#i recognize that i did that mistake one time. but i ended up changing everything about the au and erased that. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

usedpidemo · 4 months

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Mistakes were made, but not you (Le sserafim Yunjin)

“Why? Why weren’t you there? I needed you and you weren’t there!”

While Yunjin lashes out at you, grabbing at your shirt and using you as a proxy for the world and its ill-timed misfortunes, you can’t help but wonder if your presence would have changed the situation for the better.

Probably not. It’s one of those events that has to happen for character growth.

—————

Tonight is supposed to be a night of celebration—a commemoration to the achievements, accomplishments, and accolades of the past year. The numbers and statistics never lie. They love her work, they love her artistry. They love her for what she sells and what she represents. But truth be told, Huh Yunjin couldn’t care less about what they think.

Thunderous cheers and colorful lightsticks representing different fandoms brighten the arena as the five Le sserafim members climb up the stairs to claim their award. Minutes ago, they pulled off the performance of a lifetime—an eight minute masterclass that represents everything the group stands for. You could see the exhaustion in their faces; barely mustering the strength to smile and wave to the crowd shouting for them.

For the most part, the acceptance speech is nothing notable. Going through the motions, thanking the fans, the staff, the company, promising to do better in the future—it’s about as cookie cutter as it gets. As Yunjin tries her hardest to keep her tears from falling while she talks, the other four can only focus on her with varying weary looks. Chaewon looks especially worried; it’s her responsibility and burden to look after every single one of them.

From the audience’s viewpoint, it’s seen as a non-issue, but the five girls recognize deep down it’s anything but. The only noteworthy thing is how suddenly quick they are on their feet heading backstage. It’s funny how everyone chases fame: to be in the moment, the spotlight. It’s funnier, Yunjin thinks, that she’d rather be anywhere else.

Unfortunately for her and the other artists attending, they’d have to wait a little longer. There’s backstage interviews and other idol obligations to do before they are finally let go. It’s not even worth all that lost time—that one award they receive ends up being their lone win for the night.

—————

Yunjin storms into your hotel room without a word with a fierce expression on her face. She doesn’t have to say it; she’s thankful she doesn’t have to spend another minute in front of the cameras, another minute being an idol—at least for the night.

In a sea of anger and auburn, Yunjin walks past you without acknowledging you at least once. She hastily drops off her purse on the coffee table before charging straight to her room and slamming the door. It’s easy to chalk up her frustrations on the monotony of the awards season—the countless hours of practice specifically for one event, the hours spent in the makeup room, the hours of interviews and fanservice—but you know she never acts like this. Rain or shine, hell or high water, she’ll walk around with a pleasant smile on her face.

Tonight simply isn’t one of those nights. You saw the whole ordeal happen in real time, and you’re already regretting the decision not to be there. At times, watching her on screen was tough. You can tell she was visibly uncomfortable, more clingy to her members than usual, when it’s normally the other way around. Admittedly, you have to give her props for holding herself back from crying when she has every right to. It’s a cold winter night, but that’s not the reason she’s trembling and shaking. It should be a night of celebration; instead, her sullen expression resembles the aftermath of complete, utter humiliation and defeat.

And it may as well be. You look through your phone; you find the messages from friends and acquaintances telling you the exact same thing; it might as well be considered spam.

> Yo did you see what happened to Yunjin?

> Is Yunjin okay?!

> Yunjin fell! Fuck MNET!

> BRO YUNJIN FELL FROM THE STAGE WHAT THE FUUUUCK—

> Don’t tell her but I actually laughed when she slipped XD hope she alright tho!

Of course you know. It’s all caught on camera and in living color for the whole world to see. Even if it was cut from the YouTube edit, which is highly unlikely, it’s already out there on the internet spreading like wildfire. Numerous reposts with tens of thousands of likes, multiple articles immediately written after the incident—her name and her moment will remain immortalized in K-pop history for all the wrong reasons. It has the internet making jokes, it has the internet writing thinkpieces, it has the internet creating needless fanwars—it has the internet buzzing.

You want to throw your phone from where your room is located—all the way up on the 27th floor—and pray it lands directly on a hater’s head.

Sure enough, when you try to enter her room, it’s locked shut. The door won’t budge. All this awkward, quiet tension between you is terrifying, and sleeping her feelings off isn’t going to help anyone, not during these trying times. She needs comfort right now more than anything else.

You give the door a respectful knock, only to be met with silence. Trying again and again leads you nowhere. Calling her name does you zero favors. Each futile attempt cuts away at your heart, little by little. Yunjin would rather isolate herself from the world than open up to anyone with no exceptions. Obviously, you have nothing to do with what happened (that is on the production team more than anyone) but you bear the responsibility and burden of being Yunjin’s partner, always there for her during the good times and the bad.

Now is not the time to give up or sulk. She needs comfort and love more than anything. She needs a shoulder to cry on. She needs a special voice to reassure her that everything will be okay.

Rummaging through her purse, you find one of her countless hairpins. It’s the oldest trick in the book—one that she always used to get you with guaranteed success. Already bent and straightened, perfectly shaped for picking—it’s as if she wanted you to reach her. You remember the disaster that was teaching you how to pick locks; dozens destroyed, to the dismay of her apartment doors, but she knew you’d need it at some point, and tried to help you to the best of her ability.

The lock comes undone. It’s a miracle, but it’s short-lived. What welcomes you as you enter her bedroom turns your uncertainty into shock and utter disbelief.

It’s imagery you only see in nightmares. Her bedroom completely ravaged and in utter ruin. Pillows, clothes, and objects scattered throughout the room. Yunjin is curled up against the wall with a blanket draped over her, concealing everything but her eyes. Bloodshot red from spilling her heart out. Around her feet lay two opened half empty bottles of alcohol and a spilled over wine glass. It takes everything not to drop to your knees or yell out “fuck” from the depth of your lungs.

Instead, it only comes out as an airy whimper, with your throat choked up seeing the sorry state your girlfriend’s in.

Every little step you take may as well be tiptoed. Carefully treading into uncharted territory, who knows what you’ll end up meeting. The next words you pick will be the most important ones you’ll ever say. It isn’t as simple as telling her everything will be fine—that mistakes happen, life moves on, and this will be a memory she can laugh at a few years from now. She believes she’s ruined not only her career, but also her members, when anyone with common sense thinks otherwise.

With a deep breath and a gulp of your throat, you run through all the options. You pray you make the best choice.

“Jen Jen,” you mumble, crouching down in front of her, frowning. Try as you might, you can’t bring yourself to smile. You reach your hand out to peek through the curtain; she aggressively slaps down your palm. It’s as dire as you believe it looks. She sees the world crashing down before her.

Watching her cry and hide herself away plucks away at your heartstrings. You don’t want to see her looking this sorry, this deflated. If her members—the people she’s closest with—couldn’t get through her, then how much less can you? Even so, you have to keep trying. Not as a fan nor an acquaintance, but as her partner.

Again, you’ll have to pick your way through another lock. This time, her heart. And it’s more delicate than any physical door.

She’s drowning in her tears to realize the tug on her wrists. Little by little, you pull them apart. Yunjin’s bloodshot eyes glare right into yours, but she does nothing. Slowly, you curl your arms around hers, reaching around her back. For a moment, she appears vulnerable. Open. You press yourself close to her—

And then she hits you square in the face.

Yunjin assaults you with a relentless barrage of fists, with one jab directly clocking your lips. They’re not the playful ones you’re used to. The kind that’s usually thrown after a serious argument, and you’ve only experienced a handful of squabbles. She sends you staggering back to the floor, violently screeching and attacking you. “Fuck you! Leave me alone!” she yells, punching you repeatedly with no sense of direction, only rage. You try to lift a hand in self-defense, only to be sent knocking down, to the point where you just give up and allow her to rip through you.

Looking into her eyes, having turned from grim to cruel, she looks as if you were there. As if you were the stage director. As if you were the one who pressed the button on the control panel. Her punches, aimless as they are, fucking hurt. You’re on the floor, defenseless, but you deserve it. You weren’t there when you should have been. The one award show you opt not to attend happens to be the one that ends up sideways. Of course she’ll pinpoint the cause back to you. That’s blind passion. That’s love.

She grabs you by the collar of your shirt, screaming right in your face, “Why? Why weren’t you there? I needed you and you weren’t there!” Angry as she is, you can tell she’s trying to restrain herself. She wants to humiliate you, but she also doesn’t want to smash your head through the marble floor. You have this ragged but innocent look on your face. The stubborn kind that would tell her that you won’t give up on her. That you’d happily take all the beating just to see her smile again.

As it turns out, all she really needs is an outlet to air out her emotions. She has moved past her tears, and she has stopped beating you down, but everything else still remains. The glare. The dour frown. The fingers gripped to your collar. The room is silent, with the only sound filling the air is your low, airy hush of “Sorry.” Your hand rubs against her arm, conveying a message of reassurance that everything’s going to be okay.

Yunjin freezes. Unsure of how she feels, unsure of what to do. The moment stretches beyond the perception of time. You end up getting caught unprepared by what happens.

She doesn’t apologize for throwing you to the floor and verbally and physically assaulting you. You don’t really mind. A kiss is more than enough of an apology. Even more when it’s passionate, humming into your mouth before letting her tongue slip right between your lips, and her hands now pressed to your cheek. Lovemaking is how she speaks to you. Her lips do most of the talking.

Her body does the rest.

Yunjin pushes you down to the floor. You watch her shed her leather jacket, in awe of her radiant beauty. Her skin is porcelain, gleaming from the bedroom light. She’s a star, and shines like one. The reverence soon turns to amusement, mostly at how nonchalant she’s behaving. Minutes ago, she was hostile, out of control, threatening to turn you into a ruined mess. Instead, she’s about to leave you a ruined heap, but in a different way.

She notices. She always does. Knows you like a book. She grins.

“You know I can’t be mad at you,” she says, lifting an eyebrow as she straddles on your lap. Smirking playfully, she’s making you double take and wonder if this was an elaborate ploy or if she was really upset. And if it’s the former, then you’d really feel betrayed and manipulated. “Sorry dear,” she adds, accompanied by a peck on your lips. “I know it’s not your fault nor mine, it’s just that we prepared so much and—”

“Don’t worry,” you interrupt, placing a hand on her bare shoulder, “I should have been there. I mean, what are the chances the one time I’m not there, this shit—”

“Shhh.” Yunjin plants a finger on your lips. “Babe shouldn’t worry about his Jen Jen’s performance. At least I looked cool falling, right?” she asks, both sweet and playful.

“Sure you did,” you chuckle, almost sucking on her fingertip as she points it directly at your lip. “Definitely the coolest fall I’ve ever seen. Will never be replicated. Ever. And I mean that.”

She laughs, heartily, even though she knows you’re flat out lying. “Yeah, because they won’t do stage designs like that ever again.” Then she kisses you again; she kisses you as if your lips are her lifeline. “I swear I’m gonna tell management not to do elevated stages when we go on tour!”

This is the Yunjin you know and love; the one that everyone knows her for. Laughs at her own jokes and her own mistakes, and smiles through it all. You’re amazed at how joined to the hip you both are when the cameras aren’t on. When you’re the only ones in the room—when she can truly be herself and not a fragmented version tailored to the public. You both have this special connection together that only you two can understand.

Her smile is so radiant, distracting even, that you recognize too little too late how tense you’re feeling.

“Jen Jen,” you tell her, looking down at her legs. She has a hand between her skirt, and her underwear is already partially down.

“What is it?”

“Can we take this somewhere else,” you tell her, flustered by your own request. There’s no skirting around the thought that you’d rather take her anywhere except for a cold floor in a messy bedroom. She hasn’t realized it yet, but you know Yunjin well; she would never let your imprints stick anywhere in her bedroom, hotel or her apartment, let alone make a mess. That, and for as much as you love the sight of her on top of you, you want to keep things on even footing—for now.

The expression she makes is priceless; it's all part of the charm. She rolls her eyes, scoffing at the thought, as if the very suggestion offends her. She takes a moment to let the notion sink in. “The audacity,” she thinks to herself, the idea seemingly harder to digest if anything else.

“You’re so unserious,” she comments, in the most blunt tone possible, it may as well be condescending. Her thighs press deeper into your jeans to further prove a point. If that’s what she wants., then you’re fine with that. It’s probably a better idea than yours, too. “You shitting me right now?”

“It couldn’t have hurt to ask.”

“Well it wouldn’t have hurt you to be here sooner,” she retorts, grinning, like those words are your biggest mistake. “Then maybe I would absolutely consider it.”

In reality, there’s nothing to consider, because you end up rolling on top of her after she first pounces on top of you. It’s how she usually greets you after a busy day: jumping straight into your arms, then it’s on to the bedroom.

But not tonight. You don’t make that far, just the table by the foyer, the chair she usually reads in, nearly tripping over the coffee table and landing somewhere more comfortable for you both in the living room. In your wake you leave behind a trail of clothes, yours and hers entangled together—mostly yours. It doesn’t take much to undress Yunjin when she’s dressed for the occasion, and by the time she’s halfway unbuttoning through your shirt, she’s on her knees, completely naked.

She kisses you, leaves strawberry marked lips on your tummy, looking so wanton, so needy. Your eyes follow along as she continues down to your pants, before looking up to you with doe-eyed curiosity. She’s got an edge to her, they say, which really just means, “she’s really fucking hot.” Everything about her, from the attitude to the wardrobe screams fierce, someone who knows what they’re doing and doesn’t care about what others say.

But behind closed doors, she’s more like the other girl you know. Someone she tends to look after. She looks vulnerable. It’s cute to watch her act like someone she’s not.

It’s impossible not to help yourself, to stroke your own ego, even at Yunjin’s expense. There’s no hiding that devilish grin; it’s way too obvious. Nodding, you brush your hand through her autumn colored locks as she undoes your jeans, reminding her who she really belongs to.

“Fuck—oh God—” you moan, allowing Yunjin to do what she does best: use her lips to praise your cock. No preamble, no foreplay—just immediately taking you straight into her mouth. You were already hard, so it doesn’t take much effort for her to swallow you up. Both of you using your pent up frustration and impatience after weeks where it seemed as if you were worlds apart.

Leaning back against the wall, you can only imagine how Yunjin looks taking it. Your hand firmly grips the back of her head, while she rubs her fingers along the length of your shaft. She forces out every curse and word of appreciation out of you with a deep tone, it’s almost concerning.

“Slow down,” you mutter, knowing full well she won’t listen. Not for anything. Not for you. She wants this as much as you do.

At first glance, it doesn’t really show—not in the playful, satisfied hums while she blows you nor in the slow, deliberate pump of her fingers around your base. It’s a little too leisurely for someone to act desperate. Then you peek through the curtain of sensory overload, and that’s when everything becomes clear. The furrow of her eyebrows, the fixated attention on your cock, the spread of spit and precum all over your erection.

Maybe she does have a point after all.

She catches you staring, catches you slipping. Her eyes flutter open, then shut. In a flash, she goes from sipping on your cock to choking on it. Forcing you deep in her throat without your input. It leaves your head spinning, back at square one, with no control of Yunjin nor yourself, clinging your hands to the walls for support.

“Jen Jen, shit—” you mouth, but it's near silent in comparison to the sloppy sound she makes gagging. It’s as if she’s laughing at you for looking so helpless against her.

The sensation of her slick mouth burns. Her ever increasing tempo and lack of care or comfort relentlessly pluck away at your resolve and restraint. Her eyes water as she violently pushes her own boundaries, her own limits. Stains gradually pile around her lips and chin, a mixture of her spit, seed, and lipstick. You have her hair wrapped around the print of your fingers, holding loose strands away from her gleaming face. Despite your best efforts, you aren’t able to see her beyond blurry little flashes and brief snapshots. Deep down, you’re set ablaze, with nothing to extinguish you. You look to the ceiling, to the side, anywhere but beneath you, trying to find some reprieve from the agony and tension pulling at your loins.

You end up finding it down there, where you want it the least.

Yunjin has you right where she wants you to be—tightly sealed between her strawberry lips as you helplessly cry out her name in a sea of curses and praise. Anticipating the moment you finally break, she zealously works around her gag reflex to keep you deep in her throat. It doesn’t help that she has your balls around her hand, rubbing away and humming in satisfaction at the big hot load that she’ll receive soon. At points, she’s pouting at the fact that you refuse to surrender yourself entirely to her, that you’re still fighting.

It’s a losing effort that ultimately delays the inevitable.

An echoed shout, a wide drop of your jaw, and right there, lightning strikes—you come undone. Yunjin welcomes you with an open mouth; your thick hot load spills down her throat without a single wasted drop. You’re left wide-eyed, shuddering, panting as your orgasm washes over you. Even so, she continues to squeeze away at your balls without remorse, pumping your cock to unload more cum down her thirsty, needy maw.

Yunjin can’t hold in her delight and laughter after she licks your underside for any leftovers. You cushion back against the wall, your energy completely drained as she laps her lips and chin clean. Just like that, any remnant of what transpired hours ago, completely forgotten. It’s not a healthy coping mechanism—not in the slightest—but if it works, it works.

That’s one department where Yunjin won’t let you down.

“I wasn’t ready,” you huff, palming a hand on your thumping chest, cumbrously catching your breath. You mindlessly stare at the living room light, struggling to gather yourself. “Shit, Jen Jen, that was—”

“And we’re only getting started,” she interjects, quickly rising to her feet, pushing you upright. The grin on her face doubles down on the intent. “I’m not going to bed in a dour mood tonight, and you’re gonna help me feel better.”

God, she’s so damn good at this whole setting the mood thing.

You’re no different than anyone else, folding so easily as her fingers map out your body. Continuous circles around every part that belongs to her: from your hair, to your shoulders, arms, chest, down to your tummy, around your back, and everything else in between. Yunjin demands everything about you, her fiery gaze keeping you in tow. You’re tensing up, letting out these strained gasps, watching her watchful eyes dictate your every little move, reminding you who’s carrying the stick in the relationship.

She has you by the balls, quite literally—pumping you back to hardness—and she’s enjoying every moment of it. Teasing you with her flattering mien, she has every intention to leave you more tired and spent tonight than any day she’s worked in her life.

Then, a phone rings. It’s not the hotel landline, but from the pile around your legs. Suddenly, a lightbulb appears over Yunjin’s head, and the smirk on her lips is anything but subtle.

“Would you look at that,” she teases, her grin growing an extra inch wider, and her ironclad grip loosens. Still, you have no room to breathe when she crouches down to dig your rumbling phone out of the pocket of your pants. She makes it a point to act shocked in response to the incoming caller, then shows her to you.

Kim Chaewon.

It’s an open secret within the group—how important of a piece she is between you two, the perfect reprieve and voice of reason when the other isn’t around. You’ve gotten tangled up with both Chaewon and Yunjin a few times, under the same guise of stress relief. In a way, they’ve grown closer together thanks to you. But the rather scornful frown she has tells you otherwise. As if she’s going to lose the one last thing keeping her head straight. Forget that Chaewon is respectful of your relationship; if she gets in the way between her and your dick, she’ll cut her down, and that goes for anyone else too, friendship be damned.

“Be a good boy and take care of the call, will you?” she asks, tone playful, handing the phone over to you. You have no say, other than to follow her command. In the process, you feel your groin tense up. You look down and find your cock sandwiched between her heavenly thighs, choking up from the new sensation of her creamy skin.

When you try to look away, she redirects your eyes back to hers. Her palm meets your chin. Hard. She curls her lips, expressing disdain and reinforcing her control. There’s your first and last warning.

You’ve never struggled so much just opening your own phone. It’s not that Yunjin just hacked into it; her imprints are everywhere. The very lockscreen is her kissing you, your face cropped out of frame and your homescreen is a candid photo of her more bold outfits. If not for the texts from the other members and loved ones, you’d look like the creepiest, most obsessive stalker ever. You can feed tabloids and news outlets day-to-day information, down to the most intricate details. She’s a huge part of you, and it’s gonna eventually ruin you—

“Hurry up, dipshit.”

Yunjin’s stern tone snaps you from your daze. Hard to maintain a steady head when she’s slowly choking you out and she’s thrusting your cock in and out of her legs, still sore from her blowjob and while you’re still reeling from your orgasm. She’s perfectly built for fucking for hours on end; you’re surprised you hasn’t caught on after so long.

