you breathe into your phone, “I didn’t go home. I’m at my office.”

Your heart drums in your ears with each second of silence. Your eyes flutter shut, relief flooding you when he finally responds. An exhale loosens the tension in your chest.  His voice resonates in a dark rumble through the phone, "We need to talk."

“I….I know,” your voice wavers as you wipe your nose on the back of your hand. “I just need a minute here, Ed. Can you give me some time?” 

The rhythmic blink of the turn signal punctuates his heavy sigh. “Yeah. Alright. But doll,” he pauses as the sound of water splashing against his vehicle mingles with the whoosh of passing traffic, “You’re not running away from this. And trust me, the irony of that statement isn’t lost on me. Think about what I said, okay? I meant it all.”

With a tight throat, you whisper, "I have to go," and disconnect the call. 

Placing your phone on the desk, you dab the raindrops off your face with a tissue. The quiet of the office wraps around you, its half-dark corners and the soft glow from the monitors creates a place for you to breathe and be still. The raging storm and the ticking wall clock echoing in the solitude do little to distract you from thoughts you’re not ready to face. With a deep breath, you lift the lid of your laptop, seeking refuge in the normalcy of work as you coax the screen back to life.

The song erupts from the speaker on the edge of your desk, a jolt of sound shattering the silence like an accusation. You grab it with fumbling fingers, scrambling to press the off button. Covering your face with your hands, you let out a sound that is equal parts sob and hysterical laughter, wondering how you ended up in this situation. With your elbows pressed against the wooden top, you bury your face in your hands.

“What are you doing here, kid?” The gruff voice cuts through your misery.

"Jesus Christ, Hopper," you gasp, clutching at your chest, "You scared the hell out of me."

"Guess we're even since Mr. Brightside nearly sent me into cardiac arrest." Hopper towers over you, standing beside your desk with his hands buried in his pockets. 

“You listen to The Killers?” You ask, surprised while he drags a chair from the next desk, its wheels screeching faintly against the concrete floor.

“You kids really think Jim Croce is the only thing on my playlist?” A chuckle escapes him as he eases into the chair beside you, “Now, tell me what’s wrong.”

You muster a puzzled look, shaking your head in feigned denial.

“Don’t bullshit me, kid. I don’t have much time. I’m meeting Joyce for dinner at that Italian place on Taylor Street. Have I told you about it? I’ve been dreaming about the breadsticks. Enzo puts some spice on ‘em, I don’t know what it is, but it’s good. You dip it in olive oil,” he groans, “Forget about it. Those things knock your socks off, and I’m wavering on the main course between—”

“I need you to take me off the studio opening,” you interrupt, folding your arms across your chest.

“We’ve been over this. Unless you have some good reason–”

“Eddie kissed me,” the confession slips out, eyes widening in shock at your admission, hands flying to cover your mouth.

His brows rocket upwards, then draw together, his gaze sharpening, voice dipping into a low, protective timbre, “What do you mean he kissed you?” 

“No,” you clarify, squeezing your eyes shut and pressing an elbow against the desk, massaging your temple to soothe the forming headache. “I kissed him. We kissed. It was mutual.”

Hopper reclines, the chair creaking under his weight, his gaze level and unreadable. “I’m disappointed in you, kid. I never thought I’d be having a conversation like this with you.”

“I know. I know. Steve…” you trail off, eyes drifting to the photo of Steve on your desk. 

Hopper leans in, his hand cutting through the air. “I don’t give a fuck about Harrington,” each word gains in volume, “This is about you and everything you’ve worked for. It’s 2012. That kind of nonsense ends careers. Do you know what can happen if he complains?”

Your eyes roll. “He’s not going to complain, Hop.”

“You don’t know that,” he counters, his head shaking off your naivety. “These things like this have a way of coming out. That was an amateur move. Where is your professionalism? What were you thinking?”

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, lowering your eyes. “We have more of a history than I let on.”

“Well, stop the presses. I couldn’t have figured that one out.” His voice lowers in resignment, “Maybe this is my fault–”

“No–” 

Your protest is swift, but he plows right over you, “I’ve babied you. Maybe it’s because you’re my favorite or because you were just a kid when you started. I let you get away with too much over the years because you’re a damn good writer. But that stops now, I’m going to treat you like all the rest of the idiots in this place.” His hand waves around the room before pointing right at you. “You’re going back to that studio, and you’re going to keep your dick in your pants and get those interviews done. If you want to play kissy face, you do it on your own time. You got me?”

Your mouth drops open, disbelief palpable. “You're still going to make me finish?”

“Damm, right I am,” Hopper affirms, not missing a beat. "If I hand your work off, it raises questions. Big, messy questions. What do I tell downtown when they ask why the piece was reassigned? Unless you’re ready to come clean to Harrington?” 

Your lip goes between your teeth as your head shakes.

“I thought so.” Hopper leans back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. "This could be both our necks," he mutters, concern filling his voice.

Your head shakes, but your determination is clear. "It won't."

“It better not. I don’t want to hear another word about it until that last story is on my desk. Are we clear?”

Your jaw clenches, the reality of the situation hitting hard. "Crystal."

Hopper's gaze remains fixed on you, ensuring his point has been made. "Good," he says, his voice softening, "Now go on, get out of here. Deal with whatever mess you've got going on. Just make sure it's sorted by Monday."

Your key slides into the lock and you turn it slowly, the tumblers falling into place with a series of soft clicks. You pause, leaning your forehead against the chill of the metal door, grappling with a rising queasiness that sours your stomach. 

A wave of home's warmth engulfs you, mingled with the earthy aroma of herbs and roasting potatoes. The vibrant strains of Queen accompany Steve's honeyed tones floating down the hall from the kitchen.

"Welcome home, ace. I was beginning to wonder where you were," his voice, laced with a touch of concern, greets you, “Busy day? Did you write me a Pulitzer?”

Your messenger bag slides from your shoulder, giving into gravity with a loud smack against the hardwood.

His voice grows nearer, warmer as he moves down the hall, the floor lightly creaking with each footfall. “I swung by the Athenian Room, grabbed us Chicken Kalamata, and I have a bottle of Chardonnay breathing.”

Your favorite. Your heart sinks further, receding behind your ribcage, unworthy of his care or devotion.

He stops short when he rounds the corner into the foyer, taking you in, his eyes reflecting your disheveled state. 

"I didn’t get the dry cleaning," you admit, struggling to keep your voice steady. "I was... too late."

For a heartbeat, he's silent, but his eyes remain tender. “Hey, that's alright, ace. I'll just skip the gym in the morning and swing by the cleaners before work. Are you okay?”

Traces of the day find a path down your cheeks as you sniffle and draw the cardigan tighter around yourself. "I got caught in the storm." 

“Did you forget your coat?” He draws closer as you give a small nod. His hands slide up your biceps, continuing on to wrap around you. “You're frozen.” He uses his thumb to lift your chin. “How about a hot shower, yeah? I'll keep dinner warm. You'll feel better after you eat.” His mouth begins to near yours, but you turn your face away. 

"I think I'm coming down with something," you manage, your lies teetering atop your mounting guilt. "My throat is sore."

Concern etches his features, his brows knitting together as he adjusts, pressing his lips to your forehead. “You don't feel hot.”

Pulling away, you bury your face into his shoulder. "I think I'll just shower and go to bed." 

“If that's what you want,” he presses a kiss to the crown of your head, though his tone is threaded with disappointment. “Go on up. I'll bring you some water and a couple of Tylenol.”

“Thanks, Steve,” you step away with a weight in your chest. “I'm really sorry.” 

“Don't worry about it.” He waves off your apology, his smile faint but sincere. His arms fold over his chest as he turns back toward the kitchen. 

As you climb the stairs, the music snaps off, replaced with the distant roar of a sports game, the announcers' voices carrying up the stairwell. 

The embrace of the hot shower strips away the cold clinging to your skin, but it cannot wash away the regret. Sliding down the tiles, you draw your knees close while your tears fall, mixing with the stream of water spiraling towards the drain. 

Your life is a song made up of the choices you've made, each one a different note that sounded so sure at the time, but now the harmony seems slightly off-key. The steam rises around you like a specter. It's the quiet between the chords. And you're there, just listening, trying to figure out if there's a note you'd change or if every single one was necessary. As you nestle into bed, sleep tugging like an insistent tide amidst the drift into dreams, one truth resonates clear– the music plays on.

