#hope this’ll snap me out of it

[fluentmoviequoter]

A Room Away

Requested Here!

Edit: Part 2 Here

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Summary: Tired of Tim's bad moods, Angela gets him a new roommate: you. As Tim gets to know you and learns about your past, you slowly become more than his roommate.

Warnings: mentions of past domestic abuse (reader and Tim), reader has chronic migraines from past head trauma, nightmares, reader has a panic attack, angst, fluff, Nyla and Angela. (roommates to lovers)

Word Count: 4.2k+ words

A/N: Parts of this are so self-indulgent. The migraine depictions are based on my migraines, but I think they're some of the most common symptoms. I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think! (I'm still trying to get Tim's character down, so apologies if he's OOC.)🤍

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Picture from Pinterest

Tim sits in the back of the room for roll call, his arms crossed tightly across his chest as unimpressed sighs escape him. Angela is getting tired of his seemingly perpetual bad mood. Clearly, he’s lonely, but he will never admit it. And that loneliness makes him mopey and broody (Angela’s official motto for Tim Bradford) until he has enough and snaps at someone.

Sitting at her desk, Angela watches Tim yell at a boot. He’s always harsh with them, trying to prepare them for anything, but now he’s using them as punching bags for his forbidden feelings. 

“What’s his problem? He’s grumpier than usual,” Nyla says as she joins Angela.

“He’s lonely,” Angela answers. “Won’t admit it or do anything about it.”

“That man needs a girlfriend,” Nyla muses.

Angela sits up straighter and smiles. “You’re a genius, Harper.”

“I know.”

Angela opens a website on her computer, and Nyla pulls up a seat to watch her intervention into Tim’s personal life.

“You’re going to rent out his spare room without telling him? This’ll be fun to watch,” Nyla says, laughing.

“He has way too much room for just one guy. Getting him a roommate and a girlfriend will surely help with.. that,” she finishes, gesturing toward Tim.

“A roommate and a girlfriend, or a roommate who becomes a girlfriend?”

“Either should work.”

“That’s your number.”

Angela nods, putting her contact information on the listing. “Tim would shut it down after the first call, so I’ll interview them, run background checks, whatever, and find the perfect one.”

“Well, Mrs. Right is always found on Craigslist,” Nyla jokes.

“This isn’t Craigslist.”

“Semantics.”

Angela posts the listing, and she and Nyla hope getting Tim a roommate will help nudge him out of his bad mood. He needs someone to talk to and bond with, but he’ll never come to that conclusion on his own. Which is why Angela considers herself to be such a good friend.

✯✯✯✯✯

Los Angeles is a big city, which is part of why you chose it without another thought. Full of opportunities and a chance of fading into the background, it’s the complete opposite of your home, which overflows with memories. The patched drywall you were pushed into, the stained tile where you thought everything was going to end, and the china cabinet with the shattered glass are left behind and traded in for a minimum wage job, a used car, and a lot of panic that you won’t be able to find somewhere to live.

You’ll need a roommate until you can save enough money for your own place. However, finding a decent place with a decent roommate is nearly impossible in your price range. Browsing online listings, you see one that could be promising. The information at the bottom says there is an interview process, which catches your attention. Sending a text to Angela Lopez, you cross your fingers for good luck before walking into work.

By the end of your shift, Angela has replied and asked you to meet somewhere nearby. You want to go home, a dull headache building at the base of your skull impairing your mood. But you also really want a better place to call home than the pay-by-the-month motel you’re currently living in.

Angela gives you a firm handshake as she introduces herself as an LAPD detective. She asks questions about your life, job, hobbies, and finally, why you moved to Los Angeles.

“I just needed a change of pace; was ready to leave my old life behind, find something bigger and better,” you answer, a simplified version of the truth.

Trying not to show it, Angela immediately takes a liking to you. Each of your answers solidifies her gut instinct that you’re a good fit for Tim. You ask why her name was on this listing if it’s not her house, and she follows your lead and gives you the truth, but not all of it.

“Tim, the owner of the house, is a coworker and friend, and I’m just trying to help him out while he’s busy with work,” she explains.

As you leave the meeting, Angela gives you her personal number, as well as someone named Nyla Harper’s number, “just in case you need anything.”

She texts you a time and address, telling you to meet her at your new place the following afternoon. You thank her repeatedly before driving to the trashy motel one last time.

✯✯✯✯✯

Parking outside the house, you fall in love with the neighborhood and the cute architecture of the home. Angela meets you in the driveway, seeming more nervous than excited. You realize she may not have been totally honest with you as you follow her to the door.

An incredibly handsome man opens the door, sighing when he sees Angela. He lets both of you in, seeming to trust Angela completely.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim knows he will regret opening the door, but the woman with Angela is beautiful, and deep down, a small part of him wants to know who she is and why she’s on his doorstep.

“This is your new roommate,” Angela announces, giving Tim your name.

“You didn’t,” Tim responds. “Please tell me you didn’t rent out my spare room without asking me, Lopez.”

“I won’t tell you that, then.”

Standing quietly to the side, you anxiously watch their argument.

“Um, sorry,” you begin, interrupting them. “But I can go, and find a new place, since this is clearly not what you signed up for.”

You move toward the door before stopping when Angela demands, “Don’t go anywhere.”

She gives Tim a stern look before cocking her head to the side. He sighs like he has accepted his fate, a tragedy based on his reaction. Gesturing for you to follow him, he gives you a quick tour before showing you to your new room and bathroom.

“I’m not home a ton, but when I am, I’m usually watching a game or just hanging out, so,” he tells you before trailing off.

You nod before promising, “You won’t even know I’m here.”

Tim wants to believe you, but he also thinks you’re pretty and kind enough that he wouldn’t mind seeing you occasionally.

✯✯✯✯✯

You cross paths with Tim a few times in the first two days of living with him. He’s struck by your beauty each time but recognizes that you don’t open up willingly, so he never presses you to talk. Content to be ships passing in the night, Tim gives you a nod before continuing out the door.

It’s your third night in the house that Tim learns your reserved qualities may not be as simple as a personality trait. Waking when he hears a strange noise, Tim listens in the darkness before deciding it’s your footsteps he hears. Based on the sound, you're pacing, so Tim gets out of bed and walks to the kitchen. He walks right past you, and you give him an apologetic smile before slowing down. Tim makes you a mug of calming tea, sliding it across the kitchen island before sitting beside you as you drink it. Suspecting you had a nightmare or some similarly disturbing experience, Tim reminds you where you are and that everything is okay in his own way.

Over the next week, you wake him up a few more times, thrashing in your bed or exiting your room once you wake. He nudges each time, offering to let you talk about it, but you never do. You always apologize for waking him, thank him for keeping you company and making you tea before you disappear back into yourself and into your room.

✯✯✯✯✯

You’ve lost count of the days and nights spent in Tim’s house, your sense of time thrown off by the continued plague of nightmares and the monotony of your days. As you wake up after a surprisingly dreamless sleep, you immediately turn your face back into the pillow. Your heartbeat pounds in your head, and everything seems brighter and louder. The migraines have been nearly as consistent as the nightmares since before you left for Los Angeles. 

Tim knocks on your door, and you groan as the sound echoes in your brain. He cracks the door, concerned that you aren’t up yet.

“Are you okay?” he asks, seeing your current state.

“Migraine,” you answer. “I called in sick.”

He closes the door to block the light from outside and lowers his voice to ask, “Do you need anything before I leave?”

“I’m okay. Thanks.”

“Well, call me if you do, or if anything changes, okay?”

“I will. Thank you, Tim. Have a good day.”

Tim nods, even though you can’t see him, before backing out of your room and exiting the house as quietly as possible. He keeps his ringer on, looking at his phone every few minutes as his concern for you remains at the forefront of his mind.

Angela and Nyla notice his usual grumpy disposition seems to have been replaced with concern for something, or someone. After he checks his phone for the fifth consecutive time, Angela decides to pry.

“How’s the beautiful roomie? Still just a roommate?” she asks.

“She’s not feeling well,” Tim answers.

Angela waits for an elaboration, but Tim doesn’t offer one. She looks at Nyla, who gives a knowing look. It’s obvious that Tim is softening toward you, but you haven’t made enough of an impact that he’s less grumpy or snappy. As the day continues, his usual personality returns, convinced that you must be okay, or you would have called.

The next day, after learning that you are, in fact, feeling better, Tim is back to his pre-roommate levels of anger and high strung-ness. To worsen his mood, you wake him up with a nightmare but refuse to let him in, not even acknowledging his kind questioning as to how you are. He’s worried about you because you welcomed his presence before, but he is also angry that you changed so quickly, and now you don’t trust him. Everything is piling on, and Tim isn’t sure how much more he can carry.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Just tell me something,” Angela presses.

“Stay out of it, Lopez!” Tim yells, his emotions reaching a boiling point. “I didn’t even want a puppy- a roommate! If you like her so much, why don’t you take her in?”

Angela waits for his shoulders to drop slightly before asking, “Timothy… is this because you don’t like her, or because you do?”

Tim’s jaw clenches, and his nostrils flare as he turns away, offering to go on patrol while Nolan and Celina go to the shooting range. Everyone seems to think they know Tim better than they do; Angela is pushing him toward you while you’re distancing yourself, and the push and pull is tiring.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim waits in his truck in the driveway for a few minutes before walking in. When he walks in, you’re standing in the kitchen. He hasn’t actually seen you since the day of your last migraine when you stopped trusting him, and your sudden willingness to be in the same area confuses him. Anger and confusion rarely mix well; with Tim, it’s a fatal combination.

You notice his tension and knitted brows, chewing your bottom lip before asking, “Are you okay?”

Stumbling to his tipping point for the second time in the day, Tim takes all his anger and confusion over his feelings out on you.

“What do you think? You can’t decide if I’m worth trusting with something as small as a nightmare, and Angela thinks that I’m practically neglecting you,” he begins.

You swallow harshly as his voice rises, stumbling backward when he starts moving his arms. 

“Especially considering I didn’t even want you here!”

Flinching, you snap your eyes closed and catch yourself on the corner of the wall. Tim freezes as he watches you. Everything begins snapping into place in his mind: your nightmares and the distance added to your reaction to him yelling and moving his hand are all signs he should have noticed sooner.

Your chest is heaving as you take short breaths, and when you finally open your eyes, you look terrified. Tim steps back, keeping his hands where you can see them. You focus on him as you slide down the wall, cradling your head in your hands as you fight off bad memories and a growing headache.

Tim watches you before sitting on the floor, keeping his distance. He waits for you to calm down, willing to let you decide whether or not you want to talk to him. You finally look back up at him, but he doesn’t move.

“I- I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“Can I come closer?” Tim asks.

You nod, and Tim slides across the floor, not wanting to stand up and look any more imposing than necessary. His knee presses gently against your thigh, and when you don’t move, he gives you a small smile – the first you’ve ever seen.

“I’ll leave in the morning,” you say, fiddling with your fingers.

“Please don’t,” Tim replies, shaking his head. “I’m really sorry. I wasn’t mad at you, just angry with a long day. But that’s no reason to yell at you or act like that. You confused me, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. That’s on me.”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat.

“Don’t. When I was younger, my dad took his anger out on me sometimes. I’m sure I deserved it once or twice, but I also know better than to treat people like an emotional outlet. If you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

You nod before saying, “My ex.”

Tim feels a protective surge at the idea of anyone hurting you, let alone doing it enough times that yelling pushes you to the point of a panic attack.

After comforting you with proximity and kind words, Tim offers to walk you to bed. Your hand brushes his as he opens your door, and you smile as you thank him for everything. It’s a minor change in your relationship but an important one.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim leaves before you wake up the following morning, determined to find out as much as he can about you and your past. He’s not necessarily being nosy, but he wants to know if there’s anything specific that could help or hurt you.

“What do you know?” he demands as he storms up to Angela’s desk.

“About what?” she replies, raising her brows.

“What do you mean ‘about what’? Her!”

Nyla leans back in her chair, glad to watch the unfolding drama.

“Tim, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Angela explains.

“Why’d she move to LA?”

“Are you seriously trying to find something wrong with her? That’s low.”

Tim moves around her desk, dropping his voice to answer, “I’m trying to figure out who thought it was okay to put their hands on her. Because she won’t let me in.”

Angela begins connecting the dots you left untouched. You ran from the person controlling your life, not your actual life. She knew that you were omitting something during your initial meeting, but she didn’t expect it to be so big.

“Have you been open with her?” Angela asks finally. “Because that’s a two-way street. I’ll talk to her if you want me to, but she trusts you, Tim.”

“How do you know that?”

Nyla’s eyes bounce back and forth like she’s watching a tennis game. She sighs before deciding to interject. “She told her! Sent her a text one night!” she calls out, smiling and waving when Angela and Tim look at her.

Tim nods, giving Angela the closest she’ll get to an apologetic look before leaving.

✯✯✯✯✯

Returning home, Tim is surprised to find you on the couch, in your work clothes, with your face pressed into a pillow. You wave your fingers without moving to acknowledge him, and he remains silent as he walks to the kitchen.

“You don’t have to be silent, it’s your house,” you mumble. “I’ll figure out a way to get to the bedroom.”

“You’re fine here,” Tim answers, setting a glass of water beside you. “Another migraine?”

“Skull fractured from getting my head pushed through a window a few months ago,” you explain with a sigh. “The migraines have gotten worse since then.”

Tim lays a hand on your shoulder, giving you plenty of time to tell him not to touch you. You don’t, relaxing under his touch instead. Tim takes a seat beside you, hoping to comfort you once more.

“Your ex?” Tim asks. 

You hum a yes, and Tim’s jaw tightens, even as he comforts you.

✯✯✯✯✯

Walking into the police station, Tim’s wallet is tucked safely in your bag. Approaching the front desk, you say your name and are wordlessly handed a visitor’s badge before someone gives you directions. You don’t have time to argue, shrugging as you attempt to remember where to turn. Angela sees you before you see her, rushing to your side and looping her arm with yours.

“What are you doing here?” she asks happily.

“Uh, Tim forgot his wallet. I was just going to drop it off, but they sent me back here,” you answer.

Tim says your name, coming around a corner, and Angela pushes you toward him, joining Nyla as they watch your interaction.

“You know she was trying to get you a girlfriend and not just a roommate, right?”

Tim nods a thanks as he accepts his wallet, glancing over at your audience. “I’m half-tempted to make them think I kicked you out.”

You smile brightly, and Tim licks his lips to keep his smile from mirroring yours. His eyes tell you more than enough, and you’re happy to see him, too.

“Do it,” you whisper. “Just let me know when so I can play my part. Angela told me to call her if you were ever mean to me.”

“Have you?”

You don’t answer, opting to wink at him before stepping back. Waving at Angela and Nyla, you leave the station as they rush to Tim’s side. As they ask overlapping questions and talk about how cute you and Tim look standing together, Tim ignores them before walking away.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim is pulled from his sleep by your panicked yell. He leaves his bed and barges into your room with no thought. His heart rate slows when he sees your teary face and tangled sheets.

“Sorry,” you mutter as you wipe your tears. “I just don’t know how to make them stop.”

Tim sits beside you, opening an arm toward you. It’s a bold move, especially for him, but you take his offer and curl into his side.

“Are- did you mean it when you said I could talk about it?” you ask.

Tim nods, and you tell him more, but not everything. You remind yourself that he’s your roommate and maybe, just maybe, he's your friend, but he’s not here to listen to all of your baggage.

“The last thing he said before I left was, ‘there is nowhere you can go that my love won’t lead me to find you.’”

“You know that wasn’t love,” Tim replies, waiting for your nod before continuing. “And I’ve got your back, Angela and Nyla are right here, and we won’t let anything happen to you. No matter what.”

Drifting back to sleep in his warm, safe embrace, you finally learn what it’s like not to be scared.

When you wake alone, neither you nor Tim acknowledge what happened. You’re okay with slow changes, as long as there are changes.

“Tim,” you say, interrupting him on his way out. “Thank you. For last night.”

“I’m only ever a call away,” he reminds you.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your head starts aching around noon, quickly worsening into a full-blown migraine. When you’re ready to go home, it’s bad enough that you can’t drive. Sitting in your car and resting your head against the steering wheel, you want to call Tim but can’t find the strength to move.

Tim, meanwhile, returns home and begins wondering where you are. He calls, and you don’t answer, so he lets his worry control him as he gets back in his truck and drives your usual route. Tim hopes to pass you or find you waiting as someone changes your tire. When he gets to the parking lot of your job and sees you slumped in your car, he has to fight not to panic.

Rushing to the door, he’s both grateful and concerned that it’s unlocked. He kneels beside you, saying your name before bending to see you. Your eyes are tightly closed, but tears are still leaking out. 

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” he says.

You whimper as he picks you up, clinging to him until he lays you down in the backseat of his truck, buckling you in as well as possible.

“Hospital can’t help,” you mumble.

Tim wants to argue, but remembers what you said about the skull fracture. You’ve already been to the doctor, so maybe getting you home and comfortable will be enough.

After a nap partially influenced by unbearable pain, you wake to see Tim sitting by your bed.

“Why are you so nice to me? You didn’t even want a roommate,” you mutter sleepily.

Tim smiles, making you think you’re hallucinating. “Yet I got something better.”

✯✯✯✯✯

You don’t quite make it to work the next day. Walking into the station, you’re surprised when Nyla greets you first.

“I’m assuming it’s a joke,” she says.

You furrow your brows in confusion before you see Tim leaning on a desk with his arms crossed while Angela yells at him.

“Unless he really kicked you out,” Nyla adds.

You nod, walking towards Angela and Tim.

“No, you don’t get to blame me! I got you a roommate, a friend, a beautiful woman who could have been more than a friend, and you’re mad at me?” Angela exclaims.

Tim locks eyes with you, not changing his expression as he gauges whether or not her yelling is upsetting you.

“Can I talk to you?” you ask Tim.

Angela steps back, hoping to hear Tim apologize, but he stands up and gestures for you to follow him without speaking. Worried that you’re sick again, Tim waits silently.

“I’m okay,” you promise. “I just wanted to see you.”

Not believing something so simple, Tim shakes his head. “Tell me what happened.”

“I saw a guy who looked like him while I was driving to work. He was yelling at a girl outside of a diner, and it made me nervous.” You keep your eyes on the floor, but Tim gently raises your head.

“You’re not alone, and I know that things still seem uncertain, and probably will for a long time, but you don’t have to be afraid of anything while I’m here.”

“Then why’d you kick me out?” you tease with a pout.

Tim shakes his head, telling you to go before following you out. You wipe an imaginary tear before waving at Angela.

“No, you’re not leaving,” she says, grabbing your shoulders and steering you toward her desk.

Nyla smiles at Tim, and he sighs before following.

“Tell me exactly what happened between you two,” Angela commands.

You look past her before tensing, and Tim immediately catches on. He follows your line of vision and sees Nolan and Celina booking someone. You shrink in on yourself, and Tim moves to block your view.

“Get her out of here,” he tells Angela.

Angela doesn’t wait before obeying, ushering you into the bullpen and out of sight.

“What’s the charge?” Tim asks Celina.

“Assault. Beat up a woman outside a diner,” she answers.

Tim’s jaw tightens at the knowledge that this man made you nervous this morning, reminding you of your ex. He hates abuse in every situation, but when you’re involved, his protectiveness and anger differ. Tim leaves before saying or doing something he’ll regret.

When he finds you in the bullpen, he takes one look at you before hugging you. It’s quick, but Angela and Nyla look at each other in shock.

“So, you’re good?” Nyla asks.

“We were never bad,” you reply. “Just wanted to get back at Angela for trying to set us up.”

“It worked?” Angela inquires excitedly.

“Not yet.”

“Not yet?” Tim repeats, looking over at you. He shrugs as he concedes, “Okay.”

✯✯✯✯✯

When Tim gets home, he drops his stuff by the door, raising his arms in question as he looks at you. “Not yet? What is that supposed to mean?”

“You haven’t made a move. How do I know you’re not just protective and caring under that handsome, gruff exterior?” you ask with a shrug.

Tim shakes his head, cupping the back of your head gently as he kisses you. You raise your hands over his chest to hold his jaw, pushing yourself closer as you reciprocate his every move.

“Because I don’t protect just anyone like this,” he says against your lips.

You kiss him again before asking, “Does this mean you can reduce my rent?”

Tim rolls his eyes, tucking you against his side where you’re safe from everything and everyone. 

[hanasnx]

Kinktober: House of Amateurs - S1E5

MINORS DNI 18+

SUMMARY: october 5th | thursday roleplays: brother’s best friend! x little sister! WC: 0.4k | CHARACTERS: anakin skywalker x f!reader WARNINGS: f!reader | dom!anakin | pnp | coitus | kinks: degradation | roleplay | implied: breeding kink | mentioned: nudes | unprotected sex | body image: “little skirt” | no y/n

KRAYT HOUSE M.LIST | NAVI | INBOX | @KRAYTHOUSE

“What do you think he’d say? If he saw us together?”

“Why the fuck are you bringing him up? I don’t wanna think about him right now!” you whine, your hole eagerly slurping up your brother’s best friend, Anakin. “Fuck, I always knew you had a big cock.” you exhale, eyes rolling into the back of your head as he fucks harder at the comment.

“Yeah? You fucking would with how much staring you do.” he taunts, big hand clapping onto your shoulder to bend you further over your bed as he stands behind you. “Didn’t matter what I came around in, you kept giving my cock fuck-me eyes.”

“You were always hard!” you keen, and he snaps his hips against yours, slapping skin on skin. Your ass must be red from the impact.

“’Cause you’d follow me around in your little skirts,” he muses through his heaves, flexing his abdomen as he propels himself into you. His storming eyes explore the way your ass looks with your skirt bunched up around your waist. “Asking what I was doing, if I had a girlfriend. Acting fucking clueless.”

You cry out as he re-angles his hips, his splayed hand sliding down your back to shove your cheek into your mattress.

“Shut up.” he hisses, but he refuses to slow his roll, his tip kissing your cervix with each thrust. “Your brother’s asleep. You wanna get caught?” Anakin had crashed here, and waited until your brother was out cold to sneak up to your room. “Your parents have already been looking for a way to get rid of me. This’ll ban me from the household. You don’t wanna make a habit of fucking in my car, do you?” At the imagery of riding Ani in his shitty car has you rocking back onto his shaft, fucking yourself on him.

There’s no way that anyone who’d lend an ear to the debauchery occurring in this room wouldn’t know exactly what’s going on. Does he actually care or is he just using it to get you wet? You have no idea, but it’s working. Soak dripping down your thighs.

“Would suck if this’s the only time we get to do this,” he moans, large hands re-centering on the fat of your thighs, yanking you back into him. “Better make it count, right?” You can’t even respond, biting down onto your covers to gag yourself. “Been waiting to get inside this body since you sent me those stupid pictures on Snap. S’pathetic, how desperate you were.” His nails dig into your flesh, and you whimper. Every time pulls out, you feel so fucking empty, begging for the next second that he sheathes fully. “Can’t believe you’re letting me fuck you raw. Sure hope you’ve got a Plan B lying around.”

[despairots]

could you do a story where miles from earth-42 and our miles are twins and we cant decide which one we like better as we like both of them? you can write the story however you want to!

━━━━━━━━ if i were you, i’d do me.

earth1610! miles morales x gn! hacker! reader x earth42! miles morales. fluff and if you like squint really really hard you’ll find angst. 18 and above please dni, unless your my moot or something… i forgot to change my requests to open but u can send me requests (only abt atsv) just like be patient cuz im daydreaming and shit 🙏

pls ignore the title its nothing suggestive i was braindead and was listening to my saved audios on tiktok this was thw first one on my saved so el oh el 🤕 i gotta keep my writing grind up. keep in mind that earth 1610 miles will keep beinf spiderman and earth 42 will keep being prowler. if y dont know sliver wolf from hsr, switch her up cuz reader is heavily based off of her

this’ll be left on a cliffhanger cuz like idk i just dont wanna make another part and sometimes things are better off with cliffhangers since you guys have creative minds you can come up with your own scenarios

where in a dimension, earth42 and earth1610 miles morales are twins, may look the same but have completely different hairstyles and different personalities also another weird, interesting fact, you’re a sucker for twins, especially them.

interesting fact about you, specifically you, is that you almost got caught by the government when hacking into their system to steal some information.

and of course, them having connections to spiderman, told him to go after this hacker who causes a lot of trouble for the government.

miles morales obviously being under that mask and friends with this hacker who knew that you hated authority (yes, you’re an anarchist), didn’t bother doing anything, probably just telling you to stop messing with them.

on the other hand, his twin bother, myles morales, encourages this behaviour. polar opposites but two cuties, and you, who got roped into romance with them.

“[name], what’d i say about hacking the government?” miles scolded you as you chewed on bubblegum with your feet propped onto your desk, holographic screens in front of you.