“Hello?” Chaewon’s voice pulls your focus away, but only briefly. Almost instinctively, Yunjin’s legs press tighter against your hard cock in response. She raises her eyebrows, shaking her head, demanding you answer the call. No context clues, no verbal cues, just wing it.

“He-ey, Chae.” Your voice comes out gruff, airy. A brief glimpse down and you find the growing stain on Yunjin’s thighs. Your cock entering and exiting the comfort of her legs. She doesn’t appear satisfied, not even a little.

“Is Yunjin there with you? She’s been gone after we got back to our rooms. She's not been herself after—you know—and we’ve been trying to comfort her to no avail.”

“Yeah, she’s here with me—” you say, looking directly at her, and she nods, still stiff and sour. She leans forward, her tongue pressing against your skin, mumbling something incomprehensible on your neck. Somewhere along the lines of “If you tell her, I’m going to fucking kill you,” and she sounds like she means it.

Try to suppress your gasps and whine, you can’t hold yourself back. It affects your inflection, from gravelly and small to high-pitched and nasally. You’re one wrong move away from meeting disaster, and Yunjin is the one goading you to your own pitfall. She revels running you around in circles, leading you like sheep to a shepard. You can’t think straight from all this built up pressure. “She’s good! She’s doing just fine—”

Out of nowhere, she moans. Loud. Her tone is so obvious, it can’t be anyone but her. Any sort of illusion or pretense is immediately dashed, right then and there. You almost drop your phone, barely managing to save it with a glint of clarity.

You don’t hear from Chaewon for a bit, letting you indulge in Yunjin’s seductive motions. Your body is the perfect outlet for her pleasure: kissing and marking around her neck, her fingers tracing your arms to your chest, and your cock comfortably snug between her sculpted legs. You regain some semblance of control by pumping away between her warmth, but it’s hollow; she lets her thighs press down while you thrust quicker and quicker. At first, she’d been the one bringing all the friction, until your hips begin to glide involuntarily, the wetness dripping from her thighs and around your cock making the transition near-flawless.

Soon, the room fills with the sound of her moans, till it becomes oh-so clear you’re fucking her. The call remains active, but you still hear nothing from Chaewon’s side. The phone in your hand is what’s holding you back, but even you feel your control slip away again; against Yunjin’s demand to pretend everything’s normal, when there’s nothing normal about the position you’re in. The only thing unusual is the fact that Chaewon isn’t there to watch, preferably while pleasuring herself.

“Shit, Yunjin, you feel so fucking good—” you sputter, clutching Yunjin’s nape as she curses and whines against your shoulder. Suddenly, you hear Chaewon again, but you’ve practically stopped caring. She’d understand.

“Yeah, well, I don’t blame her for going to you. I’d do the same right now, but I gotta take care of the girls as the leader.” Chaewon sounds so diplomatic about the matter, it’s almost surprising. “Just—” she pauses when Yunjin loudly kisses you, cooing and moaning about how big you are in the direction of your phone. “Please tell her to come back here by morning, all right?”

“Sure—thing.” Your tone jumps on the second word, as your cock hits a particularly deep stroke that teases the outline of her cunt.

“Oh, and Kkura said hi, by the way.”

You’re amazed at how understanding she is.

“Okay.” You look down and you see Yunjin adjust your cock around the entrance of her pussy with her hand, impatient and done with the teasing. All the possible replies to maintain normalcy and your best response ends up being a simple, hurried “Hi.”

“Bye.”

You drop your phone right as Chaewon hangs up the call. Yunjin immediately kisses you straight in the lips, sliding her tongue between your lips. She lets out this strained whine when you grab her ass, lightly pushing her away. Miraculously, she doesn’t fight back or lash out.

“Don’t you wanna cum right in my pussy?”

“No, Jen Jen. Let me finish right in your thighs.”

Yunjin flashes this sad, deflated frown, but she ultimately concedes. She’s this multifaceted character only you might ever hope to understand. She's a perfectionist and wants things her way, but she’s also soft and vulnerable. You feel guilty making this rather huge request, but she reassures you by pressing your cock comfortably between her legs. Your worries soon disappear when the friction of her heat keeps your hips moving. The sight of your dick moving in-and-out keeps you preoccupied.

Even she forgets about her disappointment too, hypnotized by the continuous rhythm of your cock. She pulls your head in, moans all these profanities of varying tones in your ear. The way you both pull each other’s bodies apart, your expressions twisting in pleasure, demanding more—you might as well be in bed, and not breaking your knees and backs against the living room wall.

You’re not sure what’s going to break first—your legs, your back, your hips, or your cock.

“Oh—fuck—Yunjin,” you groan, losing yourself in her asphyxiating heat of her skin, on the verge of another climax. You have one hand marking her ass as you both grind into each other’s bodies. God, you’re both made for one another. Drowning in her tightness, you thrust deep between her legs. Same spot, same stroke, same result. You remember where and how well you’ve fucked her, it’s almost muscle memory to you. It drives Yunjin crazy.

She senses your incoming orgasm and shouts. The need for you to cum isn’t a request, but a full demand. Something to be expected. Her voice hits those familiar high notes that aren’t far off from her usual recordings, and she firmly clings to you. As if you ever had any other thought than to finish on her pencilike legs. You let yourself succumb to the sensation, let all the pent up pressure set itself off while you bask in that delirious high.

The way Yunjin clenches her thighs around your cock, she may as well have snapped it off.

You both mirror each other’s expressions; eyes completely shut, jaw completely agape, resting in each other’s bodies. The only difference being that Yunjin is way, way louder than you. Your mind goes completely blank, with nothing but her name drawn out from the curve of your lips. Your back is aching; your knees are tingling, ready to fail at any time. Nothing registers for you except her voice, her endless moan that rings in your ear. It’s only after her legs involuntarily slacken their grip that you fall.

To the floor, that is.

And you stay down—a minute, maybe several, completely shaken up and your head still riding that high. Somewhere in limbo. One hand gripped to her waist, the other on her leg. You forget to breathe. Your brain doesn’t register the concept of exhaling, only taking in air. The world around you appears to pause completely.

And then your phone beeps. Still dazed, you completely ignore it.

Yunjin brings you back to life. She has one hand gripped against the wall, the other on your hair—which you now just realize—gasping for much needed air. She can’t muster up the strength to open her eyes, so you assess the damage. It’s as disastrous as it looks: a huge splatter of cum around her legs, dripping down to her feet. To the floor. To your pants.

You don’t say a word; you don’t really have anything meaningful or productive to add. The simple question of whether or not she feels better, but you know she’ll say it won’t be enough. That she wants your cum right in her pussy, no matter how spent or sore you are. Maybe you can quietly weave your way out of a nightlong bedroom session.

So you look at your phone, removing yourself from the situation. There’s two new messages, both from the same person—Chaewon. Nothing noteworthy, just the reminder to send Yunjin back early in the morning. The idol life never really stops.

Yunjin calls out to you, abruptly intercepting your attention. “Hey.”

You look up and find her looking down at the details, slowly gathering her bearings. She runs a finger on a sticky patch on her skin, then tastes your seed with her tongue. “What’s up?”

She ignores you for a moment to gather more cum to lap, then stares directly at you. “We should have done this in front of a mirror.”

You pause. It’s hard to believe Yunjin telling you this, when she’s been the biggest skeptic. She’d rather have it in bed, on the table—anywhere that won’t allow her to see herself. The uncanny image of a prim, desirable idol bent over while someone uses her.

With that in mind, you chuckle. “We do it all the time. Give it a break.”

—————

You both end up doing it anyway.

It’s two in the morning, and you vividly have Chaewon’s request at the back of your mind. The group’s flight back home is in six hours, and Yunjin has to be there with them for breakfast. It’s not like you’ll be away long term; she has three days-off after today. Days when you can spend all the time in the world together to your heart’s content. But fuck, Yunjin is so goddamn insatiable, she can’t go at least three hours without your cock somehow around her. You don’t end up getting sleep, because she’s so needy for your cock she can’t help but stroke it or blow it back to hardness.

Your suggestion? A late night coffee run that ends in predictable fashion: you, fucking Yunjin from behind in the comfort of a cafe restroom.

Yunjin’s outfit barely qualifies as casual; if anything, it’s her performance fit (a sports bra and a short skirt) from earlier, topped only by the leather jacket she went to your room with. Yet none of that matters when they’re pooled on the floor, with your hand squeezing her bare breast and the other pressed on her shapely ass. And there’s your hard cock, pounding away at her soaked cunt like it’s second nature—which it is—and it’s quite the motivating sight. Watching it appear and disappear in her pussy, hearing her hushed pleas, echoed cries, and every lewd sound in between.

The cafe across your hotel is completely empty, which is to be expected. You can count the number of working staff on one hand, and most of them are fast asleep or busy on their phone. You’re not making any excuses for fucking Yunjin at a place like this; you’re merely laying out the scene.

You can blame Yunjin for your precarious position. Any attempt to make some small talk she makes it about you. About missing your cock so much, about how she wants you to fill her pussy up and make her feel better. As if two orgasms wasn’t enough. You wouldn’t be surprised if she asked you to fuck her right then and there, in front of the cafe where everyone can see. You end up agreeing to a compromise, but it’s merely delaying the inevitable. The door is locked shut, nobody’s around to hear, and no one really cares.

If only it were that simple.

“Fuck—so—fucking—big!” cries out Yunjin, as if you were in the privacy of your hotel room and not in front of a public restroom. She gives it to you again, praises you in both murmurs and screams, her hands glued on the edges of the sink, eyes fluttering open and closed with her jaw agape on the surface. It’s as filthy as you imagined, if not more. Only you can see the full extent of the damage you’re making, and it is breathtaking.

She beckons you to fuck her harder, give her more, tells you not to stop. The idea never crosses your mind. When she yells and mewls, she’s making sure each one is louder than the last. You can tell she has nothing to lose. If she’s going down, she’ll drag you down with her.

“You’re so fucking tight, Jen Jen,” you groan out, looking at your entangled bodies in the mirror, at her arched back, at the curvature of her ass, at your cock spearing her hard. You puncture each of your next three words with increasing emphasis. “So—fucking—tight.”

As the sex dissolves into deeper madness, so does your restraint. You’re fucking her through the sink, pounding away with reckless abandon, with zero care for comfort. Thoughtless, impulsive drops of ‘tight,’ ‘fuck,’ and even a single ‘slut’ bomb—words that can get you cancelled on-air. Yunjin shudders, letting out this drawn out ‘yes’ in response, as if admitting the truth—to your utter surprise (sarcasm). Her core clenches against your cock, stretching her out. So wet, so needy—

It’s a strange thing to believe, but this is Yunjin’s first orgasm of the night. Her lands lay flat on the sink, and her mouth lolls wide, screaming your name like you’re the most important person in the world. The intense heat, the suffocating pulse of her cunt, drowning your cock—

Fuck, it’s too much for your already aching cock. And her thighs and lips were brutal in their own right.

Moments after hers, your very own climax follows. You’ve already struggled holding back twice; whatever amount of resolve you had left is non-existent. Moving from her chest at some point, the hand on her hair yanks harder. Pushing your hips as far as they can go, wishing your cock can somehow enter her womb—you ignore the possibility that you might be hurting her.

‘Hurts so good’ exists for a reason.

The remnants of your orgasm continue to leave Yunjin in shambles. A brief look at the aftermath, and the first impression is that you didn’t fuck her hard enough. Your hot cum spilling from her splayed, ruined hole, her clothes on the other side of the restroom, and your pants receiving some of her hot slick. Yunjin remains bent on the sink, huffing through her own climax, your hand deeply imprinted on her ass, and marks, scratches, and rosy patches on her back—vestiges of hours gone by.

You remain like this for a little while longer: cuddling up against her frame while she rests on the sink, softly kissing around her ear, brushing strands of loose red hair. She’s gorgeous, there’s no denying that. When she performs, when she’s being herself, when she’s getting pounded hard—but she looks best when she’s calm, when she’s at her softest, at her most vulnerable. When you’re all alone and you both have nothing to hide. At the end of the day, you both need each other. For everything.

—————

You and Yunjin might as well be strangers.

It’s as if the past seven hours happened in a different timeline. Both of you casually lounge in the still lifeless cafe, drinking the nonexistent traces of your iced coffee. You scroll through social media; Yunjin still dominates the trends and new reposts of the viral accident pop-up like they’re produced from a factory. She’s doing the same, reading through all the comments. Some memes, some praising her professionalism, some simply to get that verified ad revenue.

This will be completely forgotten in a week. Yunjin’s career will come out unscathed. People move on. She will, too.

Yet you still remain awkward with her, completely undecided on the words that she really needs right now. She needs you more than just your body.

“Jen Jen,” you whisper, before you freeze up at her anxious gaze. She waits for a follow-up, a sentence, anything. It never comes.

She frowns. She’s not mad, only disappointed.

The sun begins to rise over the city, signaling the start of a new day. Knowing this, Yunjin adjusts her jacket and rises from her seat. You never told her once.

She walks through the door, and steps outside—but not before turning and taking one last concerned look at you. You quietly mouth ‘Love you,’ and surprisingly, she smiles. The Yunjin you know and love.

‘Love ya.’

—————

(A/N: againsorryfornotpostingmuchlatelyohgodivebeensobusy—

Ginger/red hair Yunjin didn't grow on me at first. Then the Good Bones teaser dropped. The strut. The attitude. The fact they allowed her to walk around in her bra and panties. What the fuck. I've been so down bad for her lately, and so are you. Looking forward to their new music! Thank you for reading!)

#smut #kpop smut #le sserafim #yunjin #huh yunjin

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spider-stark · 2 months

Text

INFINITELY YOU

part two // crullers & constants

SUMMARY - In every universe, Peter Parker seems destined to fall in love with you. And, in every universe, he realizes it too late. When universes collide and two of them are granted a second chance at rectifying their biggest mistake, neither of them are willing to let the opportunity go to waste–even if you end up not being the person they thought you were.

WARNINGS - 18+, story will contain mentions of blood, broken bones, weapons, suggestive language, and more. I will try to update warnings accordingly for each chapter, but please read at your own discretion

WORD COUNT - 4.2k

// masterlist // series masterlist // send me your thoughts // no way home fan fiction // rewrite

name key: tom!peter = peter // andrew!peter = parker

Peter Pan Donuts is a sacred place.

Or, rather, it was a sacred place—and walking back into the shop now felt awfully strange.

Back when you and Peter first started high school, it had become a tradition to end every Friday with one of the renowned pastry shop’s legendary frosted crullers. You considered it a well-deserved reward for surviving another week of more drama than either of you could stomach, thankful that the weekend was finally upon you and that you could finally breathe without inhaling the reek of the unwashed teenage boys that lined the halls of Midtown.

Peter Pan’s quickly became a haven. A safe place where the two of you could tuck yourselves away at the end of the bar, talking for hours about the teachers you hated and the bullies you hoped would fall from the face of the Earth. There was nothing that you couldn’t talk about, no secrets kept between you and Peter.

Or, at least, none that mattered.

But things changed as time passed, as they so often do.

It started with the inclusion of Ned. You didn’t particularly mind his presence, even if the conversations had begun to shift towards less intimate topics, focusing instead on movies that you all wanted to see or upcoming video games that you would all try to play.

Then came the inclusion of Mj a few months later, after she landed a job at the shop. That was when everything truly changed—when it was no longer you and Peter tucked away at the bar, but you and Ned, left to pick at your food and watch as Peter leaned across the front counter and talked to Mj over her shift.

After a few months of testing every donut on the menu with Ned, you stopped going altogether.

And Peter never even asked why.

“I was surprised to see you texted me,” you quip as you slid onto the free barstool, “what happened to not wanting me to get involved?”

Peter exhales sharply through his nose, and even though his eyes are glued to his phone, you can tell that he was already regretting asking you to meet him here. “I already told you that what I want doesn’t matter.”

And how true that must have been.

There had been nothing kind about his text to you this morning, although there was nothing inherently rude about it either, you supposed. It was simple—meet me at Peter Pan’s asap, need 2 talk—but you could almost sense the begrudging nature with which he had typed it. And, sitting next to him now, you could almost feel it, too.

He didn’t want you here, even if he had been the one to invite you, and you couldn’t help but wonder why he had decided to involve you at all—especially so soon. What had changed in a single night?

Sitting on the barstool to your left, Parker pops his lips. “Well this is fun. I’m not at all uncomfortable right now.”

You turned towards him, acknowledging just how different he looked in the civilian clothes that he donned in place of his suit—black jeans that certainly looked worse for wear and an old Ramone’s t-shirt that you immediately recognized as yours. Oversized on you, the short sleeves clung rather tightly to his well-muscled arms. Did he seriously go through your stuff?!

“Why are you even here?” You ask, perhaps a little sharper than necessary. You weren’t angry that he had gone sifting through the armoire in the spare bedroom, especially since he couldn’t just parade around as Spider-Man all of the time. But he could’ve at least asked. “Shouldn’t one of you be busy patrolling?”

It was hard to tell if the offense on his face was real or feigned, but you didn’t care much either way. “Peter wanted answers about my world, I wanted food,” he shrugs, gesturing at the crème-filled donut in front of him. “And Peter 2’s handling patrol.”

Peter 2—you had almost forgotten about him, the version of Peter that hadn’t wanted to come with Ned and Mj to your apartment last night. As far as you could tell when you woke up this morning, he hadn’t shown up in the middle of the night, either—no trace of Parker or anyone else when you had finally stumbled out of your room to get ready after reading the text from Peter.

You didn’t figure it was really your business where the mystery Peter was, but you were a little surprised to hear that he was still out patrolling. Was he not exhausted?

“Ametaur move getting crème-filled,” you tell him, ignoring everything he said. “Should’ve gone with the frosted vanilla cruller, it’s way better.”

“No way,” he gapes, grabbing the half-eaten pastry and shaking it for emphasis as he said, “this is god-tier, alright? No way anything’s topping it.”

The expression on his face was actually hilarious, his brown doe eyes alight with pure euphoria as he took another bite of the donut. An exaggerated moan slipped his lips, coated with bits of sugar and crème. It was hard not to laugh at him, especially when you knew that was probably his goal—to combat the evident tension between you and Peter.

Chuckling, you lift your hands in mock defense. “Suit yourself, Parker. But if you ever wanna experience true pleasure, then you know what to order.”

Parker looks as if he's about to continue his borderline-lustful tangent about the donut, but Peter spoke up instead, his attention snagging on the name you used.

“Parker?” He echoes in disbelief, letting his phone clatter against the bar.

Peter’s sudden resurgence to the real world left Parker silent, sinking back against his stool and taking another bite.

“What?” Your brow arches, your voice laced with incredulity. “Did you really think I’d keep calling him Peter 2? No offense to Ned, but everything about that feels stupid.”

Peter’s eyes narrow, coupled with a subtle shake of his head that indicates he doesn't care nearly enough to have this conversation right now.

You didn’t care much either, and so you steered the conversation in a more productive direction. “So what is this grand plan of yours?” You ask with a somewhat sarcastic lilt. “And where do I fit into it?”

Another huff of breath escaped his nostrils. “We don’t even have a plan. Not yet,” he reluctantly admits. “But I tried talking to Doctor Strange last night, to see if he had some sort of magical spell or something that would let us go back and fix all of this.”

Your lips press together, nibbling on the skin and pretending you didn’t notice the hidden meaning behind his words. He hadn’t just gone to Doctor Strange to find a way to get rid of the villains now lurking in your world, because if he had, then he wouldn’t have gone specifically seeking out a spell that would let him go back—not just to stop the villains from ever coming here, but to save May, too.

“Did he?”

Peter reached for his cup of iced coffee, if only to occupy his now-fidgeting fingers. “No,” he murmurs, the sound of sloshing ice nearly overpowering him as he swirled the cup. “He didn’t.”

You frown at the tinge of disappointment that snuck through his otherwise even tone, your chest aching. You had to fight against the urge to say I’m sorry, remembering what he had said to you last night—he didn’t want your apologies, nor did he seem to want anyone else's.

In truth, you weren’t sure what Peter wanted; or what you could do to help him.

“Well did he have anything useful?”