Song 5 coming this week! Follow @tornupdates for notifications

Thanks for indulging me with this new version. I wanted to get it right. This next chapter is going to be Steve's launch party and will explore the fallout from that kiss. I love each and every one of you and I hope Torn!Eddie makes an appearance in your sweetest of dreams. -Jelly

[hauntingkiki]

Home

Venture x Reader

OverWatch

2nd POV

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

"you're coming home saturday, yeah?" you asked your partner over the phone, taking your calendar that was hung up on your fridge. you placed it on the island, pulling your phone away from your left ear and switching it over to your right, your elbows propped up on the counter as you leaned on it, grabbing a nearby pencil and twirling it around in your fingers.

a sigh escaped the others lips, a faint 'i'm telling her right now.' makes its way through the speaker of the phone. "no...no, no, not tomorrow." the huffed, clearly annoyed.

you perked up at the news, dropping the pencil as you pushed yourself off of the counter, wondering around your apartment. "what?! what do you mean, 'not tomorrow', sloan?" you cried, disappointed in the news. you ran your free hand through your hair, stopping at the top of your scalp as you gently pulled at your hair. "w-why are you guys staying longer? i thought you guys found enough artifacts at the site!”

"apparently, the boss found another site he wants to visit, it'll take us all day saturday to get there, sunday is our rest day, then we'll start exploring monday through friday." your partner, sloan explained, looking at the written schedule that was in front of them as they spoke, bouncing their leg.

“ANOTHER site?!” you scoffed, walking back to the island and taking a seat, snagging the calendar and pencil to fix the dates. “are you fucking kidding me?! this is the fourth one you’ve been too! in what- the span of three weeks?!” you pulled your phone away from your ear, putting it on speaker as you placed it carefully on the marble countertop as you erased the pencil marks.

sloan scoffed, humming in agreement on how stupid the whole thing was. even though it bright in good money, enough to feed you two, pay rent, go out on dates and travel, it pulled them away from you more than they would like. “tell me about it.” sloan huffed, standing up from their seated position. "we should hopefully be home by next sunday, and have that dinner with the crew at that one joint..."

you groaned, remembering the celebratory dinner. "right! i forgot about that." you muttered, biting on your thumb nail.

the line was quite, besides the loud laughter that came from sloan's end. it suddenly went dead silent, a door clicking shut was all you heard as you sat at the island. "what do you want to do?" sloan asked, taking a seat at their bed that was freshly made, their clothing, toiletries and other things they brought with them packed in their suitcases.

"what do you mean?" you asked, scribbling down the dates sloan mentioned a few minutes prior.

"with the reservations! and the plans we made." they waved a hand around, sighing as they hunched forward. "should we just move them until i get back? or you can go with your friends or whoever and we can go another time."

you pressed the eraser against your lip, looking at the name you had sloan saved under as well as the picture of the two of you that was saved as their profile. “i…i uh, let’s just move the dates.” you sighed, sliding the pencil behind your ear. “i’ll call the restaurants and whatnot to move them to next week, it won’t be a big deal.”

sloan softly nodded, whipping out their wallet from one of many jacket pockets they had and opened it single handedly, pinching their phone in between their right shoulder and their face. “okay…text me when you get the new reservations.” sloan meekly smiled, opening one of the wallet pockets before pulling out a polaroid of the two of you, small hearts doodled the white boarder that surrounded the picture.

you hummed, muttering a small ‘will do’ under your breath as you click the speaker button to cancel it before bring the phone up to your ear. your eyes darted around the kitchen, a mess of pots, pans, and silverware was no where in sight in your sink, which you grew fond over. you always loved seeing sloan in the kitchen, cooking away at their family recipes which had the place smelling like the amazing spices for weeks on end. sure, you had stocks of food that they cooked before the mission in the fridge from weeks prior, but it wasn’t the same, since all you had to do was to warm them up, either on the oven or in the microwave.

it never tasted the same as when your lover made them for you.

your eyes started to become glassy as your lip quivered, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip before any noise sneaked its way out of your throat. it’s been three weeks since you’ve seen sloan, going on four since sloan is staying longer. you were missing them like crazy, the apartment was unbearably quite without them home. you wanted to voice your opinion out about the matter for a while, but they’ve been working there since they’ve been sixteen-ten years at the same company! you couldn’t and wouldn’t do that to them in your wildest dreams, they meant so much to you for you to do that.

you softly shook your head, telling your brain to cut it out and save it for when you were off the phone so they didn’t feel the guilt of hurting you. but, that plan was quickly abandoned as tears rolled down your cheeks, shaky breaths filled the silence and alerted your partner on the other end of the phone.

“cariño?” venture gasped out, their attention snapping away from the photo and towards the sounds of your sobs. they placed their wallet and the photo to their left side, the mattress slightly creaking as they shuffled around on the bed. “what’s wrong?”

you wiped away your tears, choking on a sob as your hand holding your phone began to shake against your face, focusing most of your attention onto that in oder to make it stop. “it’s just…” you swallowed a lump that clogged your throat, making it hard to speak. ‘might as well tell them.’ you let out a cry, sniffing before looking down at the marble countertop. “it’s so hard to be away from you. especially for four weeks, sloan! like-it’s absolutely crazy!”

sloan nodded softly, taking your words into consideration. their attention snapped to the door that creaked open, covering the bottom of their phone as they locked eyes with zane, one of their coworkers.

zane took the hint and quickly left the room, shutting the door behind him.

“but.” your voice startled sloan back to reality, their undivided attention back to you. “i didn’t want to say any of this because this is your dream! you love this job and i don’t want to stop you.”

the two of you went silent, besides your faint sobs and sniffles.

sloan ran a hand through their hair, their fingers twirling around the hairs of their undercut before stopping at the base of their neck, gently massaging at the muscle. “i…i get it.” sloan reassured, dropping their hand that was at their neck back to their lap.

you blinked, your lashes soaked in your tears as they brushed against your brow bone. “really?” you muttered, your voice soft.

sloan nodded, their attention glued onto their boots. “yeah! i miss you so much, you’re all i think and talk about!” they chuckled, smiling warmly at the sound of your faint snicker. sloan’s smile faintly dropped, becoming serious as their eyes darted over to the picture of you two that was to the left of them. “these long and far trips suck. and-and i know this year has been full of them, but i promise you that there won’t be as many later in life.”

“promise?” you bit back a small smile, your heart slightly fluttering at the sound of sloan’s chuckle.

“promise, mi amor.”

•••

today was the day.

sloan camron was coming home.

you were practically bouncing off the wall as you paced around the living room, phone in hand as you reread the long message that was sent in the wayfinders groupchat that you were so grateful to be added to (as well as other’s family and spouses).

hello members and family of the wayfinder’s society,

as you all know, today is the day we’re all coming home from a four week exploration that took place in australia. during these four weeks, we were thankful enough to visit, explore and research five sites scattered around the land. with great discoveries of artifacts, gems, rocks, fossils and much more, we have decided to come home, and let our members have a six month ‘break’ from traveling. during this ‘break’, members, and family members, will be called to our company building for meetings, dinner parties, and other events we will be hosting during those six months before we start up traveling again.

we will, hopefully, arrive to the airport at 7:10 PM. it’ll take about 30 minutes to an hour before we’re all off the plane, then you all will be expected to be at our celebratory dinner at 9:20 PM, at the local bar and pizzeria uptown. (oliver will provided the location when we land)

when we arrive to the airport, we will be leaving the plane in alphabetical order by last name. so family, please do the following:

if you have someone in the A-K range, show up to pick up your person then immediately go home to get ready for the dinner.

if you have someone in the J-Z range, be ready before you pick up your person. you should have time to let your person freshen up before going to the diner. if not, bring a change of clothes, cologne/perfume and whatever’s necessary for them to look somewhat presentable.

members of the wayfinder’s, please wear your jackets to the dinner. we need to represent the company while we’re out having a good time tonight.

- thanks, ben (the boss)

you bit your lip as you grinned, throwing your arms up as you cheered, jumping around with a laugh.

you snapped out of your trance and made your way to the shared bedroom, checking-for the tenth time- that you had everything laid out for the two of you.

a cute outfit for you laid on the bed and some makeup was already out of your makeup bag and lined up in order along your desk. you also had some jewelry laid out, your shoes and a bottle of perfume.

a fresh pair of clothes was laid out for sloan, just a simple jeans and t-shirt for your lover. you also placed some of their rings, a matching necklace that you two had and their cologne bottle on the mattress for them.

as of now, it’s 6:32. if you leave now, you’ll get to the airport by 6:52 if you were lucky, 7:05 with the light traffic that was on the freeway.

smiling, you grabbed your keys and made your way to your car. you locked the door behind you before practically skipping down the steps and towards the parking lot. you, shockingly, got to your car within two minutes. unlocking it, you got inside and into the drivers seat, putting the keys into the keyhole and starting the engine. taking a deep breath, you put the car into reverse and backed out before shifting gears and driving out of the parking lot.