“i don’t know, me forgot.” you nonchalantly shrugged, spinning your chair to go back to your screens and swiping left to play the weeknd.

miles spinning you back and placing his arms on your arm rests, too close to your liking.

you smirked with a light scoff, “your brother likes it.” miles rolls his eyes at the mention of him, “i don’t care what he likes.” he snapped back, obviously lying.

miles leaned back with a sigh, “god, what am i gonna do with you?” “maybe get off my ass.” you muttered, not knowing if miles heard that, to which he did.

“i’m sorry, what?”

you jumped at that, quickly shooting your arms up and trying to find excuses, opening your mouth like a fish.

your voice’s overlapped eachother, unable to hear his twin brother opening the door to your room, mask off and everything.

he looked at you who kept stumbling on words.

miles spider sense went off and looked at the entrance, seeing the one guy who encourages your behaviour, “what - what did you tell them?” myles smirked and shrugged.

“i didn’t say anything, bro.” he placed his claws on your bed and sat down on it, “i am not your bro.” miles chuckled and sat down on your bean bag.

“um actually-“

“shut up.”

“cope.” you playfully stuck your tongue out at miles who smiled and rolled his eyes, god you loved his smile. i mean, what?

you don’t love them, boo, you hate them.

“dude, tell [name] that if i don’t catch the ‘hacker’ i’m gonna get my ass kicked.” miles and his brother made eye contact, “i hope you do.” myles replied with a playful tone.

miles threw his hands up, “you guys are actually evil.” you laughed at his comment, “we’re actually vigilantes.” myles pointed out, patting his brother’s shoulder (the bean bag literally beside your bed).

you smiled at the two with light pigment on your cheeks, “i really wanna kiss you guys—“ you paused your sentence with embarrassment, realizing you were saying your thoughts out loud.

the two paused and looked at you, blinking, “eso es adorable, amor—“ “get out.”

“¿qué dijiste, amor?”

“i hate you guys. kill yourselves. espero que te resbales y te caigas en tu próxima misión.” you rolled your eyes and buried your face into your hands as the two twins looked at eachother.

“you don’t mean that, amor.” you groaned at the nickname the two labelled you. it made you want to giggle, twirl your hair and kick your feet like a schoolgirl.

you blushed when you felt an arm sneak around your neck, hugging you against your chair with their head beside your ear, “te gustamos los dos, ¿verdad, amor?”

god, you couldn’t choose between the two.

[name] when they keep getting teased and literally cannot deal with it.

[crheativity]

Can we get a part three of This with riddle and Ruggie?? Thank you! 💜 it's fine if you can't do it btw!

SUMMARY: Someone's picked a fight with Prefect! But he isn't going to let anyone hurt you anymore. Not on his watch. Part 3! Part 1 w/ Cater and Azul can be found here, and part 2 w/ Vil and Silver can be found here.

WARNING: Riddle calls someone a coward. Also the words idiot and jerk are in his part. People get hurt in Ruggie’s part but it isn’t really gory or anything

COMMENTS: I’m so sorry this took so long, my hands have been in a lot of pain the past couple months and are only starting to get better 🥲 I hope you enjoy it! Ruggie and Riddle were super good ideas for this prompt, this was so much fun to write! Thank you for the request! Also, if anyone has any ideas for more characters they’d like for this series, feel free to send in a request!

It must be raining.

You were just out in a storm. That’s all.

That would explain the crack of thunder that collided with your face and gave you a throbbing headache. The warm liquid blurring your vision and dripping out of your mouth and nose was just the rain, not some unholy mix of blood and tears. The chills that froze you where you stood was just humidity and the cold, not adrenaline and raw fear.

And yet, even with your desperate brain trying to come up with some reasonable explanation, the only thunderstorm you could see in front of you was a student you couldn’t recognise. Not with your head pounding like this. Not with the thunder in your ears.

There was something about the boy that scared you. That wasn’t uncommon - this school was full of terrifyingly promising mages. But the scariest thing wasn’t how he wielded his magical pen with deadly accuracy, or how strong he so evidently was.

It was just how much he seemed to be enjoying the mix of horror and pain, of blood and tears, that must have been so evidently and delicately splashed across your face.

His smile twisted as he raised his pen again, something in those cruel eyes of his setting off alarm signals in your aching head.

“This’ll teach you not to meddle where you don’t belong.”

The pen glowed, pure magic surrounding it as he prepared to shoot. His sadistic eyes were alight with entertainment. He knew what he was about to do. He didn’t care.

You squeeze your eyes shut and braced for the lightning.

“OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!”

Your eyes snapped open just in time to see the lightning, arcing gracefully yet violently through the air.

Aiming straight for your assailant’s neck.

“What the- hey! Get this thing off of me!” The boy snapped, tugging at the heart shaped collar that had just appeared around his neck.

“I most certainly will not!”

Spinning around, you saw two boys making their way towards you. One was tall with short green hair, glasses, and a familiar symbol - a club - painted just below his left eye. He looked worried, his gaze flicking from you, to your assailant, to his companion and back again.

The second boy made your heart skip a beat.

His small frame shook with rage. His face, twisted with anger, had become as red as his hair. He marched straight past you, heading towards your assailant, his magical pen gripped tightly in his hand.

Uh oh.

The moment Riddle Rosehearts decides to get involved, heads roll.

“How dare you?!” He yelled. “Using magic in a fight is a clear violation of the rules! Did you think you could just shamelessly flaunt your rule-breaking and expect me not to see it?! And attacking the magic-less prefect of all people! If you really must break the rules, at least fight someone on an equal footing as you, coward!”

The courtyard was dead silent as Riddle verbally ripped into the student, chewing him out for several rule violations and other discourtesies.

“But the prefect started it-!” Your assailant protested.

“I don’t know what history you and the prefect may have, but in this instance you attacked without provocation and without warning!” Riddle huffed. “And don’t try to lie to me. I saw the whole thing.”

The boy visibly deflated. There was no getting out of this for him.

“I want to see your student ID. Now.” Riddle ordered.

The boy sighed, pulled his ID out of his bag and handed it to Riddle.

“Ah, Pomefiore, hm? Be thankful you’re not in Heartslabyul,” he snapped, handing the ID back to the student. “Although,” he added, “Vil Schoenheit is certainly not the most lenient of housewardens. He will deal with you appropriately.”

You felt a hand rest on your shoulder. Looking up, you realised Trey Clover had stopped next to you.

He gave you a small, strained smile. “Are you alright, Prefect?”

Riddle glanced back over at you, a little startled. It appeared he had forgotten you were here.

“I’m alright… I think.” You managed, sending both the dormleader and vice-dormleader a smile.

Riddle’s face somehow got even redder and he looked away. You would’ve thought it almost funny if the world hadn’t started spinning. You quickly grabbed Trey’s arm to steady yourself.

“Maybe not.” You added.

Trey reached over to support you. “Riddle, you know more first aid than I do. I’ll take him to Pomefiore and explain the situation to Vil, but maybe you should take care of the Prefect or something?”

“Very well.” Riddle made his way over to you, reaching out to support you. He gently led you over to a bench and pulled out a handkerchief.

“Please pardon me, I’m going to administer first aid to you now.” He spoke stiffly. You nodded dazedly, and then felt a pang of regret as your headache tripled in intensity. You focused on breathing steadily as he cleaned the blood from your face and examined your injuries.

“You’ll have a couple of bruises, but nothing serious, thankfully.” He sighed in relief and instructed you to apply pressure to your nose and angle your head downwards to stem the bleeding.

Slowly but surely, the bleeding stopped. Riddle sat with you quietly the entire time, silently supporting you. You got the impression that he didn’t quite know what to say or do, and just how close you both were wasn’t helping matters. That was alright, though. Just having him here was enough.

“Prefect…” Riddle spoke so quietly you weren’t even sure he’d spoken. He was looking away from you, his face a light pink colour. He seemed embarrassed.

“What’s up?”

Riddle took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. “I… apologise for losing my temper back there. And also for not arriving and stopping him sooner. I’m truly sorry.”

You stared at him for a moment, then cracked a smile. “It’s alright. Although it would’ve been nice not to get hurt in the first place, it’s not your fault at all. You aren’t the idiot who tried to hurt me anyway.”

Riddle flinched at your ‘swear’. “Prefect!”

You grinned mischievously. “Wha-at? There’s no rule against calling someone an idiot, is there? Besides, you called him a coward earlier. If I’m going to get in trouble for calling someone an idiot then you should get in trouble for calling someone a coward.”

Riddle smiled and shook his head, his cheeks slightly pink. “Well then, I suppose I’ll have to watch my tongue. As Heartslabyul dorm leader, I simply must set a good example for my dorm members. Which means I must refrain from calling people… jerks.”

You gasped and clapped your hand over your mouth, trying so hard not to burst out laughing. “Riddle!”

His eyes lit up as you said his name. He looked at you so gently, so lovingly as you struggled not to laugh that you felt your face going warm.

Wouldn’t it be nice to stay like this forever….?

A yell of pain shot through the air, wrenching your eyes open in fear. Stumbling backwards, you drank in the scene in front of you before realising in horror what had happened.

Someone had jumped in front of you.

A beastman, to be more specific.

The boy stood protectively in front of you, breathing hard, hackles raised. He had dirty blond hair and an outfit much too big for him. His right hand was gripped tightly around his magical pen, his left was holding his right shoulder. Blood was beginning to fall at his feet.

Wait, blood?

Scanning him again quickly and you saw them: shards of ice crystals stuck out of his shoulder at every angle. Your stomach twisted and you felt the bile rise in the back of your throat.

“Prefect, go!”

“But-“

The boy turned at you and snarled. “Run!”

You stumbled backwards, stunned. A spell - another gift from your assailant - flew by your ear. Scrambling backwards, you cast your eyes around to find a place to hide.

There!

Sprinting over and sliding into the hiding spot, you peaked your head around and watched.

It was brutal.

The boy who saved you - the boy you now recognise as your crush, Ruggie Bucchi - fought viciously, yet his opponent was not the kind to give up easily. For every spell Ruggie had, this boy somehow managed to dodge or deflect almost every single one of them, and fire off a few of his own.

Come on, Ruggie. You thought. Please be okay.

Ripping your gaze from the fight, you pulled a packet of wipes from your bag and forced yourself to clean your wounds. Anything to distract from what was going on.

After all, there was no way you could help. You were magicless after all, so it was probably best to just leave things to those who could fight, right?

…Right?

A yell of pain forced your attention back on the fight. Both boys were now breathing hard, blood strewn across the courtyard. From the looks of things, neither boy could beat the other. Ruggie couldn’t break a hole in his defence and the other boy could barely hit Ruggie, who was sprinting and dodging like his life depended on it.

“Stay still, mutt!” The boy snapped, firing off spell after spell.

Ruggie didn’t even respond. His concentration remained on dodging and finding a weak point, but your assailant didn’t leave him time to cast a spell.

He just needed an opening.

Steeling yourself, you grabbed a rock and snuck around the two of them. You adjusted your grip on the rock.

Please, don’t let this hit anyone. You prayed, then stepped out into the open.

“HEY DIPSTICK, OVER HERE!” You yelled as loud as you could and then hurled the rock in his direction.

The boy whirled around and deflected the rock with magic in an instant. Seeing you, he seized his chance and prepared to fire off another spell. You squeezed your eyes tight and held your hands in front of your face.

“Laugh with me!”

No spell came. Opening your eyes, you saw the boy in front of you, clearly angry. He walked towards you rigidly, as if he was trying to do anything but that. He pulled his student ID out of his bag and handed it to you.

Then he turned around and walked away. Your eyes followed him as he walked a ways off, then stopped.

The boy whirled around, his magical pen aimed directly at you and began to cast-

And then was immediately knocked off his feet from a blast of wind magic.

Someone grabbed your arm. “C’mon Prefect, now’s when we run-“

Ruggie ran hard, tugging you along with him as you dodged through crowds of people, eventually slowing to a stop in front of some empty classrooms.

You gasped for breath and put your hands on your knees, trying to recover from your sprint. Glancing up, you saw Ruggie leaning against the wall, breathing hard.

He looked awful.

His shoulder looked worse, his uniform was singed and he smelled of smoke. He had countless scratches and scrapes. Yet despite all this, he caught your eye and smiled painfully.

“What… whatcha starin’ at, Prefect?” He panted, clearly exhausted.

“Your shoulder…” you managed. His smile fell and he shrugged - then grimaced.

“‘S fine. Don’t need to worry, shishish-“ he cursed and winced.

You walked over to him and looked him over. His face was ever so slightly pink as he looked away. He shook slightly as you tugged off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

Pulling out your packet of wipes, you looked up at him. “This okay?”

He glanced at you briefly, his face still pink, his ears flat against his head. He looked away again. “‘S whatever.” He mumbled.

You gently cleaned up his cuts and scrapes. Looking at his shoulder injury, you sighed. “I can’t do anything about that one. I’m taking you to the nurse’s office.”

“But-“ he protested, but fell silent when you cut him off.

“No buts. That’s serious, Ruggie. I’ll buy you doughnuts if you let me take you.” You added, hoping the bribe would work.

He hesitated, then smiled at you. “Fine. Shishishi, if I didn’t know better, I’d guess you’d care for me or somethin’.”

You simply stared at him.

He went red. “P-prefect-? Got somethin’ you wanna say? Haha…”

“Come on,” you said with a smile and a sigh. “Let’s get you to the infirmary.”

“Okay.”

What a dummy. You thought as you pulled him along. I think I love him.

♥Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it!!♥

[wastefulreverie]

"This can't be legal," Danny said in a weak voice. "I mean, how are they allowed to do this?"

Lancer tensed. "It falls under a gray area. If you ask me, the Anti-Ecto Prevention Act gives them far too much jurisdiction."

The GIW, full in pure white HAZMAT suits from the overlarge hoods to the fitted boots, ushered in the next student from his class. Poor Lester walked into the tent, looking green in the face. Sweat rolled down his temples and his hands shook as the suited agent clasped his shoulder and pulled him through the curtains.

Paulina sniffed. "I don't want to be microchipped."

"Were you even listening at all?" Wes scoffed. "It's biodegradable. It'll be out of your system within a year and prevents you from being overshadowed. Unless, of course, you are a ghost." His eyes flitted to Danny. "Then who the hell knows what it'll do to you?"

"I'm not doing it." Sam crossed her arms. She was sitting on the gym floor, cross-legged. "It's unconstitutional, the total principle of it."

"I can't believe I'm agreeing with Manson," Paulina said. "But they'll have to drag me in there before they insert something underneath my flawless skin."

Valerie rolled her eyes. "Not that I object to being overshadowed, but I'd rather not have the U.S. government tracking my every move."

"There's not trackers in them," Lancer said. "They were adamant about that when we were told about this."

"Great," Sam drew out, "the untested ghost repelling microchips with unknown side effects being nonconsensually administered to minors allegedly doesn't broadcast our current locations to the government. That eases my nerves."

The tension in the room was palpable.

"I have uh, I have epilepsy," Nathan spoke up. His voice was short and clipped. "Do they even know how this'll affect that?"

Lancer put his head in his hands. "Dear Lord. I didn't sign up for this. I hate this."

The curtains were drawn back again. An agent, possibly the same one from a minute before but it was hard to tell since they all looked the same in the HAZMAT suits. He looked down at a clipboard.

"Fenton?" he called. "Daniel Fenton?"

Danny stared at the floor from where he was standing, not daring to look up and inevitably see everyone's eyes on him. The tiles on the gym floor looked like maple-colored planks of wood, but there was a thin film of clear plastic—or maybe rubber—when he slid his shoes against it.

"Fenton," repeated the agent, "come with me."

He didn't look up.

No. Because if he looked up, that meant he would have to do something. He wanted to avoid this for as long as he could.

There was a sound of rustling and in his peripheral vision he saw his classmates move out of the way as the agent stalked toward him.

He stumbled backward, not quite tripping, but struggling to keep even footing. Oh. He hoped he hadn't phased his feet through each other. He used to be bad with that. This would be the worst time and place to fall into old habits.

The agent gave him an unreadable look, face obscured by the HAZMAT mask, but Danny could feel the man's impatience as he waved the clipboard.

"Fenton. You're up."

"No."

His classmates glanced at him nervously and the agent shifted his weight, giving an agitated huff.

"Kid, you don't get a choice in this. This is for your protection."

"I can protect myself, thanks," he snapped. "I think I'll do fine without your little ghost zapping chip embedded in my arm."

"I don't know who you think you are, but just because your parents are ghost hunters doesn't make you exempt from this. All students, no exceptions."

He locked eyes with the man behind the mask. Well, it was a calculated guess at where the man's eyes were but Danny hoped his stare came across as menacing.

"It's nothing more than a pinch. I promise this won't be half as bad as you're imagining."

"Oh, I'm sure it will be."

Wes cleared his throat.

"Fenton's a—"

Without warning, Sam pulled herself to her feet and slugged Wes in the face. Hard. He stumbled backward and almost fell on one of the bleachers. Blood dripped from her knuckles and from his nose. Oh. That was going to bruise badly.

Lancer cried in alarm.

"Miss Manson!"

"Sorry, Mr. Lancer. Muscle spasm."

"We don't have time for this." The agent reached forward and grabbed Danny's shoulder as he'd done to Lester minutes before. "Come on. Let's get this done."

Danny stood his ground, and the agent pulled against him. He was stronger than the agent, and despite that, he'd phased the bottom of his shoes into the uppermost layer of the gym's floor. He wasn't going anywhere.

"How in the world—?"

Paulina started sobbing at the top of her lungs.

"I don't want to be here! I don't want to be chipped! I want to go home!"

The agent turned toward her, startled. "Now, calm down now—"

Wes staggered forward, blood dripping onto the floor as he moved. Some fell onto the agent's pristine, white boots. He jumped away from Wes like he'd been burned.

More students joined Paulina, clamoring that they didn't want to be chipped either. Sam raised her bloodied fist and shouted—an unhinged, almost feral scream while Danny gradually phased his shoes deeper into the floor. Mr. Lancer pulled a book out from somewhere and was waving it around, a loose bookmark falling out as he did so, in a futile attempt to capture everyone's attention.

Three identical agents ran out of the curtained tent at the sound of the chaos.

"What is going on!" one of them barked.

"Sir, the students are being uncooperative," the first agent said.

"I need medical attention," Wes said, unhelpfully.

The new agent, who Danny decided was the boss, accessed Wes and the drops of blood on the first agent's boots with horror.

"Agent Kilo, you didn't…"

"No, no. It was the girl."

He nodded his head to Sam, who hid her bloodied fist behind her back.

"He's a liar!" she said. "He hit Wes! We all saw it!"

The other students gave tentative nods. Ever the performer, Paulina flinched away from Agent Kilo, as if afraid he might strike her. In the midst of it all Lancer did nothing.

"Kilo," the boss's voice was stern. "That's not how we do things."

"But I didn't—"

"You're dismissed for now. We'll discuss this later." He turned to Wes. "I do apologize."

Wes looked at him like he'd grown an extra head. "Alright?"

Agent Kilo stormed away, muttering something about lying, conniving brats and threw his clipboard on the ground.

Lancer stepped in. "If I may, I do say that my students have been through an emotionally stressful experience here and I don't know if they should continue with this today. Besides, Mr. Weston does still need medical attention and I believe that should be our top priority."

The boss grunted. "Right. Return to class. We'll continue this at another date."

He waved a hand and the other agents headed back to the tent. Meanwhile, the students trailed after Lancer toward the opposite end of the gym—all sighing in relief.

As they left the gym, Sam caught Danny's shoulder and hissed in his ear. "Danny, the clipboard."

The discarded clipboard was forgotten on the floor.

"Mark our names off," she hissed. "I'll keep them distracted."

He nodded. He tapped into invisibility and retrieved the clipboard. A ballpoint pen was clipped to the top of it and he marked off the box beside his and Sam's names, doing his best to emulate Agent Kilo's loopy initials for the official confirmation. With any luck, the man wouldn't remember it later among all the chaos. With better luck, the man would be dismissed from the GIW completely.

He flipped the clipboard face-up and left it closer to the tent so that the agents would find it. He flew back into the corridor and met up with Sam, who was lingering near the end of the group.

"Got it." He dropped back onto the visible spectrum. "We're officially chipped."

"Oh, thank God. You're a literal lifesaver."

Wes turned, holding a wad of paper towels against his bloodied nose. "Please tell me I'm not the only one who just saw Fenton appear out of thin air, right?"

"You're concussed, Weston," Valerie said, not bothering to turn around and check. "He's not a ghost."

"Manson did not give me a concussion!"

"Yeah, Agent Kilo did," Nathan brushed off. "Keep up. The GIW can suck it."

That was something they could all, unquestionably, agree on.

[bingwriterxo]

the shakespeare exhibit - part 5

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: in which you meet tara's family, and she reveals a secret

warnings: talks about murder

word count: 2400+

author's note: R's brothers' names are finally revealed😩

previous part | next part

Sam, Mindy, and Chad sat in the Carpenter-Bailey living room, watching Tara as she paced around the room, chewing on her bottom lip and fidgeting with her hands.

“You guys have to be nice to her, okay?” Tara said, glancing at the trio. “She’s a little nerdy.” Or a lot nerdy, she thought. “And she can ramble about literature sometimes, so if you don’t want to listen to that, then don’t get her started.” Not that I don’t like her rambling. I actually would kill to listen to her talk Shakespeare to me right now. Her voice is just so-- She shook her head. “Maybe just don’t bring up any authors, or playwrights, or poets, or--”

“T,” Mindy interrupted. Tara whipped her head toward her, eyes wide with anxiety. “Don’t stress. I already know Y/N, and she’ll fit in just fine with us. She’s a little sweetheart. Plus, you’re wrapped around her finger, which is a great sign.”

Tara sighed. “I know. I just…I’ve never brought anyone home before, so I’m nervous.” She looked at Sam. “I really want you guys to like her because I’m hoping she’ll be around for a while.”

Sam smiled. “Tara, it’ll be fine. I’m excited to meet her.”

“We’ll finally get to see how whipped you are!” Mindy said, shooting Tara a teasing grin. “Because we all know you’re a simp.”

“Shut up, Minds,” Tara grumbled. “You’re one to talk--always gushing over Anika and ‘oh! I can’t! I’m with ‘Nika tonight!’” Tara mimicked, making her voice higher to mock her friend.

Mindy huffed. “Whatever. At least I asked Anika to be my girlfriend before actually calling her my girlfriend.”

“Don’t use that against me.”

Chad piped up, interrupting the bickering. "So, on a scale from 1 to Ethan, how nerdy is she?"

Tara tilted her head, thinking. “Like, a nine?” No, higher. “Maybe she even beats Ethan, actually.” Oh my god, is she nerdier than Ethan?

Chad hummed. “I didn’t think that would ever be possible.”

“Well, if one of you gets her rambling, then you’ll see.” Tara started pacing again. “But, really, she could go on for hours, so you should try to avoid--”

“Just breathe, Tara, alright?” Sam said. “This’ll be fine. And if it’s not, well, you like her, and that’s what matters.” But I need you to like her, too, Sam.

“Okay.” Tara exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “You’re right. This’ll be perfectly fi--"

Soft knocks on the front door made her jump where she stood, her nerves rushing back up her throat and threatening to spill out. She glanced at the clock. She’s early. Oh god. I thought I had more time. I need more time. I need to prep these guys. I need to prep myself. I need to--

Chad furrowed his eyebrows. “Are you gonna get the door, or…?”

Tara nodded. “Yes.”

“You haven’t moved, T,” Mindy pointed out.

“I’m getting there,” Tara seethed through gritted teeth.

“I can get the door,” Sam offered, already halfway out of her seat. That snapped Tara from her reverie and she pushed her sister back onto the couch with a huff. Only I can open doors for her.

Tara crossed the room, peeked through the peephole, and inhaled deeply when it was, in fact, you standing out in the hall. Okay. This is it. She twisted the doorknob and pulled the door open, smiling nervously at you.

“Hi, pretty girl,” you said, looking just as jittery as she felt. There was a bottle of wine in your hands, and you were wringing your fingers around it as you spoke. “I thought I had the wrong apartment for a minute.”

She shook her head, blushing from the nickname. “Nope. You’re…here.” She stared at you for a moment before being interrupted by Mindy behind her.

“Are you gonna let her in, T?” the girl called out. I’ll kill her. Really, I will.

“Right,” she breathed out. She opened the door wider. “Come on in.”

You shuffled through the door, offering a soft smile to the three that were sitting on the couch. “Hi, guys,” you said, waving.

“‘Sup? I’m Chad.”

“You already know me, nerd.” Can Mindy just be somewhat nice for once? Tara thought.

Sam stood up, and Tara gulped. Don’t be rude. Don’t be rude. “Nice to meet you, Y/N,” Sam said, grinning at you.

“You too!” You shoved the wine bottle in her direction. “This is for you. It’s a 1961 Merlot from France.” You blushed, glancing down sheepishly. “My parents sent it over since I’m not 21 yet, but I thought it would be nice to bring something.”