He shook his head, lifting the cup to his mouth. “Define useful,” he scoffed, sounding uncharacteristically sharp. He took a sip of his drink, his nose scrunching as soon as the coffee hit his tongue—too bitter.

Despite the coffee’s pale color that indicated it was more cream than coffee, you weren’t surprised that it was still too strong for him. Peter had never truly developed a taste for coffee, only pursuing a caffeine addiction for the sake of combating the exhaustion that came with being Spider-Man. That didn’t mean he had ever grown to like it though, masking the taste with copious amounts of sugar and syrups.

“Something that will keep multiversal villains from tearing our world apart?” You venture half-heartedly, guided by pure instinct and muscle memory as you reached over to take his cup from him, snagging a few packs of sugar from the plastic canister on the bar to0.

“He has a theory,” Peter gives you a tight-lipped smile, born of pure frustration.

“A theory? And he expects us to save the world with this theory?” You ask, a bit more derisive than you would have been if Doctor Strange were around to hear.

Peter scoots closer to you, his voice purposefully low. “Do you remember when I told you about him using the Time Stone before Mr. Stark died? To look through all the different outcomes with Thanos?”

Ripping open the sugar packets and dumping them in his cup, you managed to mask a wince at the mention of Peter’s dead mentor. You only nodded, not trusting your voice to stay steady if you tried for any sort of verbal affirmation.

“Well… when he did that, he thinks that he might have actually seen through the multiverse—he just didn’t know for sure at the time.”

Your forehead creased as you popped the lid back onto his cup, sliding it back towards him. Given his advantage of Spidey-sense, he easily caught it before it could slide too far and end up on the floor—which is what would have definitely happened pre-Spider bite.

“And you don’t consider that to be useful to our current situation?”

“No. I don’t.” Peter answers firmly. “Because at the center of it all—in every universe the Stone showed him—all he saw was you.”

You nearly laugh, your lips curving as you rose a brow at him. “Me?”

Peter gave a nod as he took another sip of his drink. This time, his nose didn’t scrunch.

“But it’s been almost a year since the Avengers took down Thanos,” you reminded him, your stunned amusement beginning to fade into confusion. “If he saw.. Me, when he used the Stone, then why didn’t he say anything until now?”

By no means would you consider yourself to be close with New York’s resident Sorcerer, and so you wouldn’t have expected him to come to you with this knowledge. But Peter—he knew Peter, and he knew that you were Peter’s best friend, and so it didn’t make any sense to you why Doctor Strange chose to wait until now to mention what the Stone had shown him.

Given the aggravated expression Peter wore, it was clear that he was thinking the same. “I don’t know, and trying to get answers out of Doctor Strange that he clearly doesn’t want to give is like pulling teeth.”

“But what does that mean?” You couldn’t stop yourself from pressing further, concern starting to bubble up inside of you. Regardless of his answer—if he had one—you had a feeling you wouldn’t like it. “I don’t get how I’m at the center of every universe.”

Peter blew out a breath, his fingers going back to tapping against the sides of his plastic cup. “Alright, so there are probably well-over a hundred thousand different parallel universes, okay? Some of them are probably super similar to ours, and then there are others that are the complete opposite.”

“O-kay,” you drone, your brows drawing together. You felt the start of a headache coming on as you prepared yourself for the confusing science-talk that was surely about to start pouring out of his mouth.

Perhaps noticing your pained expression, Peter tries to find a way to simplify whatever explanation he was about to use. “Try and look at it like this,” he started, “think of the multiverse as some giant, cosmic loom, alright? Now imagine that each thread on the loom signifies a person. As the loom weaves all of these different threads together, different decisions get made and different actions are taken—and with every choice, a new thread is spun, branching off and creating a variation of the original tapestry.”

“So it’s like you and Parker, right?” You interrupt him, rubbing at your temples. “Same thread, different reality?”

“Exactly! And, technically speaking, that’s how it’s supposed to be. As the loom weaves and alters reality, each thread continuously evolves into something different.” He paused, his fingers finally falling still. “But now imagine that—in the center of all of these branching tapestries—there exists one thread, entirely unbroken and unaltered by this ever-weaving tapestry of existence, okay? A glitch in the cosmic fabric, a constant that’s woven into infinite realities and yet, somehow, remains fundamentally unchanged. How does that work?”

You couldn’t ignore the sense of dread creeping up your spine, nor could you escape the slight wobble in your voice as you said, “It doesn’t sound like it should.”

“You’re right, it shouldn’t work.” Peter confirmed, his expression nearly impossible to read. “But according to Doctor Strange, you are that thread. A constant anomaly that defies every potential law of the multiverse.”

Nausea bubbled in your gut. God, you did not want to deal with this right now!

“And let me guess,” a bitter laugh follows your words, “that’s as much information as he was willing to give, wasn’t it?”

“Yep,” Peter pops his lips, leaning back into his stool. His brows raise slightly in a silent I told you so before he says, “Hey, you’re the one that wanted to be involved, right? Now you’re at the center of everything-”

“I said I wanted to help you,” you correct him sharply. “Not that I wanted to be at the center of Doctor Strange’s weird Time Stones fantasies!”

He only shrugs, barely acknowledging the dirty look you gave him as he plucks his phone off of the counter, clicking on a notification. “Same thing, isn’t it? Either way, you get what you want.”

“What I want?” You echoed, your mouth hung open in disbelief.

“Doctor Strange seems to think that whatever is wrong with you might help us solve all of this. That you might be connected to the multiverse somehow, or that you’re at least immune to it. So yeah, you get what you want. You get to help,” he spat the word out like an insult, too focused on typing something to even notice how rude he sounded.

If it weren’t for the feeling that stomach acid was about to come crawling up your throat, then you might have taken some time to unpack the bitterness in his tone or be hurt by the claim that something was wrong with you—but you didn’t. Even if you had, you weren’t sure that it would have gotten you anywhere.

You weren’t stupid. Peter was wielding his insolence like a shield, purposefully trying to hurt you as an effort to keep you at arms length—and, if you had to guess, Mj and Ned were probably receiving the same treatment right now.

“Well this isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I said I wanted to help,” you admitted, one hand going to rest against your cramping stomach. At least the throbbing in your temples had died down…

Peter only shrugged at you, shoving his phone in his back pocket and rising to his feet. “Too bad,” he told you, offering a smile that most definitely wasn’t genuine. “I’ve gotta go, but make him walk you home, alright? I’ll text you if I hear anything else from Doctor Strange.”

Parker frowned beside you, and whether it was because Peter was speaking about him like he wasn’t here or because of his attitude in general, you couldn’t tell.

“Whoa, hold up! You didn’t even tell me what your plan is until you hear from him!” You argue, reaching for his wrist to keep him from walking past you until he answered.

He pulls his hand back from your grip, but not before your stare snags on the reddish hue that stains his nails—blood. Noticing it only served to make you feel sicker, and to make your concern for Peter grow larger. Was he really still walking around with May’s blood caked under his nails? Has he rested at all since last night?

“Same plan as always,” he told you, your eyes snapping up to meet his, suddenly noticing how rimmed with exhaustion they were. “Stop the bad guys.”

He didn’t leave any time for protests or further questions before turning his back to you and heading straight for the exit. When the little bell on the door chimed as he shoved his way back out onto the streets, you couldn’t stop the worried sigh that escaped your lips.

Peter was an Avenger by every right. He had battled alongside a Norse God and helped take down a literal Titan, and so knew that you shouldn’t have any reason to doubt his capability when it came to taking down whatever villains had crossed into your world.

But it wasn’t that you doubted his ability to survive against them, or even his ability to stop them—you were worried about whether he could handle the weight of it all.

The weight of him placing yet another thing on his shoulders. Another villain, another fight, another burden, another chance to lose someone.

Thinking of that, it suddenly dawned on you that maybe Mj and Ned weren’t getting the same treatment as you. Maybe you were getting the worst of it, if only because now whatever connection you had to the multiverse was just another weight he thought he had to bear, another person he had to worry about protecting.

Guilt flooded your veins, and even as you tried to remind yourself that you hadn’t caused this, you still couldn’t shake the anxious feeling that it was somehow your fault anyway.

“Y’know, I get that this probably isn’t the right time for this,” Parker starts. When you look at him, your attention immediately snags on the dozen donuts that he had ordered while you were talking to Peter. “But I think it’s so cool that you guys have magic in your world!”

He takes another bite of the donut in his hand, powdered sugar falling from his lips as he says, “And these donuts! It’s a tough call, but they might be even better than magic!”

You didn’t know him well enough to be able to tell if he was intentionally trying to lighten the mood or if it was just incidental, but it worked all the same. Laughter poured from your mouth, and it wasn’t until it died down that he said anything else.

“Sooo… That was tense, wasn’t it? Like, it wasn’t just me, right?”

You groan, propping your elbows against the counter and placing your cheeks in your palms. “Was it that noticeable?”

Parker snorts a laugh, stretching an arm past you to reach for Peter’s abandoned coffee. “Oh, yeah. It’s actually painful to be in a room with you two.”

His playful tone made it clear that it was just a joke, but it still made you feel bad. You already didn’t like how hostile things felt between you and Peter, even if it was only one-sided, and to know that others felt it too just made it that much worse.

“Things are just.. Difficult, right now.” You tell him, choosing your words carefully.

“So it hasn’t always been like that with you guys?” He asks, and the delicate arch of his brow made it seem as though he were shocked by the possibility that things had ever been civil between you and Peter.

There was a chance that you had misread his expression though, as it was very quickly wiped away once he took a sip of Peter’s half-drank coffee, gagging as soon as it hit his tongue. “Holy shi-” he started coughing, cutting off the vulgarities that threatened to spill out. “How does he drink this?!” Parker yelped as soon as he could take a full breath, looking utterly disgusted as he shoved the cup back across the bar. “It’s literally just liquid sugar!”

You found it hard to stifle your amusement at his suffering, even as he shot you a teasing scowl for it. “No,” you answer his previous question, trying to ignore his melodramatic display, “believe it or not, things between us actually used to be really… I don’t know—easy, I guess.”

Parker was still smacking his lips to try and rid himself of the cloying aftertaste. “What changed?”

In retrospect, you realized that it probably would have been smarter for you to bite your tongue. To offer him some cheap, cop-out excuse rather than tell him the truth. After all, you already had experience in hiding from the truth and it wasn’t like you really knew Parker, and so lying to him shouldn’t have been a hard task.

Yet, for some reason, you told him the truth anyway.

“Mj happened.”

Parker’s brows furrows. “The girl from last night, right?”

“Yep. That’s the one.”

“Y’know, I don’t really like her all that much,” his words were spoken like a balm, seeking to ease the dejected look etched upon your face, but tinged with enough playful sarcasm for you to know he didn’t actually mean them. “She threw a bread roll at me. A few of them, actually.”

It was hard not to laugh at the thought considering that it was such an Mj thing to do. “Sounds about right,” you crack a smile, although you don't feel particularly happy. “She’s always been slow to trust, especially complete strangers.”

In an odd sort of way, the statement felt like a lie. Not because it actually wasn’t true—because Mj was wary of strangers—but because Parker didn’t quite feel like a stranger in your mind. While last night had been a bit awkward, you now felt like talking to him was effortless, each sentence rolling off your tongue with unnatural ease.

“But she trusts you?” Parker asks, picking a crumb off another one of the pastries and popping it into his mouth.

You sucked in a breath.

“I don’t know,” you answer him, with a bit more honesty than you're comfortable with. “I mean, I know that she used to trust me. But now… I’m not even sure if she likes me anymore.”

His brow snapped up. “What changed?”

Suddenly the truth no longer felt so easy, and you found yourself wishing that you could change the subject altogether. You didn’t want to talk about this—especially not with him, some boy that you had known for less than twenty-four hours.

But you had backed yourself into a corner, and so in an effort to try and satiate whatever interest he had developed in the story you had told, you settled on offering a vague half-truth.

“She started dating Peter,” you tell him simply, putting effort into looking disinterested. “They got together a few months ago and things just… It just got weird, y’know? It’s always awkward when two of your friends get together, I guess. Creates too much drama.”

“Yeah, for sure,” Parker hums, agreeing with you. “Especially when you have feelings for him, right?”

An incomprehensible noise escaped your throat, best categorized as something between a laugh and a cough. Your mouth fell open to try and defend yourself, to try and deny his claim—but he didn’t even give you a chance.

“Oh c’mon!” Parker groans, grinning when he notices the now rosy complexion of your cheeks. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? I mean, let’s be real here, alright? That whole sugar thing earlier?” He jutted a finger towards Peter’s abandoned iced coffee, “Was a dead giveaway.”

“You’re insane,” You declare, shaking your head and masking your embarrassment with uncomfortable laughter. “I don’t have feelings for Peter—and even if I did, it wouldn’t matter! Regardless of what it’s done to our friendship, Mj is literally perfect for him and-”

“I think it’s cute,” he interrupts, a delicate smile gracing his lips. Noticing the way your brows furrow, he elaborated, “How much you care about him. And how much you care about her, too, since you’re so willing to pretend like you don’t like him.”

“I’m not pretending-”

Parker jokingly cut his eyes. “Yeah, sureee.”

Blowing a frustrated breath, you push yourself up from the barstool. “Alright, I think it’s time to go home.” You tell him, far too flustered to try and come up with a good defense to his teasing. “You can take the rest of your donuts to go, Bug-boy.”

There was a subtle shift in his demeanor as the taunting nickname fell from your lips, and he almost felt as though his heart had stopped dead in his chest.

“Fine,” Parker yields, rising to his feet and snagging the box of donuts from the bar. “But I really hope that you have your wallet—cause I definitely don’t have a way to pay for these.” He flashed a crooked smile before continuing, “Or we can just run really fast and hope they don’t call the police on us for stealing pastries.”

“I can’t imagine that robbery would be very good for your reputation as a hero,” you chide sarcastically, your own lips curling into a half-smile, “so I’ll pay—but only if you give me every cruller in that box. Deal?”

Parker spares a quick glance down at the dozen box of donuts in his hands. Half of them were already gone, but through the small cellophane window he could see that there were three frosted crullers left. “Deal.”

series masterlist

a/n - for those who read IY before the rewrite, you may already be able to note some rather major changes going on lmao. i genuinely can't describe how much i actually enjoy rewriting this story, as i'm finally able to collect my thoughts enough to write the plot the way i originally wanted to.

as always, please leave any feedback, opinions, etc.! any and all comments/reblogs definitely encourage me to write/edit faster! and, if you'd like to be added to the tag list, just let me know!

part three, titled "spitfire", to be released april 15th

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ddejavvu · 11 months

Text

Love to Lie - Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader (Part 2) / Part 1 / Part 3 / Part 4 (Final Part)

Summary: Your worst fear is recognized when Bradley’s jet goes down with him in it. You’re not sure why you’re still his emergency contact, you’d broken up two weeks ago, but when you rush into the hospital room, you discover that you have a chance to fix the mistake you’d been cursing yourself for. The only problem is, you have to lie to Bradley, and you discover that you love doing it if it means you get to be with him again.

Contents/Warnings: fem!reader, Mitchell!reader, angst, angst with a fluffy/happy ending, amnesia trope, hospitals and their subsequent medical details, memory loss, goose and carole are still alive because i say so

WC: 16.1K / navigation / inbox

A/N: part two!! thank you from the bottom of my heart for all of the sweet, lovely feedback i got on part one, i was so happy you enjoyed the opening chapter!! this part gives some more backstory on reader+bradley, and i hope you like it just as much as you did the first! once more i'd love to hear your thoughts, thank you to everyone who said something wonderful and kind about the first part, it meant a lot to me. <3

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

Instead of your alarm, you wake up to a call from Carole. It’s 7:29, and when you raise the phone to your ear, your voice is gruff and achy with sleep.

“Hello?”

It feels just like yesterday. Yesterday, that comes flooding back to you in a barrage of awful memories. All that’s changed is the bed you’re in; you’re still alone. You almost miss Carole’s response because you’re slowly taking in everything that hits you like an anvil from above, but you catch the last word and can discern her meaning.

“-visit?”

“Yeah,” You rub your eyes, feeling tears already gathered there; a great way to start your morning.

“Yeah, I’ll visit,” You confirm, and your alarm buzzes against your head. You hastily shut it off and yawn, only inducing more tears and sighing as you speak again, “I’m gonna run to the store real quick, get some stuff for cookies. He convinced me to sneak them in.”

“That boy,” Carole huffs, and even half-asleep, you hear her voice laced with fondness for her son, “Alright honey. How y’doin’?”

“Um,” You ponder, truly unsure as your fingers pick at a stray thread on the blanket; you’d been meaning to replace it for months. “Okay. Not okay, but not- not as bad as yesterday. I think-” You swallow, throat convulsing, “I think I love lying to him if it means I have him back.”

She’s silent for a moment, letting your words sink into your own brain. You feel guilty for them, just like you feel guilty for leading Bradley on, pretending nothing is wrong when your entire lives have fallen apart. But she eventually responds with all of the kindness and love she has inside of her, which is a lot.

“I know, baby. And it’s okay, it’ll get better. It’ll turn out right.”

“I hope so,” You breathe shakily, wishing either her or your boyfriend (pretend boyfriend? Ex-boyfriend?) were there to rub soothing circles into your back.

“I know so.” She promises, and she’s never promised something she couldn’t guarantee. You hope this isn’t her first strike, because her never-ending optimism miraculously lifts your dreary spirits until your chest doesn’t ache with a sob begging to break free. “Alright, baby doll, I’ll let’cha get to baking. I’m gonna see if they’ll let me sneak in early, I- Oh! Nurse,” She calls away from the phone, and you hear her move on the other end, no doubt chasing down a poor nurse that doesn’t want to get fired for letting her in before visiting hours. You hang up the call with a snort, fond of how her fierce love for those around her hasn’t faded in all the time you’ve known her.

Pulling yourself out of bed is hard, but you do it for Bradley. You’re sluggish as you traipse to the bathroom, using deodorant in place of a shower and brushing your hair back into a ponytail. Showers are for people who have the luxury of time, you need to bake fast, and get over there to see if Bradley wakes up remembering anything new- er, old. You hope that he doesn’t, and then you hope that doesn’t make you a bad person.

One of the things you love about the place you’d shared with Bradley is that it’s close to a shopping center with a grocery store. It means that you walk to the supermarket, sandals on your feet and ratty, day-old clothes still on. No one seems to mind when you grab a basket looking like you’ve risen from the dead, and you collect the ingredients for Bradley’s favorite cookies with a skillful, experienced hand. You haven’t paid for anything by card in a while, you’d used emergency cash for the motel, and you wonder if you’ve been locked out of your joint bank account. Probably not; if the state of Bradley’s place had been any indication, he wants you back. But you’re cautious using the card anyways, in case a big red screen comes to life on the monitor in front of you and tells you you’re a terrible girlfriend. Almost a terrible wife.

You’re glad that you don’t run into any of your neighbors on the walk back home, because you don’t want to explain why you look the way you do, nor do you want to burst into tears when they ask where Bradley and his car are. You keep your head down and avoid the trike on the front walkway, ducking back into the house without being spotted.

Firing up the oven feels heavenly, maybe because you’ve been eating scraps of motel food for two weeks. It reminds you of all the times you’ve baked with Bradley, or, more like the times you’ve baked while Bradley steals pinches of sugar from the bowl or tries to lick the beater when there’s raw egg in the mixture, resulting in more batter in his mustache than in his mouth while you try wrestling the spatula out of his grip.

You go through the oatmeal raisin motions absentmindedly; a master at your craft. It frees up brainpower to reminisce, and you sort through a mental file cabinet to find your favorite memory of baking with Bradley.

“I want to try the vanilla,” Bradley reaches for the teaspoon in your hands, and you jerk it away, thankful that it isn’t full of the brown liquid yet.

“Absolutely not,” You laugh, “Brad, it’s gross by itself. It’s like eating straight cocoa powder, it’s meant to be mixed in with something.”

He pouts, he actually pouts, a man of 36. The expression has his mustache hanging over his lower lip and you can’t help but giggle at it, leaning in to kiss the prickly hair on his face.

“You’ll have a cookie to eat soon,” You promise him, dumping a teaspoon of vanilla extract into the mixing bowl. He plays satisfied with your answer, but when you turn your back to fold the mixture in on itself with a spatula, you hear rustling behind you, then the click of a cap, and a muffled gag.