••• (i ain’t writing the drive)

chitter filled your ears as you walked through the building, the clicks of shoes were drowned out by the voices, but if you listened hard enough, you could hear it. you gently rubbed your hands up and down your arms, trying to keep yourself slightly warm from the cold air. the roars of engines echoed through the building as airplanes flew overhead or as they made their way down the runway.

you glanced around the airport, people waiting at their gates with their luggage or people walking to and fro with suitcases dragging behind them filled your view. it surprisingly not too crowded, but you guessed it was because of how late it was.

“y/n!” a voice called out, snapping you out of your trance. there stood a girl who was about 5’7, she had green-hazel eyes with tan skin, dark freckles covered certain areas of her skin, as well as a faint, natural blush on her cheeks. she had gorgeous, wavy dirty brown hair that fell a little past her mid back, faint pops of orange peeked through her hair as well. she wore a beautiful, light orange sun dress with a plaid pattern that fell a little short of her knees. she also had simple white flats on with her gold anklet.

“katie! oh, my god, hi!” you beamed, jogging over to the girl and engulfing her into a hug. as the two of you hugged one another, you got a strong scent of orange blossom. ‘man, does she love orange.’ you joked to yourself, the two of you pulling away from the hug. “how have you been?”

she faintly waved a hand around, rolling her eyes in a playful expression. “ah, you know. bored out of my MIND!” she laughed, gently pushing your left shoulder. her smile softened slightly, her brows knitting together as she gestured a hand in your direction. “but what about you? this is the longest sloan and you have been apart- the two of you are a packaged deal!…how are you holding up?”

you sighed, biting the insides of your cheeks as you remembered last week; you crying to your dear partner about their work and how hard it’s been on you. you blinked a few times, chuckling awkwardly before clearing your throat. “it’s hard, but um…i’ve managed.” you confessed, feeling a little embarrassed that you were getting vulnerable in a fucking airport, but you’ve seen worse things; both online and in real life. “definitely different then the two week trips.”

katie nodded with a hum, crossing her arms. “no, i totally understand. it still bugs me when zane’s gone for anything longer than a week.” she reassured in a way, placing a hand on her chest.

you let out a sarcastic sigh, throwing a hand on her shoulder which made her let out a laugh. “FINALLY! someone who gets it!” you joked, laughing along with her.

a taller man, about 5’11 with black, shaggy hair and light blue eyes walked over to the two of you, a faint smile on his lips. “i hate to interrupt…BUT the planes here and they’re making they’re way out.” he beamed, gently nudging you both over to the crowd that started to form around the door.

katie gasped, throwing her arms around the man as she jumped up and down in excitement. “ugh, thank you travis!!” she grinned, letting go of the man before turning back to you, placing an arm around your shoulder so she wouldn’t lose you.

members of the wayfinders started to make their way out of the jetway, immediately looking for their family, friends and significant others.

as you watched the faces walk by, you realized something. you slowly turned to katie, opening your mouth to point out your observation before shutting your mouth when you saw her pale, wide eyed expression. “hey…hey abby?” you called, slipping away from the dirty blond and making your way over to the ginger.

abby smiled brightly, waving at a nearby group before turning towards you, her eyes going wide when she saw you. “y/n?” she gasped, walking over to katie with you at her side. she ran a hand through her hair when it clicked in her head, groaning faintly. “did ben not send the new message?!” she snapped, adjusting her bag that she held in her right hand.

katie glanced over to you before going back to abby with a quirked brow. “what new message?” she asked, shaking her head softly to finalize her thought.

abby sighed, darting her attention between the two of you. “ben changed the order of how we get off-it’s by first name!” she huffed, jerking her head to the side as she walked off, the two of you following after her. “so since you’re here for zane and your here for sloan, you two have to go back home to get ready and whatever.”

you groaned, slapping a palm to your forehead. “fucking ben.” you spat under your breath, making abby click her tongue in agreement.

“will we have time to leave?” katie asked, tilting her head softly.

abby nodded. “yeah, it’ll take way more than an hour for everyone to get out of the plane.” she shrugged faintly.

“alright, but thank you for the heads up, i greatly appreciate it.” you smiled, nodding at the advice that she gave.

abby smiled softly, pulling you into a quick hug. “anytime! it’s nice to see the two of you again.” she gushed, pulling away and taking katie into a hug before making her way over to her family.

katie sucked in a breath, turning on her heels towards you. “let’s ride together, yeah?” she offered, gently taking your hand into her and she dragged you towards the parking.

you nodded catching up to the girl before you two ended up running out of the airport doors.

•••

“thank you for letting me use your flat iron! you’re a life savor!” katie sighed in relief from the small bathroom, ironing her hair until it was somewhat straight.

you hummed somewhat loudly for the girl to hear you from the bathroom, brushing your eyeshadow onto your eyelid. it was a simple, light shimmer, faint f/c sparkles peaking through when you blinked. you threw your brush into your makeup bag, snatching your mascara before twisting the bottle open and applying it onto your lashes until you were satisfied. “you’re more than welcome to touch of your makeup, too!” you called out, adding some highlighter to your inner corner and your nose. “feel free to use my makeup if you’d like!” you grabbed your lipstick, popping the cap off before twisting it up and swiping it onto your lips.

“awe, thank you, y/n!” she cooed, turning off the flat iron and sliding over to your room. she walked over to your desk, grabbing your mascara tub and applying the product onto her lashes. “we’re cutting it super close, we should probably get ready to go soon.”

you nodded in agreement, fixing your hair and outfit before standing up. “yeah, i think we should go now.” you made your way over to the bag that held sloan’s clothes, picking it up and throwing it over your shoulder.

katie closed the mascara, nodding with a hum before following after you, grabbing the bag with zane’s clothes before the two of you headed out of your apartment and towards her car.

the drive back to the airport was quick and tense, the two of you anxious for if you missed seeing your partners coming out of the jetway.

once you two arrived at the parking lot, you grabbed the bag you packed and made your way to your car, throwing it into the backseats when you unlocked it before locking it and running into the building with katie in tow.

“think we made it on time for them?” you asked, yelping when you almost pumped into someone. you called out an apology, spinning around them before running alongside your friend again.

“i hope so!” katie gulped, the two of you slowing down. the two of you started to walk over to where the wayfinder’s where at, katie pointing to a group before excusing herself over to them, leaving you with a wave.

you swallowed nervously, peering over the crowd of people while you stepped onto your tippy toes. brushing some of your hair behind your ears, you glanced around the surrounding area before stopping in your tracks.

there they were.

standing ways in front of you was sloan camron. or someone that looked like them. they looked so different, but so familiar at the same time. maybe it was the uncut, poorly kept hair and the new scars that imprinted into their tan skin.

the two do you stared at one another in shock. this couldn’t be real, it didn’t feel real to you. you felt lightheaded, overwhelmed at the sight of them.

you slowly inched forward, your feet dragging against the white tile underneath you. tears started to prick at your eyes, the realization hitting you like a ton of bricks, and soon, you were sobbing and picking up your speed, running straight at them.

sloan also had tears in their eyes, dropping their heavy bags of equipment and of clothes onto the tile before also making their way towards you, tears streaming down their face.

the two of you quickly met in the middle, the two of you almost falling over from sloan’s brute strength. the two of you clawed and gripped at each other, both of you sobbing uncontrollably into each other arms.

you pulled away, reaching out and cupping sloan’s cheeks, rubbing your thumbs under their eyes which smudged their tears into their skin. your glassy eyes darted around their face, noticing a few small scars scattered around. but the things that’s stayed the same where their dimples, the chip on their tooth, and their eyes. oh, how you could get lost in their deep caramel eyes.

sloan leaned into your hands, a weak smile twisting in their lips as their eyes sparked in the airport lightning. they leaned their face into yours, your lips connecting with a small desire, a small hunger between the two of you.

your hand snaked around their neck, pulling them closer into you and deepening the kiss. sloan pulled you closer by the waist, crouching down slightly and picking you up, their arms hooking around your upper thighs and spinning you around slightly, making the two of you break the kiss with a faint laugh.

“i’ve missed you so much, mi amor.” sloan sighed shakily, nuzzling their face into the crook of your neck, softly kissing around your neck and up to your jaw.

you pressed your lips on the top of their head, tears still slowly rolling down your cheeks. you gently nudged their head back to make eye contact with them, your eyes darting in between theirs. “i still can’t believe you’re here.” you whispered, chuckling softly as you were placed back onto your feet, their hands still around your waist.

sloan nodded faintly, smiling as they kissed your temple. “it’s feel so great to be back.” they murmured against your face.

the two of you leaned into another kiss, pulling back sooner than you’d both liked as a pair of hands were pressed onto your shoulders.