Sam’s eyes widened as she stared at the bottle. “I can’t accept this. It had to have been expensive.” If you saw her apartment, you’d know her parents have the money.

You shrugged, biting your bottom lip. “No, please. It’s…it’s not a big deal, really.” You frowned, and Tara could tell you were growing anxious. She grabbed your hand, holding it tightly in her own as you said, “But, if you’re not a big wine drinker, I could ask them to send something else, or--”

“No, this is great.” Sam smiled. “Thank you.”

You breathed out a sigh of relief. “You're welcome.”

Okay, Tara thought. Good first impression. Perfect.

“Well,” Sam said, “the food’s ready. Should we eat?”

* * *

You sat next to Tara at the table, her hand on your thigh, with Chad across from you and Mindy and Sam sitting at either end. The food had already been eaten, empty plates laying in front of each of you, and easy conversation was flowing between all of the friends, leaving you to sit back and watch.

“So, Y/N, Tara told us that you’re an English major at Blackmore?” Sam said, turning to you, a glass of the wine you had brought in her hands.

You nodded, taking a sip of water to clear your throat. “Yeah! I’m an English major with a concentration in literature specifically.”

Here we go, Tara thought.

“Who’s your favorite author, then?” Sam asked. Oh, you fool. I warned you.

“Oh, well, you know, there’s just so many throughout history.” You furrowed your eyebrows in thought. “I mean, Shakespeare is high on the list, of course, though he’s considered a playwright. Nathaniel Hawthorne is also one of ‘the greats’ for me. I mean, one of my brothers is named after him, so I feel like I have to lean into that. Poet-wise, I’d have to go with Emily Dickinson because, to me at least, her language is filled with so much passion and true love for poetry.” Your eyes flitted around the table, and you glanced down. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”

Tara leaned over and whispered, “It’s okay, baby. You’re doing fine.”

Sam hummed. “Do you know what you want to do with your degree?”

“Maybe become an English professor like my father, or I may try to stay on the museum-track because I really do love being a tour guide.”

“It’s cool that you like Shakespeare,” Sam said. “I could never get into him, especially when they tried to teach us in school.”

“Well,” Mindy began, “neither could Tara, but look at her now. All it takes is a little literature nerd”--Mindy pointed at you--“and you’re all set.”

“So, why’s that your thing?” Chad asked, and Tara smiled softly, glad that he was trying.

“Well, I grew up with it,” you said. “My father was an English lit. professor; my grandfather was a poet; my great grandmother was an author; my great great grandmo--” You stopped yourself. “You get the picture; it spans generations with us.” You shrugged lightly. “We’re all literature fans, for the most part, except for my other brother Eddie.”

Chad nodded. “That’s cool. I can’t say I’m much of a reader myself, but it’s cool you’ve got a passion.”

You sighed with relief, and Tara squeezed your thigh. Bingo! That’s her on all of their good sides.

“What’re you into, then?” you asked.

“Me? Oh, I’m a big sports guy,” Chad said.

“Do you like the 49ers?”

“Like them?! That’s my team, man!”

You grinned, and Tara could practically see the idea form in your head. She furrowed her eyebrows, wondering where the conversation was going. It wasn’t like you were a huge sports fan, at least from what you had told her. Then again, she had failed to mention that her family has hella money.

“My dad knows the coach. If you want, over summer break or something, I could arrange something so that you could meet the team,” you said.

Chad’s eyes practically popped out of his head. “Are you serious?! That would be epic.”

You waved him off. “It’s no biggie.” You turned to Mindy. “My dad also knows the director of the original Stab, if you ever wanted to meet him.”

“How the fuck does your dad know so many people?” Mindy asked, and Tara giggled at the child-like excitement in her voice.

“He’s got connections.” You shrugged.

“The coolest person our dad knows is Gale Weathers,” Chad huffed. “And that’s not even that cool, since we’ve met her already.”

Your eyes widened. “You guys have met Gale Weathers?” Oh shit, Tara thought, gulping.

Sam furrowed her eyebrows, looking at Tara. “You haven’t told her yet?” A thick tension settled in the air as you glanced to your side, clearly confused about the topic at hand.

“Told me what?”

Tara stammered for words. Fuck. Not the time. Definitely not the time. “I’ll tell you later.”

You tilted your head at her but accepted the response. “Okay. No problem.”

Just like that, the tension faded away and you went back to talking to the others, grinning and rambling and joking around. Thank god she gets along with them. But now I have a bigger problem on my hands.

* * *

You fell back onto Tara’s bed, and she giggled at how easily you made yourself comfortable. She sat next to you, running her hand down your arm.

“What’d you think?” Tara asked.

“I like them.” You sat up and glanced at your hands. “What do you think they think of me?”

“Oh, they love you. Trust me.” You looked at her, and she offered you a soft smile. “They acted this way with Anika, too, when she and Mindy first started dating, and she’s practically family now. So, you’re in!”

You laughed, the sound dancing past your lips. “Good. I was worried.”

Okay, Tara. You’ve gotta tell her, she thought. “So, we should probably talk.”

“Okay.” You furrowed your eyebrows. “Is this about what they brought up at dinner?”

Tara nodded her head, sighing. “Yeah. You know about the…murders in Woodsboro, right?”

You shrugged. “Kind of. I watched the first few Stabs when I was younger, but I’ve never actually looked into or read about the real murders.”

“Did you hear about the copycat killers last year?”

“Yeah. Briefly. My dad brought it up.” You tilted your head. “What’s going on?”

Tara clenched her jaw, bile rising in the back of her throat as she thought about what she was going to reveal. Just tell her. Spit it out. She gulped, trying to stop the trembling of her hands.

“Tara, baby,” you cooed, taking her cheeks in your hands so that you could look into her eyes. “What’s wrong?” Your thumbs ran over her skin and came away wet. “You’re crying, sweetheart.”

Am I really? She sniffled and pulled away from your grasp, rubbing her own hands over her eyes. Huh. I am.

“You know you can tell me anything, right, Tar?” you asked, your voice so soft and careful that it made Tara want to melt into you.

She nodded and took a steadying breath. “I was part of it. The murders last year in Woodsboro,” she whispered. Her vision was blurry, yet she could still see as your eyes widened and your expression changed from worry to sorrow.

“What?”

“One of the killers was Sam’s boyfriend, Richie.” She bit her bottom lip, hating the way her voice shook. “And the other was…” Amber. My best friend. My girlfriend. My Amber.

“The other was who, baby?”

Tara’s heartbeat was faster than it should’ve been, and she was breathing heavily, like she couldn’t get enough air into her lungs. She tried to swallow down the sob that wanted to erupt, but she couldn’t.

You leaned forward and wrapped your arms around her shoulders, pulling her into your chest. Carefully, you laid on your back, bringing her down with you, and carded through her hair with your fingers as she cried into you.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. We don’t have to talk about this now,” you said. “We don’t have to talk about it ever, if you don’t want to.”

Too good, Tara thought in the midst of her cries. She’s too good.

“I’m here, Tar. I’m here if you’re ready, and I’m here if you’re not.” You pressed a kiss to the top of her head, your lips lingering against her. “You’re okay,” you murmured.

It took nearly an hour for Tara to compose herself, her cries finally turning into soft sniffles and a few tears that dripped onto your shirt. When she pulled herself away from your hold, you were staring at her with wide, concerned eyes, and she knew she had to tell you.

“Okay,” she mumbled. “I’m ready.” You sat up and took one of her hands in yours, rubbing your thumb over her skin. She exhaled sharply through her nose and said, “The other killer was…she was my girlfriend. Amber.”

You deflated a bit at her words, frowning, and she watched as your eyes turned glossy. “Oh, Tara,” you whispered. You squeezed her hand. “I am so sorry. I can’t even imagine.”

She shrugged, blinking back the fresh wave of tears. “It’s okay.”

You shook your head. “It’s not, Tar.”

“It’s been a year. I don’t know why I’m not over it yet,” she said, voice cracking.

“I don’t know if that’s something you get over.” You sighed. “Or, at least, not in just a year.” You ran your thumb over her knuckles. “You can talk to me about it…whenever you want, okay?”

“It’s not weird? That she was…my girlfriend?”

“No, baby. It’s not. It’s something that should be talked about, and I’ll always be here to listen.” You leaned forward and kissed the tear tracks on her cheeks. “No matter what, whenever you want to talk about it, I’m here.” You smiled. “I’m good for more than just literature, you know.”

Tara giggled softly. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.”

bonus: “tara?” chad asked a few days after the dinner with you.

“what’s up?”

“does y/n know any…video game developers?”

tara furrowed her eyebrows. “maybe. i’d have to ask.” she narrowed her eyes. “why?”

chad looked down at his feet. “...ethan wanted to know.”

she giggled. “ethan can ask her when he meets her.”

[mcmookiemeal]

Giving Donkey Kong a bath

“If you would just sit still, this would go a lot easier.” You frustratedly sighed.

Donkey kong sat impatiently in the large wooden tub filled with soapy water.

You were the one who practically forced him into this tub after finding out he doesn’t properly bathe most of the time.

“You’re scrubbing too hard!” He snapped back at you, crossing his arms like a child throwing a tantrum.

You scoff and continue to sponge around all the spots where dirt is potentially hiding under his fur.

You honestly wondered if Dk had been bathing in mud for all these years.

He plays with the small rubber ducky you gave him to keep him distracted while you clean him thoroughly.

“I like this little guy.” He laughs as he squeaks it with his large fingers.

You harshly scrubbed behind his ear causing him to flinch a little bit to which you apologize softly.

“You’ll be glad to hear I’m all done with the scrubbing.” You confirmed as you threw the soap back into the water.

Grabbing the strawberry scented shampoo bottle from the counter, you squirted a generous amount on both your hands before returning your focus back on Dk

“I think you’ll enjoy this part.” You giggle.

Taking both of your hands, you gently massaged deeply through the fur on his head. Fingers moving all around his head in a thorough manner.

“Oh wow…”. You can hear the smile in his voice.

Once his head was completely covered in the white foam you figured it was time to wash it out. You took a cup from beside you and filled it with the water from the tub.

“Lean your head back.”

“What? why-” You cut him off and poured the cup of water on his head. His wet hair falling over his eyes as he coughed out some of the water that got in his mouth.

You told him to lean his head back and he didn’t listen so that was on him.

“What was that for?!” He yelled, angrily throwing the rubber ducky at the water.

You shrugged and smirked.

But lucky for him bath time was officially over and it was time to dry off with a nice warm towel.

You quickly grabbed a towel for him and helped him step out of the tub.

His wet fur dripped onto the wooden floor as he shivered from the light breeze that flowed through the tiny hut.

“Here, this’ll warm you up” You took the towel and dried his body off.

After he was all dry he looked extra fluffy, almost like a blanket that was just freshly taken out of the dryer.

Dk lifted his arms up to his nose and took a few sniffs.

“Wow…I smell amazing!” He exclaimed and pulled you into a near bone crushing hug.

“Im glad you like it but please put me down, I cant breathe.” You wheeze.

He apologizes quickly and drops you back onto the floor.

Suddenly his eyes light up and he stares at you with a huge toothy smile on his face. He looks like he might be on the verge of exploding.

“We have to tell my dad about this new magic stuff that makes me smell good!”

“Its called shampoo-”

“Yeah yeah whatever!” He grabs your arm and pulls you out of the hut and pretty much throws you into the passengers seat of his kart.

You buckle up and grip the dashboard as he gets into the drivers seat and revs up the kart.

It looked like giving Dk a bath was gonna be more than just a one time thing.

A/N: This is my first post on this blog and I hope you enjoy the Dk content because the sweet guy deserves more!!

[kisskawa]

— honey lemon cw food

the first time oikawa tooru tells you he loves you is aged six. chubby cheeks are stretched out with contagious happiness as he presents you his confession with a gift, a lemon lollipop which he had snuck from under his mother’s nose as she spoke to your own.

you mirror his smile, sugar on your tongue and lips coated with artificial yellow as you return his words with no idea of what they truly meant. but, you think as oikawa beams at you, grinning impossibly wide, that maybe the warmth that filled your belly had something to do with love.

it’s a feeling you try your best to harbour, to keep greedily to yourself, waiting with bated breath each time someone asks oikawa for a share of his time. “i’m ok,” he shrugs, looping one arm through yours and the other through iwaizumi hajime’s, the boy down the road and the third beloved member of your trio - your own ragtag version of the three musketeers, “i’ve got these two.” perhaps, in retrospect, playground politics had been much less serious than you’d thought, but oikawa’s words had been enough to flood your systems with that familiar feeling once more.

it follows as you walk back to oikawa’s house, hands tightly clasped together, first for safety as he ushers you across the road and then out of habit as you draw closer to the familiar door where snacks and the television lay waiting. your eyes light up as you notice the tub of lollipops and oikawa is quick to notice, quick to pass it to you, cheeks rosying as you grin at him in thanks.

years pass and this becomes routine, memories tinted by yellow and tasting of lemon. the lines between your homes blur, forever open and welcoming to the other, and oikawa takes to raiding the kitchen after each grocery shop, quickly stashing the sweets away for his sister to miss. a paper stick hangs from your lips even now, the summer before junior high begins. the pair of you are swinging languidly in an old hammock that you used to fit in much better. presently, your legs cross over oikawa’s, head lolling comfortably onto his shoulder and inhaling the familiar smell of vanilla soap and fresh laundry and him. a brief thought flits through your mind, wondering how this’ll work when iwaizumi finishes with his shower, the last to take his turn, but it’s gone as quick as it comes, replaced instead by the steadiness of oikawa’s cheek pressed against the top of your head. 

the silence between you two is comfortable, punctuated only by the crickets hiding in the nearby grass. a gentle breeze has the blades dancing, moving in time with the hammock and even as the moon creeps into the sky, all seems utterly alive. the calm is interrupted by iwaizumi’s arrival, wet hair dripping onto your stomach as he launches himself across you both with a grin. a sudden exhale escapes your mouth. and you fear, for a split second, that the hammock will give out, ropes creaking at the additional weight as you sway with new force from side to side. tempo quickened, you hope the night never ends.

“miss me?” iwaizumi laughs, decidingly cosy plastered over his two closest friends.

“absolutely not,” oikawa huffs softly, though the amusement in his tone would be clear to a stranger. 

the two boys turn to you as they wait for your input but it's lost as your eyes flutter close and your lips creep into a smile, content to just take in the moment. iwaizumi takes the chance to dig his fingers just below your ribcage and you shriek, wriggling under his body weight, eyes snapping open again.

oikawa calls your name, head knocking gently against yours whilst his arms remain restrained beneath iwaizumi, “you there?”

you nod quickly, heat swirling in your stomach and creeping up your neck, before shooting a look to oikawa that relaxes his stare, letting him know you’re ok.

“keep doing that and we’ll think you got swapped with one of those aliens oikawa used to make us look for,” iwaizumi chuckles, snickers growing louder as you stick your tongue out at him and oikawa begins to protest.

you let your gaze flicker upwards as the pair bicker playfully, and you wonder when you began thinking that though oikawa had searched for aliens, he had found the stars.

it’s in kitagawa first when you truly realise oikawa has a natural affinity to draw others in, moths to a flame, ants to a sweet. he’s addictive, moulding himself to each person and motivating them with nothing more than a flash of a honey smile. his name occupies numerous conversations, used both in whispers and in cheers, the volleyball team’s audience growing in numbers. but despite how easygoing his friendship seems, a wave of his hand in passing becomes enough for most. it has to. because oikawa is unattainable and you are too.

oikawa returns to you, day after day, form slumping onto yours though remaining just as bright. his head falls onto your shoulder from the other end of the desk, knees knocking as his torso stretches over you and his arms move to loop loosely round your abdomen. his hair tickles your jaw and your hand reaches out to fiddle with the wisps that fall upon his nape, just the way he likes it. goosebumps rise under your touch and oikawa lets out a sigh, mumbling against your shirt.

those lucky enough to share your class find themselves leaning in when you hum a soft reply, hoping to catch a glimpse of what makes oikawa throw his head back in joyful laughter, whole body seized by happiness. even as joy spills from his lips, his grip on your waist remains, maintaining your closeness. but the others never do find out, words falling flat to outsiders' ears despite their admiration of the boy with chocolate hair and twinkling eyes.

you’d always taken a step back as boys and girls alike teetered up to your best friend, watching nervous smiles and shy actions from the corner of your eye as the same old question flew from the tips of their tongues. it’s like the playground all over again. but offers to hang out had turned into whispers of a crush, deeper levels of companionship sought after. you try to ignore how your lemon lollipops no longer taste quite so sweet.

seijoh is new and daunting, your future looming over you. it takes some time to relax before it becomes easy to recognise, hallways and classrooms and club room four engraved into your mind. and then, it’s nice and pleasant and worse. because it’s amplified. your circle has expanded, ever so slightly, hanamaki takahiro and matsukawa issei naturally finding their way over to you, joining your little group. three becomes five but you’re still oikawa tooru’s best friend and people don’t bother to hide the way they glance at you two, spying. you wonder if they’re waiting for something to happen.

it’s the awkward age where relationships are commonplace and your best friend has rocketed in popularity. he’s shot up in height, form filling out, and though you’d never admit it to him, the group of self proclaimed fans who giggle and whisper and awe over him doesn’t come as a surprise. rather, it seems almost right. over the course of aoba johsai, oikawa accepts a confession or two, but still it’s you. you and the looks you shoot one another in class and the volleyball team jacket reserved only for you and the dates missed for your tradition of wednesday movie nights to disperse the midweek blues. it’s you that leaves behind a trail of broken hearts.

you find out late. it's at the start of third year when hanamaki lets slip. oikawa’s oddly chipper for someone who’s just lost a relationship and you utter so from the side of the gym, brow furrowed.

“it just wasn’t a right fit,” he had told you, “we didn’t have much in common anyways.”

you had nodded thoughtfully and though he didn’t sound all too sad, placed a comforting hand on the base of your best friend’s spine. you never had liked his last girlfriend much, she scowled at the way oikawa slipped you under his arm, a space that had long since been moulded to fit you, and sneered nastily whenever he turned to you, hating how easily you could grasp his attention. though you tucked the words away, you were glad making oikawa pick between her and volleyball had been the last straw.

except it hadn’t. making oikawa pick between her and you had been. 

“he always chooses you,” hanamaki had said, teasing lilt in his tone letting you know he was entirely serious. and all at once, it feels as if the floor has been swept up from beneath your very feet.

always. he always chooses you. how many times had this happened? where the ultimatum had involved you, had been because of you? 

you still haven't quite been able to put yourself together when oikawa emerges from the club room, sweat plastering hair across his forehead and pretty features sporting a lopsided grin that you’ve known for as long as you can remember. it’s been years since your parents sat you down and spoke carefully about walking home together as you swung your feet and nodded along to every other word. “make sure you look after each other,” oikawa’s mother had repeated, “especially when you cross the road.” and now, even as the end of seijoh draws nearer, oikawa holds out his hand.

your conjoined hands swing, dragging through the air together as you amble back to his house, facing each twist and turn as you have done for so long - as a pair. but you’re looking at him differently, lips pushed out into a pout and stare flickering from one eye to the other. like you’re trying to tell him something. and not knowing exactly what it is has oikawa's nerves ebbing and flowing in waves, bottom lip feeding anxiously through his teeth.

"let's stop at the convenience store," oikawa bursts, though it comes out more of a question than anything, voice uneasy.

"sure," you nod, and oikawa tugs on your hand to change direction. you fall out of rhythm.

the diversion only adds twenty minutes to the journey despite oikawa trying to take as long as he can. he loops through the shop with his mind elsewhere, dropping his panicked thoughts in the aisles as he reasons with himself. he leaves with a celebrity-endorsed fizzy drink, freshly baked milk bread and lemon lollipops. one of which he hands to you as soon as you step out into the fresh air. his hand automatically tangles with your own again and for a moment, you find that oikawa has soothed you too.

but that funny, foreign expression returns as you near oikawa's home and for what seems like the first time, you stop in his doorway, floundering. it's all the same; the framed childish scribbles that guard the hallway, the old dip in the sofa where you always find your seat, the mug meant for guests but really only used for you. and yet, you feel out of place. it hurts.

oikawa calls out your name. he doesn't say anything more, not even a single syllable. he doesn't have to. the concern in his voice is obvious and the question is pulled from your throat without another obstacle.

"why?"

it's not what you wanted to say, not what you intended. but the curt word had tumbled gracelessly, your tone all too wounded, and your stomach churns painfully at the thought of messing everything up.

a squeeze of your hand shifts your attention, vice on your heart briefly loosening. "s'ok," oikawa murmurs lowly, "take your time."

"why didn't you tell me the truth about why you broke up?" you eventually manage out.

oikawa shrugs, feigning nonchalance, despite his heart slamming against his chest, despite knowing you can see right through his bravado. despite, despite, despite. "it wasn't a hard choice. i'd never let anyone come between us."

never sounds a lot like always.

"what's going on in that mind of yours?" oikawa mutters at your stillness, tapping a finger against your temple. you wish the contact lasted longer.

even so, it's not enough to distract you from the realisation that oikawa’s at a loss too, struggling with the change in tide. because he’s familiarised himself with your touch, your voice and your every breath. there’s no one in the world who perceives you quite so well as he does, and yet, he doesn’t know, doesn’t understand. your body freezes.

"c'mon," he continues, speech slipping into a desperate whisper, "y'know you can tell me anything. i want to hear it all."

all of it includes the "i love you" that topples from your lips, a bomb in three words. and it shakes the world around you, changing everything that you know.

you hear oikawa's trembling inhale as it shudders through his lungs, but the old clamps have loosened and you can no longer keep the words hidden under your tongue. "i have for a long time now. i spend all my time with you and it’s still not enough, i don’t think it ever will be.”

you’re struggling to organise your thoughts, that much is clear, but they continue to spill, aching to be released, “maybe it’s the way you make everything seem so easy, even when it’s not. and when i want to scream and shout, you’re there to let me cry and help me through it, because you know exactly what to do every time. and maybe it’s that. how we just work, how there’s no one else i’d want to know me so well, no one else i’d rather know better either. it’s you and it’s always been you.”

your confession finishes with ragged pants, shallow gasps and sharper exhales. it’s as if the air has been punched out of you, pushed upwards out of your chest alongside the truth. it’s all you can hear as you wait for oikawa’s response. but the seconds tick by and his silence is telling.

“you’re my best friend,” oikawa tries weakly, eventually, brows furrowed as if he knows he’s said the wrong thing.

he has. it makes your heart sink heavy to your stomach and the sudden shift has you feeling sick. you screw your eyes tightly shut, feeling dizzy for the second time in as many hours. you should’ve known you’d be his best friend first, the possibility of anything else coming miles behind when it risked what you’d both spent years building. but you had dared to hope in all that time as a pair, spending every last minute in each other’s company, you would’ve fallen together too.

oikawa watches as the tears slip out and you hiss a harsh “shit” as they disregard your best efforts. they wet your eyelashes before sliding down your cheeks and drip miserably from your chin, sadness painting your face. the sight makes oikawa panic. his heart leaps into his throat whenever he sees you cry, moving time and time again to fix your woes before he can even stop to think. a hug to share your burdens and tears alike, a sweet to brighten your mood and bring back your smile, a threat against whatever had brought you down. because there’s nothing oikawa wouldn’t do for you. only now, he’s the cause of it.

“you’re my best friend,” he attempts again, thumbs gently sweeping the tears away so that they seep into his own skin, “and i told you ‘i love you’ when i first gave you that lollipop you like, remember?”

you let out a tiny little laugh at the memory, more of a breathy hiccup than anything, but it has oikawa moving to press his forehead to your own, willing you closer. and against all inhibitions, you hold still, accepting each bit of comfort that he offers.

oikawa’s next words come as a whisper, a confession for only you to hear and the proximity has his lips catching gently on yours, “i realised two years ago i’m in love with you.”

your heart wins. your eyes open.

“back when we first met makki and mattsun, i was moping because you got along so well with them and i thought you might replace me.” you don’t even have to shake your head or say otherwise because oikawa lets out an amused huff, hindsight distorting jealousy into mirth. “but then you basically dragged me home because you were so excited for our movie night. almost tore my arm off just to fall asleep halfway through, even with all the drama and fighting going on.”

your noise of indignation goes ignored but the reaction has oikawa softening all the same, “you had your head in my lap and i thought that was all i really needed.”

“that’s it?” your head tilts to one side.