“I told you,” Your voice is sing-song-y, and you turn amusedly to watch Bradley duck under the sink’s faucet, rinsing his mouth out of the bitter taste. He’s scowling when he comes back up for air, water dripping from his mustache as he crosses his arms.

“I thought it would be good.” He mutters, and you nod, humming as a bit of batter smears over your thumb from the spatula.

“That’s because you didn’t listen to me,” You lament, “I know everything, Brad. You should just listen to me, always.”

“Oh yeah? Alright, share some wisdom with me, Almighty One,” He teases, pushing off of the counter to join you at your own, “What should I do?”

He moves with his arms crossed, standing just close enough that you know the only answer you can give.

“Mm,” You pretend to deliberate, really leaning into it with a few contemplative taps at your chin, “Kiss me.”

He gasps dramatically, which is the way that he does most things, “Excellent idea. You really do know everything.”

“Mhm,” You nod, craning your neck up as Bradley leans down to kiss you, “I told you. Listen to me all the time.”

“I will,” He promises, “Quick, tell me we should have sex.”

“Bradley!” You gawp, an incredulous laugh oozing out from your chest, leaving behind a snail trail of joy, “You’re insatiable! We’ve already gone twice today.”

“Mm, can’t help it,” He tsks, backing you into the counter and kissing you once more. His lips press firmly to yours, his hands at your waist caging you into his embrace, “Honey, you taste much sweeter than that vanilla shit.”

When you come to, you’re putting the cookies in the oven. You’re alarmed at how zoned out you’d been, but evidently you hadn’t burned the place down, and you shut the oven door, setting a timer on the microwave. You tackle the dishes next, using the time that the cookies bake to tidy up your work station. The dough comes easily off of the mixing bowl and the melted butter drips over your fingers before you scrub it away, still slightly warm from the microwave. There’s only a few plates in the sink that you hadn’t dirtied, and you wonder if Bradley had washed and dried dishes while you were away. Or maybe this was it, four plates of food in two weeks. You’d been treating yourself that way, but it’s heartbreaking to know Bradley had, too.

You try warding off your incoming bout of sniffles by retreating back to your bedroom, choosing a new outfit to wear to the hospital. If you show up in the same thing, Bradley might worry about you, and you don’t want him thinking you were too sluggish to pull yourself together for him. You’re hurt, wounded and scarred with lashes over your heart, but he’s the one with the broken ribs and the lost memories, so you need to play the part of the strong one; the uninjured one.

He can’t know you’re hurting in case he asks why.

Your shower is quick, and you try not to think about Bradley in case you succumb to the urge to cry. Of course, it’s impossible to chase the thoughts from your head, and the feeling of your fingers scratching shampoo through your scalp turns into the feeling of Bradley’s. The hand that slides down your side suddenly isn’t your own anymore, it’s a memory of his. A ghost of him, a whisper against your skin of ‘I promise, baby. You won't lose me’.

You hope more than anything that promise stays true.

You get yourself ready to go with more zeal than you’ve felt in the past two weeks. You’re taking the bus today, to cut down on gas money, and you’re sure you’ll spend the whole time worrying. You’re nervous about seeing Bradley, but it’s a few minutes past eight-thirty and you’re sure if he’d regained his memories, Carole would have notified you. Beyond the nerves you’re almost excited to pretend to be his girlfriend again, excited to live in the fantasy life you’ve created to preserve his peace of mind. You never thought you’d love to lie to him.

You’re much more put together today when you greet the receptionist, and you're not sure you could forget the way to his room if you tried. There’s a bag of the oatmeal raisin cookies hidden in your purse and you slip into the room just as a doctor leans over him to take his temperature.

You adore the way Bradley smiles at you. His eyes meet yours as you stand in the doorway, previously cautious and now elated that he seems to like you still. His face lights up and he calls, ‘Baby,’ alerting the nurse to your presence.

“Miss Mitchell!” The woman greets you, the one who’d brought Bradley’s dinner last night.

“Hi,” You gush, a laugh bubbling up in your chest that’s made of pure elation. It’s a sickly sweet sound, one that you thought you’d never be able to make again after leaving Bradley. You rush to kiss him when the nurse leans away, scribbling down his temperature on his chart.

He lifts his hand to cup your cheek when you kiss him and the tears that line your eyes are happy ones; there’s still time. There’s still time to soak in his love before he remembers, there’s still time to lose yourself in this fantasy.

You take a moment to breathe after the kiss, doing so against his lips. He does the same, and you bask in each other’s presence, noses brushing and foreheads pressed together. Skin-on-skin, love-on-love.

“His heartbeat really did speed up,” Carole marvels, and you scramble to greet her, guilty that she’d slipped your mind in the rush of emotions you felt.

“Hi! Hi, sorry,” You stammer, wrapping her in a hug while she waves away your apologies.

“No worries, baby!” She squeezes your shoulders, beaming at you. You’re sure she’s thrilled you showed up, and you know Bradley is too from the way he grabs for your hand when you sit by his bed. He’s always been a touchy guy, his hands are never idle, but he’s never been quite this clingy before. It’s good, it helps ground you, and it’s what you need after a two-week bender in a motel.

“Brad,” You coo, unable to resist kissing him again when he turns his head to face you in the bed. He looks more comfortable today than he had yesterday, no more breathing tube or pale skin. There’s dark circles under his eyes, but you’re sure he’s still shaken up from the crash, and you’ll make sure he gets to sleep nice and early tonight.

If you’re able to.

Once you’ve kissed him you dot smaller ones across his face, heart soaring at the gentle laughter that spills from his lips as you do so. You kiss his nose, his cheeks, his chin, the space beside his eyes that’s wrinkled from years of laughter, and when his pretty brown eyes flutter shut, you go for the eyelids, too. You savor each one because you know it could be your last, and when he strokes the back of his hand along your cheek, you lean into the touch.

“Pretty girl,” He hums, and you feel your cheeks get hot. Newly showered, you felt more put-together than you’d been before, but you’d spent the past two weeks in a pigsty of your own creation, so the compliment means more than he knows.

Apparently, he feels your cheeks grow hot, too. His fingers pick up on the warmth and he laughs again, this time only a normal amount of raspiness clinging to the sound., He’s hyper-affectionate, taking his chance to dot kisses over your features for a change. The giddiness in your chest as his lips press to your skin, mustache prickling it, makes it feel like your heart will burst. You feel undeserving as he showers you with the affection you’ve missed so much, but you’re greedy so you take it anyways, and you wouldn’t be surprised if Carole was taking pictures of you in secret.

“I have some good news,” The nurse reports, and you turn at her voice. She’s angled towards Carole, obviously having meant to leave you and Bradley be in your couple’s reverie, but when she notices that she has your attention too, she speaks to the group.

“Nothing abnormal was documented during your stay here,” She reads off of her chart, “It’s just the concussion and the broken ribs, which is remarkable for the accident you were in. You’re very lucky, Mr. Bradshaw. There was some smoke inhalation from the crash site but that’s not a major issue anymore, and if everything remains stable until dinnertime, you can go home tonight.”

“Oh!” Carole squeals, clapping delicately with her hands in her lap, “That’s fantastic!’

Bradley seems equally pleased, smiling wide, and it takes a lot of willpower to mirror his expression. He knocks his nose into your cheek and you feel his grin against your jaw, so you bring a hand up to scrub through the hair at the back of his neck.

“That’s great,” You conclude weakly, blaming the lull in your voice on being so close to Bradley and not wanting to talk too loud. Carole eyes you nervously, though, trying to mask the worry in her eyes with a smile.

“You should still rest,” The nurse advises, “Those ribs won’t be healed for close to a month, maybe more. And you can sleep through most of the concussion, too. What’s good about going home is it’ll be familiar to you, and it might help trigger those memories you’ve lost. They’re still not back?”

“Nope,” Bradley shakes his head, keeping it pressed to yours, “I got nothin’.”

“Alright,” The nurse hums sympathetically, tucking the chart into a cubby by the door, “We’ll bring lunch at around one, Mr. Bradshaw.”

“Thank you!” Carole calls after the nurse as she leaves, then she stands in her flowy skirt, wrapping her cardigan tighter around her shoulders.

“Miss Y/N,” She beams, “Bradley’s already had his breakfast. Have you eaten?”

“Uh, no,” You shake your head, “Not yet. Are you going to get something?”

“I am,” She nods, shouldering her purse, “Would you like some hospital pancakes, baby doll?”

“Here,” You stand, but Bradley grabs your hand, keeping you close to his bedside, “I can-”

“You can sit down,” Carole narrows her eyes at you, teasingly menacing, “Sit your butt back in that chair and be with your boyfriend, honey! I can manage two to-go boxes.”

“Thank you,” You gush, settling back into your seat and squeezing Bradley’s hand. He doesn’t let up on his heavy grip until you’re planted in your seat, and even when he does loosen his fingers he still holds you. Carole winks at you when you leave, and Bradley’s attention is solely on you the second the door shuts.

“Y/N,” He murmurs, and sometimes you forget your name isn’t baby or honey around him. You turn, now a little more nervous to be there now that your buffer is gone.

His big brown eyes are oozing their signature sweetness, a golden glint in them under the lights of the hospital room. He looks healthier now, even though you know his ribs hurt, and you’re oh-so-happy to have your Bradley back.

“I missed you,” You confess, and his face breaks into a grin. He nods, leaning up to kiss you, and you close the gap so that he doesn’t have to strain his probably sore muscles.

“I missed you, too,” He breathes, and you kiss him over and over and over again until you think you might be stealing the breath from his lungs. You let up, if only to keep him healthy, otherwise you’d never stop.

“I wasn’t sure when you were coming,” His lips close momentarily around your lower one while yours frame his top in a sweet peck.

“The cookies needed time to bake,” You lament, your mouth slightly dewy from his kiss, “Sorry, babe. I would have come faster, I- I should have gotten up earlier, but-”

“You’re here now,” He cuts off your worries, the heated skin of his face pressing against yours like he’s trying to stick to you, “That’s all that matters.”

“Yeah?” You hum dazedly, drunk on his love, “What about the cookies, do those matter?”

His eyes widen in consideration and he tilts his head to the side, mouth scrunching in a thoughtful frown, “Yeah, those matter too. Oatmeal raisin?”

“Oatmeal raisin,” You promise, digging through your purse, “Are you still on the hospital diet?”

“Honey,” He declares, sounding like his father's son as pride prickles his mustache, “I’d eat your cookies even if they killed me. Lay one on me, sugar.”

You snort at his cocky drawl, withdrawing a cookie from the bag in your purse. You break a piece off, hand-feeding him like his arms are still weak.

“Speaking of sugar,” You muse, stealing a bite of the treat for yourself and speaking with it pinched between your teeth, “I was thinking about baking together earlier. It was awful being alone, there was no one to eat the sugar out of the bowl.”

“Or drink the vanilla extract,” He cracks, and you laugh with glee.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking of!” You gush, taking his hand once more and squeezing it, “You gagged.”

“I don’t know! I just thought it’d taste good! I love vanilla,” He laments, only fuelling more laughter from you.

“Yeah, well you got a lot of it,” You chuckle, “Anyways, it was weird not having you there. I had to do the dishes all by myself.”

“Poor baby,” He croons, half sincere and half teasing. He strokes a hand down your cheek that you yearn to kiss, but it goes by too fast, “How’d you manage?”

“I thought about you,” You confess, and some of that amusement in his eyes dims, giving way to complete and total admiration.

“Yeah?” He breathes, incredulous like he's twelve and he can’t believe his crush actually likes him. He’s always had that sort of puppyish aura about him, like you’re not just his girlfriend, you’re his best friend, and he’s always happy you��re along for the ride. It’s probably why he holds your hand so frequently, like he is now.

“Yeah,” You nod, flipping his palm in yours and tracing over the lines etched into it, “It’s not home there without you, Brad.”

“We go back tonight,” He smiles, keeping his voice low so that it doesn’t shatter the serenity around you, “Together.” You notice a sheen of tears over his eyes and you fall in love with him all over again, unable to hold yourself back from admiring how much he loves you. You really, really don’t know how you fucked this up.

“Yeah,” You croak, smiling weakly down at his hand instead of into his eyes, “Together.”

“Breakfast,” Carole sings, propping the door open with her foot as she steps inside. Your heads turn in sync, and you see her holding two plates, both covered with plastic lids. “Miss Y/N, three pancakes for you, and there’s syrup for days.”

“Thank you,” You rush to help her, and some piece of your heart stays in Bradley’s palm when you drop it. You suspect you won’t get it back unless he forgives you eventually, or maybe he’ll keep it even if he does. You trust him with it, he’ll take care of it.

You wish you'd offered him and his heart the same courtesy.

Carole hands you your breakfast and takes a seat on Bradley’s opposite side, caging him in between his two girls.

“You want some, baby?” Carole croons at Bradley, but he shakes his head.

“No thanks, ma,” He clears his throat, turning to face you with a puppy-eyed look that he’s had mastered since age three, “But I would love another bite of cookie?”

“Oh, take it,” You grumble, handing over the baked good for Bradley to devour, “But if your blood sugar rises, or something, it’s not my fault.”

“Won’t tell a soul,” Bradley promises, a mouthful of oatmeal raisin already impairing his speech, “Thanks, honey.”

“Mm-hm,” You nod, your mouth similarly stuffed with food. The pancakes are good, considering they came from a cafeteria that also serves tuna and jell-o.

“Y/N, baby,” Carole calls just as much sugar in her voice as is in her breakfast, “Pass me that syrup?”

She’s asking for a container you’ve got in your hand, half-empty. She doesn’t want to open a new one and waste the contents, so you pass it over, but a drizzle drips off of the side and lands on Bradley’s chin.

He rears his head back as it falls, but he can’t burrow far enough into the pillow to dodge it. You squeal through your mouthful, swallowing quickly and painfully to rush out an apology you’re sure he doesn’t care about receiving.

“Sorry, Brad.” You curse your clumsiness, grabbing for a napkin but getting a better idea instead. You stand and lean over him to kiss the syrup off of his chin, feeling his face split into a grin while your lips are still attached to it. You can't keep a smile off of your face either, licking your lips clean of the stickiness.

“Cuties!” Carole giggles, just as giddy of a grin on her face as is on yours and Bradley’s. You’re sure she’s ecstatic to see you getting along so well, glad to know your acting isn’t just that.

“I was telling Bradley earlier,” You speak disjointedly through a mouthful of syrupy pancakes, “When I was baking his cookies, I was thinking about the times we’ve baked together. Wanna tell’er what you did, Brad?”

“Oh,” He groans, “No. Not fair, baby, I’m bed-ridden. I’m dying,” He sticks a protective hand over his ribs, now magically unable to lift his head from the pillow, “You can’t tell embarrassing stories of me to my mom.”

“I didn’t! I offered you the chance to tell it,” You roll your eyes, wary as you hear a nurse pass by the door. Bradley’s cookie is in plain sight, and he stuffs it into his mouth for safekeeping as the footsteps pass. No one comes in, though, and he struggles to finish his mouthful.

“Oh,” Carol gushes, “Somebody tell me! I wanna know, y’know I love teasin’ you, Brad.”

“Mom!’ He gawps through a mouthful of oatmeal, “Rude!”

“What’s rude is talkin’ with your mouth full,” Carole scolds, swatting him on the shoulder, “Swallow first, mister.”

“He ate-” You start, but Bradley lunges for you with impressive agility, twisting his torso to the side to clamp a hand over your mouth. You laugh, long and loud and brash while Bradley tries to muffle it. In his haste to silence you he tries saying ‘No!’ but he’s still got a mouthful of cookie, and the crumbs that don’t get caught in his mustache rain over your legs.

You’re still laughing. It’s messy, it’s gross, there’s half-chewed cookie on your lap, but Bradley’s holding you close, his strong arms around your head while he keeps a tight grip on your mouth. He’s laughing too, chest shaking as he tries powering through the mouthful of food that he’s got. Finally he swallows, but he doesn’t let go, only blows fruitlessly at the crumbs littering your pants.

“I’m sorry,” He pants, short of breath from chuckling, “If you hadn’t been so hellbent on embarrassing me, I wouldn’t have spewed raisins into your pancakes.”

“Gross! Okay!” You laugh uncontrollably into his palm between giggles, kissing at the skin there, “Okay. You win.”

He lets up only when you stop struggling, letting yourself sink into his embrace no matter how uncomfortable. A thought prods at the back of your mind like a lightning rod, sending a jolt of pain down your spine when it reminds you that this isn’t real. But you push it away, you don’t let it paralyze you, and your smile never falls.

“I’m sorry,” You hum to Bradley, while Carole watches you with amusement dancing in her pretty eyes, as well as in her movie star smile, “I just thought your mom would have liked to hear. That’s all.”

“She would,” Bradley nods, leaning back in his bed, finally at ease, “That’s why you can’t tell her.”

“You’re no fun,” She groans, and you finish up the last of your pancakes, gathering all of the trash (and cookie crumbs) to put them in the can. You have to let go of Bradley’s hand to make it across the room but when you’re by the door you stay there, your boyfriend’s eyes trained on you like a hawk.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” You reach for the doorknob, then, while he can't reach you, “Carole, he ate vanilla extract.”

The nurse down the hall gives you a strange look as you rush to shut the door on both Bradley’s indignant shout and Carole’s gleeful giggles.

“Does he need help?” He looks at you skeptically, and you shake your head.

“We’re teasing him,” You brush the nurse’s concerns away, “Where’s the gift shop?”

True to your word, you stop by the bathroom, but your real destination is the gift shop. There’s a stuffed bear inside with fur the exact caramel shade of Bradley’s hair, and you only wish it had a mustache. Otherwise, it’s identical, flight gear on and aviators over its eyes.

“Hi,” You greet the cashier at the counter, handing over the bear and a book you plan on reading to him in your downtime, “Just these.”

While she rings up your purchase you hear the sliding doors behind you open, and you turn to see your dad and Nick enter. Their faces light up at the sight of you, and when the cashier gives you back the bear, you show it off to them.

“Just gotta get it a mustache,” Nick tugs softly on one of the bear’s ears, “Now that’s a good lookin’ bear!”

“I was gonna get’im a movie to watch,” Your dad beelines for the DVDs, but you pull him back.

“Dad,” You murmur, walking him and Nick towards the door, “He can just use his phone. Everything here is way too expensive.” You throw a kind smile at the cashier like you hadn’t just insulted her trade, “Thank you!”, and lead the way back to Bradley’s room.

The elevator ride almost goes sour when Nick tries pushing all of the buttons at once. You’re not sure how Carole has survived living with him for this long, but you swat his hands away with an incredulous shout.

“Don’t! I wanna get these back to him,” You beg, bear and book in hand, “I’ll bet he’s so bored.”

“You seen him already?” Your dad raises a brow, and you nod.

“Carole’s there, too,” You hum, “We just finished breakfast.”

“Does he ‘member anything new?” Goose asks, and that little lightning rod comes back, tazing your brain, burning one word into the matter there; liar, liar, liar. All of a sudden the elevator is too small, and you’d rather be anywhere but.

“Nope,” You shake your head, turning to face the doors of the elevator that ding, “Nothing.”

“Bradley!” Nick cheers, seeing his son alive and well, “Made it through the night?”

“Barely. Spent more time on my phone than I did asleep,” Bradley scoffs, and your heart skips a beat, not in a good way. Again you wonder if he’s found mystifying evidence of your breakup, an unfollow on instagram or a deletion of date nights from the calendar.

You’re sure he would have brought something up if he was confused, but you’re sneaking around, and it makes you paranoid enough to believe everything will fall apart at a moment’s notice. You have no peace, not when Bradley isn’t holding you.

“Well you’re going home tonight,” Carole reminds him, stroking over his cheek fondly, “You’ll get some good rest there, Brad.”

“Hey, alright!” Your dad whoops, “They’re cuttin’ you loose?”

“After dinner,” Bradley nods, “They said if nothing weird happens I can leave.”

“Congrats, Brad.” Nick claps him on the shoulder, standing in front of the seat you’d abandoned to go get his gifts.

His gifts!

You fumble with the bag in your hands, pulling the bear out first and passing it over.

“Oh, baby,” Bradley laughs, admiring its miniscule flight gear, “Bear’s almost as handsome as me.”