“hey, i’d hate to be that guy.” zane meekly smiled with a shrug. “but we got a dinner to get to in like…hmm…i dunno-20 minutes?”

“hey, if we’re late,” sloan pointed between the two of you before pointing at zane and katie. “then you’re late, too.”

“hey, you’re lucky ben changed the time for the dinner.” katie jabbed back, zane and her waving before walking off.

you pulled at the black tshirt that was almost fully caked in dirt and grime. “cmon, you smell like dirt and sweat and you need to change out of these clothes.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

YIPPIEEE IVE BEEN WORKING ON THIS FOR TOO LONGG BUT IM FINALLY DONEE!!

I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED!:) SORRY IF ITS A LITTLE CRINGE OR ANYTHING😓

but im cringe but free

[an-au-blog]

Artist Usopp who has the most vivid dreams of Sanji ever since he can remember, this mysterious blond growing alongside him in the unconscious world. So he grows up, goes to art school, gets his degree, and starts the path of a starving artist. Not a lot of people buy his art, but he keeps making it. He never liked showing the overwhelmingly large collection of sketches, paintings, 3D prints, carvings, clay figurines, literally anything he could make of Sanji. It felt too personal to show anyone, but people would inevitably see them, as he can't stop doodling the man. They keep saying that's what he should be promoting as his work and how people would pay big money for those, but he always doubted it.

A time came where he could feel the "starving artist" title a bit too literally. With regret, he took his friend's advice and sold a painting to some random guy. The man came back with a friend - lover of the arts and before Usopp knew it, he was selling the blond of his dreams to collectors and museums. He started making marble sculptures, now that he could afford it, like the blond was a greek god, an angel sent to feed him in his most desperate times. Usopp knew such a man didn't exist, but it was nice to have him in his dreams at least.

Well... that was until one day Luffy sent him a video. One of those memes where people went to galleries and posed with victorian portraits that looked like them. He captioned it with "lol rly thought it was him for a sec". Usopp thought this would be another video forgotten in the waves of spam Luffy liked to send, but as the different people went by, suddenly, Usopp felt cold sweat down his back. It was the blond. He looked exactly like the man in his dreams... no. that was the same man. He was absolutely sure of it. He had been drawing and studying that face, those hands, the colors and curves all his life. That was him!

He desperately tried finding him, but all he had was a private page and that was it. He couldn't get any clue as to who he was from the user name "LetHimCook" or the bio saying he was 21 and a rat and a cheff's hat emoji.

Usopp gave up hope for the time being as he was supposed to finish a project that was the biggest in his career so far.

The day to present it had come and Usopp stood there, nervous, talking about his art while snobbish-looking people hummed as if they understood anything about his life's work. Some of the asked questions that he absentmindedly answered, but then someone from the back, who Usopp couldn't see asked something that caught his attention.

"I have two questions if I may. Firstly, who is the inspiration to this "dream" collection? It seems to be more about a lover than actual dreams. And secondly, have you ever considered doing an auto portrait?"

The two unrelated questions caught him off guard, and he didn't know how to say anything about the first one without sounding insane, or the second - without sounding depressed.

"Uhm, interesting questions." Usopp cleared his throat. "You see, uh..." he tried finding the words but they died on his tongue when the asker came into view. It was him. "It's you." He said accidentally out loud.

"I beg your pardon?"

They look at each other for a long second. Usopp couldn't tear his eyes away from the blue haunting his every day and night. "Sorry, I- I didn't answer your uh-" Usopp stuttered, trying to keep any semblance of dignity he could. "I don't like doing self portraits, I've made a few but the model kind of sucks." The people laughed with him but the blond only gave a small smile.

"I would love to see them some time, as I'm sure I'm not the only one."

How could this man leave him speechless every time.

After the Q&A bit was over, Usopp tried his best to avoid small talk from the guests so he could get to the blond before he left. But by the time he got there, Sanji was talking to someone, it would have been extremely awkward to join in.

"Hey, Usopp!" The man who was talking to Sanji turned, and oh God it was Luffy.

The artist didn't know if he should be happy or a bit scared. Luffy dragged Usopp into the conversation and it started flowing quite easily. It was not long before Luffy left to see another friend of his but his absence didn't make it uncomfortable. Usopp learned the man's name, that he loved to cook and that he had been a fan of his work for a while.

Agreeing that Sanji would get a "private tour" or the rest of Usopps (not displayed works), the "party" ends.

On their way home, Luffy hits him with a "It was so funny seeing that guy flirt with you all night."

Usopp, stopping dead in his tracks: Who?

Luffy: Blond guy who kinda looks like your obsession drawings...

Usopp malfunctioning: .......... oh...... . .. . . ... OH!

When they finally arrange a date for the "private tour", Usopp keeps an open mind, trying to see if he really WAS flirting. But then they get to the half-assed self portraits Usopp made of himself and, honestly - Usopp never wanted to show them. He wasn't all that good-looking, he didn't like how they turned out, he hadn't put in any effort and most of them were more reminiscent of grotesque caricatures than the usual realistic beauty he was used to painting.

"They're not really - I mean I mostly made them out of boredom, I- I don't really like them and- and-" He tried to excuse himself, but when he looked at Sanji, he lost all his words. The blond was looking at the paintings and sketches with such awe and sympathy. He reached out to the painted face, the tips of his fingers barely grazing the surface.

He looked back at Usopp, causing his breath to catch in his throat.

"You're far too mean to yourself." Sanji said, faint, barely audible. His eyes widened slightly as the words escaped his lips as if he didn't mean to let them slip.

On instinct, the deep-rooted self-loading Usopp had harboured all these years bubbled just the slightest. "Haha, or maybe not enough."

But then Sanji turned to him seriously, lips in a thin line, a bit hurt. "In... in an interview you once said you're glad the public liked your art, because you wouldn't bare sharing a piece of your soul and seeing anyone insult the man who's haunted your dreams." A stuttering breath. "So, I'd like to request you don't insult the man from mine..."

Oh...

[stevenssacrab]

In Secret

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ✧ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ*

Summary: For six months, you and Steve have hidden your relationship from everyone, but what happens when you come face to face with death?

Rating: 17+

Warnings: Sneaking around, hostage situation, kissing, reader has a near death experience

Word Count: 1.6k

a/n: love a good ol’ Steve fic, never misses, I hope everyone enjoys this one, have a happy new year!!

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ✧ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ*

Being Captain America’s significant other comes with an absurd amount of pressure; you have to be flawless, never make a single mistake, be a good role model for kids, and be just as if not more heroic, which is precisely why you’ve chosen to hide your relationship from everyone, fellow Avengers included. It wasn’t an easy decision, but you and Steve both decided that it would be for the best; you were new to the Avenger team and didn't want the added pressure of being with Steve; you and Steve somehow managed to have kept it hidden for six months, it didn’t come without its hardships though, Steve needed to keep up the appearance of a fearless leader, so he couldn’t be sweet on you when it came to training and performance evaluations; and you couldn't defend Steve when others complained about his methods, less they suspect anything between you two, much to your dismay Steve seemed to always have women after him, leading to a few disagreements about how Steve should handle the situation, you wanted Steve to be harsher when he turned them down, but Steve has a reputation to uphold, and being rude and dismissive was not a part of it.

"Okay, you leave first, and I'll join 5 minutes later," Steve said reassuringly, rubbing your arm gently and giving your hand a light squeeze.

"Okay, see you out there, Cap," you say playfully with a wink; you walk out of your room and down the hall into the conference room filled with fellow Avengers; your eyes scan for an empty seat.

"Y/N! Over here!" Wanda calls, waving her hand and patting the open spot between her and Natasha; you smile and briskly walk over.

"Did we start yet?" you asked, knowing the meeting can't start without Steve.

"No, just waiting for Steve," Natasha says matter of factly, doodling absentmindedly on a piece of paper.

"So, Natasha and I want to see that new movie that just came out. Do you wanna come?" Wanda asked, but you've already seen that movie with Steve earlier this week.

"I've already seen it," you said disheartened.

"HOW!? It's been out for two days?!" Wanda astonished. "It's honestly impressive how fast you watch these movies as they come out; who are you even seeing them with?" Wanda asked, peering at you suspiciously.

"Uh, my mom?" you voice with a rising inflection.