“that’s it. just you and me and our own way of living. you can fall asleep on me as many times as you want and we’ll grow old together like we always said, just with a little more,” oikawa hums and as he gazes into the future, a soft smile settles on his lips. it’s old and new all at once, affectionate and thrilling and yours. it’s another part of himself that he’s giving wholly to you, sitting in the palm of his hand.

the confirmation has you entirely unguarded, mirroring his expression, and you lean forwards to press your lips to his before another second of being just ‘best friends’ can pass. it feels natural and right, as if it was always meant to be, every moment together leading up to this. for, kissing tooru is finding old pictures in the stars above and the squeak of trainers against a polished gym floor, it’s boisterous laughter that you never could contain and wednesday nights spent tangled under the same old blanket, it’s the both of you. every last bit of it. and oikawa can’t help but drink it in, can’t help but want more.

because the first time oikawa tooru tells you he loves you is aged six. and it might have taken twelve years but, shit, he knows he means it aged eighteen, with his hand cradling your head to pull you ever closer. and already addicted to your kisses, you feel tooru’s lips curve into a wider smile against your own, you taste of lemon. 

[britany1997]

Nightmares and Day-dreams

Peter Ballard x GN Reader

Note: I hope y’all enjoy this! This’ll be my last fic till May. I thought it would be fun to dip into some horror and angst for this one. (The next one will be fluffy I promise haha)

Comment to be added to my Peter/Henry Taglist

Warnings: Horror, dark themes, blood and gore, dead bodies, manipulating (reader’s innocent and a little lonely and this gets taken advantage of), psychic abilities, a tiny bit of mind control, unhappy ending

A soft knock on the door of your clinic woke you from your light slumber. You jolted, combing your fingers through your hair and wiping the drool from the corner of your mouth.

You smiled as you walked to the door. Only one person ever knocked, the same person who’d occupied your dreams a today and every night for weeks.

Since you’d started working at Hawkins lab, you hadn’t been able to get him out of your head. Sure he was attractive and all, his blue eyes alone would have anyone falling all over him. But there was something about him, something more than just his good looks.

Peter was so…sweet. He was patient with the kids, he was attentive and considerate of you and all his coworkers, God you’d rarely ever seen him without a smile on his face.

He was a genuinely good guy, sort of a rarity for you these days.

So when your day time fantasies had followed you to bed, you hadn’t been all that surprised. Peter was…the perfect man.

When he knocked again, you snapped back to reality. You realized you’d been thinking about his soft smile for much too long, once again.

You yanked the door open, only to be met with the sight of the sheepish, blond man, holding his hand against his chest and staining his all white clothes a deep red.

“Peter!” You gasped, your hands flying to cover your mouth as blood dripped down his wrist. Without Peter’s accident prone nature, you were certain you’d be out of a job.

“Hi,” he grimaced, wincing just a bit in pain.

“Oh my God Peter please get in here,” you grabbed his uninjured arm and pulled him inside.

He stumbled in behind you, more boy than man, blushing profusely.

You pulled out a chair, “sit,” you ordered before rushing to grab bandages and antiseptics.

Once you’d gathered supplies you knelt in between his legs. “Show me,” you ordered.

Reluctantly, he pulled his arm away from his chest to reveal the massive gash. It was worse than you could have imagined.

“How’d you even do this!?” You half asked and half scolded.

He cringed, “oh you know…” he trailed off but you hadn’t really been listening, too invested in stitching him up.

You sighed as you finished. “You can’t keep doing this,” you told him.

He gazed into your eyes, that sweet smile you loved so much brightening his whole face. “But then I wouldn’t get to enjoy the pleasure of your company.”

You blushed, trying to hide it as you stood to put away all of your first aid supplies.

“Don’t you have work to get back to?” you asked, flustered out of your mind.

He chuckled, “yeah I’d better get going.”

As he slipped out the door, you wondered how you managed to get anything done with him around.

You propped your head up on one hand, fighting sleep and losing as you glanced at the clock to read 10:42am. You sighed.

You couldn’t figure out what had you so tired these days. You’d been getting a full eight hours! And damn, you figured with your dreams filled with the face of your favorite blond man you would have slept a lot better.

You rubbed circles into your temples. You felt a wave of the same ‘head in a trash compactor’ feeling you did when you got no sleep at all. What was wrong with you?

Suddenly, you were roused from your thoughts by a familiar knock on your door.

Your pained face morphed into a bright smile. Peter.

When you opened the door he was standing before you, all white uniform, mug in hand.

“Good morning,” he smiled.

You returned his grin, even though your morning had been anything but good, it was much better now.

“No more injuries I hope?” You teased.

He laughed. “Not yet, but it’s still early I suppose.” He opened two creamers and poured them into the mug, stirring absentmindedly.

“Arm heeled up pretty nicely,” you noticed, coming around to touch the small mark where the giant gash had once been.

“Oh yeah,” he flexed a bit, “just needed a couple weeks and some TLC from my favorite nurse”

You giggled at his flirting, wondering what his curls would feel like if you ran your fingers through his hair.

He handed you the mug, “brought this for you.”

You gasped just a bit before taking a sip of the steaming liquid.

“Thank you so much,” you were touched.

“Don’t mention it,” he winked as he slipped out the door.

You smiled to yourself, he was so thoughtful, so considerate. You figured he must have been paying attention to you to notice you’d been so lethargic.

But…then again you hadn’t seen him this morning, not until now.

You shrugged, maybe he brought everyone coffee.

You pushed the thought out of your head, if that was the case, you didn’t want to know. You’d rather believe he thought you were special.

You took another long sip.

You startled awake at the feeling of someone nudging your arm softly. As you scrambled to collect your thoughts, still half asleep, you were met with Peter’s concerned face.

“Are you alright,” he asked.

“Yeah! Yes, I’m fine,” you babbled, blushing profusely.

“I knocked four times, I thought it would be ok to come in…” he trailed off, then frowned. “You’re really ok?”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Yeah um, I haven’t been sleeping well.” You told him.

But you had been sleeping well. For the past few days you’d been sleeping for ten hours instead of eight. Yet it seemed to be doing absolutely nothing, you were still exhausted. Past the point of struggling to stay awake, you were fully napping at work now.

“Oh that’s awful,” you could feel Peter’s concern, his gaze trained on your drooping eyes. “That’s how they torture people you know…lack of sleep.”

“Really?” you yawned, not processing a single word he said.

“You should get some rest,” he told you.

“What? No! I can’t sleep here,” you protested, “didn’t you need something? You must have come here for something.”

“Just a band aid,” he tugged your hand until you were standing, leading you towards the cot in your tiny clinic. “I can get it on the way out, why don’t you lie down?”

The more you mulled it over, the more that measly cot began to look like a king bed at the Ritz Carlton.

“Well…maybe I could for a little…”

He nodded, “you’re of no use to anyone if you’re tired,” he rationalized, “besides, you deserve it.”

“I deserve it,” you repeated as you climbed onto the cot.

“That’s right,” he smiled as he crept towards the door, flicking off the light switch on his way out.

You barely even noticed him leave as you drifted off.

You awoke abruptly to the sound of an alarm blaring. You stumbled off the cot. Of course something happened during the few seconds, you checked your watch, hours you’d been asleep.

You grabbed your first aid kit and rushed into the hallway, but the sight you were met with chilled you to your core.

Your hands covered your mouth as you slumped against the wall in shock. Corridors you’d walked down every day were now stained with blood. Children you’d tended to when they were sick, held when they were crying, now littered the linoleum floor.

Fear coursed through you. You slid down the wall until you were crouched in a ball, defeated, all but waiting for whatever monster had pillaged the lab to take you too. You couldn’t help but think of Peter, wondering if your perfect boy had escaped, if he was ok.

As tears began to prick your eyes, Peter crept around the corner, covered in blood yet, more serene than you’d ever seen him.

Your heart leapt in your chest. Peter had evaded the murderer, maybe there was hope for the two of you after all.

But as he stalked closer, any semblance of hope left within you shattered.

Peter wasn’t just calm, he was…pleased.

As he stepped over the corpses of discarded children, he smiled down at their youthful faces. He nudged them to the side with his feet.

You could feel your heart pounding out of your chest as you realized the blood splattered on his face wasn’t his own.

He knelt down in front of you, smiling softly and brushing your hair behind your ear. “Hello sweetheart,” he cooed.

You recoiled, his soft touch might as well have been a stab. Any fondness you’d had for him melted away.

“Ah ah,” he chided, gripping your chin and pulling you close. “Don’t shy away from me.”

If you moved to escape his touch, he gripped you harder. His head followed your movements like a snake, waiting to strike.

“Please,” your voice broke, “don’t kill me.” You begged, trading your pride for a chance at survival.

“Kill you?” Peter looked hurt, “no darling I would never kill you,” he moved to cup your face.

You squeaked.

He smiled, “I’d rather keep you.”

Peter was a deadly spider and he’d entangled you in his web. As much as you squirmed and struggled to escape, it was already much too late.

“K-keep me?” You felt a slimey feeling overtake you, “like…you want me to be your…partner?” The dream you’d had for so long had dissolved to a nightmare.

He chuckled as he stroked the back of his hand down your cheek.

The gesture made your skin crawl.

“Silly human, you’re adorable.” He pinched your cheek cruelly, “how do I say this you’re… beneath me.”

You hated that his words could hurt you.

“You’re more like a…hmm how should I say this,” his brow furrowed, “ah, you’re more like a pet to me, a bunny or a kitten or something.”

You felt like you’d been punched.

“Your mind, it’s so fun to play with,” his smile was sinister, “I could never let you go.”

Your face twisted in disgust, you couldn’t imagine a worse fate for yourself.

Peter sensed your discomfort. “You’ll come around,” he decided, “but for now, you’ve had a rough day and you need your rest.”

He threw you a mocking pout as he placed a hand on your forehead.

Your eyes began to flutter closed, as much as you tried you couldn’t fight whatever Peter was doing.

“Sweet dreams,” he whispered as your world faded to black.

Taglist🖤:

@6lostgirl6 @misslavenderlady @sad-ghost-of-garbage @bloodywickedvamp @lostboys1987girl @crustyboypix @gothamslostboy @arbesa-mind @dwaynesluscioushair @anna1306

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ 49.5

➻ characters: mingi, hongjoong, seonghwa, san, minho, yunho ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst ➻ word count: 11.4k ➻ rating: m/18+ ➻ chapter specific warnings: talks of addiction & death ➻ pre a/n: as always, interims are completely optional and made in a way to where you won’t miss out on significant plot if you choose not to read! however, i highly recommend that you read them to better understand the full context of the story ^-^

⇐ previous | next ⇒ | masterlist

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very important pre-chapter note: at the end of mingi’s pov there is a break. at this point, the story is not happening in chronological order. everything that occurs after that break happens prior to recovering mc/minho from rathmos. then it switches back to after recovering them from rathmos. i think i made it very clear in the narrative but i wanna cover all my bases too so please note that happy reading ^-^

──────────── act seven ➻ part 1.5

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It’s as the soft wrap over his knuckles sinks into the flesh of the punching bag before him that the door slides open and brings a visitor into the training room with Mingi. It does nothing to stop the pace of his swings, nor does it deter him from his course of action — that being to beat the shit out of an inanimate object, that is — but it does serve to make his senses hone in on the body that just stepped into the room.

Alone.

Laying his hand flat against the bag, Mingi steadies the weight of it before it swings back to him wildly and turns to face the newcomer head-on.

“Do you truly wish to be here, Doctor?” he asks before he even gets a good look at the person. He doesn’t need his eyes to know who it is anyway; the aura of the man is foreign and unnatural to him so there’s no one else it could be besides the new doctor.

“I was in search of the captain, but this’ll do just fine.” His voice lilts a bit, but the sound is grating on Mingi’s ears. “We have not spoken yet. How do you feel about my joining the crew?”

“You’re not Yunho.”

“No, I’m not.” His expression seems to twist in a way that implies he wants Mingi to believe he’s being tentative and careful about this conversation, but the tone of his voice is so directly opposite that that the Berserker sees straight through the ruse. “Is that an issue to you?”

He wants to pick apart your brain.

“You’re not Yunho,” Mingi repeats with more force to each word, “so you don’t know what questions to ask.”

He wants to cause trouble.

“Does that make you feel uncomfortable in my presence?”

Minho, he thinks his name was when Jongho mentioned bringing him onboard and showing him around. He isn’t all too interested in learning the man’s name or anything personal about him, however, when it’s so highly unlikely that he will be around for long.

“I don’t feel things the way you do, nor do I process tonal or visual implications the way you do.” Mingi is at the very least careful in the way he lets the doctor know that he’s not as sneaky as he hopes to be. “That’s your first mistake.”

“First?” There’s a level of amusement to the way Minho speaks, and it grates against Mingi’s mood terribly.

Plaything. Fool. Blood.

“Your second was entering this room alone.”

Blood, blood, blood.

The doctor licks his lips, eyes flitting to the panel beside the door that will let him out quickly, and Mingi feels the first delicious hit of fear radiate off the man a split second later.

“But I won’t hurt you.”

You could. You could kill him so easily. Wrap your fingers around his neck and feel the tendons snap under your weight, feel the bones shift under your fingertips. Think about the blood that would spill if you split him open.

“How gracious of you. I suppose I should thank you for your kindness and mercy?”

“I want to kill you. You’d best keep from acting facetious in my presence because that only makes me want to snap your neck. It wouldn’t be too difficult. I’m certainly stronger than you so I can align your neck to whatever angle I want without issue and violently twist your head so quickly that your neck snaps and crushes your windpipe. It wouldn’t be instant or painless, you’d probably feel quite a bit of pain in that scenario. You wouldn’t be able to breathe at all though, and given how much pain you would be suffering, you would very desperately want to breathe. It would take minutes for you to die, and I would feel none too torn up over it. All that to say, I do not want you as my doctor. I will remain with Yunho.”

“I understand that changing something on such a personal and sometimes intimate level can be daunting. Not everyone is open or willing to change such monumental things. However, as a doctor seeking the best interest of those around him above all else, it is my personal recommendation that you give my services a try. Your personal relationship with Yunho outside of him being your doctor is cause for concern, not because it’s wrong but because it puts a conflict of interest on Yunho’s shoulders.” Minho finds some confidence again as he speaks, and now that the veil has fallen, there is far more honesty to both his tone and expression. It matches exactly what Mingi feels rolling off of him in waves now, every facet matching and in harmony with fear ebbing away by the second.

It makes the voices quieter and quieter, too, until it’s easier to ignore them and push them down.

“If you are honest with me on all fronts, then that’s best for your safety too,” he relays to the doctor quickly. Sharp, cat-like eyes hone in on Mingi’s face. His gaze is similar to San’s in that regard, though San’s holds far more darkness and many more secrets. “Trying to deceive me will only put you in danger.”

“Ah. I think I understand then. My tone, my expression, my emotions — if all three are in line, then… that makes things easier for you?” Mingi nearly laughs out loud for no discernible reason other than sheer disbelief. It took this man all of a minute to understand what took Yunho several years to dissect, with little more than vague threats to guide him to the right answer. “Is that why you do so well in the presence of children?”

Mingi hums his approval, settling with the fact that he likely won’t be returning to the punching bag again today. As he begins to strip the soft wraps off his hands and arms, he takes a step in the doctor’s direction.

“Children have a much harder time lying than adults do. They don’t understand how to deceive or manipulate others’ thoughts and feelings as well either. If they do lie, their tone and expression both match what they’re feeling inside, which would be the conscious knowledge that they’re lying. It all matches. But an adult, an adult can do what you just did upon walking into this room. Feel overwhelming confidence in what they’re about to do, express with their face and gestures that they’re timid instead, and speak in a tone that implies cautiousness and lack of knowledge. You’ve already my file. You know a great deal about me. You did not need to ask my feelings about you joining this crew or my comfort level around you. You already knew, and I felt that.”

“Incredible,” Minho mutters to himself, and the wonder shines through in his gaze too. “Your file did fail to mention the astounding levels of intelligence you possess, although I sense that you do not weaponize it often in front of others unless it’s to warn the way you just did to me.”

“You would be correct.” He sidesteps the doctor to dispose of the leftover wrap in the waste bin near the wall. The man is still a bit in the way, almost blocking the door but not enough for Mingi to be unable to leave, and even as Mingi puts his palm on the touchpad, Minho steps further out of his path. Not out of fear, Mingi notes, but rather some minute level of consideration.

“How truly fortuitous it is that you live amongst such liars and deceivers then.”

The whoosh of the door opening fills his ears with white noise, and it’s joined by a clamor in his brain that spreads distance cheers and clanging metal.

“I expect we will speak again in the future, Doctor. It was a pleasure meeting you.”

“The same to you, Mingi. Take care.”

“Oh, and for future reference, you’ll never find the captain down in here.”

“So it seems.” The lilt pushes its way back into Minho’s tone, but the door is already sliding back shut and putting a wall between them. Nails bite into Mingi’s palm as he curls them into a tight fist and refrains from slinging a punch at the wall. Of course he was never after Hongjoong; the man has enough sense to realize that that would have been the last place to look, and yet Mingi fell for that excuse hook, line, and sinker. He almost wants to call the doctor a genius simply on account of how well he pulled Mingi like putty in his hands.

“Everyone in life is after something, Mingi. They will all seek to use you, to lie to you, to deceive you. But I will you the power to fight back. My son, I will give you the power to kill. To fight. To win.”

“How amusing,” he mutters to himself. He won’t lay hands on the doctor as of yet — wouldn’t dare do so without permission from the captain — but should the time come, he imagines it wouldn’t be too difficult a task to snap his neck. A gun to the back of the head would cause too much of a mess, of course, and Spectre would likely not be pleased with having to clean up after him when he could be spending said time with his lover. A knife in the ribs would work too, perhaps, if he wants something more drawn out. The man is a doctor at the end of the day, however, so it would be best to end his life quickly so as to avoid the possibility of him trying to help himself.

Mingi winds up standing at his captain’s door shortly after, and he doesn’t bother knocking at the metal before making his way into the room. The lights are dimmed but not enough to keep the captain from view. It’s hardly a glorious sight either: slumped over his desk with papers strewn about as usual, but also accompanied by an open bottle of liquor near his left hand. There’s no glass in sight, but Mingi finds one soon enough as he pushes closer to the scene. Seemingly, it had rolled off the desk or out of Hongjoong’s hand at some point to find a new home on the carpet in front of the desk. It’s still in one piece, at the very least, though it lays atop a dark splotch on the carpet that makes the room reek of alcohol. Though he could wake Hongjoong now with no trouble, he opts not to for the time being. It’s easier to leave him asleep, easier to see him sleeping and not feel the full weight of everything the captain feels like the worst crashes of a tidal wave against him. So silently, Mingi collects the cork and presses it into the bottle, then picks up the glass tumbler that fell to the ground to add it to the mess on the desk.

“Lieutenant to Captain’s quarters.” The words are quiet enough to not disturb Hongjoong from his spot at the desk. Dragging the lieutenant into this mess isn’t ideal either but Mingi knows his limits. He isn’t suited to look after the captain while he’s in this state, not in the slightest, and he would rather not risk making matters worse by trying. Content to stay until Seonghwa arrives, Mingi drops into one of the armchairs set across from Hongjoong’s desk.

“I’m entirely sober, you know.”

Mingi laughs through his nose.

“You’ve gotten better at playing dead.”

“You didn’t have to call Seonghwa up.” Despite insisting upon his sober state, Hongjoong still seems to struggle quite a bit in peeling himself off the desk. Even when he does get himself somewhat upright, he relies on resting his head against the heel of his hand to keep from falling right back down. “I was just looking through leads and fell asleep.”

“And did you find anything new?”

Hongjoong opens his mouth then closes it just as quickly, gaze turning to the side before he mutters out a half-hearted response, “Let’s wait for Seonghwa to arrive.”

The following knocks on the door are so passionate that it makes Hongjoong sit up straighter if not in shock then perhaps in mild fear because of how enraged the person behind said knocks seems.

“A minute and thirteen seconds,” Mingi quips just before the door opens.

“Are you fucking wasted again, Kim Hongjoong?!”

“He’s gotten quicker,” Hongjoong retorts to the Berserker across from him before moving his focus to the back of the room. “Would you like to come sit, Seonghwa?”

“You… are not drunk.” The tension in the room deflates like air being let out of a balloon, making the pressure on Mingi’s shoulders pull away into something more manageable.

“It’s barely nighttime, of course I’m not.”

The spike in frustration behind Mingi tells him that Seonghwa wishes to say much more in response to that but he holds his tongue instead. Likely out of consideration for none other than the Berserker, and he feels that in full when Seonghwa squeezes Mingi’s shoulder on his way to the other empty chair across from Hongjoong.

“Any idea where San’s at?” The captain’s focus remains honed on his lieutenant like a magnet being pulled in one direction. The question, however, has Seonghwa huffing air through his teeth and leaning further back in his seat.

“Probably fucking—occupied, if I had to guess. It’s late, after all.”

Hongjoong barely reacts to the comments as he busies himself with cleaning a fraction of the mess across his desk. “And? Call him up so he can get back to fucking Miss Occupied quickly.” Seonghwa scoffs. Mingi eyes each paper lifted carefully — each one bearing similar red streaks and scribbled words in ink around words and pictures but that’s the only constant amongst the papers.

“San to Captain’s quarters,” Seonghwa says against his wristband, eyes not leaving his captain even though the favor is not returned.

“Here—” Hongjoong finds a book hidden beneath the rubble of paper and leans across the desk to hand it to Seonghwa. When the lieutenant doesn’t react fast enough, Mingi meets them halfway and takes the book from his captain’s hand to pass it off to his lieutenant in a fluid motion. “Read over that when you get the chance. There are some interesting notes on Fortuna and what’s contained in it. Might be good to have some clue about what we’re looking for when the time comes.”

Some part of Seonghwa reaches out to Mingi and it stabs Mingi right in the chest like a knife. Firm and sharp and like a small needle digging into his heart. But Seonghwa’s face reads no clear emotion, and Mingi hasn't felt such a thing before, so he's lost in a vast sea of unknowns. He isn’t left time to debate it internally either, since San makes a loud and hasty arrival seconds later. Something to ask Yunho about later, he notes to himself.

“Sorry for being late,” the Spectre exhales, and based on his breathing and the amount of time it took him to arrive, he ran to the bridge thinking it to be an emergency. He comes to stand between the chairs where Mingi and Seonghwa sit, one hand coming to rest on the back of each one as he leans towards the captain’s desk. Though the gesture seems casual enough, Mingi can see the quick scan of San’s eyes across the papers and the man behind the desk himself. “Did something happen?”

Hongjoong turns a larger slab of paper — a map of what appears to be the Vida system — towards them with a red pen in hand. He brings it down to circle one of the planets.

“Gorgon. That’s our next stop.”

Silence answers the man for several dragging seconds before San offers a response.

“…Gorgon.”

“There has been talk recently of a witch there,” Hongjoong continues. He pulls back briefly, shuffling through one of his drawers before returning with a tablet. After a few taps, he has another map displayed, though this one is far more detailed and intricate than a simple galactic orientation map. “Sehteno is the most common name brought up regarding the rumors. Small city, rather out of the way compared to other more populated ones. The witch supposedly lives down in the gorge beneath the city, and there’s no direct way to get to her unless it’s through under-the-table dealings. Those won’t be an issue at all. Military is lax in the area and not connected to the Aurum military network, so it will be a sufficient enough place to lay low for a time. Have the crew rest and recuperate on land.”

“What kind of witch are we talking about?” San inquires next. Though Hongjoong opens his mouth to respond, the answer comes from the man on San’s left instead.

“One that is rumored to communicate with the dead. Emphasis on rumored. We’ve looked into her in the past but nothing was concrete enough to warrant a search.” It isn’t as glaringly apparent, but Seonghwa’s tone holds some confusion too, indirect questions for Hongjoong to answer seconds later.

“I have a planet and the name of a city now. That ought to make things easier. A city is better than a planet, and a planet is better than a system. We have all those things and more. Black market dealings are nothing if not a specialty of ours.” The captain’s gaze shifts to the right to settle on Mingi. “I know I’ve asked you this before, but are you certain… you truly want to relive the past in this manner?”

“Is that what this is about?” His heart jumps a bit in his chest, a sudden burst of excitement that he isn’t used to, but this has been a mere pipedream for him for so long now that he never imagined it coming to fruition. “Is she capable of such things?” A true chance laid out before him now, one to settle the score and face the voices head-on. His fingers curl into his palms to curb the trembling anticipation now rushing through his body.

“I have high hopes that the rumors are true, but we do need to be prepared for the possibility of it not working out,” Hongjoong says under his breath.

“There’s always medication,” the lieutenant adds half a second later, keeping the quiet from lingering to any degree, “like those that Jongho takes.” But Mingi denies it with a shake of his head before the man can even finish speaking.

“Those are to dull the effects of what he feels a residual from his ability. There’s no medicine to quiet the voices.”

Hongjoong looks him in the eye, and Mingi stares back.

In that moment, he feels heat on the back of his neck, like that of the sun shining down on him, and there’s a heat clinging to his skin that makes him itch and burn. How long ago was it that they faced each other in a similar manner to this one? When the arena was very real and very present all around them both, when they stood face to face on the bloodstained sands and Hongjoong called for him to survive.