“Nah, a little more.” Pete squints at it, “It doesn't have that ugly mustache.”

“Hey!”, Father and son rage in unison, and Nick slaps your dad’s arm hard enough for Bradley, too.

“Uh, Carole,” You murmur, but the soft sound catches Bradley’s attention anyways. He’s drawn to you like a fly to honey, stuck in every last drop of your sweetness.

“I need to ask your mom a favor,” You smile down at Bradley, brushing hair away from his eyes, “Can we slip out?”

“Okay,” He hums skeptically, “What is it?”

“It’s a surprise,” You drag your voice out dramatically, leaning down to peck at his forehead. His skin is warm to the touch, and feels comforting against your lips.

“We’ll keep’im busy,” Nick declares, taking the book that you hand him, “Want me to read to you, Brad?”

“No.”

“Too bad! Ooh, Little Women. Wanna do voices with me, Mav?”

You and Carole step out before Nick or your dad could pull out any high-pitched giggles, and Bradley’s mom looks at you worriedly.

“What is it, baby doll?”

“I need help,” You confess, “If Bradley’s coming home tonight, he’s gonna notice a hell of a lot of stuff missing from our place. I just took everything I could grab and I ran,” You recall, dry swallowing at the thought of the boxes piled into your motel room, “I can’t put everything back by myself, and I- I don’t want to force you to help, but my dad and NIck can’t know, and-”

“Slow down, sugar,” She hums, reaching out to rub a soothing hand up and down your arm, “I’ll help you. What do we got, clothes and shoes?”

“And books, and toiletries, and... puzzles.” You concede drearily.

“Baby,” Carole arches a brow, looking almost sympathetically at you, “You brought puzzles with you?”

“I thought I’d be bored!” You reason, shoulders stiff to your ears, “But I haven’t had much of an appetite for puzzling.”

“Alright, I’ll help you,” She promises, “How long are we gonna need, honey?”

“A few hours,” You shrug, “We can carpool to base, I’ll pick up his Bronco, and we can head to the motel I’ve been at to get my stuff. We’ll need the extra space in the back of his car.”

“Okay! Okay,” Carole gushes, and you think she’s almost a little exhilarated by this spy operative, “Let’s stay for lunch, then we’ll go. We’ll say- uh, the house needs cleaning!”

‘Perfect,” You rub at your temples, “Thanks, Carole. And- and we’ll buy party decorations,” You snap your fingers, “I told him we were out here talking about a surprise, so we’ll throw a little welcome home thing tomorrow, have cake or something. That’s our alibi.”

“Got it! I’m off to the bathroom,” She heads down the hallway, “Get back in there!”

“-told you, I’m Jo!” Your dad is standing squared to Nick, eyes narrowed and shoulders tight, “It’s not fair that you get to be everyone!”

“Well if you did the voices right, I wouldn’t have to take over everything,” Nick huffs, “Tell’im Brad, that was a shitty Beth impression!”

“Both of you suck,” Bradley drawls, his eyes tracking you intently as you slip back into the room, “Baby, you okay?”

You shake off any residual nerves from your scheming with Carole, nodding as light-heartedly as you can, “Yeah! Yeah, Brad,” You take your seat beside him, grabbing his hand and squeezing it tight, “I’m okay.”

He doesn’t look like he believes you. He's always good at reading you, and everything about you right now is a lie. You smile at him, leaning in to kiss his cheek, but he doesn’t react like you want him to, he still doesn’t believe you. He studies you when you pull away, and you laugh in defeat, “I promise, I’m just exhausted from all of this. But that shouldn’t matter, I wasn’t the one whose jet crashed! As soon as we get you home I’ll be fine.”

That seems to work, clearing away the worry swirling in Bradley’s honey-colored eyes. He nods, smiling softly, “Yeah, me too.”

He takes your hand, and you’re starting to wonder how you’d ever survived without holding his. You hadn’t held hands this frequently even when you’d been together, not that Bradley knows there’s a difference. Your heart aches for the man beside you, how shaken up he must be to cling to you like a lost puppy.

While Nick and Pete argue you feel Bradley’s fingers slip from yours, and it’s such an unexpected motion that you turn to watch him. He’s looking intently at your hand, though there's an absent-minded air about him, and your stomach drops when he ghosts his rough thumb gently over your ring finger.

“Brad?” You murmur, trying to keep from choking up, “‘Love you.”

He smiles, eyes trained back on yours and full of tenderness, “Love you too, sweetheart. Where’s my mom?”

“Bathroom,” You drop your eyes down to his hands, studying his own bare ring finger. You hope you get to see it decorated one day.

“Do you want me to read to you?” You look back up at him, your nose nearly bumping his cheek. Nick has left the book on the side table near the foot of Bradley’s bed in order to gesture with both hands, and you’re sure they wouldn’t notice if you lit it on fire where it sat.

“I’d love for you to read to me,” Bradley laughs breathily, “I haven’t been hearing your voice much lately. Not like I used to.”

“I know,” You lament, hoping your voice doesn’t tremble. You know he means unobscured, private, without beeping in the background and the ever-present threat of a nurse coming in to kick you out, but you hadn’t heard Bradley’s voice in weeks, so you understand the internal yearning.

“Come here,” Bradley suggests when you fetch the book, offering up the right side of his bed. It’s small, nothing you wouldn’t attempt at home but something you don’t want to risk in the hospital.

“No, it’s okay, Brad.” You shake your head, trying to pat the blankets down around him but he doesn’t let you, reaching for your thigh.

“No, I don’t wanna hurt you!” You insist, standing when he tries dragging you into the bed with him, “It’s okay, Brad, let’s just sit. We can be closer when we’re home, but for now I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

He looks crushed. Really, truly crushed, his brown eyes holding such a vulnerable look in them that you feel like you’ve just punted a puppy across a football field.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” You repeat, swallowing thickly as tears prick at your eyes. You lean down to kiss his forehead, “I’m scared, Bradley.”

You’re scared about more than just that. You haven’t held him in weeks, nor has he held you. You’re afraid that you might never recover from this, but if he wraps his arms around you, buries his face in your hair and holds you close, you know you never will. You’ll spend the rest of your days living in regret, and your self-preservation instinct is kicking in again.

“Don’t be afraid,” Bradley murmurs, though he doesn’t need to be quiet now that Nick and your dad have stopped bickering. They’re stealing sneaky glances at the two of you, acting like their sunglasses stop them from being noticed even though their heads are turned towards you.

His words strike something within you that he didn’t mean for them to. He’s spoken unknowingly to your outstanding promise with yourself, that you won’t run away because something is scary. And your promise to Carole, as well, that you’ll make her son feel loved before he remembers that love wasn’t enough to make you stay.

“Bradley,” You breathe, book in one hand as you use the other to stroke through his hair. You’re standing at his bedside and he takes advantage of your proximity, sitting up and off of his pillows to lean his head against your stomach.

You’re glad he can’t see your face, because tears rush from your eyes in seconds. He’s a sweet man whose brain operates on love first, and thought second, so when he hooks his arms around your waist and nestles his face into your tummy, you know it’s his instinct to hold you.

At the sight of your tears the other men in the room decide to take their leave, smiling sadly at you while you comb your fingers through Bradley’s hair.

“We’ll give you some time,” Your dad whispers, but Bradley can hear just fine, “Bye, honey.”

You aren’t able to offer them a wave in response, but they know you appreciate it.

Once more the sterile hospital room is inhabited by only you and Bradley. Souls intertwined, tangled in some places and parallel in others, you hold him, stroking through his hair and praying he never picks his face up out of your stomach. There’s snot threatening to run down your lip but you don’t dare sniffle at the thought of ruining the moment, keeping your chest deathly still where it yearns to shake with sobs.

“I love you,” You whimper, dropping the book to cage his head to your belly, “I love you, Bradley, I- I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.” He speaks into your stomach, and the sound vibrates through your body, warming you with a tingly sensation like the one you’d gotten from your very first kiss with Bradley.

You’re sure he knows you’re crying now, now that your voice drips with tears and your hands shake in his scalp. He doesn't break away, though, only tugs you closer, keeping his face nestled to your body as he pulls you into a sitting position on his lap. You’re mindful of his broken ribs, but there’s nothing wrong with his thighs, so when you land on top of them, you let yourself rest there.

Bradley’s wormed his nose against your cheek, no longer snug in your stomach but flush to your face instead. He holds you like he used to, before you spooked and ran, before he fell out of the sky in a blaze of flames, before anything in your life was complicated. He holds you like he held you when you were just Y/N and Bradley, cradling your face to his chest and tucking his chin over your head.

“You’re hurting, too,” He murmurs, rocking you ever-so-slightly back and forth as you sit sideways on his lap. He keeps you tucked to his chest, smooths your hair with one hand and holds your waist with the other.

“I’m the one that went down but you’re the one who got that phone call,” He moves his hand from your hair to your back, scratching aimlessly there, “You’re allowed to be upset over that. You don’t have to pretend like nothing is wrong just because I’m in the hospital. I don’t want you to pretend to be strong if it’s only gonna make you weaker. Talk to me, honey, tell me what’s wrong.”

“I can’t!” You wail, clutching his hospital gown and praying you aren’t hurting his ribs, “Bradley, I- I can’t tell you. I can’t do that to you, not here, not now. I’m scared,” You weep, “I’m really scared, Bradley.”

“Don’t be. You’re okay,” He promises, pecking a soft kiss against the crown of your head, “Baby, you’re safe with me. You don’t have to be scared of anything. Of talking, or feeling, or hurting. That’s what I’m here for, angel, to talk with you, to feel with you, to hurt with you. That’s what love is, honey, and I love you, you know I do.”

His voice wobbles slightly on the last fragment of his sentence, and you don’t think you can handle seeing him cry. You’re terrified out of your mind, but determined just the same not to run, and it’s stuck you in this awful paralyzed state. All you can do is hold Bradley, all you can do is let him hold you, and hope that his memories never return.

“I don’t want to stress you out,” You mourn, picking your head up from his chest to press it to his face instead. You want to fuse yourself to him, so that he couldn’t cast you away if he tried.

“I’m stressed about whatever you’re not telling me,” He laughs sadly, a soft huff of air from his chest, “Baby, it makes me stressed knowing you’re shutting yourself in like this. Knowing there’s stuff going on up here that you don’t want to talk to me about.”

He taps your head, then smooths his hand down the nape of your neck to rub at your back.

“Tell me,” He begs, voice raw with despair, “Please, angel, tell me what you’re feeling.”

You owe him the truth. Concealing the truth was one thing. Sneaking around, covering up behind his back so that he didn’t notice anything peculiar was a preventative measure. But now he’s asked for your honesty, now it’ll be lying if you don’t tell him. Now you’ll be lying to him, really and truly lying to him, and you can’t bring yourself to do it. You choose honor this time, sniffling hard and bracing your hand on his chest so that you can look him in the eyes if you feel brave enough.

“Bradley,” Your words roll off of your tongue with the weight of steel, and you have to force them out of your throat to get them to go at all, “I want to be honest with you. But I’m scared-” Your face crumples, and you fight to right it, “But- but that’s not fair to you. It’s not fair for me to shut you out, You’re right, you-” You falter, the pitch of your voice wobbly as you take a deep breath, “You love me. And I know I can be honest with you.”

“You can,” Bradley promises, stroking his knuckles over your cheek. He stares into your eyes, and you stare into his only to get a last glimpse of their sweet honey-like hue.

“You should know,” You drop your eyes, unable to confess while looking into his, “I love you, Bradley. I always have, and I always will.”

“I love you, too,” He promises, “Now what’s the matter, honey?”

“It’s-”

“Mr. Bradshaw?” A nurse steps into the room, and instantly the moment is shattered. There’s no picking up the pieces, no glue in the world strong enough to repair the bravery you’d mustered up to be honest with Bradley.

He looks annoyed at her interruption, something you know he wouldn’t normally feel towards anyone doing their job, but he refrains from snapping at her.

“Yes?”

“We need to run some vital tests. Blood sugar, heart rate, breathing, the like. After they’re cleared, we’ll know if you can return home or not.”

From his hold on you, you gather that there’s nothing Bradley would rather do less in the world than let you go, and there’s nothing you’d rather do less than let him, but you peel away from him reluctantly, standing where you’d been tucked into his lap. He settles back against his pillows that you’re sure are cold now, and you tuck the blanket beneath his thigh to keep him warm.

He ducks his gaze and you see tears lining his eyes that you want to wipe away, but he grabs for your hand again, and you hope that’s enough for him.

The nurse pokes and prods at him, reads machines and scribbles their information down, and the door opens once again before she’s done conducting her tests. Carole, Nick, and Pete step back through the doors, smiling sheepishly at you. You have a sneaking suspicion that Nick and your dad had held Carole off from coming back to the room while you spoke, which you’re grateful for. You just wish you'd had a little more time.

“Alright,” The nurse claps, smiling cheerily like she hadn’t just shattered your moment, “You are in good shape, Mr. Bradshaw. Your blood sugar is a little high,” She notes with a furrowed brow, and you shoot a knowing glance at Bradley, “But everything else seems right. Your ribs should heal within a few weeks time, and once you get back home and see familiar surroundings, your memories should return. All you need to do is rest, once I get these processed and signed off by the doctor, you’ll be good to go!”

“Thank you,” Carole gushes, while Bradley just nods with a tight smile on his face, jaw tight in irritation at the four unwanted parties in the room.

“Goin’ home, big guy.” Nick grins at Bradley as the nurse makes her leave. He claps his son on the leg and this time Carole doesn’t intervene, “What’s the first thing you’re gonna do?”

“Shower,” Bradley rasps, “There’s ash in my hair.”

“Not anymore,” You showcase your hands, dust and ash clinging to the spaces between your fingers from when you’d run them through Bradley’s hair.

He laughs at the sight, “Still. The second thing on my list is sleep, and I don’t want to get anything on the sheets.”

“Good plan,” Carole beams at her son, hooking her arm around yours, “Baby, we should head out. We’ve got lots to do for this surprise of yours,” She gloats at Bradley, then turns back to you, “But you should wash your hands first, honey.”

“Okay,” You nod, eager to get out of a situation you’d been so courageous in only minutes before, “I’ll- um, get my stuff.”

You bend towards your purse, taking the bag of cookies out, “If your blood sugar rises and lands you in here for another night,” You warn, “I’m never making these again.”

“Yes ma’am,” Bradley nods, but your dad is the one to take the bag, not him.

“Don’t steal them,” You narrow your eyes at your dad and Nick, “And don’t get caught feeding him any. Understand?”

“Yes ma’am!” They echo Bradley, standing at attention. You scoff, turning back to Bradley and leaning down to meet him where he lays back on his pillows.

“I love you,” You hum, and he’s already reaching out for you before you can touch him. He sits upright, grabbing for your hands and tilting his face upwards to beg for a kiss.

“I love you, too,” He mumbles, speaking lowly against your lips as you kiss him. When you pull away he wants more, keeping your hands firmly in his grip when you try to leave.

“Bradley,” You let out a soft laugh, but you kiss him again anyways, knowing he’s still reeling from being a second away from finding out the truth, the extent of which he’s not prepared for.

“It’s okay,” You whisper against his lips, pressing your forehead to his, “We’ll talk later.”

”Yeah,” He nods, arching up into your embrace even though he knows he has to let you leave.

He calls out again before you leave, “Love you!” And you repeat it with a sad smile on your face, letting Carole take your hand while Nick and your dad sit at Bradley’s bedside. The last you see of him is his fading grin as you wave goodbye before the door shuts, and you’re in the hallway.

“Something happened in there,” She gushes, misplaced excitement shining from her eyes like a sunbeam, “I just know it! He was all lovey-dovey when you left, even moreso than usual. He really didn’t want you to go, angel.”

“I almost told him,” You mutter as Carole leads you to the elevator, nerves churning your stomach.

“What?” Her smile drops in surprise, and she stomps to a halt on the tiled floor. She presses the button, and when the elevator dings she ushers you inside.

“He asked me to be honest with him,” You recall, sick at the thought of how close you’d been to losing him, “And- and he was holding me, Carole, like he used to. And I couldn’t help it, I just- I wanted to tell him everything, I couldn’t stand lying to him and pretending nothing was wrong. But I- I don’t know if I can do that again. I don’t know if I can tell him the truth. I tried, and we got interrupted, I mean- isn’t that a sigh? Some sort of clue left by the universe to tell me to wait a little longer?”

“Baby I don’t think the universe is sendin’ you clues,” Carole looks sympathetically at you, “I think you’re lookin’ for reasons to run away again. I know I’m the one that told you to pretend, but that boy can read you like a book, and if he’s catchin’ on, maybe you ‘oughta give it up. I saw him in there, honey.” The door dings and slides open, and she takes your hand to lead you outside, “There’s nothin’ he wouldn’t forgive you for. He was clinging onto you like a leech, and I think he’d understand you were scared. Might not like it, but he’d understand.”

“He keeps saying that I’ll never lose him, or- or that he loves me, or that I can tell him what’s bothering me,” You gesture with your free hand as you walk to the parking lot, “And- and it feels so perfect! Like he knows exactly what I need to hear. Like I could tell him and nothing would change. But everything would change, and- and I don’t want that,” You suppress a sob as you reach Nick and Carole’s car, pulling open the door to the passenger’s side.

She stashes her purse by your feet, stuffing the key into the ignition, “Baby, everything’s already changed. He just doesn’t know that. But he will soon, and once he does, he’s gonna realize why you’ve been acting so weird. If you were pullin’ it off, I’d say keep going. If he wasn’t asking questions, you could keep this up, ‘cause you’d be doing him a favor. That was the whole point, baby, to let him down nice and easy, give him a bit of time to adjust to the crash before confessing about the breakup. But I should’ve known he’d realize you were lyin' to him,” She scoffs, checking her mirrors, “That boy would notice you’d changed your haircut from just your voice on the phone. He knows you too well, honey, and if he’s askin’ all the right questions and you’re giving him all the wrong answers, that’s gonna stress him out. And that’s doing the opposite of what we want. If this is just gonna make things worse, I say tell him. But-” She backs out of the spot, en route to base to fetch his car, “Not yet. Wait until you’re home. Then he’s in a familiar environment, you can kneel by the bedside and grovel if you want,” She waves a hand in the air, “Just be honest with him baby, if it’s what he’s askin’ for.”

She barely lets you mull her words over before she starts again, “I think it’s a good time. You told me that when you left, you wish you hadn’t. And you’ve spent the last two days showing that to him, even if he doesn’t know that’s what you’re doing. He knows you love him, and I think he’ll forgive you if you confess that you were just scared of losing him. ‘Cause you can’t fake love like that, honey.” She eyes you through the mirror, “You can pretend y’all never broke up, but the way you love him, that’s not pretend, and he knows that.”

“I’ll tell him tomorrow,” You sniffle, “If he doesn’t know by then. I- I know I have to, even if it’s scary.”

“Atta girl,” She gushes, nearly flooring it at a green light in her excitement, “I’m proud of you, baby.”

“Don’t be,” You grumble, ‘Not yet. Not until I do it.”

“I know you will,” She decides, “You’ve never lied to me before.”

“Actually,” You gnaw on the inside of your cheek, “I have, once.”

She narrows her eyes, gives you a sideways glance as she makes a turn, “Oh, really? And when was that?”

“Uh, when we were in high school, I told you Bradley and I were staying at my place while my dad was gone,” Your face twists into an involuntary smile at the memory, “We went to Vegas.”

“What?” She shrieks, almost stomping on the breaks, “Vegas?”

“It was just for a night! And we didn’t gamble,” You scoff, “They wouldn’t let us into any casinos.”

“Ooh, you two,” She seethes, but it’s happened so long ago that she can’t be mad, not really, “Surprised y’all didn’t get married down there.”

“Actually,” You laugh, “We tried. But you weren’t there to sign off on it, and we were only 17.”

She shares a laugh with you at the memory, pulling into the security checkpoint outside of the naval base. You have to pass your ID over her, and you explain that you’re just picking up your partner’s car. They let you in, but you don’t think they like your presence very much, so you get the car and go as quickly as you can.

“It’s the motel just off the freeway,” You gesture in the direction of the place you’ve been staying, “We’ll load up the Bronco and meet back at our place.”