"Okay, this week's mission!" Steve calls out loudly, walking into the room before Wanda can question you further, "Our sources tell us Hydra is working on a new super soldier serum for a division of soldiers. Our mission is to stop them in their tracks." Steve says firmly, eyes landing on yours fleetingly.

"We'll go in groups of 3: Wanda, Clint, and Y/N in group one, group two is Me, Peter, and Scott, and the third and final group is Bucky, Sam, and Natasha.”

"We gotta hightail it; this is of great significance, so we move tonight, meet at the quin in an hour, we’ll discuss our plans of attack on the way," he says with a nod, marching out the room.

“Everyone’s here?” Steve asks, scanning the quin, ensuring everyone is accounted for, “Okay, as we fly over, group one will land on the south side of the building, my group will land east, group three lands west, and the quin will land in the north, the goal is to push toward the center where intel tells us the serums are located and try to catch anyone who may be running off with the serum, once secured everyone evacuate immediately and meet at the jet. Everyone clear?” He asks strictly, looking toward the teams, and they nod affirmatively.

“Okay, move out!” he shouts, rushing for his shield and jumping out of the plane; you land quietly outside the building, shed the parachute off, and get into position.

“Okay, on my mark, go!” Clint whispers harshly; the three of you move as a unit, sweeping every corner, taking quiet steps, instincts on high alert; as you move through the building, you can’t help this nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach; something doesn’t feel right, you’re halfway through the building, and not a single enemy has been spotted.

“Guys, I don’t like this,” you say lowly over comms, hairs on the back of your neck standing straight.

“Let’s just keep moving so we can get out of here,” Clint says, readjusting his grip on his pistol while Wanda grows increasingly worried, palms becoming sweaty, the tension hanging in the air.

“Cap, you guys got anything on your end?” Clint asked over comms, his eyes scanning the suspiciously empty room.

“Nothing over here; keep your eyes peeled; everything about this feels wrong,” Captain uttered, uneasy hanging off every word; you signal you are going to have a look around at the team and break right; you creep into a dark room littered with papers, it looks like everyone just got up at left, you spot a computer playing footage on a loop, you walk up and watch, it’s your team landing outside.

“It's a trap! They know we're here!” You screamed over comms; you reached for your gun but felt something hard press against your back.

“Don't even think about it,” a deep voice said coldly as they pulled you against them roughly; you kept your hands in the air, your heart beating out of your chest; they ran their hands over your body, removing any possible weapon.

“What’s the plan now?” You ask coyly, looking over your shoulder slightly.

“Turn around!” He boomed, patience wearing thin; he pushed the gun against your head, “Walk,” he said, shoving you with the weapon, and you walked carefully toward the exit.

“Y/N, where are you?” Steve asks, trying not to sound as concerned as he is; you trudge toward the exit and swing it open

“Hiya, Captain,” you call, looking at him with pleading eyes. Steve’s face breaks your heart; it’s as if you told him the worst news of his life. The assailant grips you by your neck and pulls you close, holding the gun to your temple.

“What’s wrong, Captain? Cat got your tongue?” He said smugly. Steve said nothing, his eyes remaining planted on you as panic started to work its way across your chest, your hands clawing at the arm tightening around your neck, the assailant laughing at the way you struggle to breathe.

“I'll keep it brief and tell you what I want: a trade, the soldier for your newest recruit," he said arrogantly, walking you both closer to Steve

"Don't do it!" you say anxiously, looking at the team with all their weapons drawn and pointed in your direction; you shift your weight uncomfortably, trying to think of any possibility that doesn't end with you injured or dead, Steve looks back at the rest of the team and then back at you, time moves slow, your skin stings with the bite of the cold winter air, and you hear your blood rushing through your ears like crashing waves, when the assailant jerks suddenly, he fires a shot in the air.

"It's now or never, Captain!" He yells, shoving the gun aggressively into your temple; you close your eyes, accepting your demise, and you open your mouth to say something, but the sound of a gunshot cuts you off; your body tenses, and you wait for the pain, but it never comes, you finally open your eyes when you feel Steve's arms wrap around you, Steve's face is filled with concern, you see his mouth moving, but you don't hear anything, Steve grabs your arms and shakes you lightly, your hearing fades in.

"Y/N! Are you okay? Are you hurt? Oh my god," he blubbers, tears welling in his eyes; he pulls you in for a fiery kiss, holding you as you'd slip through his fingers; he pulls back slowly and looks deeply into your eyes.

"Are you alright?" He asks, panic having left his body; he glides his hands down your arms and holds your hands, interlacing your fingers.

"Yeah, I'm okay, just shaken up," you say reassuringly, pulling him into a hug. You close your eyes, inhaling his scent, losing yourself in the comforting aura that is Steve, and then you hear someone clear their throat; your eyes shoot open, landing on the whole team just staring at you and Steve; you jump back and hit Steve playfully on the chest.

"Steve, they saw us!" You whisper harshly and turn him around, hiding behind his big frame; he clears his throat and speaks

"Uh..." he mutters; he suddenly reaches behind himself and grabs your hand, pulling you next to him and wrapping his arm around your waist.

"We are dating." He said confidently, chin high; there was a long pause as the team looked around at each other, and then you heard a squeal; it was Wanda squealing with happiness, running towards you with a broad smile and open arms, she practically tackled you to the ground, squeezing the life out of you.

"Oh, Wanda, I can't breathe," you choke out, gently smacking her arms.

"Since when?" Sam asks, walking up to Steve and patting him proudly on the back.

"6 months ago," Steve says brightly with a smile, pulling you against him.

"I've known for four months," Natasha says cooly

"How?!" You and Steve say in unison, looking at each other. Natasha smirked and walked closer to you both, placing one hand on each of your shoulders.

"You guys should probably not fall asleep in each other's arms if you don't want anyone to find out." She says matter-of-factly, walking away and leaving you both stunned. "Congrats," she shouted back as she walked into the quinjet.

"Let's move out, team!" He shouts, grabbing your hand gently and walking you both onto the quinjet.

[tteokdoroki]

𑊡˚+₊🍼✦ — pretty + bkg.

૮ ͈>◡< ͈ა warnings — fluff + sfw, reader knows how to draw, just general admiration of bakugou bc i love him, calling bkg pretty, implied friends to lovers,

“you’re so pretty.”

bakugou looks up from his wilfully and organised assignment papers, having easily swept through each short answer essay question— highlighting the important parts so he knows how to grasp the big marks.

“the fuck are you on about?” he grumbles, putting down his work to get a better look at your face.

you’ve long since abandoned the task at hand, having taken to doodling in the back of your hefty project book with a pencil that’s about the size of your thumb. “well,” you hum, tongue sticking out of the corner of your mouth in concentration. “i mean,” you hold the pencil up to katsuki’s face to align it— watching as the sun filters down on his golden lashes, as it illuminates the faint freckles he has in the shade of honey across his skin. the led of your pencil scratches across the page satisfyingly enough to make you not miss your sketch book and then you speak again. “you’re just really pretty, katsuki.”

he is, and you mean it.

a blonde eyebrow raises and bakugou scoffs, “now you’re just talking bullshit,” shifting his attention back to the work before him. “get back to work, you have deadlines at the end of the month—“

a heat washes through your body in slow waves, as if you’re a child who’s been told that they’re wrong. you’re not, you’ve never been more right. katsuki is beautiful but in ways that you can never say. you can’t seem to ever string together the correct the words to describe just how beautiful he is— not just physically either. katsuki has a heart of gold, he’s loyal to the death for the people he cares about, he’ll always go above and beyond for them.

“i don’t know how to explain it!” you huff abruptly, still carving out a work of art into your project book— still connecting the freckled dots on his face like constellations in the night sky. “you’re stunning katsuki, a person like you. perfectly imperfect, you should be a statistical anomaly,” heads positioned at other desks in the library whip around to hush your outburst and even the blonde before you makes embarrassed attempts to keep you quiet. “you’re kind, you’re pretty, i wish you could see yourself the way i do.”

“what? you got some sorta evidence of my beauty that i don’t know about?”

bakugou’s face crumples, wrinkling at his nose and lips downturned into a frown— and still he looks better than ever painting completed in the history of art. you sketch his expression down. beauty is in the eye of the beholder, sure, but it frustrates you to know that katsuki doesn’t think the same as you— doesn’t see himself as the centre of the universe and the panicle of all things to be loved because though flawed, he’s a wonderful human being. he’s bewildered by your passion to prove him wrong, but says nothing, going back to his work.

the both of you fall into a silence, accompanied by the sounds of katsuki’s highlighter being dragged across the page and your own pencil on lined paper— the lead smudged on your finger tips as you blend it out on the page.

if he didn’t believe your words, he’d have to believe your art— for he is a work of art himself.