Kill, kill, kill!

Bring us his head, crush his bones, rip his throat out.

Past Hongjoong’s shoulder, residing as a phantom in the shadows, stands a man hunched over so far that he is at eye level with Mingi in the same way Hongjoong is. Dark brown hair greying to the point of obscurity, beady black eyes that reflect scenes of blood and corpses. It’s been so many years since Mingi set his hands around that man’s throat and forced the life out of him. The last witness to his crime of patricide is none other than the Healer, yet even after all these years, not once have they addressed it. He imagined coming to terms with such a loss was clean cut — finished as soon as it started and wiped clean once Mingi buried that body six feet in the ground behind Yunho’s clinic. His father is the last ghost trailing behind him, however, always moving with him and lingering in places where Mingi wants nothing more than to be alone. He’s settled whatever ghosts were left in that arena, and they’ve been quiet for some time now. All that remains is one bloody thumb pointed toward the ground and the raucous crowd that answers the call.

“Captain…”

“She is rumored to be capable of a lot of things if nothing else. I will see to it that she can do something for you.” His captain’s voice sounds muffled, like Hongjoong is speaking through a tank of water and Mingi’s ears are filled to the brim with liquid. Red seeps into the corners of his vision, then his eyes sting.

“I want them silenced for good,” he says through the metallic scent that brushes against his nose now. His mouth moves but nothing comes out. Hongjoong drops his gaze to the desk, and San’s hand moves from the chair to grasp Mingi’s shoulder.

“I’m not sure if that’s something she can do but we will do everything in our power to try. If nothing else, we can try.” His captain sounds certain and confident in ways that Mingi isn’t. “She may have information on where or how to find more Sirens too. The dead sometimes leave a trail that spreads far beyond that of the living.”

Hongjoong continues to speak, focus now redirected and shifted over to his lieutenant, but San is urging Mingi to his feet and ushering him around the chair. He barely has the right of mind to process what is going on, but the Spectre’s touch is so soft and gentle, something barely there in a feather-like sense, and it feels good on Mingi’s burning skin. He squeezes Mingi’s bicep as they reach the door. His palm spreads across Mingi’s shoulder blades when San turns and dismisses himself from the captain’s quarters.

The Berserker isn’t sure where he is or where they’re going, but San remains firmly by his side as they walk through long corridors and empty hallways. He blinks, and he’s returned to his room, sitting on the foot of his bed in a trance and a daze. The bathroom light is on. San emerges, cradled by the fluorescent light. He passes a damp rag into Mingi’s hands, then brings both of his up to cradle Mingi’s face.

“We will find a way to help you, Min,” the Spectre whispers. Mingi is confused as his face is brought against San’s chest, an awkward cradle meant to comfort him, though Mingi still isn’t wholly sure why he needs to be comforted, to begin with.

When San leaves and the door shuts to finally seal him away in solitude, Mingi looks down at the rag laid across his palms. Beneath it, four crescents dug deep into the skin and stained red with blood on each hand. The trail of crimson drips to the floor.

In the corner of the room, that phantom figure makes itself known again.

────────────

“We’re nearing Sombre, Captain.” Hongjoong glances up from his desk to find his lead strategist standing in the doorway, prim and proper as ever with hands folded behind his back in a way that makes his chest puff out. “You’ll be needed at the helm in roughly ten minutes.”

“Understood. Dismissed, Yeosang.” The room falls so quiet that Hongjoong nearly forgets that he is not alone; it’s only the slight stirring from the chair dragged up against the wood of his desk that clues him into the present again.

“I presume your decision is made then?” Seonghwa’s voice grates on his ears with a sharpness that Hongjoong is quickly growing used to from the man. He clenches his fingers hard around the pen in his hand.

“No.”

A sigh pushes past Seonghwa’s lips. The noise would humor Hongjoong if not for how irritated he is because Seonghwa sounds like he’s having to deal with a petulant child and the rather immature parts of the captain wish to cause some sort of distress in his right-hand man.

“We have one Siren. One, if she is not present on this crew. Please do not tell me you are so bothered by a woman that you would set our goals back so far.”

“We need Sirens,” Hongjoong prepares his counterargument internally as he speaks, and Seonghwa preemptively shakes his head. “And we need useful Sirens. What does she have to offer us beyond her status as a Siren? Good with a gun? A fair shot? Hot-headed, brash, arrogant, disobedient, messy, and walking cesspool of volatility, authority issues, and a savior complex. Did I cover all the bases?”

“If we didn’t so actively attempt to deceive and manipulate her, then perhaps—”

“Perhaps she would already be long gone! San alone was not enough to keep her on this crew and you know it!” Hongjoong jabs a finger at the man, pointed and accusatory in every manner. “You were the one to suggest your first tryst in bed with her, you wanted to offer that to her so that she would more readily stay, and more importantly trust you. I’m not at all surprised that you fell for her after fucking her once, and I warned you before you went through with it that your heart would hurt you in the long run.”

Seonghwa’s jaw snaps shut, making the scowl across his face appear all the more putrid.

“I knew you needed her!” In a shocking twist, their roles seem to flip — now Seonghwa’s tone carries a particular whine to it, the kind he uses when he begins to feel the weight of guilt bearing down on his shoulders. Hongjoong debates leaving him to be crushed under it. It’s a thought that has crossed his mind time and time again, each time they found themselves in similar places in the past, but as always, he comes up short of carrying through with it. His duty, his purpose, and the whole reason he keeps pushing forward with this self-assigned task lie within Seonghwa and everything he encompasses. The first lamb brought to slaughter saved by the very hand that sought to kill him.

Reaching across the desk to plant his palm down on the wood near where Seonghwa sits, Hongjoong fights to meet the man’s gaze.

“I am not going to give her what she wants, Seonghwa. You know what happens when I go get her? She will say that she was right, that I need her, that I can’t complete my mission without her.”

“Heaven forbid you actually do, Hongjoong!” Seonghwa gets like this when he’s denied what he wants, and perhaps that fault lies on Hongjoong’s shoulders for always being so accommodating to him and rarely ever denying him those wants in their years together. He’s spoiled the Siren more than he deserves, surely.

“I need Sirens, not Y/n. I need what she is and nothing else.”

“Then lie to her. Tell her it’s for me, for San, for the sake of the crew — lie like you always do, Hongjoong. You’re damn good at it!”

The captain hisses through his teeth. The flare of anger in his gut is too hot to ignore, and his hand snaps up from its position to clasp around Seonghwa’s face. His fingers bite into the soft flesh of his cheeks, palm smothering soft pink lips and pinching them with the brutish metal of his rings. Seonghwa’s eyes are wide and round, carrying far more innocence than is truly accurate to what Hongjoong knows the man to be.

“I am very much of the mind to let her lie in the grave she dug for herself, Seonghwa. What is it we say whenever one of the crew makes a stupid decision on their own? We’ve long since agreed to let them deal with the consequences on their own.”

“Only if it isn’t a matter of life or death! That man will kill her the first chance he gets, the second he’s done with her, the moment whatever purpose she’s fulfilling for him runs dry! But I suppose it’s not any different than how we’re forcing her to live here, seeing as you’re so ready to throw her away the first chance you get.”

“You keep her close because it better keeps her in line. Do not let guilt in now, not at this point after all the trouble we’ve gone through to keep her right where she is! You have been twisting her arm this long. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you have done nothing to properly teach her how to use her Siren abilities. Are you insecure all of a sudden, dear? Think you’ll be replaced? Do you need to be the only Siren useful to me now? How selfish.”

Seonghwa wrenches himself free of Hongjoong’s grasp but it leaves a pretty red swell to the corner of his lips where Hongjoong’s ring caught on skin. The captain wishes to ruin him more, to see the scowl settle in and make his cheeks blot red with fury.

“Captain?” This time, it isn’t Yeosang who interrupts but rather San. Still bound to that cursed wheelchair, Hongjoong can’t look at him straight quite yet. The memory of just how close that bullet came to paralyzing him springs to the forefront of his mind each time he sets his sights on the man. Three seconds too slow, three seconds of horrible planning, three seconds of absolute failure in his position as their leader. Him, the one who is supposed to guide them safely and protect them from harm. One quick glance at the sorry state of his crew as of late makes him laugh at his own reflection. The perfect picture of failure he is.

“Can you fly the ship?” Hongjoong inquires of the man. San surely came in to ask something else seeing as no one called him to the captain’s quarters, but Hongjoong pays that no mind for now.

“I mean — yeah, I think I can?”

“Then…?” Seonghwa is pushing his luck to the limits today. Maybe Hongjoong is feeling some kind of graciousness for once because one glance at San makes the decision right then and there for him.

“If you want to get to Rathmos to save her, you can go fly the damn ship yourself. Get Yunho to help if you have to, but I will not be doing so myself.”

“Hongjoong, this is truly pathetic, are you serious right now?” Of course Seonghwa would take the order at face value with no care for the nuances behind it or what Hongjoong is truly offering for San. When she left, San was incapable of protecting her to any degree because of his injury, and while Hongjoong isn't keen on it, he does know how desperately San adores and loves that woman — as pathetic of a notion as that is in his eyes.

“Is it not you who is being cruel right now? Let him have this, Hwa, he needs this. He can tell her he was the one to convince me and that he was the one to fly us to her rescue even in his current physical state.”

“All because you can’t admit needing someone to be part of your crew?”

“As long as she knows how valuable she is, she will use that to her advantage to act out of line and against me, just as she has been since she got comfortable on the crew. The second she got comfortable, those feelings of gratitude that she held turned in an instant. If I am to break her of that nasty little habit, then she needs to think she is completely and utterly useless in my eyes.”

“No more. Please, Hongjoong. Don’t make me do anything more,” San whispers, eyes stuck to his lap. Seonghwa exhales a quiet sigh and turns his face away. “I-I will do anything you ask of me. You know that. I’ve always done that, but I just…”

The captain finds himself at a loss for words. His most loyal dog reduced to this level of disarray because of one woman? Incredulous.

“Your hand in things is finished,” he says in return, watching the way San’s expression lifts to something akin to relief in the blink of an eye. All that hope placed in the palm of Hongjoong’s hand — it’s intoxicating to see how heavily these men rely on his word. If he desired, he could snuff out that hope for good. “Go fly the ship. I said no more than a week, we need to pick up the pace if we’re to stay on schedule.”

“Thank you,” San says under his breath. He sees himself out quickly after, wheeling himself to the door and slipping out onto the bridge to leave Seonghwa and Hongjoong alone in the room together. Still, it takes quite some time for either of them to speak, and even when Hongjoong does decide to break the silence, the air feels thick with tension.

“I want you to tell her that San has had a greater hand in things than anyone realizes. If she knows how closely he truly works with us both, it will plant the seeds of doubt.”

Seonghwa licks over the front of his teeth.

“Could you consider letting San have this one thing?”

“This one thing?” The rage he felt earlier comes bubbling up again and threatens to spill over the edges. “He can have her as freely as he wishes once we’ve broken her down into obedience.”

“So you’re lying to him now too then? His hand in things isn’t finished — you’re using what he did against him.”

“And what did he do, pray tell?”

Seonghwa is silent.

“I have not asked him to do anything cruel or unusual. I know San. He will do everything in his power to keep her close to him, and it will work. So I have zero concerns about the relationship between them failing. I did not lie. He has nothing more to do for me in regard to her destruction. Anything that happens next will be of his own volition.”

“Are you gonna turn her into the last one, is that it? Because he still has blood on his hands from that incident, don’t think I’ve fucking forgotten. I didn't ask him to try to kill the last one even though Jin was plotting a fucking mutiny against us! The only reason he got away with his bullshit is because you called San off before he could take care of the fucking problem.”

“You'd like it though, wouldn’t you?” Hongjoong tilts his chin upwards a hair to stare down the bridge of his nose in Seonghwa’s direction. “Love being the only one of value to me, the only one special to me, I bet you would kill her in her sleep if I told you enough pretty words.”

“Don’t. Don’t do it.”

“Anyway, if that becomes an inescapable need, I won't have him do it. I'll do it myself if I have to. Speak again when you’ve come back to your senses.” Seonghwa turns docile without much effort on his part but seeing him slump back in the chair in such a childlike manner makes the gears in his brain turn a little bit faster. He leans forward, moving his elbow up to the table in the same motion, and rests the side of his face against his knuckles. “Do you propose another idea, Seonghwa?”

Wordlessly, the man blinks at the side of Hongjoong’s desk several times before deigning to look the man behind it in the eye.

“You’re becoming obsessed again, to the point of derangement. You’ve been spiraling bit by bit for a while now, but San’s… the mission to retrieve San and the subsequent visit to my mother were like simultaneous breaking points. I need Y/n here, on this crew, on this ship, to prevent what happened when Jin left from happening again. I am still your lieutenant, Hongjoong, and I am still on your side as always. Please, trust that I will not allow her to have any thoughts of mutiny, and should those thoughts arise, I will take whatever steps necessary to squash them.”

The captain grins.

“It’s an honor to have you, Lieutenant Park.”

“And you, Captain.”

────────────

He hasn’t been down this far in the depths of the ship in some time. It’s rare for the captain to go further than the mess hall, though he does so today. It makes his mind wander back to times when the crew was far different and not full of the faces he’s grown used to seeing in the past few years, times when he (according to some) was a better captain to his crew. As time went on, so did the need for him to wander from door to door asking things of those who pledged their loyalty to him. He walks with purpose now to one door in particular that has not been used for months on end. It opens before he can even bring his knuckles up to the metal.

“Captain. I thought I heard your brooding coming down the hall.”

“Two days and you’ve made yourself at home already, I take it?”

The doctor, with his fading lilac hair and upturned lips, gives a few sideways nods.

“Something like that. Come in?”

Hongjoong hasn’t made himself accustomed to the interior designs of his crew either, though Minho’s room still holds memorabilia from people long passed that he does recognize. From the knick-knacks on the shelves to the cheap carpet sitting at the foot of the dresser, even the table and set of chairs placed near the wall are old relics of past memories Hongjoong can never let go of. The lines of scars at his hip seem to sting from the shot of nostalgia placed before his eyes. The chessboard laid out on the table is new, though; the doctor must have pulled that out of the depths of storage.

“Please, make yourself comfortable.” Either out of respect or an attempt to test the waters, Minho remains standing close to the door as Hongjoong moves towards the table. He sits on the side where the black chess pieces reside, already halfway to knowing that Minho intends to make him play this game, and if that truly is the case, then Hongjoong will make him take the first move. Minho, it seems, is one step ahead of him though. He joins Hongjoong at the table moments later, and upon sitting down and setting his mug down, he immediately turns the board around to have the white pieces now in front of Hongjoong’s hands instead of the black. The captain can’t contain the laugh that breaks through his lips.

“Why give me the illusion of choice at all then?”

“You did make a choice, a telling one at that. Thus, I’ll invite you to ask whatever it is you wish of me before I do the same in return.”

“The point of this game?” Hongjoong wastes no time in moving his first piece forward.

“To learn more about the man whose… delicate care I now find myself under.” Minho pushes a pawn further toward Hongjoong with the tip of his finger.

“What do you hope to learn?”

“I would like to see into your mind a bit, understand your decision-making process, see firsthand how you plot things out for both yourself and your crew.”

“This—” the captain passes his hand through the air in a rather dismissive manner “—game will show you all of that? How can you be so certain now that you’ve told me your intentions? I could easily skew the game in whatever way I like now.”

“Hiding our true nature is a near-impossible task,” Minho says under his breath. As his hand moves down to the board once again, Hongjoong slaps the side of the table with enough force to make the pieces quake under the impact.

“I’ve gone my whole life perfectly that craft. It would do you well to not underestimate me.”

The doctor matches Hongjoong’s stare with a lopsided grin, arms folded over his chest as he leans over his knees.

“Humor me then, Captain.”

It’s easy to fall into the rhythm of the game. Though it’s been some time since he engaged in any sort of activities outside of missions with his crew, this game is one he used to readily play with Yeosang. The Elitist was, of course, the only one who could match his level of play, and still claims the honor of being the sole member of the crew to beat Hongjoong at the game. It was only one time, but one time was more than enough for him to lose a good deal of credits on the bet they placed. Most of the crew did the same themselves — lost thousands of credits to Wooyoung, who was the sole person banking on Yeosang’s victory that night. The memory almost places a smile on his lips, and it likely would if he were not so conscious of the person sitting across from him at present.

“What is your professional opinion of Ghost?” he asks instead to keep the fonder emotions from slipping through. Minho doesn’t startle at the question, nor does he seem surprised in the slightest at the sudden shift in topic. His initial response is through a close-lipped hum. Words don’t come until the doctor peels his eyes off the chessboard and finishes his turn.

“She is very ready to oppose any sort of authority in her path.”

“Do you know why?”

“Hm.” He sits back enough to pull one leg over the other and clasps his hands around his knee. “Because she is used to doing so?”

Hongjoong moves his bishop behind a pawn.

“How do I fix that issue?”

“I speak to her. Often and with the intent to resolve whatever disconnect is present. These cases are very prominent in my field, and many times fellow doctors struggle with the same arrogance. It starts in pride, of course, but in her case, there is much trauma centered around those who have had power over her.”

“Let me rephrase — how do I resolve that quickly?”

Minho shrugs as he takes his turn at the chess pieces, eyes scanning the board for several seconds before he settles on his next move. Hongjoong watches the pawn sitting beside his bishop fall, then he takes Minho’s attacker in quick succession as retaliation.

“There is no ethical way to do so.”

“Then list the unethical options for me. Quickly.”

Minho stares.

“I’m certain you have already implemented many unethical methods of keeping her under your thumb of control. There is no need for me to add to the list, is there?” The doctor lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “I have physical proof of the measures taken to ensure my loyalty. If I did a little digging into that brain of hers, would I find proof of your cruelty too?”

“No. There are no scars there of my own doing. What others have done and will do — how could I have any control over that?” Hongjoong thinks back to Dorado, a fleeting memory that pushes its way in against his will. In his mind, he sees Seonghwa seated at his mother’s bedside with hands clasped over his head as though in some form of desperate prayer from where he had perched in the doorway. How could he have control over that? Before him, his queen lies exposed. He moves a knight into her line of defense without thinking.

“Check.”

He neglected to notice that in moving that knight, he exposed his king to a worse fate. He moves it in front of his queen to escape the check without saying anything, then watches the doctor knock that knight on its side a second later. Hongjoong almost laughs but manages to refrain long enough to move his bishop into its next position before glancing up and across the board.

“Checkmate.”

Minho inhales sharply, and his gaze darts all around the board as though desperate to find a way out of the corner he’s been backed into but Hongjoong already made sure there would be no escape several moves ago. “It seems that you’ve won, Captain.” He sits back as the defeat settles in, leaving the captain to swing his bishop against its final target. The clatter of the ivory on the wooden board is harsh on the ears.

“Did you learn all you wished to with that?” Rather than a straight answer, Hongjoong receives a rather unexpected question from the man.

“What position would you like Seonghwa to be in?”

A litany of filthy thoughts arises and threatens to leave the sanctity of his mouth.

“He’s right where I want him to be.”

“And is that where you consider him to be safest?”

“The closer he is to me, the safer he is.”

“Is he aware of that? Have you told him as much?” Hongjoong stares at the doctor in the hopes it will force him to drop the subject but Minho stares down at the now-defunct chessboard instead. “You hardly made any use of your queen except to protect her when threatened despite having many opportunities to use her offensively. You did not let her leave the king’s side for more than one move, even if it risked other players on your side of the game. Yet — you used your bishop to sabotage and sacrifice some of your own pieces if it meant moving that bishop ahead in the game. That is your telling cue, Captain. It speaks volumes to how you perceive your closest confidants.”

Hongjoong’s hand curls into a fist against his thigh.

“Is it the devotion of man or that which begs worship, I wonder? What compels you of all men to give so much to someone you don’t seem to feel deserves it? Unless… it’s the only thing that keeps that person where you want him? What’s the cost of your religion, captain? Of your faith? What must someone do to be counted amongst your devotees? Your eagerness to bend Y/n to your desires, to have her fall in line with whatever holy crusade you have in your mind… I cannot help but wonder what trials you would have her suffer to earn her place amongst the faithful. You leave me with much to ponder, Scourge. I suppose I ought to thank you for giving me a good game, but — and I hate to be the one to say this, trust that — I do not think you will be the best player I face.”

“He will never agree to play you in this game. I merely did so to entertain you, but Seonghwa has no interest in humoring a fool’s errand.”

“You thought I meant your lieutenant? No, no no, I’m afraid I meant someone else entirely.” Minho laughs to himself, head shaking as he redirects his focus to the floor. “To answer your earlier question, yes, I’ve learned much from this. But I’m left to wonder what exactly it is you want. You are a man who could have anything and everything he wants and yet you are still unsatisfied. What is so unattainable that it drives you to the brink of insanity? Don’t tell me yet — I… wish… to find that answer on my own.”

Hongjoong finds that his initial suspicions upon meeting this man were correct. Beyond the obvious quirks surrounding him, there were more minute details to pick up on from the near-constant swaying of his head from side to side to the slight slur in his tone. He huffs out a nearly inaudible laugh.

“How about we detail my expectations of you?”

“I imagine I don’t have much of a say in the matter,” the doctor says with a kind smile.

“Don’t let her try to play her games with you.”

Minho stops with his hand halfway to the mug on the table and shifts to stare at Hongjoong. He doesn’t try to hide the look of bewilderment painting his features this time.

“Do you fear her being successful for once?”

Hongjoong actually laughs at that, and based on the way Minho’s confusion continues to be apparent, the doctor wasn’t expecting such a reaction.

“She doesn’t need the confidence of success. The only way I am going to get her to stop fighting me is if she continues to fail. Hence—” Hongjoong leans across the table where the remnants of their earlier game linger untouched. Something rattles as he stretches over the board. The doctor reacts like a dog being handed a bone, expression turning suddenly alert as Hongjoong places an orange pill bottle on Minho’s side. “I’ll take every fucking pill off this ship if I have to. Don’t fuck her and don’t fuck around with her. Those are my rules.”

“You are…” the doctor wets his lips. His gaze loses its focus on Hongjoong as something else becomes much more enticing — the little bottle that looks so deceptively innocent in comparison to what it provides. “Quite greedy, Captain,” he whispers. He sits up straight and lunges forward like he’s going to snatch the bottle from the table, but the man opposite him is just as quick to steal it away once again. Minho winces. “I’d like to ask why those are your terms. Something tells me you won’t be wholly honest about it.”

“Desire drives her. Robbing her of what she wants makes her desperate. And when she’s desperate… she obeys. If I manufacture who has her and in what way they have her, then I can orchestrate her destruction, no? The perfect picture of obedience, the way to stop her from fighting me so heavily, to end her attempts to save those who do not need saving. All it takes are a few sweet words and fond glances to have her caving a bit. Imagine what I could do with her full devotion. I hope that is the sort of unethical option you predicted.”

“We have a term for that sort of behavior, Captain.”

“And I don’t need you to diagnose me with anything I don’t know already about myself.” Hongjoong tosses the bottle in his hand across the gap between the two men. It rattles dramatically as it passes through the air, and Minho jerks upwards to grab it before it can slip through his grasp a second time.

“Is this meant to be a reward for my hard work?” he inquires, teeth grinding hard against each other as he speaks.

“You can view it as such.” One corner of the captain’s lips twitches upwards. “But if Yunho starts asking questions, I cannot defend your addiction. He is the one keeping stock of our medications here on this ship after all.”

“You have issues with control. Probably a fear of not having control, which is amplifying pre-existing issues and mental instabilities.”

“Do you want your pills or not, doctor? I for one am not opposed to seeing how you fall apart without them. In fact, I would revel in it. So, tread carefully.” Minho clutches the orange bottle a little tighter. “You are free to do as you wish, but if I find you face down in a pool of your own vomit then my kindness will not last. If you’re alive, that is.”

“I have no qualms with those terms, Captain.”

“Good. Then, I’ll formally welcome you to the crew, doctor. Try not to disappoint me.”

Minho barely spares him a second glance when he gets up, and Hongjoong is all but invisible as he makes his way out of the room. The face that greets him in the hallway is a pleasant surprise.

“Yunho,” he exhales in a saccharine tone.

“Cap—Hongjoong. I was just checking in on San and Y/n.” Yunho’s gaze keeps flitting to the door at Hongjoong’s back now. That simply won’t do.

“Were you?” Hongjoong presses as he moves toward the taller man. “And how are our nesting lovebirds?”

“Y/n is healing well, physically at least. San’s been keeping up with the physical therapy well enough, but you already know that. Were you in—”

That simply won’t do.

“Come up with me, would you?”

“Huh?” Yunho’s brown eyes go a bit wide at the request. It wasn’t Hongjoong’s initial plan, but it was a good diversion tactic and part of him doesn’t want to sleep in an empty and cold bed alone tonight. “We haven’t — since we… with Seonghwa… huh?”