“See you there, babydoll,” Carole grins, already headed for the exit.

You roll up your window just as your phone buzzes, and you put the call on speaker while your phone balances on the cupholder.

“Hello?”

“Y/N,” Bradley’s voice bleeds through the crackly speakers. Then, like an attached toddler their first night away from mom, “I miss you.”

It’s just what you need to hear after your gut-wrenching conversation with Carole, and you croon while waving to the security officers on the way out, “I miss you too, Brad. I picked up your car. Didn’t want her sitting all alone on base.”

“Thanks, babe,” You can hear the grin in his voice, “Is my mom still with you?”

“No, she’s driving herself,” You merge lanes, brain on autopilot as you head for the motel, “And don’t ask what we’re doing, it’s a surprise.”

He scoffs; you’ve caught him, “Fine. They gave me lunch. It’s the same as yesterday.”

“Poor baby,” You coo, feeling more at home in Bradley’s Bronco than you had in your half-empty house, “I’ll make you something good for breakfast tomorrow, baby. Eggs, pancakes, waffles, sausage, bacon, fruit, whatever you want to eat.”

He takes a pause, then, “I have something inappropriate to say. But your dad’s still here, so I can’t.”

You let out a bark of bewildered laughter, especially when you can hear your dad’s voice in the background as he groans.

“I get the idea,” You promise him, and you hear Bradley huff a soft laugh into the speaker. You almost want to record the call, just to keep the sound forever.

“When are you guys coming back?”

“I don’t know, Brad,” You lament, tailing Carole as she heads for the freeway exit, “Hopefully before dinner. But if not, I’ll definitely be there when you get discharged, and I can drive you home.”

“And we can shower,” Bradley adds on to your sentence, eliciting another disgruntled sound from your dad, “And sleep.”

“And we can shower and sleep,” You promise, chest feeling light at the night’s plan. You’re pulling into the motel parking lot now, the dingy sign colored more in spiderwebs than in neon.

“I’ve gotta go, Brad.” You put the car in park, grabbing your phone and switching speaker off, “I love you. I’ll see you later, okay?”

He’s hesitant to answer, and you wish you didn’t have to hang up. You know he’s still uneasy about the way that your talk ended earlier, but he finally speaks up, “Alright. Love you, too.”

“So much,” You hum, “Love you so much.”

“So much,” He agrees, more of that audible grin in his voice, “See you later, angel.”

“See ‘ya,” You hum, and it doesn’t hurt as much as you thought it would to hang up, not after that.

Carole’s standing ready at the strip of doors, and you pull the small, rusty key out of your pocket. There’s nearly ten boxes stacked in your room, and you prop the door open with one as you gather anything that isn’t packed away.

You haven’t changed clothes much since being there, nor have you been keeping up with your hygiene as well as you should be, so the clean-up process feels like a day's worth, not two week’s worth. But you’re thankful for the easy pickup as you load it into a half-empty box, hauling it out the door and to the Bronco.

Packing the boxes goes fast when you work with Carole. It had been much more of a struggle to cart two at a time from your place to the motel room, but with a little maneuvering, all nine boxes fit snugly between her car and yours.

“Alright,” You dust off your hands, picking at the edge of your nail, “You ready?”

“Actually, you go home,” She decides, “And I’ll go to the party supply store. I’ll pick up some ‘Welcome Home’ stuff, and when I get back I’ll help you with the rest of the boxes, and we can set up together.”

“Perfect,” You heave a sigh of relief, “Thanks, Carole.”

“Of course, baby!” She seems to have a never-ending supply of optimism, one that you’re thankful for because you seem to harbor the opposite.

Hauling your boxes back into the house is unexpectedly the easy part. What’s harder is putting everything back, filling in the gaps in the bookshelf with your own volumes, stuffing the dresser with the clothes you’d chosen to take with you.

When Carole gets back you’re dragging your thumb over the shirt you’d taken off of your pillow, ready to fold it and destroy the evidence of its association with your two-week disappearance. She peeks into the bedroom, expecting to find you hard at work organizing your novels, and instead sees you sitting on the bed looking like you’re going to puke.

“Baby,” She hums, “What’s the matter?”

“He put this over my pillow,” You sniffle, staring down forlornly at the object that had offered comfort to Bradley when you hadn’t, “He slept with it.”

“Oh, baby,” Carole whispers, standing behind you and rubbing your shoulders, “He loves you. Isn’t that a good thing? Don’t you think it means everything’ll turn out okay?”

“What if he doesn’t want me back?”

For the first time, you say it out loud. You’ve insinuated it, sure, thought about it, but you’ve never said it yet. Not out loud. You voice the fear that’s been bouncing around like a balloon in your head, popping it and feeling the aftershocks flow through you.

She’s quiet for a moment, not knowing what to say any more than you do. But she bends down, wraps her arms around your shoulders and hums, “He will, baby. He’s been sleepin’ with your shirt this whole time, he wouldn’t do that if he didn’t miss you.”

“But even if he misses me, I still hurt him,” You sniffle, “I- I left, is missing me enough for him to want me back in his life? What if I went too far? What if we can’t come back from this? What if I lose him forever, Carole?”

“He kept my ring.” She murmurs, her voice the calm to your storm.

“What?”

“He kept it. Even though it wasn’t on your finger, he didn’t give it back to me. And he wouldn’t dare give that to anyone else, Y/N. It’s your ring, he knows it. That’s why he kept it, ‘cause he still wanted you to have it. He loves you even if you did hurt him, baby,” She sniffles, and you feel bad that you’ve made her cry, “That’s what love is. Sometimes you hurt each other, but if it’s love you find your way back. And what you’ve got is the strongest love I’ve ever seen.”

Your silence is enough of a reply, and you’re glad because it’s all you can muster. You can’t find the words to thank her, to tell her you hope she’s right, to beg to whatever deity exists for mercy. All you can say is, “I don’t wanna take it off,” As you stroke a finger down the shirt over your pillow.

“Wear it,” She suggests, pulling at the sweatshirt you’re wearing, “Put that on underneath it, baby. He won’t notice, and you can have it on you as a reminder that he misses you. Maybe it’ll give you the courage to tell him.”

“Okay,” You sniff, a stray tear drying sticky on your cheek as you stand. She turns you around and pulls you into a real hug, and you let her squeeze you before going to the bathroom to change.

The shirt smells like Bradley now that he’s slept with it for two weeks. You’re sure you’re just immune to your own scent, and that he could still find traces of it to lull him to sleep at night, but wearing it now feels just as comforting as you bet it felt for him to sleep with it.

When you wander out of the bedroom you find Carole in the living room. She’s standing on your coffee table with her right leg, and her left is on the arm of the couch. She’s pinning a banner to the wall, ‘Welcome Home Bradley!’.

“Hey honey!” She beams at the sight of you in your shirt, you’d forgone the jacket to not overheat while moving things around.

“Do you need help?” You watch her drive a pin into the wall with her thumb, and she shakes her head as she reaches down for another one, “No, I’ve got this. You just take care of your boxes, I can handle the party.”

“Yeah, you get the fun part,” You tease, and she laughs.

“Darlin’, I wasn’t the one to take my puzzles and run. Now go put ‘em back, I’m sure they’re the first things Brad’ll notice are missing when he gets home.”

You head back into the bedroom without any complaints. It’s hard to put everything back. No, it’s nice to put everything back. What’s hard is pretending it was never gone in the first place; what’s hard is lying.

You slide a lone book into its place on the shelf, one last spot left beside a photo album. Your fingers brush over a gemstone on the cover and you tug at the hefty spine, catching the jam-packed book before it can fall.

“Wow,” You breathe, barely aware that you’re speaking out loud. The cover showcases Bradley pressed up against the hospital’s nursery glass, peering in on a very sleepy baby you snoozing in her bassinet with Carole holding him up. You’d been born shortly after Bradley, not even a year, and he’d been very excited to meet his new best friend at the hospital.

A flip to the first page finds you in your dad’s old apartment, sleeping in your crib while Bradley’s hand wraps around the bars he’d pulled himself up on. Then the next page showcases a photo of him in the crib, curled up in the space by your feet while you sleep peacefully in your own spot.

You take the photo out of its sleeve, flipping it over to read the inscription you know by heart on the back: Bradley’s attached to Y/N at the hip. Won’t sleep anywhere else.

The next photos are more of the same. Bradley holding you on the couch, a gummy grin on his face at the baby in his arms. His hands barely bigger than yours, handing you a toy fighter jet. Tummy time on a play mat, where he’s holding a rattle just out of reach to get you to crawl like he’d seen your parents do. A shot of you tugging on his wispy hair, then a shot of Nick dragging a crying Bradley into his lap while your dad holds your previously clenched fist open. They tell their own story.

You’d been fated best friends from the start, but as you age in the photos, your relationship changes. All of a sudden there’s puppy love in your gaze when you reach your tween years, braces in your mouth and hearts in your eyes. There’s a picture of Bradley teaching you how to skateboard, and you're holding his hands for dear life. You distinctly remember a fiery flush to your cheeks in that moment, and you’re glad the camera hadn’t captured it. There’s New Year’s Eve in your matching pajamas, you cradled in Bradley’s arms like they’d make you pose every year since you’d come into the world. It was cute when you were kids, then it was embarrassing when you were teenagers, and now it’s cute again. In the photo you’re looking at you can’t be more than fourteen, and you know the second the shutter clicked on the camera, you’d scrambled out of his arms like they were burning you.

You flip through more pages, watching your relationship blossom from friends into lovers. All of a sudden you’re holding hands, you’re matching outfits, and you’re kissing when you think no one is looking. Then there’s the famous picture of Bradley on his 18th birthday, glaring at the camera with a box of condoms in his hands, courtesy of his dad. Funnily enough, your dad shares Bradley’s expression in the background. The inscription on the back of that one reads: Just making sure he’s safe! Don’t want any grandkids, not while I’m still in my glory days - Goose.

That New Year’s Eve photo is special. It’s you still cradled in Bradley’s arms like always, but you’ve leaned up to kiss him, and he’s leaned down to kiss you. You distinctly remember it being the first time you’d willingly kissed on camera in front of your parents, and the giddy smiles you’d forced into makeshift puckers are clear as day in the photo.

The matching pajama sets you’ve outgrown together are all stored in a box marked ‘sentimental’, not one that you’d taken with you when you’d left. You have a current pair, red and black buffalo print bottoms with fuzzy black tops, and you plan on asking Bradley to wear them tonight.

You haven’t noticed, but a smile has grown on your face, etching itself into your features as you relive your love story. You flip through family vacations, holidays, birthdays, sports games, barbecues, a million family events that Bradley joined you at. There’s never any of you apart, even though he’d been moved around for his career, because no one has ever thought to take a picture of one of you without the other. There’s no Y/N in this book, there’s no Bradley, there’s only Y/N and Bradley, and that’s what you want to be for the rest of your life. You want to fill out the rest of this book with aging photos, clearer in quality while the old ones yellow. You want to stuff this book until the bindings rip, you want to look back through it one day in a rocking chair beside one of Bradley’s own, faces wrinkled and hair grayed. Your story can’t end here.

Your phone buzzes on the bed, and you drop the photo album there while you check your message. No surprise, it’s from Bradley.

- The doctor signed off, I can go home after dinner, which shouldn’t be too much longer. How’s it going over there?

That’s great! You type back, biting a smile off of your face as you respond. It’s residual from looking through the photos, but you have to remember, you’re not there yet. It’s going good. Your mom is scary agile.

- What’s she doing?

Can’t tell you ;)

- Damn! Thought I had you there. Your dad’s eating one of my cookies :(

Tell him I said to leave you alone!

- He says you’re not the boss of him.

Tell him your mom said to leave you alone.

- He says she’s not the boss of him.

Tell your dad to tell him to leave you alone. She’s his boss.

- My dad’s eating one too :(

Those assholes! I’ll make you more, baby ❤

- I love you best. ❤

I love you too baby ❤

The lingering fear of a breakup - a real one this time, one that doesn't rewind itself amidst burning jet fuel - is stuck in the back of your mind, and you suspect it will be until you finally confess. But the photo album and Bradley’s messages have combined to lift your spirits, and filing your shoes back into their places doesn’t weigh you down as much as you suspected it would. You try to make them look haphazard, jumbling them with Bradley’s and turning a few of them upside down. You two are notorious for having out of control shoe collections, Bradley’s sneakers and your own shoes constantly tumbling out of the closet like a cartoon.

By the time the sun starts setting early on your California dream you’re nearly done, there’s just a few last garments to slip into your closet. You do so while wrestling with the clothes that are already in there, a hefty collection that leaves little room for the dress you’re trying to wedge inside. Nevertheless, a too-full closet is better than a half-empty one.

“Sugar?” Carole calls from down the hallway, hopefully not precariously balanced on any furniture this time, “Nick says they’re just serving Brad his dinner.”

You finally manage to set the clothes right on their hangers, panting slightly as you withdraw from the closet, “Okay! I’m almost done. We have a lot of clothes.”

She laughs, “Yes you do! You should eat somethin’ before we leave.”

“There’s no food here,” You sigh, “The fridge is empty. I’ll have to go shopping later. I’ll just stop for fast food on the way.”

“Party’s all set up,” Carole nods, jerking her head back towards the hallway, “If you keep the lights off in the living room tonight, he won’t see it until tomorrow.”

“Okay. Are you coming over to celebrate?”

“Yeah, I was thinkin’ for breakfast,” Carole nods, “We can bring food?”

You laugh huffily, “I wasn’t kidding about there being nothing in the fridge. Anything’s appreciated, thanks, Carole.”

“Anytime, baby,” She beams, but reconsiders with a slightly furrowed brow, “Although, I hope this is the only time.”

“Me too,” You scoff, “Alright, let’s head back.”

True to your word, you pull through a fast-food drive-thru on the way back to the hospital. Carole knows Nick’s order, and you know your dad’s, hopeful that they’ll be tired of hospital cuisine and yearning for a burger instead.

However, when you get there, they’re waiting in the lobby, Bradley sat between them. You hadn’t realized how early they were letting him out, and Carole takes the bag of food from you so that you can properly hug Bradley. He stands the moment he sees you, eyes pooling with such urgency as he tries to respect the no-running rule of the hospital. You struggle just the same, and the moment you’re within arms reach of each other, tears start flowing. Bradley yanks you into his chest, almost tipping you forwards and himself backwards with the momentum of his hug. His chin nestles straight over your shoulder, as does yours to his, and it’s the kind of hug you get from him after a long deployment, maybe even more desperate now. His breathing is ragged beside your ear, but not from his medical conditions, from the desperation clogging his lungs. His fist is tight in the back of your sweatshirt but the fabric is loose on you, and it’s not a tight enough hold for him. His fingers scrabble for the shirt beneath the hoodie, gripping onto both garments and keeping you closer than you ever thought you could be with Bradley. Your hands immediately encircle his shoulders, and your fingers find purchase against the baby hairs at the back of his neck. You scratch through the ones at his nape, hearing him sniffle sharply where his chin rests on your shoulder. The hand that isn’t fisted in your clothes is tight to your hip, gripping you so hard that you can feel his nails through the jeans you’re wearing. It’s not painful, it’s just firm, and its strength is reassuring. It’s grounding to hug Bradley again, unobscured by breathing tubes, hospital beds, or prying nurses.

You hear someone’s phone camera sound off, but you’re far from discouraging it. In fact, you’re going to ask whoever it was to send you the photo later. The hug turns into an embrace, one where you sway lightly from side to side, anything that isn’t you or Bradley fading into the background. Your eyes are screwed shut but tears still cascade down your cheeks, melancholy waterfalls that drip off of the curve of your chin and stain Bradley’s t-shirt. He’s dressed in what he’d been wearing beneath his flight suit, the material thankfully not ripped or burnt thanks to the coveralls. You take the lead, pulling back, but he keeps the same level of contact with you. When your chin slips from his shoulder he grabs your face instead, using it to keep you pressed tight to his body. His eyes are teary themselves, streaks of the shimmery stuff down his cheeks and probably in his mustache, too.

“Hi,” You croak, smiling giddily through your tears.

He smiles, though the chubbing of his cheeks nudges a few more tears out of his eyes, “Hi.”

You smear them away with the palm of your hand, and use your thumb to rid him of the ones clinging to his undereyes. His hands are on your cheeks, too, and he tries mirroring your ministrations, but his thumbs are too shaky to do so. For fear of poking your eyes out, he clamps his hands over your cheeks again, content with holding you while your tears run over the hills and valleys of his fingers.

“You’re standing,” You marvel, ‘I thought you’d be in a wheelchair.”

“It hurts a little bit,” Bradley admits with a slight grimace, and you back away like you’ve been struck. He doesn’t let you get far at all, dropping your face to tug you back by your waist, “-but I’d rather break another rib than let you go.”

“Sap,” You accuse, and Bradley laughs.

His lips twist into a sheepish smile, “Maybe. You can be my tree. I’m stuck on you.”

You sniffle, brow furrowing, “Huh? ‘Cause of the sap thing?”

“Yeah,” He laughs, “Isn’t that what it means? Sticky and sweet like tree sap?”

“I don’t know,” You breathe bashfully, your voice rife with part confusion and part sheepishness, “I guess that makes sense. But I’ve never been called a tree before.”

“I’ll work on my flirting,” He promises, stroking his thumbs up and down your sides in soft, soothing motions, “Can we go home now?”

You nod, “You should hug your mom first.” Only then does Bradley remember that you’re not the only other person in the room, turning in your grip to see your mini crowd of adoring onlookers.

He chuckles, “Sorry. Hi, mom.”

“Hi baby,” She gushes, letting him squeeze her in a hug. He’s much more gentle with her, out of longing for you, not disrespect.

Nick reaches over to ruffle his hair and your dad nudges you sideways, “Happy to have him back?”

“Yeah,” You gush, a breathless whisper, “Nervous, though,” You admit, “What if he slips in the shower, or something? Or- or some freak accident happens and he doesn’t wake up?”

“He will,” Your dad slings an arm around your shoulders, squeezing you close by your shoulders, “He’ll be alright, kid. And hopefully by tomorrow he’ll remember everything, maybe look at some pictures tonight to jog his memory. Show him stuff you took of these past few weeks, the places you went or the food you ate.”

You don’t have any pictures of your pitiful motel room, nor the candy bars you’d raided the minifridge for, but you wouldn’t show them to Bradley if you did.

You nod, breaking away when Bradley searches for you after his hug with Carole, “Thanks, dad.”

“You gonna be okay getting settled tonight, Brad?” Nick asks, already bringing a french fry to his mouth from the bag in his hand. Your dad has your food as well as his own, and you take your bag back from him as Bradley nods.

“Yeah, we’ll be fine. Thanks, guys.”

Everyone says their hasty goodbyes, and your hug with Carole lasts a second longer than you hope anyone notices.

“Tell him.” She whispers against your ear, the words a feather light breath, “He loves you.”

“I’ll feed you in the car,” Bradley grabs the bag of food from your hand when you nudge him towards the exit, “Can I have fries?”

“You’ve been on a diet of chicken and potatoes for two days,” You take the hand that he offers you, curling your fingers around his, “You can have the whole burger if you want, Brad.”

Bradley stops short in front of the bronco when he sees it, “There she is!”

“She’s here,” You laugh, “Perfect condition. The air freshener’s still good.”

“Poor baby,” He heads for the passenger’s seat, swiping a hand over the hood of the car on his way, “She probably thought we forgot about her.”

He settles comfortably in the passenger’s seat, though you’re sure it feels awkward to be there in his own car. He throws his head back against the seat and sighs, long and loud, a noise he would have made fun of his dad for making mere years ago.

“Comfy?” You glance sideways at him, your food in his lap while he rests against the seat. He nods, reaching for the bag as you start up the engine.

“Here baby,” He calls, popping two fries in front of your mouth just before you turn out of the parking lot, “Fries.”

You carefully bite them out of his hand, tipping your head back to get them fully into your mouth. You mumble ‘thanks’ through them, and you’re not sure if he can make out what you’re saying, but you hope it’s obvious.

“I can’t wait to get in bed,” He groans, “I know it’s only been a few days, but I can’t remember being there for three weeks.”