“here,” you whisper, tearing out the page with a small doodle of the handsome blonde, care and attention put into every line— highlighting what you see, the truth about katsuki bakugou. “your evidence.”

for a second, bakugou blanks. he may not see the way you do, but he can tell from your simple and heartfelt drawing that you think the world of katsuki bakugou. that he’s important to you, means something to you. you’re gathering your things when he comes to this realisation— drawing clutched in one hand, the other darting out to grab your wrist.

your eyes meet, vermillion red eyes swirling with appreciation and gratitude— the emotions dancing between the dark brown flecks that line his eyes. “f’the record,” bakugou mumbles, thumbing the edge of the page where you’ve drawn him in his most natural and relaxed form. “i think you’re pretty too. in all the ways…just dunno how to explain it.”

when you laugh brightly, bakugou knows there’s no need for him to explain further— a warmth blossoming in his chest, knowing that he’s appreciated by the one person that matters most to him.

you.

[tiyoin]

Taking a step back from twisted singer reader (I'll be back). I really want to expand/give origins ideas to the group chat(s?). Like how reader got the phone, how they got added and other things. Btw love who added that

With that said I'm starting a new agenda: ✨Grandfather Mozus Trein :D✨ Everyone knows that Crowley is *cough* neglectful & irresponsible *cough* always there for his students and never once put himself first 🤠. I feel like reader low-key reminds Trein of Anastasia (red hair) ya know? Maybe it's how reader plays with their hair when they start getting bored or the doodles on the written exams. All these little habits they share. Just an old man missing his family.

Someone has to be a responsible adult for reader and who else is better then a father with so much wisdom. He knows Yuu has a way of communicating and protecting himself so he isn't as concerned ,but poor reader can't do that to save their life :(

So I can see Trein giving them(mostly reader) a phone (B4 book 4). It's nothing new or special; it has an old blue case with a fading pattern and skuffs. The best part about it is Trein paying the bill. The wallpaper is changed to Grimm napping tho

It's kinda an unspoken rule that reader keeps it for the most part. With Yuu and all the things he tends to get into it would last a week if he was lucky.

More then likely the only numbers in the phone are Aduce/ maybe the other first years and Trein ,but I don't really see any of them be texters tbh. So not much coming in. Maybe a few homework questions??

As for apps a see maybe 2-ish games 👁️👄➖

Over all, it's just a classic antisocial person's phone. Until Cater finds out. Next time Yuu has the phone Carter tells him what should be added and how to #sign up for them. And Yuu being the person he is asks "Cater how do I help my introvert make friends?" Cater being the #helpful upperclassmen is he downloads the app and sends the invite.

The app they use is probably the twst discord. I think that's the only social idia has/honestly uses Some of them has like a cover for the icon. Like no one can know they use that app for whatever reason.

Everyone besides reader kinda knows what account belongs to which person. To add a bit of anonymous(ness?). Cuz no way would reader give her honest opinion about Rook or someone else if she knew that they themselves/close friends are in the chat.

Imagine if one of the guys that reader doesn't get along with ends up being one of reader's close/safe online friend. Like idk if you know who Aphmau is but she has a Minecraft roleplay PDH (don't judge me plss) where Aph and Aaron don't like each other irl but are really close online friends.

I'm sorry if my asks tend to be all over the place. I get sided tracked a lot and end up spacing out every 10 works. This was written between 3-5ish am. Also 👉👈 I think the reason we're on the same brain wave is cuz we're air signs.

Also thank you for liking/replying to my ask/yapping ☺️ it's means a lot to me

I've been waiting to get a Mac charger just to answer this ask🤭

GRANDFATHER TREIN IS SOMETHING I DID NOT KNOW I NEEDED BUT GLAD I GOT

because we always see crewel v crowley for custody over yuu.

but I defiantly agree with you that trein would see one of his daughters; especially anastasia in reader. whether it's by a few habits they both share, or how they're sometimes second fiddle to their more out going companion. but trein can see reader's life falling into shambles the more they're in twisted wonderland, the more they're isolated, and it kills him as both a father and educator.

and believe it or not, he cares about his students. they may not think so and curse him in the hallways, but they'll be thanking him in years to come, they always do (he prides himself in that, and the line of students he has at reunions telling him they're the best teacher they ever had.)

so maybe he pulls reader aside after class, ofc he can tell how tense they are, how nervous they are... especially by how intense their eye contact is, a little creepy but trein understands. he tells them to sit down in a chair he magically spawned as he flicks his head at lucien. who is all too glad to use you as a chair. he can see reader visibly relax as they're testing the water's with the temperamental feline, but trein starts talking.

he wants to help them, as he wouldn't be doing his job as an educator if he just stood by and watched you struggle. how he would have failed the pledge he made to crowley and himself if he let one os his students fall under the radar in favor for his smarter ones.

yes that should sting but it's the truth, and to no fault of your own. you obviously had... less than stupor teaching before this, and you have to catch up on a decades worth of stuff due to your... situation. and he is willing to help you during both lunch hours and free period. he also recommends student tutors for this and is willing to work out some kind of deal between you and the tutors. he wants to see you succeed. not just to prove he can turn a pumpkin into a carriage, but because you deserve it.

maybe you're not so much like his biological daughter, but like his step daughter. the one with a soul of diamond but a heart of glass. and if reader ever needs someone trustworthy (and he emphasizes this) that isn't actively split-dying their hair in their thirties or prances around with a bird mask then he is always open.

no matter how burdenous they feel relying on him, or if they think the matters are silly. he will tell it to them straight. he also suggests talking to cater diamond of heartslabyul, that if anyone can help you make friends, its that chatterbox.

dont even try to refute it cause trein AND lucien will be sporting you an unimpressed look.

but I swear to everything cater has a fucking NOSE- a sniffer if you would for introverts. or he has mastered chenya's invisibility spell and over heard your conversation because- I AGREE WITH YOU- yuu would 100% ask cater to help his little ol' introvert make friends.

so he seeks them out, grabs their phone while chatting away, and downloads 'magi cord' dw yuu is there too. cater even goes a step further and adds his contact to their phone because 'tehe he has the elusive reader's number and no body else does! #1inamillion #hewon! #he'sgonnaextrovertsohardit'llmakeyourheadspin 😼

but later that night you're fighting to go on the app when cater sends you a link, the second message he sends you (with 'hey hey! it's your fav upper classmen cay-cay here!' with an obnoxious amount of emojis, being the first)

it's a link to a magi cord group chat called; raven of secrets. (or smthn idk, I pulled that out of my ass) and he explains that the whole point of that group chat is to remain anonymous. there's a handful of members from different dorms and that's all you're supposed to know.

they talk about gossip, homework, assignments etc. the more he talks about it the more it sounds like a secret society. but nonetheless, you join.

and all hell breaks loose 🤭

personally I think that only a few people know who is who in the chat group. like the organizer because they gotta make sure everyone who has the link is an nrc student. and obviously there's a few friends who gave other people the link or joined together. but there's also active polls where people debate who is who.

just so it gives them the extra comfort of anonymity.

IMAGINE SOME ADMITS TO STALKING POOR READER AND IT TURNS INTO A THRILLER AHHHH (everyone knows who rook is. not because of his French, but because of his detailed posts)

--

NO CAUSE I WAS ALSO AN APHMAU FAN HAHAHAH I used to eat her role plays up. but watching them now... they're super cringe and I can barely watch an episode of phoenix drop high 😭

and dont even worry about it 'being all over the place because I am literally like that and it's so fun being able to bounce all over the place hehe

AND YAY ANOTHER AIR SIGN😽

[ohmymalice]

An Unspoken Routine

mike schmidt x f!reader | part 1 ☆1.1k words☆

one sided enemies to lovers, (meaning y/n disliked mike in the beginning) fluff, strangers, becoming friends, misunderstandings, neighbors from across the road

Abby sat on the steps outside their house. She doodled bunnies and bears while waiting for Mike. He promised to take her to Sparky's Diner after his shift, but he was late yet again. The dark-haired girl sighed, disappointed that her brother was late again, as he had been the previous two times. She slumped against the steps, her head smacking onto the top step a little too hard.

"Ow!" she exclaims, adjusting her posture as she rubs the back of her head, now pouting; the neighbor from across the street, a young woman around her brother's age named Y/N, peered through the curtains; she waters her plants, usually around this time; Abby visits and talks to her once in a while, curious about her and her plants.

Abby perks up at the sight and waves swiftly, instantly forgetting her problems. Abby can hear Y/N's front door creak open as she waves back and smiles sweetly at her. She waters the plants in her yard. Abby heads for the road, looking left and right like her brother taught her. Abby skips over to greet you, and you wave. She sits on the steps of your front door.