“And? I didn’t tell you to leave me forever. Let’s just go to bed, nothing else.”

“Have you spoken to Yunho at all since the other night?”

Seonghwa's resulting scowl is nothing pretty to behold but he wants to see it deepen further to the point of hatred.

“Of course not. You think he wants to speak to me at all?”

“Okay, um, yeah. I’ll meet you up there? In a little bit? I need to upload my notes and put them in files before I forget.”

“Mind if I stick around?”

“No…” Yunho drags his gaze all over Hongjoong, examining head to toe as though expecting to find something out of place about the smaller man. When his eyes rest on Hongjoong’s face once again, the captain offers a half-smile. “No, come on.”

He waits until they’re within the walls of the medical bay to speak his mind and broach the subject at hand, the metaphorical elephant in the room forcing space between them.

“Have you spoken to Seonghwa at all since the other night?”

Yunho lets out a sigh as he sits down at his makeshift desk.

“No, not even once. I doubt he wants to talk though.” Hongjoong nearly laughs at how horrifically similar the two men are. Instead, he watches Yunho plug his tablet into his computer and get to work on uploading those aforementioned notes. San’s name flickers across the screen.

“I'll talk to him tonight.”

Seonghwa stops where he is, midway to the only exit out of the chambers, and when he turns, Hongjoong sees his expression blossom into something venomous.

“So the two of you are still...?”

“Did I say that? I will speak with him tonight after dinner.”

“Has San’s resolve weakened since Y/n joined the crew?”

“Since he came face to face with her for the first time, more like,” Yunho answers without missing a beat or looking away from his screen. Hongjoong’s scowl reflects back at him on the screen, but the doctor doesn’t pay him any mind. “He’s always been a bit soft around the edges though. I think you set him up for failure in asking him—” Yunho cuts his thought short out of the blue, and Hongjoong’s gaze turns to sharp daggers on the back of his head.

“In asking him what? Who was gracious enough to tell you as much?”

When the younger turns, Hongjoong gets an eyeful of knitted brows and pursed lips.

“You did. You told me, Hongjoong. Because you felt guilty for giving him those orders, or at least you used to.”

“Seonghwa, I told you before that it's not your fault.”

“Then why is it that you're asking me whether I've talked to Yunho yet? Why are you asking as though that’s my responsibility? If you don’t consider me to be at fault then why am I being tasked with fixing this mess?”

Suddenly, Hongjoong wants to lie down. There’s a throbbing in the side of his head that keeps turning into something more piercing every few seconds, and Yunho’s stare feels more invasive by the second.

“I’m done here. Still wanna go up?”

“Let’s go.”

It’s as they leave the med bay side by side that Hongjoong recalls exactly why he hates coming down here so much. There are too many ghosts living in the walls and lining the corridors. Even in the brief darkness that comes when he blinks, he can see their faces at the corners of his vision. Stood still, alert, watching and waiting for the command from their captain who failed to do the one duty asked of him. He looks up to the side of Yunho’s face. Thinks of Seonghwa’s endless frustrations these days, of San being shot, of the kidnappings, of losing his newest crew member to a petty criminal who couldn’t hope to hold a candle to him and all he can taste at the back of his throat is failure.

He pushes further into Yunho’s space, enough to bump his shoulder against the other man’s arm as they make their trek in utter silence. The rhythm of their bodies is familiar as they cross the bridge, when Yunho brushes his knuckles over Hongjoong’s hip, and the captain smiles to himself. But once they reach the door and Hongjoong plasters himself between it and Yunho’s larger form, his wrists are caught mid-air on their path to reaching around Yunho’s shoulders.

“Let’s go to bed, yeah?”

Hongjoong had thought he would have more success with Yunho than he has with Seonghwa thus far — an easier time at least patching a bandage over the open wound still carved into his chest. And perhaps he thought he was already victorious on the walk up to his quarters, but Yunho stops that thought right where it is.

“Yeah,” he exhales back and moves his arms down to his sides once more.

The silence continues to permeate every inch of the room as Hongjoong gets ready for bed. Yunho makes himself at home as usual, but it’s evident that his thoughts are elsewhere based on how he looks around the bedroom like something is going to sprout up from the darkest corner. Hongjoong is no fool. He knows Yunho’s thoughts are on the mess of a situation that occurred not too long ago when both he and Seonghwa were present here for something Hongjoong should have had the foresight to stop far in advance. He finally says something about it midway through brushing his teeth.

“The two of you have got to talk eventually.” He nearly winces at the words coming from his own mouth because of how harsh they sound.

“What’s there to say, Hongjoong? Hey, sorry our fucking threesome didn’t work out because you’re too possessive over a man that’s not even yours. Sure, that’d over great.” Hongjoong glances in the mirror to see Yunho in the reflection, perched on the side of the bed but it’s not his usual spot. He always goes for the other side — has for all this time that they’ve been doing this — yet last time he was on that side, Hongjoong was under him and there were tears. Lots of them, in fact. His stomach turns in disgust at the memory alone.

He spits the leftover toothpaste into the sink.

“It’s unfortunate, Yunho, how everything played out. If I had been… had more common sense, I would have refused it right away.”

“Have your cake and eat it too, huh?”

Hongjoong sighs as he exits the bathroom, hands already moving to his hips in a way that echoes the chastisement he’s ready to hurl Yunho’s way. Either the exhaustion or the shreds of guilt he does feel win over though, because he can’t bring himself to lay into Yunho much.

“Stop arguing with me over it then,” he says instead, climbing into bed on a side that’s foreign and uncomfortable to him. They have their backs to each other even now.

“I’m not even the one who fucked up, Joong! It was Seonghwa’s brilliant fucking idea, why am I being punished for it? Hell, even you fucked up more than I did by insisting that you were okay with it!”

“I get it, Yunho. I know whose fault it is. You aren’t being punished.”

The younger man exhales a pathetic excuse for a laugh. More than anything, Hongjoong wishes he had the courage to turn over and face him, to see how badly he fucked up written on Yunho’s expression, and try to mend the cracks as best he can. At the end of the day, however, he knows what he is — a coward running from his demons, even when they’re at his back begging to be seen. If there’s a grave to be dug, Hongjoong stands at the edge with a shovel and plunges it deeper into the dirt.

“I wanted it. That’s why I pushed for it, and I’m sorry—”

“Now you’re fucking sorry!” Yunho huffs out a scoff. “For fuck’s sake, Joong, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to salvage whatever was left of my relationship with Seonghwa.”

“And I’m sorry, what more can I say? You should have said no from the start—”

“I can’t say no to you, Hongjoong! That’s the fucking problem here! It didn’t matter to me what my feelings about it were because I just wanted you to be happy.”

“I said over and over that I didn’t want you to base your decision on what you thought would please me. It wasn’t about my happiness, it was about comforting — comforting him! He asked to sleep with us, I asked you if it was alright and you said it was, so—”

“What does he have, Hongjoong? What is it that he has that I do not? Why is he enough for you and yet I’m not?”

The rawness in Yunho’s voice is what stops him, at least that’s what Hongjoong will tell himself in the days to come because it is easier to swallow such a pill. Seonghwa has his jealousy, and Yunho has his fear of inadequacy. Hongjoong knows what both sides of their respective coins look like well enough after all these years together, and he knows how they flip. Yunho is teetering on an edge with no knowledge of what side he wants to land on.

“Is this how it’s going to be between us now? Arguing back and forth before bed?” Yunho’s tone is still strong, for all that’s worth.

“You tell me, Yun, you’re the one who turned this into a fight.”

“The issue isn’t that you love him, Hongjoong. You know that.”

“What’s the issue then?” Hongjoong sounds as defeated as he feels when those words get pushed out into the side of his pillow. He doesn’t have the heart to admit his true feelings even now, though it should be easy to deny something so heinous. Behind him, Yunho shifts under the sheets as though trying to increase the already obscene amount of distance between their bodies. Maybe Hongjoong should be grateful enough that Yunho is even here to warm the bed with him, despite not touching him or giving in to his captain’s advances earlier. What he says next snipes those hopeful feelings right out of Hongjoong’s chest.

“It’s that you don’t love me.”

Ice crawls its way through his body in a split second, and suddenly it’s almost as though his lungs have been dunked in frozen water.

“You always say that Seonghwa and I don’t get along, that we can’t possibly be suited for each other, that the two of us are the problem because we can’t see eye to eye. But really, if your love was fair and kind, Hongjoong, that wouldn’t be an issue. Don’t worry. I know my place at your side. And I will never try to take Seonghwa’s because I know where I belong. If it’s at your feet, then again I tell you I shall grovel. But, my captain, you cannot ask me to accept an unfair bargain of love. I’m selfish and greedy, but I too just want to be loved fairly. At this point, I don’t think I will ever receive such a thing from you and for that reason, I will take steps back where necessary. I simply request that you allow me to mend myself on my own terms.”

“Yunho—” His voice sounds choked and broken even with just one word uttered. Yunho continues like he hasn’t said a thing.

“It’s nothing personal, Captain.”

The ice pick in Hongjoong’s chest sinks deeper.

“I simply fear that your use for me has run dry.”

“That’s… hardly true at all, Yun.” But speaking those words out loud is harder than imagined, and Hongjoong chokes on them, around the tongue that feels like lead in his mouth. The bed creaks again, but this time Yunho is rolling over to face Hongjoong’s back. Tentatively, the captain shifts to match the movements. “That’s the furthest thing from the truth.”

“Let me salvage what I have left, Captain. Otherwise, you may end up with another notch on your hip.”

Staring each other in the eye like this, however, Yunho hardly looks like a man who has deigned to pull away, especially as he reaches out to touch Hongjoong’s cheek and laughs under his breath.

“Can I even dare to call you mine if this is how things must be?”

“You do this, Hongjoong. You! You take the things you claim to love and care about and you — you break them, you tear them apart! Leave Yunho out of whatever fucked up problems are still left between us, for the love of god.”

Hongjoong reaches up to clasp his fingers around the ones Yunho lays against his face. The line of morality has always been a muddled one for him, yet now with a soul so pure and innocent in the palm of his hand, he feels the full weight of right versus wrong upon his shoulders. The words staining the back of his tongue black with bile are nothing pretty — no encouragement or reassurance meant to bring Yunho down from his hysteria — and so Hongjoong swallows them down in favor of giving him something beautiful.

“Or you… force them into a mold and pretend they’re yours. And every fucking time, they fall for it just to break from the pressure of you trying to pin them there.”

“My Yunho.” In the hierarchy of things that Hongjoong considers to be his, he does not need to think long about where Yunho falls. It’s so very clear in his mind’s eye: fourth from the top on a good day, somewhere lower when other needs arise. The shame is that Yunho has decided to be so greedy as to crave a higher place. He peels Yunho’s hand away from his face and brings those long fingers to press against the soft curve of his lips. The gleam in Yunho’s eyes softens with each kiss Hongjoong lays against him until he’s putty in Hongjoong’s hands. “You’re mine.”

The words are spoken so softly that Yunho doesn’t dare disrupt the fragile peace between them. He doesn’t bother to ask if the same is true of Hongjoong, if Hongjoong is his too, but that thought seems far and away already as the captain guides him to lay flat on his back, leg swinging across Yunho’s hips seconds later. From his new perch, he sees the reverence in Yunho’s eyes. It’s as beautiful as it is delicate. Hongjoong seals the cracks with a feather-like kiss.

──────────── a/n: hi hi long time no moc! ngl the wc got away from me i really expected 6k max on this but then it kept going and going and we don’t stop the writing gods when they want the narrative to keep going thus.. she is a bit long! i’ve been sitting on this for a wee bit just bc i wanted to get a bit of 50 fleshed out and in a good place before posting this so we’re working hard here at caly’s writing station 😎 as always plspls let me know what you think! 

as always the questionnaire is available and open (https://forms.gle/rMvFD1TDz52nRJMN9), don’t be shy to fill it out honestly! i genuinely use it to improve my writing and storytelling so it’s very helpful to me to see feedback and work off of it as best i can 💪

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

[keiffeine]

confessions (part two)

ft. kazuha, scaramouche, thoma, ayato, itto, & dainsleif.

with gender-neutral reader.

© all rights reserved to keiffeine. reposting, plagiarizing, modifying, and translating is NOT allowed.

part one

it’s very obvious that there is something going on with KAZUHA. he seems more relaxed than he usually is, always seeming like he was in a daze. if anyone were to come up to him and strike a conversation, it was almost as though you were snapping him out of a daydream. there was always this tiny smile on his face, cheeks visibly pink. in his free time, kazuha’s writing heartfelt poems about you, every word he can’t say out loud written on paper. he later decides—this is the perfect way to confess to you. compiling all the poems he’s made into one pile and carefully tying string around the small pile of papers to keep it together, kazuha hopes that you could sense each feeling between the lines.

SCARAMOUCHE has never despised anyone so much in his life. he hated how you made him feel this way, like there were butterflies in his stomach or this awkward warmth in his chest that bloomed every time you were around. he hated how you made him feel vulnerable, like his walls were finally coming down and there was finally someone in his life he can open up to. he hated how you were just so perfect, with your stupidly perfect hair and stupidly perfect eyes. and don’t even get him started with your smile. scaramouche would rather die than admit his attraction towards you, but all of this longing he’d felt wasn’t about to go to waste. it was now or never, he tells himself. as he’s coming up to you, you can only ask yourself what seemed so urgent with the way he was walking in his stride, hands balled into fists, lips pursed in a thin line, and face red. quickly, he ushered you to the side, stammering through his confession: “y/n…i…i really, really like you. in a way that’s more than what we have right now. i really need you to tell me if you feel the same way.”

THOMA cannot wrap his head around the concept of feelings. what do you even do in this situation, he’d ask himself. it’s clear that he has something for you, because any time someone would mention your name, his face will immediately turn bright red and he’d start stuttering as he spoke. “what? y-y/n? what do you mean, haha…ha…” he confides in the kamisato siblings with these things, and they both tell him the same thing: why not write a letter of confession? so, he does, spending nearly the entire night trying to write The Perfect Letter. the next day, with his letter sealed in an envelope, thoma meets you under a large sakura tree, handing you the letter and praying to the archons that this’ll come out in his favor.

ITTO cannot keep feelings subtle even if his life depended on it. he’s very open with how he feels about you, and it’s pretty much heard around inazuma at this point. with how it’s basically become a known thing now, it eventually reached back to you, but you enjoyed seeing how oblivious itto can be. you would give him hints to show your interest, like making flirtatious comments or holding eye contact to the point where itto would start getting flustered and his gaze would falter. still, he had no clue and you were just waiting patiently for him, wanting to hear his feelings come out from his own mouth and not just from someone in inazuma who happened to hear. honestly, you couldn’t help but melt and laugh when he finally does, getting the entire arataki gang to individually hold up signs that formed a short sentence: | PLEASE | DATE | ME? | → | with itto standing by the arrow, a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a special onikabuto he thought you’d especially like.

AYATO gets teased endlessly by his sister as he brought up how you made him feel a particular way that he didn’t quite understand. she still gives him sisterly advice, to just go for it and court you like how he’d been taught growing up. but, the first step to that was taking you out—and ayato didn’t know how to do that. no one has ever made him feel like this before, and he was afraid of messing up everything somehow. one way or another, he has to do it. he settles on doing it at night, with the moonlight casting over inazuma and when the ambience feels calmer, when it’s more quiet and it feels like the two of you are the only ones in the world. gingerly, ayato takes your hands into his, holding them as he looked down into your eyes, saying, “y/n…you make me feel things i’ve never felt before, and you’re so…special to me. if i may, i would really love to take you on a date.”

DAINSLEIF doesn’t waste his time dwelling and doubting his feelings: he’s certain with what he feels about you and he has to tell you, because life is so short and you can only do so many things before it’s over. and with years of wandering and feeling so alone, dain’s finally found someone that’s made him feel at home, like he can forget about every terrible thing that’s happened in his past. although he’s sure, he’s nervous when he’s actually standing in front of you, staring into your eyes where it’s unclear if you’re about to accept or deny his feelings. dain clears his head swallows back the anxiety. “y/n, you’re…amazing in every single way possible, and you’ve made me feel so alive and not completely lost in the world. i would love for you to be by my side, and i want to be able to call you mine.”

genshin masterlist

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[beastyboyxx]

Mantis Blades (Pt. 2) ★★★

Summary: After street fighting some goons your mantis blades begin to jam. You decide to pop in and visit the Night City’s best ripper out there. Viktor. And he’s not too excited about you coming in beaten again.

Warnings: Dialogue Heavy, Romance, MLM, Reader Referred To As “Kid/Princess/Boy”, Kinky Viktor, Forceful Viktor, Strapped down, Reader speaking in broken sentences, Begging, Viktor watching, Sex machine, Reader getting taught a lesson, Overstimulation, Taking Pictures, Blackmail, Fucked Dumb, Anal Sex.

Characters: Viktor Vector

Category: One-Shot (Two part series)

Series: Cyberpunk 2077

Word Count: 975

I couldn’t believe what was happening. Viktor watching me while I was strapped down to this damned table as the machine worked its magic.

He was like a devil behind those glasses. A sinful side I never thought I’d see from the greatest ripper in Night City. Jesus did I love it with every sick and twisted desire.

“V— Vik. Pl— Please…! It’s too much…!” The machine that was wrapped around my sensitive length was practically sucking the life outta me. It was some preem fleshlight of some sort. Attached to a metal arm that stretched down from the ceiling. Assuming its original use was for Viktors usual work.

“Just relax. Eventually you’ll tire yourself out.” Viktor sat comfortably in his chair. Arms crossed and eyes fixated on my cock being worked.

“Fuck off! You… you don’t— Aagh! Don’t get it!” My head rolled back. Fingers digging into the chair’s armrests. Inhaling sharply at each second the machine slid down my cock just do roll back up.

“Trust me I do. I’ve strapped myself in that thing before.” Viktor pushed his glasses up. Rolling his chair over towards his desk. A few things were being moved around. I couldn’t see what he was doing.

Viktor rolled back. Standing up with something in hand. It was a phone.

“Vik—? Wh- Ohh fu—uuuck!”

“Shhh princess. This’ll be my way of getting you to sit down and lay back once in a while.” The camera snapped. Flash and all.

“Every time you decide you’re invincible, I’ll threaten to use this.” Viktor showed me the photo. “As blackmail.”

“Fuck off asshole— Nngh! Hahh…!”

“Jus’ a few more minutes of this. Then we’ll move on.” Viktor flicked the machine. Rewarding him with a shaken horse moan from me.

Viktor wasn’t lying when it came to his words. Everything he said he meant it. It was only a few minutes left, but a ‘few minutes’ after feeling this for about thirty was utter madness. The machine would change its speed and movement.

From running up and down at relentless speeds to slow and edging was driving me crazy. It’d twist, suck, and vibrate. Who knows how Viktor decided he would create such a thing.

It felt like forever until finally Viktor pulled the machine off. Strings of my slick stuck from the base of my head to the hole of the plastic nightmare.

“God… you’re a monster… y’know that.” I strung out each word in breathless pants. My mind was fleeting into a fogged mess. Tears pricked at my eyes from the overwhelming sensation. I could only hope the sight of my state would satisfy Viktor enough to shut it down and let me go.

Viktor looked down. One hand rubbing at his chin as he thought. “Finally ready to give yourself a break?”

“Yes.. yes I swear— I promise…”

“Atta boy. Here, let’s get these off.” Viktor stepped up to a tablet. Typing in a few things before the metal clasps opened and the metal arm recoiled back up into the ceiling.

I tried to sit up only for Viktors strong hand to force me back down onto the chair. My eyes met with his own, a look of shock washed across my face as I laid my eyes on Viktors bare chest. The ripper tossing his button up off to the side in his workshop.

“Think I’m finished?” Viktor chuckled, a brow raised. His grip on my hips as I was tugged closer to him. “Poor boy.”

“Vik… Vikky…”

“You’re lucky I didn’t leave you in that thing for a few hours. Who knows what it would’ve done to that poor mind. Hm?” Viktor positioned himself with his clothed crotch near his prize.

“Jesus kid… I hate how much you make me just want to ruin you. Ironic for a ripper. Huh?”

Viktors eyes peered over his glasses. His gaze sent shivers down my spine. It was cold but flicked with genuine care. The doc bent down, inching close to my face.

“Let’s fuck you till that head spins. Ripperdoc’s recommendation. And a full discount too, on the house.”

Viktor worked his pants off. Quickly and efficiently. It wasn’t long until he was completely naked. His cock standing at attention. And his tattoos on full display.

My state was sloppy. Vision a bit hazy but just able to see enough. And feel enough. Viktor pulled me in, his hands at my sides as he began to slowly push his way inside. Inch by inch. He was toying with me.

Not long after I felt that overwhelming heat of my body demanding more. It was all so blurred but Jesus I felt it all. Viktors cock siding in and out. Hearing our breathes, groans, and other sounds of lust. Viktor changed my position so I was now laying on my side, all while not fleeting in his thrusts. His hand, resting at the top, dug into my side.

…

It felt like ages. Every second that passed drove me more into a dumbed out mess. Viktor knew that full and well.

Finally. One final grip of skin, loud groans, hands trying to hold onto any surface. Viktor finished inside, most likely from an hour of fucking.

“Think you’ll be taking that break now princess?” Viktor patted my side. He can be so caring yet so cruel.

“Fuck… you think…?” I rolled my eyes. Exhausted from what had just took place. My body ready to take a break. All thanks to the Night City’s best ripper.

My mind began to flicker. Sleep settling in under my eyes and throughout my body. Suddenly I heard a shutter and the voice of Viktor chuckling to himself.

Part 1

[apollyonsdarksecrets]

i just got out of the shower after shaving and this seems kind of like a long shot but i have this idea of joel like not liking you/never wanting to act on it but on the trip to wyoming, they cuddle to "keep warm". once they get to jackson and everyone gets a shower, maria hooks you up i guess cause she thinks you and joel are like together together. she gives you a razor, lotion, all the good stuff and just tells you to do some self care since it's been so long. after your shower and you're figuring out sleeping arrangements, joel insists on you sleeping w him bc it's developed into a habit (to keep warm yk 😉) and once he realizes that like you're so soft and smell so good he has a hard time keeping his hands off of you and breathing you in and it gets him all riled up. some good smut pls.

Not only am I so excited about this being my first ask but this prompt is just *mwah* Chefs Kiss 💋 I hope I do it justice

Warnings: SMUT 18+ Only. Minors DNI, reader is depicted to have longish hair, talk about shaving, implied age gap, language, fingering, praise, honorifics, the use of the word slut like once I think, oral (M receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, cream pie, cock warming,

Joel Miller Masterlist

Body Heat

It was all breed from necessity, when the air became frigid and the fires just weren’t cutting it anymore. Joel had to do something.

Though you were never apart of the plan, a ‘stray’ as Joel likes to sneer your way, his heart would never let you go without. Call it his gentlemanly southern ways if you must, but despite being so unwilling to be around you and Ellie he took care of you both. No questions asked.

So on the coldest night, after a day full of bickering and fighting, Joel snatched your sleeping bag from where you tossed it on the snow. You thought he finally had enough of you.

He throws Ellie the better one, one that is actually made for this type of weather and the look on your face let’s him know you think he’s going to let you freeze to death.

“Ya know, if you have a problem we can talk it out instead of you trying to freeze me to-.”

“Shut up and come here.” The snap in his voice as his dark brown eyes settle on yours makes you quick to obey, kneeling down beside him in the snow as Ellie cocoons herself in her own bag, watching quietly. “Zip this side together while I do this one.”

You realize what’s happening with a soft ‘oh’, helping zip the bags together as Joel stuffs the bottom with clothing and ratted blankets. “This’ll help keep us warm through the night, alright?” Joel doesn’t bother to look at you as he speaks, authoritative in his tone.

“Are you… sure? I mean isn’t it gonna be a little-.” You lean forward trying to catch his gaze and when you do he just glares, waiting on you to finish. “Awkward?”

“Do you want me to let you freeze? Get your ass in.”

And that was that, you’d dragged the bag as close to the fire as you dared before settling in, trying to keep as much room as the tight fit would allow between you and the older man, body stiff as a board. Joel only watches your theatrics for so long before he rolls his eyes, snaking an arm around you waist and dragging you back against his chest.

Pulling your head down into the crook of his shoulder he rests his chin on the crown of your head, one knee making its way between your legs with a sigh. Slowly you relax into him, and he can feel the trembling leave your body little by little. Your warm, the smell of the woods and dirt clinging to your hair and body and Joel has to physically restrict himself from burying his nose against your hair. Hating his instincts.

“Go to sleep.”

By the time morning rolls around you’re warmer than you’ve been in months, if a little sweaty. Joel’s already stirring awake with you, crawling from the bag with a stifled groan, not saying a word as he wakes Ellie.