“It’s cold without you,” You hum forlornly, checking your blind spot before merging, your hands stiff on the wheel. Your words leave more of an aftertaste on your tongue than the fries do, and it’s an unpleasant one. They mean more than you let on, and your brain is clouded thick with the worry of sleeping in a cold bed for the rest of your life.

There’s a moment of silence that Bradley lets follow your words, then he promises, “I’ll be there tonight. And every night after that.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Burger?”

He laughs, leaning in his seat when you turn, “Burger.”

He holds the food up to your mouth, letting you take a bite that smears sauce over your mouth. He takes a napkin, cleaning up after you and dabbing all of the mess away. You’re absolutely certain that if you weren’t on the road, he would have kissed it off. You make a mental note to eat just as messily when you get home, for experimental purposes.

“Can I have a bite?” He asks tentatively, and you turn at a red light to smile and nod.

“‘Course, Brad. I meant it, if you want it you can have the whole thing.”

“I don’t want you to go hungry,” He hums, taking a chunk to the left of your bite mark, “Thanks, babe. Fuck, that's good.”

“Did they finish your cookies?” You exit the freeway, muscle memory guiding you home.

Bradley speaks through a mouthful of burger, unpleasant to hear but somehow endearingly domestic, like he’s not worried about looking handsome for you. “Yeah. I got one more, but they mowed through the rest.”

“Those bitches,” You hiss, and he laughs, “Okay, we’ll bake tomorrow. But I’m keeping the vanilla away from you.”

He scoffs, “Always with the vanilla. I drank it one time!”

“One time is enough for a lifetime ban!” You insist, turning onto your street, “Okay, you shower and I’ll eat, then we can get into bed.”

“Sounds good,” He drawls, stuffing your food back into its bag and swapping it to you for the keys, “I’ll be quick in the shower.”

“No rush,” You croon, holding the hand that he offers you as you take on the front walkway together, “Don’t hurt yourself because you’re too eager to get into bed. It’ll be there even if you take your time.”

You’re bound for the kitchen and Bradley the bedroom, but you remember you have to keep the lights off so that he doesn’t see your decorations. You send him off with a kiss at the hallway, intent on watching him leave before setting up at the table.

“Goodbye,” You hum, standing with your lips puckered in the doorway of the hall, “If you need help, just yell for me.”

“Will do,” He nods, puckering his own lips and pressing them to yours with a cartoonish smack! You watch his ginger walk towards the bedroom, his hips off balance as his ribs ache in his chest.

Once you’re in the clear you flick the kitchen light on, choosing to stand at the counter instead of dirty the table. You busy yourself with your phone, tapping on an impatient text from Carole: ‘Have you told him yet?’

Not yet. You write back, munching on a french fry, Not in the car. He didn’t ask, either.

- Don’t lose your nerve, you can almost hear the critical tone of her voice just by reading her message, The longer you lie, the more he’ll worry about you.

I know. I’ll tell him.

- ❤️

“Babe?” You hear Bradley call over the stream of the shower, “Babe!”

You abandon the last few fries in the container, stuffing your phone into your pocket to rush to his aide. Horror flashes through your mind, visions of Bradley bleeding down the drain or hunched over in pain.

All you see when you burst into the bathroom is him looking like a puppy in the rain, a pitiful pout on his face as water runs down his face and through his mustache.

“I can’t wash my hair,” He laments, “It hurts.”

You can’t help but coo, “Oh, baby. Lemme help you.”

“Thanks,” He mumbles, “I already have the shampoo.”

True to his word, there’s shampoo smeared over his hands. Apparently he’d tried his best, but couldn’t move well enough with his broken ribs. You try not to laugh at his misfortune, especially because he’s in pain, but he’s just too cute to ignore. You try to muscle down the thought that this might be the last time you ever shower with Bradley, even if you’re not really in the water with him. You wet your hands, then wipe the shampoo off of his palms, reaching for his scalp.

“I’m sorry I’m making you stand in front of me naked and we’re not having sex,” Bradley huffs, “Believe me, if I thought I could, I’d be jumping you right about now.”

“It’s okay,” You chuckle, muffling the sound into Bradley’s forehead that you kiss chastely, “We should hold off on sex, at least until your ribs are healed.

Or until you know the truth.

“They don’t hurt too bad now,” Bradley muses, “But when I raised my arms to shampoo, it was really bad.”

“I’ll reach for things for you,” You promise, scrubbing shampoo into his scalp. It knocks loose leftover ash from his accident, and it flows down the drain in a swirl of gray bubbles.

“Oh, fuck,” For not having sex, Bradley’s making some awfully pornographic sounds, “That feels good.”

“I’ll bet,” you hum, “Can’t imagine having ash in my hair for that long.”

“It’s not pleasant. Oh god, babe,” He groans, “Hurry up and rinse it out, I’m gonna fall asleep standing up.”

“Okay! Okay,” You laugh, scrubbing in one last circle at the nape of his neck then reaching for the showerhead, “Have you washed your body already?”

“Yeah,” He murmurs, letting the water flow through his hair and rinse the shampoo out, “Oh my god, this is what heaven feels like.”

“Come on,” You smile, reaching for a towel, “Do you need help drying off?”

“You just wanna feel up my thighs,” Bradley accuses, and you laugh good-naturedly.

“Nope. Ass.” You admit, “But if you can do it yourself, then go ahead.”

“No!” He catches you as you stuff the towel to his chest, pulling you back towards the shower, “Uh, I need help. I think you should wipe down my very toned chest and my tight butt.”

“Oh, really? That’s what you’re having trouble with?” You snicker, and Bradley nods proudly.

“Yep. Can’t get my hands over my shredded back either, such a shame.”

“Alright, you flirt,” You scoff, “Turn around.”

You start on his back, and of course, it’s very fit. It’s nothing you haven’t touched before, in fact, you’re surprised there’s no scars there from your fingernails, but this is more intimate, more romantic, more sweet. This is love, not lust. You scrub the towel over his skin, wiping the water droplets away and rubbing into his tight muscles. You take extra care to dry off the small of his back, smoothing the towel down over his ass, too. Despite his earlier cheekiness, he doesn’t make any comments while you’re working. You wrap the towel around his thighs, pressing a kiss to his hip as you bend down to dry his calves off. He stands still to let you get his ankles dry, and you tap his foot to turn him around.

Now he’s looking down at you as you towel off his calves again, getting any splotches of water you may have missed before. You dry out the soft tuft of hair at his groin and move to his chest before you can tempt yourself, not wanting your first sexual encounter after a life-threatening plane crash to be a blowjob up against the shower wall. Especially not before you tell him the truth.

Now that you’re on your feet you’re face-to-face, though yours is bent slightly to track any water droplets you might have missed on his shoulders. You towel off his underarms carefully, making sure not to aggravate his muscles that are already bleeding pain through his gut. You swipe the towel over his neck, and in doing so, you’ve set your hand just below his chin. It’s as natural as breathing to slide it up his jaw, and he’s already staring at you, breath shaky as you return his gaze.

He moves first, but you take his cue right away. He leans in to kiss you and you’re happy to press your mouth to his own, not caring that there’s a drop of water leftover between his fingers that transfers to your skin when he cups your face.

“Baby,” He whimpers, desperate and longing, “I- I missed you.”

There’s tears beading at the corners of his eyes, and you manage a sad smile when you wipe them away, “Why, silly? I was only gone for a few hours.”

“I know. I just- I’m real shaken up,” He admits, “I- I don’t even remember the crash and that’s the scary part. I almost died and I’ve got no clue what happened. I feel lost, like- like I’m still stalling or something, just waiting to crash.”

“I’m so sorry,” You croon through your own tears, “Brad, that must be so scary, I- I can’t even imagine.”

“I just need you,” He breathes, clutching at your shoulders like they’ll recover his plane, “Just don’t leave, please.”

“Sweetheart,” You coo, equally endeared and saddened by his sudden panic, “We're not at the hospital anymore, there's no visiting hours. Why would I leave? We're home, we’re gonna get changed, and then we’re gonna go to sleep. You’re safe now, okay?”

“Okay,” He nods, voice a mere whisper, “Okay, let’s sleep.”

“Clothes first,” You remind him through a cheeky grin, and the expression scrunches your tear-stained cheeks, cracking the stiffened substance, “We’re sleeping.”

“Alright, alright,” He laughs as you poke at his bare chest, “Will you help me? I managed to bend over and slide my t-shirt off but I don’t think putting something on will be as easy.”

“Mhm. I was hoping,” You reach for the sets of matching pajamas, holding them up enticingly, “You’d match with me?”

He laughs, the sound thick and genuine in his bruised chest, “Of course. I won’t look as good as you, though.”

“Yeah, my mustache is better,” You sigh, scratching a nail over your upper lip that’s morphing into a grin. You whirl on him with his shirt, helping ease his arms into the fabric and stretching the neck hole over his head so that he doesn’t have to bend down. All in all, it works, even if the neckline is a little stretched. He doesn’t need help with his pants, but you feel compelled to do it anyways, sliding his boxers and then the soft material up his legs and tying it tight at the waistband.

“Thanks, honey.” He murmurs, bending at the waist and sitting on his side of the bed, “Fuck, that’s nice.”

“Lay down,” You push against his chest, helping him recline against his pillows, “I’ll be right back, B.”

You change quickly, too eager to crawl into bed beside Bradley to care that you’ve left one bite of burger and a few lone fries on the counter. Ants be damned, you’ll clean up tomorrow. When you emerge from the closet you wriggle happily beneath the covers next to Bradley, flicking the light by the doorway off so that all that’s left is your bedside lamp.

When you settle on your pillow he’s already looking at you, and the tip of his nose bumps your own. You melt into a girlish giggle, something that a teenager would produce after a particularly bad pickup line and a single red rose.

“Hi,” You gush, overjoyed to have him so close again. You kiss his nose in your fervent enthusiasm, and he smiles sleepily against his pillow.

“Hi,” He hums, reaching for your waist and pulling you close, “C’mere.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” You stiffen, but he molds your body to his anyways, “Brad, be careful.”

“I will be! I said it before, you can’t break me. Just let me hold you.”

You croon a sad sound as he wraps you in his arms, a sound of longing, of adoration, of grief. He clocks it as sweetness, though, and holds you close. Your face is buried in his chest and you feel his lips move against your scalp when he speaks.

“Y/N,” He starts, and your heart rate spikes at just your name, “About earlier-”

“Tomorrow.” You blurt, anguish rising in your chest, “Brad, can we- can we talk tomorrow? I’m not trying to hide from you,” You promise, but you’re nestled into his chest and muffling your voice, “I trust you with the way that I'm feeling, I just- I just want to sleep. I want to breathe for a minute. And we can talk tomorrow, is that okay?”

He takes a moment to deliberate, really, truly thinking about it. While he does so, your hands tighten in his shirt, desperately clinging to him. But eventually he nods, disjointedly so into the crown of your head, “Okay.” His hands tighten around your waist as he speaks, and you melt into his embrace, scooting impossibly closer. “Okay, honey, we’ll talk tomorrow. Let’s just sleep.”

Settling into his embrace has never been so easy. Since the moment you'd been in them for the first time only hours old in the hospital, you’d known his arms were made for holding you. They’ve been yours for as long as you can remember, even longer than that according to the photo album you’d skimmed through earlier. Bradley had been the third person to hold you, second only to your parents. Sure, he couldn’t remember it either, and Nick and Carole were probably doing most of the work keeping you balanced in his little lap, but the point is, he was made for holding you, and you were made for being held by him. Your face tucks so naturally under the curve of his chin and your lips press even easier to his throat, kissing at his voice that you love so much. It comes out to thank you for the adoration in a gentle hum, one that thrums against your lips.

His hands revel in their access to the extent of your back, brushing and roving and stroking over every inch of the space he’s granted. It’s ticklish but you don’t dare squirm, letting his fingers send miniscule bolts of electricity through your skin.

“I love you,” He reminds you as he holds you close, the sleepiness fogging his brain clear as day in his voice, “I really, really do.”

“I love you too, Bradley.” You promise, kissing up his chin to his lips. The pecks you plant there are short, sweet, and chaste, but when you’re done laying them over his face you decide that you want to fall asleep facing him, not hidden away in his chest. Sure, it’s warm and safe there, but you can’t drift off to his sweet face if you can’t see it.

Your solution is to plop your head back onto your pillow, throwing a leg over his waist to keep yourself close. His eyes are droopy, and hold all of the tender sweetness of the puppies he so often resembles. He’s clearly exhausted, and your own eyes slip shut at the sight of his struggling to stay open.

“Night, Brad.” You yawn, settling against your pillow with the tip of your nose brushing his own, “Welcome home.”

“Night, baby. Love you,” He gushes, as if you hadn’t just exchanged the words seconds prior. But it feels good, it feels right, so you say it back.

“Love you, too.” You use the last of your energy to reciprocate, sleep taking hold of you in its comforting embrace. You slip away like sand into unconsciousness, all of your thoughts about love, and life, and Bradley, and none of the horrific possibility of his memories returning. Nothing’s going to ruin this moment for you, not now.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

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romanoffsbish · 16 days

Text

I’m Fine 🙂 / Save Me 🙃

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader (Familial / Sisters)

Warnings: Angst w/Bittersweet Ending | Reader Dies | Black Widow / Red Room Canon | Addiction | “Cry for Help”

All she had left was the memory of you. | WC: 1,512

"Do you ever feel like you're all alone in this world?"

Natasha looked up from her laptop quick. "What?"

"Like, no matter how hard you try, no one will ever love or regard you in the same way you do them?"

——

Natasha tried to approach you gently, "Y/N." Yet she wasn't quick enough as you jumped back. "Shut up."

There was a fire in your eyes she hardly recognized, and she took a step back. Looking in your eyes hurt, because you were not the same little girl who used to pick flowers from the garden just for her hair and part of her took blame for that. "Don't try and pretend like you do." If you were a wine you'd be the most bitter. "I don't know why you even keep me around Natasha."

The redhead scoffed bitterly, "because I love you!" It stung to feel the burden in her words—you're hurting yourself just to spite her, but she hurt you first and with the way your mind was racing this made sense.

"Or is it because you feel guilty?" You countered, and hit it on the head as she whispered, "Y/N, please..."

Crushing her the same way she did you the day she left you behind, in a place built to destroy a dreamer like you, in the hands of a man set out to punish you for the mistakes of the woman you loved the most. Ouch.

"Do you think the world would miss me if I vanished?"

"Of cou—." You mindlessly cut her off, words tinged with vitriol, "Of course not. You're the one they'd hold the candlelight vigils for, you'll be on a mural and I'd be the one the stray cats would miss, because just like them I know what it's like to truly have no place."

"Have you been smoking pot?" It reeked the longer she stood closer to you. Then you all but confirmed it as you grew defensive. "Is that all you can ask Natasha?"

Natasha clicked her tongue. "Answer the question."

"Yes," you monotoned, "what does that change?"

"Everything." You grew rather frustrated, "but how?"

“You’re not making any sense,” she tried to reason but you laughed incredulously, “this is the first time in my entire life that I am making complete sense, Natalia.”

"I don't like it when you're like this, sestra."

"I'm always like this." Natasha sighed, "yeah..."

"Yeah?" Natasha nodded shamefully and you couldn't stop the sob from breaking. She hated you.

"Then I won't be anything to you, anymore."

Natasha shot up in a cold sweat, her wife beater tank top sticking to her skin, the words of your last fight still ringing in her head; a cry for help and she was useless.

"Fuck," she hiccuped, her knees pulled to her chest as she sobbed alongside the sky just outside the window. She dug the heels of her palms into her eyes and tried to force the pity she felt for herself away, the grief...

There were so many things she could have said; done.

I don't understand, but I want to; talk to me...

Had she ran after you, would it be different now?

Could've grabbed you by the arm. Don't go. Stay.

I love you more than you could ever know.

Instead she scoffed, 'at least I can finish my paperwork now,' and let you storm out the door without noticing the keys to her brand new jet black Porsche were gone.

Yelena still won't return her calls. Melina and Alexei are beside themselves in a grief harsher than her own. Though she internally wagers that her loss was the greatest, because you were her little widow first...

~-~-~———————-~-~———————-~-~-~

"Natty?" the blue haired girl looked at you with a wide grin, the innocence of the nickname you gave her was endearing and in the same breath, twisted. It was clear to her you didn't remember much of the before. You were four years her junior, so similar to Yelena, this life was honestly all you'd known. "Da, malen'kiy pauk?"

Natasha laughed just as soon as you giggled. It brought her joy to know, that for a while, you could be free of the harsh shackles that awaited you all back home.

"A little girl at school today told me about how in her family, when a person goes away, that they can become something else when they visit." Natasha nearly lost the joy on her face as you curiously approached death. In her mind the hope you held onto was futile, that when you shoot someone between the eyes, they are as good as gone, but she could never destroy you like that.

Instead, she gave life to your wonder, "What would you want to be then, a kitty?" You shook your head and blurted your answer easily, "malen'kiy pauk." The gaps in your teeth only made your smile more endearing, and the redhead opened her arms to you. You launched yourself into your sister's arms and gripped her tight.

"Then I could visit you," you mumbled against her shirt and the natural redhead tensed. The idea of you no longer existing felt unpleasant—her walls crumbled the moment you and Yelena entered her life but this was the first time she'd felt anything excruciating.

"Moya malen'kiy pauk," she chuckled softly so as to not cry instead, she placed a kiss to your cheek then hoped your childlike attention span would change the tune.

Then a familiar jingle sounded and you were scrambling into the house, shrieking for your mom.

Natasha shook her head and walked to the old man who knowingly parked out front of your house. He handed the redhead three ice creams, and a disk.

—————

You stood next to Natasha in the line for lunch, which was just a tasteless tray variety of essential nutrients. It was rule of thumb not to talk in line, but you were never one to follow the rules, and neither was Natasha.

"Are you scared of death?" Natasha frowned. "What?"

"I think a healthy fear for the end is fair, but I'm not losing sleep over the concept. Why do you ask?"

"Because I'm honestly not," you shrugged, stance indifferent but Natasha unfortunately believed you as you went on to say, "just wondering if I'm alone."

"Never with us," Yelena chimed in. "Death is an inevitability, just a matter of the when and how."

It wasn't hard to see to the fear in the blonde's eyes as she kept up her indifferent demeanor. Deep down, Natasha knew she was still that little girl from Ohio, who up until recently called fireflies, forest stars.

—

"I can't believe it," your tone clipped, the warmth you used to greet her with was gone. "I'll be back," she lied without realizing, but you could see it clearly. "Izhets."

(Liar)

"Y/N, I am going to end it once and for all," she hoped you could see the bigger picture, a promised freedom.

"Tozhe tupoy," you chuckled humorlessly. "There is no end, just more opportunities to build up defense."

(Dumb too)

Natasha fell for the American's words of ignorance.

"I love you," she said with certainty before she was one with the shadows, the last piece of your hope gone as it'd been years since you last caught sight of Lena.

~-~-~———————-~-~———————-~-~-~

A loud cry outside the purposely cracked window pulled her from her bittersweet thoughts of you...

Natasha stood beneath the tarp of your balcony, eyes downcast on a gorgeous white cat, paws soiled by the mud she trudged through with her three kittens. The redhead set a plate of food down for her then settled down beside her, towel in hand as she dried her babies.

The light of the moon cast over the kittens, reflecting off their varied fur patterns. A black one meowed, calling to her first among the litter, he hissed softly at the unfamiliar lift but settled fast as she began to dry his fur, pulling off grime and putting him to sleep.

The same occurred with the next boy cat, who was a gorgeous shade of gray, with faint swirls of orange.

Lastly, the smallest of the three, a gorgeous blend of white, brown and orange. She was the most vocal.

A grateful purr came from the mama cat when the redhead moved on to her paws, her eyes fluttered open at the unexpected contact, and when Natasha lifted her own gaze she gasped. With the light now on her face the color of her eyes was clear, a tear streamed down Nat's face without warning. The color and deep feeling of understanding behind them were just so, you.

"Oh my," a subdued laugh left her as she caught sight of something else, she scooped the feline into her lap, and placed a finger on her wet, pink nose in waiting. The blur of black transferred right on over and the woman smiled truly for the first time in eight months. "Dobro pozhalovat' domoy, moy malen'kiy pauk."