“Is your brother late again?” You ask, feeling your brows furrow just at the mention of his name. You didn’t really hate Mike, but you disliked him. This man can’t attend any of Abby’s school events, always mumbling shit about being tired when he sleeps 99.9% of the time. 

Abby nods, a slight frown on her lips once more. You ruffle her hair. “It’s okay, I’ll hang out with you instead. Mike’s boring, trust me.” You teased but slightly meant it. You never understood him, and when you heard their aunt come by one day and yell about how he’s unfit to be Abby’s guardian you couldn’t help but agree but Abby always told you otherwise, sometimes she wasn’t the best at communicating so if words got difficult, she’d draw you pictures to make you understand, which actually works really well most of the time. 

Abby giggled at your comment, “He is a little boring… but! He’s very funny sometimes. You should really talk to Mike more Y/n!!” She exclaims, her eyes shining but you shook your head. “I’m sure he’s a busy man, Mike probably doesn’t have the time to talk to me.” Abby shakes her head, her hair moving along with the motion. “If he can spend time with me then maybe he can spend time with you too.” she exclaims happily, I nod along for her sake.

The two girls sat on the stairs of Y/n’s house, the older woman leans against the door frame as Abby leans against her. Abby scribbles on her stairs, you don’t really mind since you find her drawings cute, handing you over some chalk for you to draw along with her. You draw a little picture of her with flowers in her hair. Abby squeals happily realizing that you drew her.

She always loved your little doodles of her, and you loved her doodles too. As the two talked about their day and random things a familiar car pulls up into the Schmidt's driveway, almost hitting the mailbox, you see a frustrated look on his face through the rear view mirror. Sighing, Mike wipes his forehead, kills the engine, and steps out. His eyes fall on the drawings by Abby that stretch from the top of their staircase to the path that almost meets the street, giving the impression that they're pouring out of their front door. Does this girl ever run out of energy?

You see him scan around the yard to find Abby, you look to the girl beside you, watching her stare at her older brother, realizing that she found it a little silly that he was trying to find her, you waited to see if she would call him over. You didn’t wanna call out to Mike but with the wide grin on Abby’s face? It looked like she’d wait all day to see if Mike would find her, like an ultimate game of hide and seek. 

You straighten up and cup your hands around your mouth. 

“Hey, Mike!”

You called out to him, he flinches, unprepared for the abrupt yell. He jerks towards you, his gaze shifting from you to the little troublemaker next to you. 

As he approached you, you replied, "Abby stayed over for a bit, I hope you don't mind." He scratched the back of his neck and sheepishly said, "Sorry for the trouble, I'll make sure she doesn't bother you next time." 

You take a step forward and meet his gaze. "Don't worry about whether she bothers me; worry about being on time." He glances passed you, hearing this comment from dozen of people in the past. His gaze fixed on Abby. Abby embraces her brother, the corners of her mouth curving into a smile. "Can we go to Sparky's now?" Please, please, please!!" She begs, tugging on his sleeve. "Yeah, yeah we can go right now, c'mon we gotta get to the car." 

You could tell he was embarrassed, despite his somewhat frigid and unpleasant demeanor you could see his ears were red. He leads her to the other side of the road but she doesn’t follow, Abby remains standing next to you. Mike turns back, perplexed as to why his sister isn't following him. She was enthusiastic just a moment ago, but now she stares blankly at Mike and you. 

“Can Y/n come with us?" Abby gave Mike the biggest doe eyes, caramel chocolate eyes that seemed to shine when the light hit them. You and Mike exchange a brief glance, both with a skeptical expression on your face. For Abby's sake, you didn't mind, but being there for Mike would have been a different story. "I wouldn't mind," you say, grinning at Abby, and she smiles back, pulling you along and dragging you into their car. Mike gazed at the two, a little embarrassed as if he and Abby were bothering you. "Are you sure?" He mouthed, you nodded in reply.

Even though you weren't really expecting it, you appreciated that he checked on you. Still, normal human decency doesn't make you feel any differently about him. 

Apart from Abby humming along to the radio, the car trip was silent. However, you could hear the little girl kicking her feet against the box that sits between the driver's seat and the passenger seat, creating a slight thud each time. Mike looks at you, you sit in the passenger seat to his right, the soft glow from the sun setting on your skin, His eyes then shift to Abby. He felt uncomfortable, you rarely spoke to him, and when you did, it was either Abby dragging Mike to talk you or you checking in on her. All sorts of things raced through his mind, such as whether he should make small talk in the car or keep quiet, if he even had enough money in his wallet to cover three people when they eat. 

"We’re here!" Abby sings, jolting Mike out of his trance.

A/N: VERY IMPORTANT BIT!!! There's a part two to this, I'll come out within the week (hopefully)

I told myself a long long time ago that I would never write in tumblr or even make a fanfic abt fnaf and yet here I am, you could say this was a change of heart. I've been a fan of the games for a long ass time and I could not resist writing about pathetic sad men who are depressed and anxious

[archangeldyke-all]

Modern au office sev has crush on reader Love you

before i answer, if you havent yet, you should check out @piscespetals they have a really sweet romantic long fic on this exact topic! it'll have you giggling like a school girl...

okay anyways! i have never worked (in an official capacity) in an office setting so forgive me if some of the terminology is wrong. (also i know nothing about IT)

men and minors dni

i think it goes like this: sevika and silco run a private security firm out of the office building you do IT work for.

the first time she noticed you, you were in silco's office cleaning out his laptop after jinx downloaded a virus while playing roblox on it. she nearly tripped over her own feet. she'd never seen you before, she'd have remembered someone like you. you were biting your lip, a little furrow in your brow as you clicked and typed away. she swears that image of you is burned in her brain to this day.

you were rarely on her floor, most of your requests coming from the customer service offices in the lower levels of the building. but after your first call up to silco's office, you mysteriously started to get more and more calls up to the 10th floor.

(it's because sevika started downloading viruses and smashing monitors in order to see you again)

you didn't notice sevika for several visits. she hid behind corners and in her office, stealing glances at you when she was sure no one was watching.

silco sees all though, and he quickly put the pieces together as to why they'd been having so many technical issues when he catches his business partner ogling you in the middle of their quarterly review. usually, sevika's even more tuned in and focused than he is, taking notes and humming along as their employees talk. but that day, she was doodling in her notebook, chin resting in her palm as her eyes tracked your movements on the other side of the glass wall.

he decided to give her a nudge in the right direction. that night he downloaded a virus to her computer and put in a request for IT support first thing the next day.

the first time you met sevika is that next morning. the request came through marked as URGENT, so you made it your first stop. you were still a little sleepy, rubbing sand from your eyes as you navigated your way to the sevika's office.

you perked up the second you saw the woman inside, furiously pressing the power button on her monitor. she was gorgeous, big muscles filling out her silk button up, thin glasses sliding down her broad nose.

you knocked on her open door frame. her eyes snapped up to yours, and in a flash she was out of her seat, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles in her shirt, nervously waving you in.

sevika was shitting bricks. she'd never even been in the same room as you before, and now you were standing in her office.

"hi." you said. "i'm from the IT department."

"i know." she blurted. then, with a horrified look, "i mean i figured. not like we've met before or anything." you nodded along in confusion as you rounded sevika's desk. she backed away from you like you were contagious, cursing herself when you sat in her chair. she'd had a dream like that before, but instead of sitting in her chair, you ended up sitting on her face. with your attention on her computer, she was free to smack her forehead with her palm. "get it together." she whispered to herself.