It would be easier to say that nothing shifted after that, but the change wasn’t so minuscule that you could deny it. Neither of you mentioned it, even Ellie kept her thoughts to herself as you traveled farther north, towards Jackson and Joel’s brother.

But as you marched on through dense forests, rolling white hills, and abandoned towns the cold shoulder Joel carried melted ever so slightly towards the little girl, laughing at a few of her jokes, teaching her about the world from before. He even started a light banter and you caught yourself smiling at their interaction.

Silently wishing he would direct some of that friendliness towards you. And Joel wanted to, he truly did, but with each passing night, your body curling into his and waking up tangled together, he felt something scary growing in his chest. He’d already lost someone he cared for well before you came along, and Jackson was supposed to be your parting ways. He couldn’t let himself feel that way now.

Or at least that’s what he kept telling himself.

*~*~*~*~*~*

A month later you’re reaching the river, the scene tranquil as you look around half listening to whatever Ellie is saying to Joel. Probably another Damn joke.

Your eyes land on something in the distance, shapes become more distinguishable, horses coming into view, rushing towards you.

They are on you within seconds, guns loaded and aimed, surrounding the three of you with no where to go but towards the river.

Joel’s eyes never leave you, watching two men circle you, your hands raised and trembling. He’s able to talk to them calmly, insisting none of you are here for trouble, just passing through to find his brother.

A line of questioning follows, mainly insisting to tell them now if any of you were bitten and you can see Ellie stiffen up, her brown eyes flickering between Joel and you.

Joel insists otherwise, but the men only stare for a moment before someone gives a whistle.

They release a dog to weasel out any lies and you all hold your breath, only to see the big scary beast turn into a yipping pup under Ellie’s love.

The next thing you know you’re in Jackson, a true civilization, Joel and Tommy reunited with tears and laughter and though you are happy for him, there’s a small pit in your stomach. Knowing last night was the last you’d sleep beside Joel, wrapped in his warmth feeling safe and secured. Your happy mood quickly deflates.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Tommy’s wife Maria watches Joel and you intensely at the mess hall, quickly picking up on the subtle body language Joel puts off and how you receive it. He’s always beside you, if not standing slightly in front of you to put distance between you and the strangers you have meet since arriving. He perks up when you being to speak, listening intently, his hand rests on the back of your chair, and she can see the restraint he’s holding when it comes to being around you. It makes her smile.

“There’s a house, across from ours that you can stay in, hot water and everything should be working just fine.” Tommy offers with a smile, everyone’s faces perking up at the idea.

“How about I take you girls with me to get some bath products like soaps, shampoo, conditioners; I know this sweet girl who has all of the hook ups. You both deserve a little self care.” Maria smiles at the mixture of awe and relief on your face before you’re thanking her profusely. Ellie and Joel ready to jump from the table at the notion of a good warm shower.

*~*~*~*~*~*

You promised yourself to be quick, in and out just long enough to scrub away the months worth of dirt and wilderness. But your resolve began being chipped away as you open the body wash, inhaling the sweet smell, the shampoo and conditioner break you down a little more, a feeling of normalcy rushing at you.

It not until you see the pale blue handle did you cave completely, pulling out a brand new razor with a shocked giggle.

It was going to be an everything shower.

‘A little self care.’ As Maria had said.

An hour later, when the water finally gets to cold, you’re forced out. Patting yourself dry before rubbing down with the small container of lotion, the floral sent, light and comforting.

You make your way into the rest of the house, searching around only to find Joel in the kitchen, sitting at the island with a cup of coffee between his large palms. He’s dressed in blue flannel pajama pants and a tight white t-shirt and his eyes instantly find you his breath catching in his throat.

“Hey… did Ellie already go to sleep?” You adjust your loose fitted tank top subconsciously under his intense gaze, the cool air raising the hairs on your arms. At least that’s what you want to believe.

“Yeah, been asleep for a while now.” He runs a hand through his damp hair, brushing it back from his forehead and you can’t help but watch the way his arm flexes with the movement.

“How is she doing?” You lean into the granite counter top, picking at an invisible spec of dirt, your both exhausted but something inside you wants to keep the small talk going for at least a few more minutes. Knowing there won’t be many conversations between you come morning.

Joel watches you quietly, eyes trained on your slim fingers. “I think she’s okay, at least she will be.”

You nod, willing yourself to meet his eye with a smile, that pit in your stomach from earlier growing larger, knowing what’s about to happen next. No longer able to bat off the inevitable.

“Good, she deserves this… well I’m going to get some sleep myself then.” Joel’s eyebrows raise as you step back from the island, swinging your hands slightly by your sides. “Which um which bedroom is mine? I promise to be out of here by morning.”

Joel doesn’t respond right away, instead finishing his coffee before pushing back from his seat, looming over you. “It’s still gonna get cold tonight, tried ta get the heater to work but it might be busted, Tommy will help me look at it in the morning.”

“O-oh.” You can’t hide the surprise on your face, a small burst of excitement washing over you only to be immediately followed by trepidation… the thought of sleeping with Joel in an actual bed feels more… intimate. A lot less about survival and safety, and a bit more like…

“Come on, this way.” Joel slips an unusually warm hand to your lower back, turning and stirring you towards the back of the house and to his room.

The bedroom is bare save for the necessary items, a queen size bed, a dresser and two bedside table. It feels almost empty save for Joel’s large presence. He gives you a small nudge towards the bed and you comply, climbing under the thick quilt as Joel flicks off the light, flooding the room with darkness.

Nerves stick in your throat as he settles in beside you, dragging you down and back against him, large chest pressing into your back making you relax instinctively, his heat radiating into you. Your head washes with exhaustion, any reservations you held against sharing the bed quickly dying as you nestle closer, covers pulled to your chin.

Joel takes a moment to get comfortable, slipping his hand to your waist as he settles, burying his face against the back of your neck as he relaxes fully.

Taking a deep breath he gives a little hum, the smell of your lotion assaulting his senses and he finds he likes it, he likes it a lot. Joel instinctively wants to push the thought aside, force himself to sleep and pretend you aren’t really there. Close off his emotions like he’s done every night for the last few months…

But…

Maybe it’s the bed, or being in a safe place, behind doors that lock and walls that are guarded. Maybe it’s the feminine smell wafting into his nose that smells just right on you but he can’t help how just aware he is of you. He can feel the little bit of damp still in your hair against his forehead, your warmth trickling into his own. Your feet rub slightly against his shin and he can’t help to notice the way his fingers sink into the plush of your hip.

Tilting his head back slightly he blinks against the darkness, the moon light casting your figure in its silver glow. Joel can’t deny you laying in front of him like that, and deep down he is a selfish man at heart.

He nuzzles his nose against the back of your ear, breathing you in, his grip tightening on your body and you let out the smallest little sigh that goes straight to his head.

He can’t stop himself. Months of built up tension snapping with one little noise.

Joel’s lips find your neck, gentle and unyielding as he peppers open mouth kisses across the delicate flesh, eliciting whispery moans from your lips. Your hand falls to find his, tentatively squeezing as he nips at the soft spot just under your ear.

“M-mm Joel. What are you…” You whine out, back arching ever so slightly.

“Shh, gotta be quiet for me.” He whispers, hand leaving yours to slip under the waist band of your pants, his own moan rattling out as he gropes your doughy thigh, soft and smooth.

You nod, pressing your lips together to suppress your noises as his clauses scrape against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, searching, memorizing, pulling your leg up onto his hip.

Spreading you open for him.

Joel’s hand brushes up, up until he cups your bare cunt without warning, and your whine strangles you, head pressing back against his shoulder eyes pinched shut.

“So wet already, haven’t even don’t anythin’ to ya.” He mumbles out, the timber in his voice spiking your arousal as he slips a fingers between your folds, gathering your slick to rub along your bare vulva.

You nod again, untrusting of your voice as he plunges that finger back in, giving you shallow thrust that leaves your hips twitching, searching for more. You grind back against him, his cock straining against his sweats and pressing into your ass making him buck slightly.

“Feel so nice against me, so soft and warm.” He thrusts that teasing finger in deeper, curling and rubbing along the front wall of your pussy forcing a moan from deep in your chest. “Smell fucking good to… bet you taste even better.”

Joel’s words drop into your belly, igniting you like gas to a fire, and you’re left desperate, wanting, and feral. Joel’s going to take his time though, coax every little bit of pleasure from you as he can. He slowly adds another finger, feeling you stretch around his digits fucking you slowly as he rubs the base of his palm against your aching clit.

“Oooo… Joel…” You rock against his hand, steadily moving yourself towards your peak. He lets you for a few moments, captivated by the roll of your hips and the squeeze of your walls around him, but ultimately he has other plans.

Cruelly, Joel withdraws his fingers shushing you as you whine and wiggle against him. “Take these off for me.” You scramble to shove your sweats down, kicking them somewhere under the sheets. He chuckles at your enthusiasm the noise making your heart flutter because it’s not often you hear it.

Joel sits up, pulling his shirt over his head the light from outside bathing him in a glow that bounces off of his tan skin. You reach up to trace your fingers down his stomach, feeling his muscles jump under your touch.

“Like what you see?” Joel settles over you, his body forcing your legs open with a weak moan, nodding as you scan over his chest and shoulders and stomach, drinking him in. He leans down, pressing sloppy kisses to the underside of your jaw, your neck, just over your pulse point and he’s close enough now that you can wrap a leg around his hips, grinding up against him.

Your hands trace his shoulders, up his neck and tangle into his hair, tugging gently with each rut of his hips into yours. “Ah… pretty girl… we’ve got all night.” Joel kisses along the exposed skin of your chest, tugging your tank top lower to get to more.

His lips wrap around your pebbled nipple, sucking it into the warmth of his mouth as his fingers find your other breast, kneading and pinching. Your back bows off the bed, tugging his head impossibly closer as whimpers fall from your lips.

Joel draws away with a soft pop, the most needy whine following as your eyes find his in the dark, chest heaving. “P-please… want you, Joel. Been wanting you for so long.” The admission leaves your cheeks warm, staring up at the older man as a look of surprise flashes across his face, only to be replaced by hunger.

“Yeah? Been wanting me?” He slips his hand down your body, cupping you more firmly this time. Joel’s heart is pounding slightly, the glazed over expression in your eyes and the part in your lips as your head lulls back has his stomach tightening. “You’re telling me you’ve been thinking about me between these pretty legs while I’m sleeping right beside you?”

Flustered you keep quiet, tugging softly at the strands of hair wound around your fingers. Joel clicks his tongue, grinding his palm against your clit harshly making you yelp in surprise. “I asked you a question.”

“Y-yes…” You hastily reply.

“Good.” He leans in, brushing his lips across your own as he mumbles. “It’s all I’ve been able to think about for weeks.”

Two fingers thrust into your heat, sending your eyes rolling and Joel devours your moan. His kiss is as demanding as the plunge of his fingers, the feeling of your cunt stretching for him drives him mad. “Fuck you’re tight.” He mumbles against your lips, grunting as your fingers dig into his scalp.

“J-Joel…” You grind your hips against his hand, your slick covering his palm with each thrust as he works that magical spot inside you with the pads of his fingers.

“Makin a mess for me girl. God, you’re gonna feel so good wrapped around my cock.” You whimper at his words, that blinding pleasure building in the base of your spine quickly spreads into your stomach and thighs, letting you know how close you are.

“Please… I’m gonna cum.” You breath pressing your forehead against his as your eyes squeeze shut.

“That’s it baby, shhh cum for me.” A few more harsh thrusts of his fingers has you falling apart, his free hand covering your mouth as your moan rips from your throat. Wave after wave of pleasure wash through your entire body, lights popping behind your eyelids as Joel continues his ministrations, working you through your orgasm.

Joel watches you with wide eyes, his cock throbbing in time to the squeeze of your cunt around his fingers and he think he might bust just from this. He has to feel you around him.

He pulls away when you start shaking your head, trying to wiggle your hips away from the overstimulation. Hastily Joel sits back, shoving his pants and boxers down, groaning as his cock springs free, red and leaking precum.

Stroking himself to ease some of the ache he drinks you in, chest heaving with each breath, breasts on display thanks to your disheveled tank top and you have the most beautiful post-orgasm face he’s ever seen.

Being pulled closer by your thighs you give a small whimper, cracking open your eyes to only have your breath stick in your throat. Your eyes instantly land on his cock, thick and long with a dark patch of hair at the base. Your mouth waters, licking your kiss swollen lips as you glance up into Joel’s eyes.

Without saying anything you shakily shift to your knees, and pull his large hand away, replacing it with your own. Your fingers barely touch, and Joel lets out the filthiest groan as you begin to pump him.

“Shhh.” You giggle, glancing up at him as you drop your head, giving the tip of his cock a few soft kitten lick. Joel hisses at the feeling, his hand finding your hair, digging his fingers into the strands, cupping the back of your head.

You let yourself be pulled closer, taking the head into your mouth, a muffled moan escaping at the stretch of your jaw as you take more, the salty precum flooding your tastebuds. Joel cusses above you, head falling back as you hallow your cheeks, sucking him in earnest as your head begins to bob.

“Sweet girl… oh baby…” he breaths into the air, guiding your head until his hips are twitching and he’s fucking himself into your mouth. You steady yourself with a hand on his solid thigh, whining with each bump of his cock against the back of your throat. “Look at you.” He growls, low and rumbling and your pussy clenches around air. “Taking my cock like the good little slut you are.”

Tears rim your eyes s as you gag on his length, trying your best to take as much of him into your mouth as you can, your hand working the rest. And as much as Joel is enjoying the feeling of you chocking around him he pulls you from his cock, drool coating your chin with unshed tears caught on your lashes. He cups your face, thumb rubbing over the ache in your jaw and you give him a smile that leaves him gobsmacked.

“Keep that up and I’m going to cum down that pretty throat of yours. Lay down.” He smiles as you fall back, spreading your legs and tossing your tank top to the side. “That’s my girl.” He positions your hips how he likes thighs flushed with your own, guiding the head of his cock to your entrance and nudging in gently. He glanced up at you once, lip caught between your teeth, before he pushes in, your eyes widen, gasping at the stretch as he continues until he’s fully seated inside you.

“Oh fuck.” You whimper out, hands shaking on his shoulders as he holds himself still, savoring the feeling of you finally enveloping him. “Oh god Joel.”

“Gotta… be quiet baby.” His voice is strained, eyebrows pinched together as he fights to keep himself still, letting you have your time to adjust but with each flutter of your walls it’s becoming extremely difficult. “Your pussy feels so good… so wet and… fucking tight.”

You mewl, back arching and hips rutting against his. “P-please… please move.” You struggle to keep quiet, eyes pinching shut as your nails cut into his skin.

You didn’t have to ask him twice. Joel pulls out slowly, almost all the way before thrusting back in, gently rocking your body against the mattress. His cock bumps against your cervix with each thrust, pain mingling with pleasure making your head swim.

“F-fuck.” You breath, hands slipping to his arms as he settles himself over you, keeping his weight on his elbows as his hips snap against yours.

“God baby… You’re soaking my cock, can feel you dripping down my balls.” Joel growls into your ear, his temple pressed into yours. His cock drags along your velvet walls, each bump and ridge hitching you hire and hire towards your release. Whines and whimpers are all you can provide, hips desperately trying to meet his thrusts.

“Taking me so well, gonna ruin this pussy for anyone else.” Joel groans, pleasure zipping up his spine mixing with possessiveness as you cling to him.

“Only you… only you…” you pant, euphoria breaking your voice, face pressing into his neck, kissing his salty skin sloppily.

“Only me.” He says it more like a demand, stilling his thrusts to stare down at you. You nod feverishly, grinding against him for more friction. Joel slips a hand between your bodies, finding your clit and rubbing slow light circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your legs start to twitch, back arching off the bed. He can feel the flutter of your walls around him, letting him know you’re close.

“Fuck… please Joel… please move I need you.” You buck your hips against him, earning the slightest bit of friction that makes him laugh softly, bringing his mouth to your neck and biting harshly. “Ah!” He thrusts into you, molding your pussy walls to his cock as he pounds you into the mattress.

“Cum for me.” He growls tipping you over that barrier. You cry into the air, body tensing and cunt clenching down as your heels hook around his hips. Your orgasm barrels into you like being hit by a car, so sudden and all at once that all you can do is cling to Joel as lights dance behind your eyes and your body rides through the waves.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fu-.” Joel smashes his lips against yours silencing your sobs as he groans, hips stuttering in their relentless pace as his own orgasm blooms through his spine, his balls tightening, cock pulsing and he has to gather up ever loose bit of control to hold it.

“Where… where do you want me baby?” He gasps against your lips, your walls trying to milk his orgasm from him. You’re to far gone through, mumbling his name over and over as you grind your hips against his. He cusses loudly, pinning you to the bed with his weight and with a few more harsh thrusts he explodes, painting your walls with thick ropes of cum.

You mewl at the feeling, the warmth spreading through your body causing your head to lull back, body becoming languid. “Shit…” Joel buries his face against your shoulder, holding himself deep inside you. He kisses what skin he can find, muttering soft praises before gently rolling you both over. Settling you against his chest Joel relaxes into the pillows, sleep quickly clouding his mind.

“Mmm.” You start to raise your hips, but his hands are on you keeping you firmly planted on his cock. You whine loudly, lifting your head and looking at him with tired eyes. “I-I can’t keep going Joel.” He smooths a hand up and down your back, humming as his own eyes flutter shut. He pulls your head down to his chest, fingers carding through your hair.

“I know baby, but it ain’t gonna be a regular thing that I cum in this pretty pussy, so you’re gonna stay right here and enjoy the feeling of being full of me. Understand?” But you’re breath has already evened out, body lax and heavy with sleep. Joel manages to reach for the blanket, covering you both from the chilly air as he begins to nod off.

His last thought being that there isn’t anyone else he’s going to share his bed with.

*~*~*~*~*~*

[raestarz]

Rookie Hour

Chapter Six - Mixed Emotions.

A/N: Eat this up, y'all because this is great and I love every part of this. Let me know if you guys would want me to switch between Leon and Kyaire's POV's every chapter.

Word Count: 2k To my loves who've been supporting me from the beginning, this is for y'all... @mrmidnight6 @neteyamsmunch

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I stared at the body of…what was his name again? Right, Ben…God, poor guy he didn’t deserve to die. I shuddered, my mind raced with thoughts. What was that thing that killed him? Is it gonna be after us next? How’re me and Leon gonna survive against that thing? Jesus fuck, Leon called out for my name.

“Kyaire?” He asked, grabbing my shoulder gently, I snapped back to reality and looked at him. His face was concerned and soft whenever he looked at me, he was so caring, constantly looking for the best in people when I saw and knew the worst. We were complete opposites but we fit together so well. I stared into his eyes for a long time feeling myself getting lost in them, they were such a soft blue but full of life and hope. I wanted to protect him despite him being two years my senior, I felt the need to protect him. God what the fuck? Why is my heart racing? Whatever I need to answer him.

“Yeah, Leon?” I answered trying to give him a small smile despite our circumstances and well trying not to glance at the obvious dead body on the floor. He knew everything wasn’t fine or that I wasn’t based on the way he frowned slightly. “I’m here if you need me, okay?” He offered giving my shoulder a light squeeze, and if I wasn’t black I’d be blushing red as fuck, but luckily I’m black so thank God. I could just feel my face heat up, I must be sick or something I dunno. I nod at his offer before looking down the hall.

“We gotta keep going,” I mutter and notice a red handle bar to the side on a table going over to it then grabbing it. This’ll be useful later, I put it into my pouch which somehow holds so much shit. I glanced at Leon and he looked deep in thought, I figured he’d tell me later and I saw a printed out memo talking about the power panel. I glance over at it near the jail cell putting two and two together, realizing we need custom power panels to power it and get that parking pass. Which are in the generator room, which is…fuck. Where the fuck are they? I groan internally shifting my feet, “We need to find the generator room.” I say outloud to Leon and hear his boots come over gently, taking the memo out of my hands. I watch as he reads over it as well, after a few silent beats and me paranoidly listening out for zombies or whatever the hell killed Ben from earlier.

“There’s one in the generator room and one in the clock tower, you think we should split up and go get them?” He speaks up, giving me a small smile, I shake my head. “Leon, this is not a horror movie we’re sticking together.” I stated giving him an eye roll, he gave me a small laugh and nodded. “You have a fair point, we’re better together.” He says, and for some reason my stomach does a somersault and my heart flutters. I shook my head giving him a small smile trying to shake whatever nerves he just gave me, “Lead the way then, rookie.” I teased and he nudged me with his shoulder gently before walking ahead of me.

We walked down the corridor and out of the jail area, back to the parking garage. Heading over to the next door with the green light figuring that since it wasn’t red it was unlocked, and right we were. Look at us two: a rookie cop and a civilian who hated cops, working together against the odds. Who knew? As we made our way inside Leon and I both clicked our flashlights in unison, I laughed under my breath at how in sync we were now. It was like when I moved, he moved and vice versa. We went straight down the hall to the firing range, Leon grabbed a tin storage box, opened it and took out a bent car key I snorted at the sight.

“Hey, maybe it has some use.” He replied to my snort giving me a brazen smile, I rolled my eyes in response, laughing softly. “Well, let’s hope it does.” We go further into the shooting range going past a door that requires a diamond key to open it, which we unfortunately didn’t have. Going into the part of where you shoot the target’s in the shooting range, I walk over spotting the shotgun shells near an officer's body which gets up and grabs me before I can react. 

“Ky!” Leon shouted and suddenly I heard a ringing in my ears, I let out a small groan as I realized that the zombie that had grabbed me was on the floor dead and its head popped. I still heard ringing and turned to face Leon, it looked like he was talking to me when he ran over to me holding my shoulders. Holy shit, he’s pretty, his lips were just so kissable. I wanted to lean in and suddenly I was for a moment till I heard Leon’s voice again, “Kyaire? What’re you doing?” He asked softly, and I took a step back blinking fast and hard. There’s no way in hell I almost kissed him, no, no…But I had to respond to his question, but I also wished that the zombie that grabbed me had bitten me. Because I have never been so embarrassed in my fucking life! Oh my fucking God this is more embarrassing then the time I got caught sneaking out by Sherry, and she made me play teatime with her. 

Suddenly hearing another zombie shift and rise, I pull myself out of his grasp taking out my multi shot handgun putting the fucker down as it’s head bursts. I turn and look at Leon, his eyes meet mine, and I’m absolutely mesmerized by him again. I need to stand up because there’s no way in hell I’m acting like this over a white man. But Jesus, Mary, and Joseph the way he makes me feel is insane. Do I like him romantically? No! No, no, no…We’re just friends not even strangers who are becoming friends from a shared trauma experience. I shake my head snapping out of it.

“Let’s get out of here, yeah?” I suggest my heart racing and I walk past him not waiting for a response he lets out a small huff following after me.

We take a right going down the hall hearing a small howl and reaching the kennel. I grimaced wondering if there were more zombie dogs in there. I handed him the box of shotguns I picked up earlier silently, he whispered a small ‘Thank you’ and I nodded in acknowledgement. We went into the kennel, dogs immediately attacking us and we shot them quickly as they came. The silence between us was strong and so was the tension, plus me avoiding what happened didn’t help or add on to the stress from the apocalypse. We, I mean me, didn’t need adding probable feelings or emotions into this already shit show of a situation.

As we got through the kennel going to the back hallway my urge to speak grew so much more, but I still had that fucking embarrassment from earlier. What if he finds me I dunno like a sister to him? That’s not possible. I turn twenty in three weeks and a day, God I hope he doesn’t think I’m weird or grotesque to him. I groan internally and bang my head against my hand silently, God I’m so fucking stupid why, why, why God! Any other time! It’s fine, it’s cool I don’t like him romantically. We go into the morgue and open the dead body rollers until we find the diamond key, I let out a small breath and see the zombie lunge at me luckily I was able to dodge out of the way and shoot the zombie in its head. I pocket the diamond key and sigh, Leon clears his throat and I manage to pull my eyes to his. The silence between us is deafening. 

I lean against the wall and look at him, I prop myself up with my foot. He stares back at me, trying to give me a small smile, Leon opens his mouth as if he’s about to speak and then closes it. 

“What is it, Leon?” I ask in a harsh tone which is never what I never meant it to sound like and he flinches slightly, “Sorry,” I mutter and look down at the floor. I honestly feel like shit, I feel like I’m losing a piece of me which is so unnerving. I only met him a couple of hours ago but the attachment I have to him is startling. This isn’t normal. I take a deep breath and my eyes meet his blue ones again. His eyes are swimming with so many emotions and I honestly don’t know what to say or do.

“It’s okay, I’m sorry I just…I hate this silence between us, is there something wrong?” He asked his voice soft and low, but his eyes glanced at the door into the morgue every so often. I feel like my chest is tightening and I can’t breathe, I let out a small breath. I lick my lips, why do I feel like this? This isn’t fair. I hate it here. I hate how I feel. I hate everything right now. I close my eyes and sigh before thinking things through. 