"you say something?" you asked. she shook her head no, then fled.

after that, sevika was determined to never see you again, sure she'd ruined her chances with you. but fate has a funny way of bringing people together, and (with a bit of help from silco) her floor started having even more tecnhical problems.

you started showing up multiple times a day. she'd see you making small chat with her employees as you worked on their computers, and she'd melt over the way you'd attentively listen and nod along to boring stories about their kids and grandkids.

she'd see you in their break room pouring yourself a cup of coffee, and she'd try to pretend like she wasn't counting your sugars, just to make sure she knew how you liked it.

she'd even see you outside, eating your lunch on her designated smoking bench, admiring the same patch of wildflower she always watched while smoking. it was like she couldn't shake you.

you started noticing her too. each time you'd catch her eye, you'd smile and wave at her. she tried to pretend like it didn't make her lightheaded, nodding back at you with a casual smile, and you tried to pretend like her little smile didn't give you butterflies.

you bumped into her in the bathroom once. she had her shirt off and in her hands, scrubbing away at a stain on it under the running tap water. you tried not to gawk at her, but you're pretty sure you failed. especially since there were only two sinks and you had to brush against her naked bicep to get to the available one.

sevika started loitering around the IT department on the main floor. there's a little lobby for the whole building just outside your department where she started eating her lunches. when asked, she said she liked the couches in the lobby. (but really she was just there to see you walk in and out of the building, shooting her a shy smile each time.)

one night, you popped your tire before you got out of the building's parking lot. sevika caught you trying to change your tire on your own and offered to help. she did more than just help, she changed the tire all on her own while you tried not to drool at the sight of her grease streaked forearms.

she started to visit her smoking bench again, finally comfortable enough around you to sit beside you as you ate your lunch. the two of you started to spend your lunches together. on particularly stressful days, you'd bum a cigarette off of her. she'd laugh every time you coughed at the harsh smoke, but she never denied you. you started packing extra in your lunch box to share with her after noticing that she never brought anything to eat.

the more time you spent together, the fewer calls you'd get to her floor. you started to suspect that the two things might be correlated, but you never brought it up to her. just like you never brought up her lingering stares and stuttered words.

ironically enough, it all came to a head on valentines day. when you got to work you were surprised to find six URGENT requests from sevika's office.

"i fucked up." she said the second she saw you. "i don't know what i did but i fucked up." she turned her monitor around for you to see and you cringed. popups were crowding her screen, and in the background her files were being remotely opened and deleted. you quickly got to work typing away as sevika started pacing in her office.

"it'll be okay sev. you've got a backup for all this stuff. worst case scenario you need a new computer." you said, trying to calm her.

"worst case scenario i have to fucking resign." she muttered. you chuckled.

"what would you have to resign for?" you asked. "you didn't do this."

"not this time, not on my computer, but what if I fucking... let this one in last time somehow? and it was just laying dormant until now? it's got all our numbers and clients now... silco's going to kill me." she rambled, running her hands through her hair. you perked up in her seat, taking in her words.

"what do you mean this time?" you asked. sevika froze in her tracks. "sevika?"

"i." she paused. you waited. "i might have been downloading viruses on a few of our computers a few weeks ago to get you up here. maybe." she said. you blinked again.

"oh." you said, your focus shifting back to her monitor. it was a flashy virus, but nothing bad. you got it cleared away in a flash. "get me up here for what?" you asked, biting your lip to keep a smile from forming. you watched in amusement as sevika shrunk into herself. you kept your eyes on the monitor, but your attention was all on sevika as she shuffled in place, gathering her confidence.

"wanted to see you." she whispered. your eyes darted up to her face. she was glaring at her feet.

"why?" you asked, slowly standing from her desk. sevika huffed, kicking her shoe against the carpet beneath her. you rounded her desk, and her eyes snapped up to yours. "fixed it. not your fault. you're not gonna lose your job." you said, gesturing to her monitor. sevika gulped. "you gonna answer my question now?" you asked.

"i--"

"you gotta crush on me and were too chickenshit to be normal about it?" you butt in. her eyes widened.

"y-yeah, basically."

you grinned, then launched forward to kiss her.

the two of you made out in her office until silco knocked on the glass.

"ladies, as happy as i am to see my plan has worked out, this is still a workplace. let's keep it professional." he said.

[onlyhaos]

📚 · reader x tutor!Seungkwan , fluff (a lil suggestive at the end if you squint)

“Your tutor is fucking hot—“ Your friend gasped, as she saw him walking around campus, making your eyes roll in annoyance.

Well she was right, in some type of way, but he was your damn tutor.

Maybe if he wasn’t so strict with studying he’d only be hot instead of.. well hot and annoying. The way he eyed you up and down the second you entered the quiet library, always left your cheeks flushed.

But you couldn’t think of him like this, he’s a tutor, nothing more and nothing less, he was supposed to help you with your difficulties.

“He’s okay, but you’d say otherwise if you had him as your tutor. He’s like a hot..nerd— But with a downside” You said, as you continued walking with your friend. Arms intertwined, as you talked and laughed.

“Is he that bad? I’ll gladly take him if you don’t want him.” She giggled. “Be happy that your tutor doesn’t give a shit if you understand something, or well.. that’s sad too.” You replied with a small laugh.

Parting ways, your friend went back to their dorm while you had to walk to the library. Even though you already saw yourself in your bed, some takeout next to and your favorite show playing, you let out a big huff the second you were met with the library doors.

“Hey,” Seungkwan said quietly, making you wave at him. “We’re doing maths today, did you get your books?” He asked.

“Yeah, I did.” You said, sounding as exhausted excited as always, but still sitting down next to him to get out your stuff.

Some time went by and you couldn’t focus anymore, it was just all so boring. I mean, looking at Seungkwan himself wasn’t boring at all, but you just had zero interest in this subject.

Doodling in your notebook, you didn’t realize Seungkwan already staring at you. “Y/n, you’re not focused. Are you even listening to what I’m saying?”

Your eyes shot open wide again, making you meet his slightly irritated gaze. Closing the page you drew on, letting out an awkward cough and looking back at him, you mumbled a small “Sorry”.

As Seungkwan went back to teaching, you couldn’t resist staring at him. Those pretty glasses, that.. perfect side profile. He was mesmerizing, maybe that mesmerizing that you completely drowned out the way he was already staring at you.

“I’m sorry— I can’t seem to foc-“ You were cut off.

“Why do you look like you want to kiss me?” What?

Maybe you did want to kiss him, fuck no. You wanted to kiss him, no ‘maybe’.

“I don’t want to kiss you.” You said quickly, and as Seungkwan heard your words he gave you the ‘then focus’ look. Letting everything quiet down, you realized that you really didn’t want to do maths.

“I do want to kiss you.” Well. That was sudden, but what should you have done? Kissing would always be better than maths. And you said yourself that he was hot.

“Well I don’t kiss women who call me a, did I remember correctly, hot nerd?”

Your eyes widened, “When did you hear that? Are you hallucinating? That never happened..!” You exclaimed, lowering your voice the second you remembered where you were at.

“I remember that the girl who said it, I don’t know, had a phone case with a self made sticker.. oh wow, you have that sticker.” He smiled at you sarcastically, you were caught.

“But you are.” You told him, not backing down now. Seungkwan eyed you, “You’re a brat, I’m doing my best and I get called a nerd?” He spoke in a questioning tone.

You told him that it was good, being hot and a nerd. But damn, that was embarrassing. Telling your own tutor that he was hot even when he looked concentrated? You don’t even know how you actually had the strength to tell him that.

But what you also didn’t know is that you’d end up in his dorm, because you didn’t learn one thing yet.

How good of a kisser Seungkwan is.

— ౨ৎ

stop y’all🥹🥹 I want to thank you for 100 followers!! I’m happy that a hundred people appreciate my work so much that they decide to follow me! I’m really thankful and am giving you this as a small gift. Ily💓

[a-narcissists-warren]

do you guys remember the sketch animation thingy i made with suitcase and balloon saying someone should make a grimdark of it?

SO UM. i'm not exactly promising anything BUT that idea has been cooking in my brain <:3

and i've been doodling stuff about it :3 (more yapping and drawings bellow)

In paper, Balloon and Suitcase forming a friendship and going around killing sounds fun in it's own BUT how they reach to that point needs work. They aren't exactly evil (canonically wise) they wouldn't kill someone let alone in gruesome ways like in a grimdark.

What i have in mind specifically needs some tweaking but first and foremost, if i want to actually attempt to make a story i don't want their actions to be justified by mental illness, like most are- It feels wrong to me, and I get that it's the easy option i don't wanna be yet another one to villain-ize any disorder.

Neither do i want the "mephone is missing" trope, i want them to have that obstacle and find their own solutions to it. That's the interesting part after all: HOW they do it

Would they use weapons? Would they have a favorite method? Would they enjoy it? Would they feel regret? Would they be reckless or more precise? What skills do they have that could help them in achieving their goals? HOW do they come to an agreement?

I'm gonna need to answer a lot of those questions, but here's a funny one i wanted to mention: How would Suitcase kill?

I don't thinking standing one one leg using another to wave a weapon around would be exactly convenient. Neither waving one in her mouth, she could hurt herself :(

BUT THEN IT HIT ME. Armless objects sometimes carry stuff in their mouth, possibly heavy stuff. This indicates a strong jaw

So. uh she bitey :3

HEHEHEE let me know what you guys think! I left it mostly vague, i didn't talk about their promise, just in case i wanna make it a thing :3 but also what should i name this au? just for convenience if i ever talk about it again

okay i'm gonna shut up thanks for reading :3