“I’m just overthinking things, which is something I unfortunately do…” I mutter and run my hands over my face, I realize I can’t just say that and leave it at that. “I’m just tired of this situation and the constant fucking puzzles.” I sigh and look at Leon, his eyes are so understanding and suddenly I feel guilty for lying but it was technically the truth. He held his arms out for me to hug him and I took two long strides over to him, letting him hug me and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding when he put his head on top of mine. Leon rubbed my back gently and held me as long as I needed him to, the feeling of his warmth when his arms wrapped around me is parallel to the feeling of taking that first warm sip of hot cocoa. Weird comparison but he was just that warm, I nuzzled my face into his shoulder taking a deep breath. His musk was nice but the cologne he was wearing was nice. It was a refreshing smell better than rotting flesh, I slowly pulled out of the hug and he held my face in his hands.

God I want him to kiss me. Shit, do I have feelings for him? Nah, I don’t…I’m just tripping.

Right?

Right.

As he held my face in his hands, he gave me the sweetest smile ever and I felt myself melting, this is not how I should feel and I wanna run away but I’m staying because we need each other but I’m not gonna say that. “Are we okay…?” He asked softly, and I wished and prayed to God none of these zombie fuckers existed because this would be so romantic. But it’s not! Cause I’m not into him, ok guys? I’m really truly not. Everything is fine and great.

“We’re okay,” I whispered and he caressed my cheek with his thumb. I smiled back at him. Leon takes his hands off my cheeks and we leave out of the morgue heading down the hall till we reach a closed shutter and I take out the handlebar from earlier, putting it into the hole that perfectly fits it, turning it till it opens. Leon lets out a low whistle, “Well, aren’t you strong?” He teased with a smile, I rolled my eyes in response.

“Well, you’re the one with all the muscles.” I state with a laugh and we go up the stairs to the right finding the generator room. I grab the orange box sitting on top of a stool prying it open and finding one of the electrical parts we needed. “Well, one out of two…That’s fantastic.” I laugh softly, my eyes meeting Leon’s happily. God, I hate how good he makes me feel.

I don’t like him…Right?

[dirtywrestling]

Such A Tease - Hook (18+)

Commission: For Nicole! I hope you enjoy it, love!

Pairing: Hook x Nicole

Summary: Nicole likes to tease Hook, some will say a little too much.

Warnings: 18+, Spanking, Teasing, Cussing, Unprotected Sex, Minors DNI

Word Count: 3,954

Follow My Backup Blog!: @dirtywresling102

“Oh, yeah no that’s perfect!” Hook said as he agreed with Jack about a move set. “Okay, so wait, who's going over again?” Hook asked.

“You are, I believe. I was thinking we could do something from the top rope, do a double down then do some heat and a cut off then into the finish?” Jack suggested. 

“Oh yeah and I can get the pin on ya, one, two, three. Easy.” Hook smiled as Jack nodded in agreement. “This’ll be a quickie, nothing too crazy.”

I watched from a distance as the two slim males spoke with one another about their match. Licking my lips, I started to slowly form a plan in my head to get Hook’s attention. I knew it wasn’t a great idea to do it when the boys were going over their match but I was craving how Hook looks at me, how he touches me and even speaks to me.

“But I was also thinking-”

“Oh Jack.” I sang while I approached the two boys. Hooks' attention was torn from Perry towards me, his teeth sunk into his lower hip as he saw what I was wearing. Tight tank top and some booty shorts showing some of my ass as my shorts were hiked up. 

“Yeah Nicole?” Jack asked with a smile. “Whatcha need babe?” Jack hummed at me. 

Hook glared at Perry for calling me a pet name despite me being single, Hook was possessive of other men calling me names, he especially hated when they touched me. 

“I was just wondering if you could help me stretch? I have a kink in my leg that I can’t work out.” I pouted at him.

“Oh, you poor doll. Here, up, up.” Perry said as he patted the crate he was leaning against. Walking towards them with a slight limp I jumped up onto the crate and Perry even helped me up by placing his hands upon my waist and lifted me onto the box. “Okay, so what I was thinking-” Jack began as he grabbed my leg with his soft hand and started to message it.

I looked over at Hook who’s eyes kept darting over at me and quickly ripping them away, having his attention back to Jack who was talking about the match. I let out soft moans as Jack’s hands worked magic on my legs, his fingers working into the muscle..

“Feel good, yeah?” Jack laughed out softly hearing my faint moans.

“Hmm-mmm.” I whimpered, looking over at Hook. My chest heaving as I inhaled, my breasts puffing out. Jack squeezed at my muscle making me let out a softer squeal.

Hook’s eyes were now on me, looking over my body as I leaned back onto my elbows, my breasts nearly spilling out of the tank top, only for it to rise as I stretched out, showing off my lower stomach. Hook tilted his head to the side slightly, his eyes trying to get more of a view upon my body.

“So, how does that sound, Hook?” Jack asked Hook all of a sudden about the match.

“Huh?” Hook snapped towards Jack, his eyes darker than before and his heart racing while his cock twitched to life in his shorts. “G- Great, great it all sounds great.” Hook cleared his throat.

“Awesome! This match is going to be amazing, short and sweet! Finally we’re going to have screen time and show this crowd what we’re made of!” Jack smiled as he gave my leg one last rub and let his fingers linger down my smooth leg and gave it a soft slap before pulling away. “You’re all done, how do you feel?” Jack asked.

“Hmm, better.” I said in a soft pant, skimming my eyes towards Hook who was gritting his teeth and clenching his diamond like jaw, I giggled to myself as I noticed Hook’s Adam's apple bob as he swallowed thickly. 

“Hook, Jack you two are up next.” A producer said as he passed by the three of us.

“We fucking got this.” Jack cupped his hand into Hooks and did their handshake. “Come on Nicole, let's let Hook focus before we head out there.” Jack grabbed my hand and helped me down off of the crate. 

“Bye Hook.” I said innocently at him with a small wave and a wink before fully walking away with Jack to the gorilla. 

Hook swallowed thickly, his cock in his boxing shorts was stirring away at my seductiveness, fuck he really did hate how much of a tease I was. One of these days he was going to snap and it might actually be tonight. Hook exhaled a breath heavily and shook his head, trying to clear his mind before heading out to face Jack.

As Jack’s music hit I wrapped your arm through the loop of his arm and walked down the ramp with him. The crowd booed as we made our way to the ring. “You gotta stop teasing Hook.” Jack said to me before getting into the ring. 

My cheeks were a slight pink tint as I looked up at him. “Teasing?” I said innocently, “I am doing no such thing.”

“I mean it, Nicole, you’re going to make him snap.” Jack helped me up into the ring as he followed behind. 

“Maybe that’s what I want.” I smirked at the boy with the curly long hair. Jack couldn’t help but to shake his head and pose with me in the ring so fans and the camera crew could get a few good pictures. 

“You’re going to get yourself in trouble and I’ll help you.” As Jack opened the two ropes for me to get out, his hand collided with my ass as I jumped off the side of the ring. Looking up at him my face was red with a shy smile, I knew what he was doing. Trying to rile up his best friend so Hook could finally make a move on me.

Hook was backstage fuming as he saw Jack’s hand slap against my ass while I exited the ring. Hook couldn’t stay mad for long as he watched my ass bounce from the harsh spank. He had just calmed his boner down and he cursed as he felt it come back to life once again. He squeezed his eyes shut and thought about something other than me. Inhaling through his nostrils he exhaled a long breath through his mouth and walked through the curtains once his music hit.

The match was going pretty well in my opinion, Hook was there each time for Jack’s moves and Jack was there whenever Hook did a move, they were nsync with each other and never off beat. But my mind started to wander away from the match and was admiring how good Hook looked.

Under the bright lights, his abs glistened as his skin was lightly coated with his sweat dripping down his chest to his stomach, his dark hair was messier than ever and each time he smirked after hitting Jack with a move made my heart skip a beat and my cunt throb. Something in me wanted his attention once more, I needed his eyes on me. 

“Whoa, what is Nicole doing now?” Jim Ross called out over the headset as the cameras focused on me. 

Grabbing the bottom rope of the ring, I pulled myself onto my feet, on the outside of the ring. “Hook! Hey, Hook!” I called out to Hook as he slammed Jungle boy down, before he went for the pin his attention was on me. Swiveling my hips side to side, I did a 180 rotation, now having my backside turn to him. My hips swung as I hooked my fingers in the inside the leg holes of my tight shorts and pulled them upwards, the fabric going in between my cheeks to show my ass off and distract Hook as I kept shaking my rear to him. 

I wasn’t too sure on what I was going to accomplish, this wasn’t part of the plan. This wasn’t even mentioned backstage before coming out here, but the crowd loved it. I could hear wolf whistles and cheers throughout the building; it only got louder when a hand roughly collided on my ass. 

Arching my back, I howled in pain as the rough spank stung my cheek. Turning around to face Hook who was now smirking and eyebrows wiggling he didn’t hesitate to cup his hands on my cheeks and pull me into a wet kiss. My eyes widened, face red and stomach turning. I wasn’t too sure how to react but before I could enjoy another second of it, Hook pulled away and moved his hand from my cheek to my shoulders and roughly shoved me off the side of the ring onto the hard floor. The breath knocked out of my lungs as I collided with the rough patted flooring, still dazed from the kiss. 

Jungle Boy was behind Hook, taking this opportunity to quickly put Hook in a school boy pin. Aubrey Edwards quickly slid down on her knees and slapped the mat three times. “Ring the bell!” 

“Here’s your winner, by pinfall, Jungle Boy!” Justin Roberts announced through the mic, a bit confused, he had to double check the paper in front of him, knowing what he announced wasn’t correct from what it said on the sheet.

I quickly sat up, my eyes glancing over at Hook now leaning against the bottom rope in the farthest corner from you while Jungle Boy stood in the middle of the ring with his arm raised. 

Oh shit.

Hook didn’t kick out from the pin after the little stunt I pulled. I quickly stumbled to my feet and made my way around the ring, towards the ramp, my eyes were torn from Jungle Boy who was climbing out of the ring to meet me at the bottom of the ramp, towards Hook who was staring right through me. I suckled the inside of my cheek seeing his cheeks red and his eyes darker.

Oh shit.

“That’s right! We’re the best!” Jungle Boy shouted as he wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me closer to his form, we both now walking backwards up the ramp, to show off our victory to the camera. “What the fuck was that?” Jack asked, his voice low.

“I- I don’t know.” I swallowed, finally tearing my eyes away from Hook as Jack turned me around and now walking up the ramp normally. “I am in so much trouble.” 

“I wouldn’t worry about it, you didn’t kick out of the pin.” Jungle Boy reminded me about who should have won as he guided me through the curtain. 

“Yeah but, I was the one who distracted him-”

“And what in the hell was that?” A voice yelled out making me slightly jump. Tony Kahn stood by a monitor with other producers and television staff. His hands resting on his hips as he tapped his foot. 

“Tony, look, I’m sorry I don’t know what I was thinking-”

“I’ll tell you what you were thinking!” He interrupted me, voice stern.

Swallowing thickly, I waited for Tony to yell more at me for what I did on national television was wrong. “You were thinking about ratings!” 

“And I’m so sorry- wait what?” 

“Ratings, Nicole! You were thinking about how to make AEW more interesting! Trying to bring back the Attitude Era! This’ll show my brother, Nick, that AEW is better and more exciting!” Tony had a large smile on his face. “I liked what I saw, and it seems like the crowd did too! Who could blame them!” His eyes seemed to be lingering on me a few seconds too long which made me clear my throat and my face heating up.

“Thank you sir.” I said softly, fiddling with my fingers. 

“You keep that up and I see you being the top selling merch in no time!” Tony nodded, with that he walked away to deal with other matters. 

“See, I told you.” Jack said, placing a hand upon my shoulder and giving me a slight shake to get me nerves out of my system. I exhaled a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding only for Jack to speak once more. “Now, this situation, I can’t help you with.” 

Bringing my gaze up once more to see Tony speaking to a sweaty Hook. Hook’s attention wasn’t on whatever Tony was talking to him about, most likely bitching about how Hook didn’t kick out and now the whole storyline was a cluster fuck. Hook’s brown orbs were burning into me, his  slightly hairy chest was heaving, inhaling a breath through his nostrils. Hook’s caramel hair was messy and a light sheet of sweat on his forehead. 

“I’ll leave you to it.” Jack said before walking away, my eyes never breaking contact with Hook. The way he was staring at me, anyone would have assumed he was angry as hell after the stunt that just happened. But something was telling me it was quite the opposite. The way his breathing was rugged, his attention never ripping away from me as if he had tunnel vision, and it was as if he was ignoring every word Tony was telling him. My eyes slowly went down his slim body, his toned stomach had a thin layer of sweat glistening and his boxing shorts hung low on his waist, showing his V-line. 

I knew I should have stopped there but my eyes kept lingering down his body to see his left hand that was wrapped up in white wrist tape covering his crotch, as if he was trying to hide something. My eyes widened as realization washed over me. He was hard and he was trying to hide it as his boss spoke to him. 

“All in all, I liked what I saw tonight. We can just make some adjustments in the script for the storyline between you three, I really think we got something here!” Tony was overly excited about some accident that happened in the ring, he really thought he struck gold here. “You just keep doing you, kid!” Tony patted Hooks shoulder and walked away on that note. 

My eyes were still wide, now there really wasn’t anything stopping Hook from approaching me. As he took the first step towards me I squealed out loudly and bolted towards the nearest locker room to hide. 

It was no use, I could hear Hook’s heavy boots charging close after me. As I crashed through the door of a empty locker room and tried to get behind it to shut and lock it, Hook’s hand slammed against the middle of the door and pushed it easily open and entered the room. The door slammed shut with a heavy thud erupting throughout the hallway. “What in the hell was that, Nicole?” 

“What was what?” I asked innocently, my heart beating against my chest as Hook approached me. 

“That little slut of a stunt you pulled out there. You made me lose, I wasn’t supposed to lose this match.” 

“Well, maybe you should be more focused in the match and kick out next time.” I had to bite my bottom lip from showing my smile. 

“I couldn’t kick out because-”

“Of your boner?” I finished his sentence for him. 

“Yes.” Hook’s voice was low as he stared down at me. “Which you caused.” 

The silence was thick as Hook was looking around the room, looking at anything but me, as if he was embarrassed. At this moment we were  mere inches away from each other and between us was his still hard cock. “Poor baby.” I hummed. “You want me to take care of it?” Hook snapped his head down at me, his pupils nearly black as he inhaled a sharp breath. 

“Fuck, yes, please.” Hook’s voice was dripping with lust and was even a bit more huskier than before. 

I smiled at his willingness. “Don’t worry baby, I’ll make you feel good.” I hummed, wasting no time. I dropped to my knees in front of him. 

“Please, Nicole, don’t tease me.” Hook swallowed as he looked down at me as my fingers dipped into the hem of his shorts. “I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it.” Hook whimpered as I slowly pulled his shorts down his muscular legs. 

My mouth instantly watered as Hook’s cock sprung out of his shorts and hit his lower stomach. “No teasing baby, I’m serious.” I promised, my voice smooth and soft.

“Nicole- Fuck.” Hook whimpered as I leaned forward and wrapped my lips around his mushroom like tip, I moaned lowly as I slowly took his length deeper in my mouth, relaxing my throat as I pushed myself forward, the tip of my nose hitting his smooth clean shaven pubic bone. 

“C- Christ.” Hook sucked in a breath, his hands balling into fists as he held himself back from bucking his hips forward. “Your mouth, fuck it feels so good.” His moans bounced throughout the locker room as I bobbed my head up and down his thick shaft. 

Hallowing my cheeks as I suckled his cock, pulling away slowly, only his tip rested in between my lips as I licked the slit of his cock. “F- Fuck, fuck.” Hook shuttered, his hips lightly bucked upwards towards me, pushing the rest of his dick back into my mouth. Placing my hands upon his waist, I steadied myself as I was about to pick up the pace. 

“W- Wait, wait.” Hook panted, his hand resting in my hair, pulling me away. 

“What’s wrong?” I asked, pouting up at him, my lips swollen. 

“I don’t want to finish in your mouth.” Hook had a blush across his face. 

“You wanna finish in my sweet pussy?” I asked, sounding pure, licking the rest of his pre-come and my saliva off the corner of my lips. 

“Oh, fuck yes please.” Hook was shaking with anticipation. 

“All you had to do was ask.” Getting up off of my knees I hooked the hem of my shorts and tugged them down with ease, swaying my hips just like I did earlier today in the ring. 

Kicking my shoes off, I then tossed my shorts away, now being completely bare from the waist down. “Come here.” Hook snarled, his hands placed upon my hips, pulling me close to him. “Jump.” Hook picked me up with ease as I wrapped my legs around his waist.

A soft whine escaped my lips as my throbbing cunt rubbed up against Hook’s saliva slick cock. Hook went to the nearest wall and pinned me against it, his lips crashed against mine, moaning softly as he tasted himself on my tongue. “Hook, please, give it to me.” A sultry whine escaped my lips and into his. 

“Why shouldn’t I tease you? You’ve been teasing me for months.” Hook snarled, his hands cupping my ass, his fingers digging into my flesh. Gritting my teeth I hissed at the sharp pain only for it to make my cunt throb once more, becoming more wet by his touch. 

“I’m sorry, I just wanted your attention.” I spoke truthfully, now regretting my choices on teasing him, but I wanted his attention and his alone.

“You have it now.” Hook licked his lips, looking down to see where his cock was rubbing against my folds. “So sweet, so wet.” Hook hummed rolling his hips against me, making the tip of his cock tease my folds, barely entering inside. 

“Hook, please.” I whined, arching my back off the wall. My body shaking, pussy quivering, as if it was trying to clench around him, he was so close. 

“Well, since you’ve asked so nicely.” Hook guided himself against your folds, the both of you gasped out loudly at the feeling of him stretching you and filling you to the brim. “Holy-” Hook bit the bottom of his lip as my cunt swallowed him inch by inch. 

“Fuck, move, give it to me.” I whined as he was only half way in. 

“Are, are you sure? You don’t want me to prep-”

“Hook, please fuck me.” I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him in for another hot kiss. Our tongue clashed as his cock twitched heavily inside of me. Hook didn’t hesitate as he pushed the rest of his cock inside of me with one swift motion. He didn’t hold back, already pulling his hips away and snapping back inside me. 

“Yes!” I sobbed out as he grazed against my g-spot. “Don’t- Don’t stop, fuck, don’t stop.” My legs wrapped around his waist tighter as he fucked himself faster. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, baby.” Hook panted. The thin layer of sweat that was on his forehead was now thicker, droplets dripped from his forehead down his chest. The sound of his cock entering my wet cunt squealed throughout the room making it the hottest sound I’ve ever heard. 

“Already so close? I’ve barely started to pound this tight little cunt and  I can feel your fucking pussy clenching my cock.” Hook hissed as he slowly pulled his cock out of you only to force himself back in at a fast pace. “Come sweetheart, come all over my fucking cock Nicole.” Hook hissed lowly as his hands gripped your flesh and clenching his eyes close as he was chasing his own release.

Your fingers raked through his brown hair, tugging it, forcing his head to tilt back, your mouth attacked his neck, biting down his skin, marking him as well as you muffled your screams while your orgasm washed over. 

“Shit, that’s it!” Hook cried out as he kept pumping himself in and out of my week channel, his dick twitching as he stilled his movements, hot ropes of come spurted inside of your messy fucked cunt. 

“H- Hook! Hmm, fuck!” I pulled away from his neck, moaning his name from the feeling of our juices filling my fucked hole and slowly dripping out of me. 

“Nicole, fuck sweetheart.” Hook’s breath was shallow and heavy as he had his eyes shut and his forehead resting against yours. Hook released the tight grip on your ass, but still caressing and holding me close. “That was,” Hook breathed in heavily and exhaled out a shaky breath. “Amazing.” He finished, his cock still buried deep inside of me.

“I’ll say.” I hummed, our sweaty foreheads still against each other as we soaked into each other after glow. “Hmm, we should probably start getting ready to leave, the arena is probably empty by now.” 

“I suppose you’re right.” Hook hummed, still not moving until he inhaled a breath and whimpered as his sensitive cock slowly slipped out of my fucked pussy. “Fuck.” He purred at the sight of our mixed come dripping out of me. Hook slowly placed me down on my wobbly legs, not fully letting go of me until he knew I was okay to stand by myself. “You have a hotel room?” Hook asked. 

“I was actually going to drive to the next town.” I said looking for my shorts.

“You want some company?” Hook asked, grabbing his shorts sliding them up his legs.

“I would love some company.” I smiled at him as I slipped on my shoes.

“This still doesn’t get you off the hook for giving me a boner on live television.” Hook said as he stuffed his cock back into his shorts as you smiled up at him.

“I can’t wait for my next punishment.” I smiled at him, giving his slightly stubble cheek a light pat and started to head out of the locker room.

Hook's Masterlist

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

In his hands

Request: I wish Lloyd would go book shopping + "I saw you talking to them. Saw you smiling too. Like a little slut." and "Putting my hands around your neck makes me feel like I'm holding the whole world in my hands."

Warnings: this is a dark drabble and will include elements such as noncon, age gap, choking, stalking behaviour. Not all elements are explicitly flagged, proceed at your own risk.

Note on Sleepover Drabbles: keep in mind that these drabbles may not align with the overall storyline of the Campus AU as they will focus on matching characterisation to given requests.

I would truly appreciate any thoughts and reblogs on these drabbles in spirit of the sleepover. Hope you are having a wonderful weekend and thank you for joining me!

Bookstores have ever been your escape. That is, until he walks in. You don’t wonder how he found you and you know it’s far from coincidence. You’re not stupid, he’s been following you. It’s his only way of getting to you now that you have your B and a credit on your transcript.

That doesn’t stop him. He has his way, his mean ways. It’s starting to feel like you’ll never be free of him.

You turn away and take the anthology of Poe to an employee nearby. You close the cover, a red and black pattern raised in the image of a raven. You keep your back to Lloyd as you smile at the worker.

“Excuse me, do you have any more anthologies like this? I only see Poe and Lovecraft.”

“Oh,” he smiles, “we have Wilde around here somewhere but he’s a bit more romantic looking. And there’s a horror classics set with Frankenstein, Dracula, and Dorian Gray.”

“Hmm, I already have all those,” you frown, “but thank you, I’ll keep looking.”

“No problem, you need anything at all, I’ll be around. Oh and classic paperbacks on this table,” he points to his left, “three for ten.”

“Thanks,” you doff the book towards him in gratuity and quickly sidle down the aisle of discount hardcovers.

You need an exit plan. You’re not naive, he knows you’re there. He’s probably watching you but you don’t have the energy for him at that moment. 

You glance down the aisle, the smell of coffee wafting from the cafe just on the other side of the sale section. Grab a latte and lose yourself in the rush…

"I saw you talking to them. Saw you smiling too. Like a little slut,” Lloyd startles you as his hand rests on the shelf behind your head. You drop your shoulders and put the Poe collection carelessly on the row of books beside you.

“I was just leaving–”

You go to take a step away, not looking back, but he catches your arm and spins you around. He urges your back against the shelf as his fingertips dig into your soft muscle.

“I’ve never known a lit major that walked out of a bookshop empty handed,” he scoffs, “come on, baby, this’ll be fun.”

“What do you want?” you pick at his fingers and grunt.

“We had all that fun and not one proper date,” he smirks, “we can make up for lost time.”

“You don’t seem like the date type,” you finally peel away his grip, “and I’m not interested.”

“Could’ve fooled me. I still hear you calling my name, begging for more–”

“Fuck off, Lloyd,” you snap and he’s taken aback at the informality.

“What was that?”

“Fuck off–”

“It’s still Dr. Hansen to you, sweetheart,” he turns to pen you in as he grasps the shelf on either side of you.

“Get away from me,” you hiss, “you’re a disgusting old m–”

You gurgle as suddenly his hands close around your neck. Your eyes round and you grip the front of his coat, shocked by his unashamed aggression. You try to see down the aisle, searching for a witness. 

It’s just you, his hands on your neck, and the hiss of steaming foam.

"Putting my hands around your neck makes me feel like I'm holding the whole world in my hands, you know that?” He squeezes until you cough, head throbbing painfully, “holding your world, crushing the life from it, until it’s nothing. Nothing, like you.”

Your sole scuffs on the floor as you cling to his wrists, gulping desperately. “Please…”

“What’s that, baby? You were just about to head to the fiction aisle?” He slowly retracts his hand and gives a light tap to your cheek, “how convenient,” he shoves you around and wraps his arm around your waist, “me too.”

You rub your throat as you catch your breath, coughing and croaking as his hand falls down and pinches your ass.

“I still got a whole lot to teach you, sweetheart.”