(Welcome home, my little spider)

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff blurb #natasha romanoff oneshot #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x female reader #natasha romanoff x y/n #gxg #natasha x reader #natasha x y/n

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radioisntdead · 2 months

Note

Good morning, as you have requests open can I get some Velvette x g/n! reader angst (perhaps ending with comfort) romance?

One night they overhear her talking negatively about them (not an overlord, lack of confidence, whatever) so they leave behind a note saying they were right to feel like she didn't actually love them and they've left, not saying where.

Good evening my dear! We are ending the cannibal streak with Velvette! WOO, It's late and I'm woozy, this became a song fic I'm sorry.

Velvette x reader,

Warnings!

Light angst, Valentino,

The song used: Moral of the story

You and Velvette met at a New Years party back in the 2000's, the air was heavy, you had a red solo cup with heavens knew what was in it, maybe Vodka and something? You didn't know, people were kissing, yelling, and whatever else.

So I never really knew you

When Velvette approached you, you felt like the luckiest person in the world, like nothing else in the room exist, she was only person there in your eyes,

When she talked about how boring the party was you found yourself agreeing with every word she said, her voice soothing to you.

God, I really tried to, Blindsided, addicted

The two of you died in a car accident, music was blasting from the radio, you were looking outside the window, and Velvette was texting and driving,

It was quick, she ran a red light and BAM, a truck hit the two of you causing the car to roll, glass shattered and the one thing you remember is reaching out to Velvette before everything went dark.

Felt we could really do this

You once told Velvette that you'd follow her to hell and back,

Guess that was true because guess where you ended up?

But really I was foolish

Things didn't change much as she rose to the top, becoming an overlord, teaming up with some guys named Vox and Valentino, Vox was decent enough but Valentino gave you the chills, he never did anything but still.

Velvette made sure to shield you from his business, you weren't allowed on his floor.

Hindsight, it's obvious

Velvette was never scared to demand things, to order things around, to get her hands somewhat dirty if needed, if she wanted it she got it

You weren't like that, you didn't like having blood on your hands, While Velvette treated service staff like they were an inconvenience you treated them with respect, like they were people.

Velvette didn't like that part of you, she liked it when it was towards her or maybe the other Vee's but no one else.

Talking with the cannibal She said, "Where'd you find this girl?"

You weren't having a good day, you and Velvette got into a argument over her spending too much time on her phone, you said that she loved that stupid thing more then you, she didn't deny it, just said that you were acting fucking crazy and left.

I said, "Young people fall in love, with the wrong people sometimes"

You had several things to do, some employees couldn't do their job properly and you didn't want to lash out of them, all you wanted to do was just relax with your fiancee, you got some flowers and an Emoji plush to give her as an apology.

Some mistakes get made

As you stood outside the door that lead to the Vee's living room you could hear muffled talking, a voice you could recognize was Velvette's.

That's alright, that's okay

You cracked the door open and peaked in, She was talking to Valentino.

You can think that you're in love

"Then They say that I love my phone then them! Like maybe if you weren't such a fuckin' loser that can't even order a coffee without almost crying I'd pay more attention to you!"

When you're really just in pain

You clutched the flowers, crushing the stems as you took a step back.

Some mistakes get made

"They aren't an overlord, the only they have any of this is because of me!" She said throwing herself onto the couch and went back to her phone, that damned phone.

That's alright, that's okay

Quietly and quickly you made your way to the room you shared with Velvette, you did your best not to slam the door indicating that you were back, you threw the flowers and plush into a trashcan before taking out a few suitcases.

No tears were shed, just anger, betrayal and disappointment flooded you.

In the end, it's better for me

You packed the clothes that were your favorites, you couldn't take everything since for one, Velvette gave you the majority, and two, she gave you a bunch of clothes.

Once You had everything packed you wrote a note giving a brief explanation, that you had heard what she said, and that since you were SUCH a loser, she should date a overlord instead.

That's the moral of the story, babe

You left the Vee's tower, without a single soul noticing, now standing on a random street corner you took a deep breath, you had enough money, from your OWN means, to get a hotel to stay at for maybe a week? Just until you could get an apartment or something.

It's funny how a memory

Velvette didn't notice you were gone until late the next day, she thought you were being petty avoiding her because of a little fight and she had decided to let you take the bedroom, sleeping in her office instead.

She supposed she should apologize because she loved you and she was tired of this.

Turns into a bad dream

She stepped into your shared room, not noticing anything missing, until a colorful object caught her eye from the trashcan, leaning down it was an emoji plush, cringey but it was soft, it was covering a bouquet of flowers, her favorites infact.

When running wild turns volatile

Her face twisted into confusion as she looked around, spotting the note you left on the bed.

She hadn't meant for you to hear her.

Remember how we painted our room, Just like the other Vee's did?

You were gone. She fucked up.

So romantic, but we fought the whole time

It was just a small fight right? The two of you would kiss and make up like usual, maybe watch a movie after, but you had left, you left her!

Should have seen the signs

She couldn't find you, anywhere.

Vox only got footage of you leaving the tower and nothing else, he spied on the ENTIRE ring and he couldn't find YOU?

Talking with the cannibal, She said, "Where'd you find this girl?"

You had stumbled upon the Hazbin hotel, you were welcomed by Charlie with open arms, she was ecstatic, you were the first sinner to join them after the extermination.

Said, "Some people fall in love with the wrong people sometimes"

Being away from Velvette was so...

Some mistakes get made

Freeing, it was as if you were spreading your wings for the first time in years, which you were! You'd been with Velvette for over a decade, not counting your life beforehand.

That's alright, that's okay

You loved Velvette, you truly did, but she didn't love you like you did her, she didn't act like it,

She thought you were on the weaker side.

You can think that you're in love

You had no interest in rising up the ranks, working instead on becoming a better person, with every exercise with the hotel residents you got more and more confident, changing your appearance along the way.

When you're really just in pain

After you more sinners came to the hotel, a few ready for redemption.

Some mistakes get made

You met someone, she had the most beautiful pink eyes that reminded you of pink lemonade, she was different then Velvette, you couldn't help but compare the two, Velvette was so... Cruel and she was so Soft, kind, she just killed a guy but that wasn't a deal breaker in your book.

That's alright, that's okay

It took time but the two of you grew close, you'd have lunch together, eventually that moved to sleepovers, movie nights, sweet words exchanged between the two of you.

You were apprehensive about entering a new relationship after Velvette, but it just felt right.

In the end it's better for me

Charlie was excited when you went to her for date ideas to take your newest sweetheart, she was so proud of you, you had come so far!

That's the moral of the story, babe

They say it's better to have loved and lost

Velvette searched for you, you due to plot armour and your changed appearance had managed to completely avoid Vox's cameras or Velvette's hunting you down, she regretted saying what she did, she wouldn't have said it if she knew you were listening!

Than never to have loved at all

You had decided to step out of the hotel with your dearest sweetheart, deciding to go out for a simple date, watch a movie and maybe shop around and grab a bite to eat

That could be a load of shit

Velvette had decided to go check out her competition's stores, going shopping at the same stores you did.

But I just need to tell you all

You didn't see her, and she almost didn't recognize you but she did.

Some mistakes get made

Her blood ran cold, or colder as she watched you dote on the lady next to you, arm wrapped around hers, holding her bags for her.

You had done that for her once upon a time.

That's alright, that's okay

She wanted to say something, like where have you been, I'm sorry, who the fuck is this, come home! Or something but she couldn't, she could only watch as you laughed at something she said, you used to laugh like that with her,

You SHOULD be laughing like that with her.

You can think that you're in love

Velvette's hand clenched into a fist, her fingers digging into her palm making indents.

When you're really just engaged

You should be with her, not whoever that wench was! The engagement ring she had accepted from you ages ago was still on her finger.

Where was yours?

Some mistakes get made

She watched as you walked away with her.

That's alright, that's okay

She finally moved, following in pursuit.

In the end it's better for me

You and your sweetheart were having a wonderful time, shopping around and the two of you were finally getting something to eat, you went to the cutest little café, and you walked back to the hotel holding hands.

That's the moral of this story

Some mistakes get made

Velvette knew where you were now.

That's alright, that's okay

You were so happy, Velvette hasn't crossed your mind in ages.

You can think that you're in love

She didn't know how to get you, she didn't want you to hate her.

When you're really just in pain

You squealed as you landed on your bed kicking your legs back and forth like a lovesick fool.

Some mistakes get made

You had to come back to her willingly, once you were done with this little fling, she would leave you heartbroken and Velvette would welcome you back with open arms, hugs and kisses.

That's alright, that's okay

You sighed happily, a dumb love filled grin on your face.

In the end it's better for me

You had come SO far from how you were before, you were proud of yourself, you had a healthy relationship with your lovely girlfriend, you had amazing friends, and you were on the road to redemption with them! You couldn't ask for more.

That's the moral of the story, babe

You will never go back to Velvette, you loved her once yes, you truly did, but that was in the past, and you deserved better, and you got better.

Good evening folks! Thank you for tuning in! It's late for me and I wrote this in one sitting, I'm gonna go knock out now, have a wonderful night folks!

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #Velvette x reader #hazbin velvette #hazbin velvette x reader #hazbin hotel velvette

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kopilot-pop · 9 months

Text

[Tired] pt.1

- Le Sserafim x 6thMember!Reader

Summary: After a harsh criticism from one of your teachers, you started to fall into a bad habit again. You started staying overnight at the company, your knees are always bruised, and you probably shouldn’t have 3 cans of Redbull everyday… Thankfully, your bandmates have easily recognized your behaviors and decided to put it to an end.

Warnings: overworking, self-hate, etc.

a/n: I think I’m a bit too obsessed with hurtfics lmao. I mostly wrote this as just a platonic relationship fyi.

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

Nauseous.

That’s how you feel right now.

Sitting in front of you is the dance teacher, with her legs crossed and tapping her clipboard. This wasn't the first time, actually, this is the third time you were put in this situation this week.

You’re the main dancer of the group, so the teacher always put extra pressure on you compared to the other girls, but today she seemed extra fed-up with you.

Thus, here you were, dragged out to an old practice room in the middle of a session with your whole group.

“That’s it?” She sighed.

“That’s all you can do? Really? Did you even notice all the mistakes you’ve made? Listen, Y/n-”

There’s not much you can do. You’re well aware of the steps you missed and you’re also well aware of how talented the woman sitting in front of you is, too. That doesn’t change the fact that every word that comes out of her mouth feels like a stab wound.

“I don’t care how talented you think you are-“

‘I don’t think I’m talented.’

“Did you even practice at all? This is a special stage L/n Y/n-"

‘You watched me practice every day.’

“Are you trying to be an embarrassment on live tv?”

‘I’m trying my best not to.’

“Main dancer my ass, a trainee could do better than you-”

‘You just came back from yelling at them…’

“Are you not even embarrassed to stand next to your group? I mean, if I’m being honest here Kazuha-”

‘Ah, there it is.’

If there was anything this teacher was know for, it’s the constant comparing and belittling between teammates. You thought you might have gotten used to it by now, but that hit your throat.

You don’t have anything against your teammates - goddamit, you’d risk your life in a second for any of them. But, whenever she decided to use the girls to bring you down, it hurt just a little more than usual.

After several minutes of the teacher’s lecture, you were finally let go.

When you entered the practice room the girls were starting to pack up. You checked the clock and realised that it's almost midnight. Eunchae is curled up against the wall, wearing your jacket, while Sakura is trying her best to wake her up. Your leader noticed you immediately and walked up to you in worry.

"Hey Y/n, everything okay?"

"...Yeah. It's nothing."

Her deep frown made you sick to the stomach. You don't want her to worry- you don't want any of the members to worry. This is something you can deal with yourself, right? If you get better everything will be perfect. Just perfect.

"I was thinking of staying a bit more. Y'know, the teacher had me held up for quite while." You let out a tired chuckle.

Chaewon didn't like the idea at all and you could tell.

"I... fine. Just make sure you to keep contact, okay?"

"Of course."

"Huh- is Y/n not coming with us??" Yunjin with her tired body dragged herself towards the two of you. She gives you a tired hug and leaves for the car.

"Don't take too long Y/n." Sakura gives you a worried smile after helping Kazuha carry a sleepy Eunchae on her back.

"Yeah, I promise."

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

You're an amazing liar.

That's what Chaewon realized while staring at the sun slowly coming up from the skyline.

As the leader, she stayed up late waiting for you to come home. A worried Yunjin insisted on waiting with her, but unfortunately she fell asleep after a bit on the couch.

Chaewon called you 50 times and messaged you a 100 times, but you haven't responded to a single one of them. She was pissed off at first, but that anger slowly dissolved into worry- all sorts of concerns popping up in her head.

'What if you passed out? What if you got hurt while practicing? You sprained your ankle in the past, what if the same thing happened again? Oh, what if your trainee habits are happening again? What if-'

Her train of thoughts stopped when she heard the door lock beep. She practically sped to the front door.

You sent her a nervous look, frozen while trying to take of your shoes.

"..."

"Hey unnie.."

"Do you know what time it is?"

Chaewon folded her arms and glared you down. She started her usual lecture. How worried she was, how disappointed, and how absolutely furious she is because of you ignoring all her efforts to contact you. She was absolutely furious.

"Didn't Kkura unnie tell you to not take long? Didn't I tell you to answer my calls?? It's 7 in the morning Y/n! You're telling me you were in the practice room for, what- 6 hours?! Do you realize how dangerous-!"

"YES! Yes, I know! And I'm sorry. Just... please... can we talk about this later?"

Chaewon looked at the bags under your eyes and let out a sigh.

"..Fine... Go get some rest.... This isn't over."

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

A/N: I know this isn't the best place to cut, but like... I'm extremely tired. So sorry. I'll come back with a second part soon. Love y'all <3

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talesofesther · 2 years

Text

dead channels

Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie finds dead channels on a walkie-talkie to vent about his feelings and everything he goes through. One day, you happen to stumble upon his frequency.

A/N: I can't remember where I saw a prompt like this, but I knew that I had to write something about it. I think it's important to say that I know very little about how walkie-talkies work. And yes I went way overboard with this story but I truly loved how it turned out; it's a big one, the biggest one shot I've ever written, but I promise, it's worth it.

Word count: 11k

Masterlist

February 7, 1985

You were annoyed, and Dustin would hear about it for giving you a walkie-talkie without telling you what channel you were supposed to be using.

You paced in your living room, switching the frequencies, finding dead channel after dead channel. For ten minutes the only noise coming from the device in your hands was static.

Until you turned the switch one more time, and the static stopped. You clenched your fist in victory, sitting down on your couch and about to voice your frustrations to your younger friend.

"… I hadn't seen him in four years, man."

To your surprise though, someone on the other end of the connection spoke first.

A deep frown etched itself into your face when you heard the muffled voice. It wasn't one you could recognize, clearly not Dustin's. The words were laced with a distant sizzle, maybe because the person talking was too far from your location or the walkie they were using was too beat up. The tone was quiet too as if spoken without the intention of anyone hearing it.

Against your better judgment and with the help of innocent curiosity, you didn't switch channels.

"I don't know what I was expecting. Shit, I shouldn't have been expecting anything. Uncle Wayne was furious when he walked in on us and saw my bloody nose, he chased him off, yelling for him to never come back, not even caring what he needed the money for. I- I wanted to say something too but… Damnit.."

You heard what you assumed was a sniff before the stranger kept on talking.

"Dad did always make it clear that I was his biggest mistake, guess I just wasn't expecting him to come back and throw it at my face after all these years. Again."

The words were a private confession you weren't supposed to hear. There was no answer for the muffled voice. This person was using what he thought was a long-forgotten channel as some sort of diary, maybe. At least that was your first assumption.

You ran a thumb over the grey plastic of the walkie-talkie on your hands, finger hovering above the switch. Your knee bumping up and down. Should you say something? Should you change frequencies and forget this ever happened?

You changed channels, but not before memorizing the frequency.

February 19, 1985

Almost two weeks went by before you heard the lonely voice on the dead channel again. You told yourself it wasn't creepy to set your walkie-talkie to the channel when you weren't using it.

You stood in front of your kitchen counter, cutting up potatoes for your dinner. The chicken was already heating up and you sneaked tiny pieces of it to your dog when your mom wasn't looking.

The walkie rested on the dining table, you liked to keep it close these days. One never knows when the upside-down might decide to pay a visit.

"So uh, Hellfire has a new member."

You nearly cut your own finger when the static buzzed and, right after, the stranger's voice was invading your house. You turned around, carefully, as if the person knew you were listening in.

"His name's Gareth, seems like a cool guy. Honestly, I'm just happy that we now have enough people for a full campaign, I- I have all of it planned out and I think it's gonna be great, the storyline is thrilling…"

Subconsciously, you found yourself smiling. The kitchen was empty, save for your dog wagging his tail, and you were smiling as if someone had just told you the good news you were waiting for.

You didn't know this person, this was the second time you were hearing his voice, yet the almost childlike excitement that laced his tone today filled your chest with similar joy. A stark contrast to the last time you heard him.

Was it too weird to feel like you were starting to know him?

February 20, 1985

It didn't take long for you to hear from him again, not even a full day had gone by.

You had just gotten home. Throwing your car keys on top of your bed and removing your coat. On the horizon and past houses and trees, the sun was starting to lower itself, you looked at the orange rays through your window, stretching your arms.

You were rummaging through your wardrobe in search of pajamas when you heard it.

"I fucking… this school, man… Jaso-… ruined my da-"

The voice was laced with static and fading in and out of connection, the sound muffled by your backpack. You were in the process of removing your shirt as you raced towards your bag, almost tripping over your discarded sneakers.

Pulling open the zipper, you snatched the walkie and adjusted the antenna.

"… been working on that campaign for weeks man, weeks, and that douchebag just… He- he…"

You sat down on the floor of your bedroom, in nothing but your jeans and a bra; the tone of his voice slicing through your heart and making it bleed. Your eyes were unfocused as you loosely held the device, waiting for the lonely voice.

"Ripped it to pieces and threw it in the mud as if it was nothing. It's not fair. Shit, it's not fair, and I- I wanted to fight back y'know? But…"

You heard a sigh, heavy and tired.

"Yeah I froze, it's not like three against one would be much of a fight anyway."

The static came and the voice was gone. You stayed there, the wooden floor starting to become cold under your knees. Your eyebrows pulled slowly into a frown. Does this person study at Hawkins High? It's not like Hawkins had many options regarding school but still, it left you all the more frustrated that you couldn't pinpoint who it was.

Granted, your only normal year in high school was the first, and you didn't remember much about it. After that, Will went missing, and… Your mind had been a bit numb to the normal days ever since, you wouldn't be surprised if this person was a classmate of yours.

Abril 29, 1985

After a couple of months, you genuinely felt as if you knew this person.

It was odd if you so much as stopped to think about it. He opened his heart to what he thought was an abandoned channel, yet you were always there, listening; but never talking back. You knew his voice by memory, yet he didn't even know there was someone on the other end.

Sometimes — most of the time — there was a pang of nagging guilt at the back of your mind. But you'd usually think to yourself; what if, someday, something happens and he needs someone?

Well, you'd most likely be there, and if anything, the thought made you feel a little better about your curiosity.

The lonely boy on the walkie-talkie became your secret. A secret, for the sole reason, that he also became your comfort. These days your house was mostly always empty. You slept with the device resting on your bedside table. If you closed your eyes forcefully enough, you could almost feel as if he was there with you. He became a constant presence in your day, even when he didn't speak, you knew he was there. Knowing there was someone else out there made you feel less alone.

Sometimes, when the sizzled voice coming from the device was too shaky, laced with tears and sorrow; the guilt made itself more present, you wished you had the courage to speak up. To tell him that you were there too, that you could be there for him if he wanted you to, the same way he involuntarily was there for you.

After a long Thursday, you were sleeping, the rain outside had lulled you to an easy slumber tonight. However, when your bedside clock hit 2:08 AM, a distant voice started pulling you away from dreamland.

The sound was distant to your ears at first, waiting for your body to fully wake up. You opened your drowsy eyes with a frown, looking around your bedroom that was still engulfed in darkness, with only the street lamps making the raindrops on your window shine.

And then you heard the familiar voice again, quiet, molding itself into the night.

Maybe it was a bit foolish of you to leave the walkie on during the night, but these days, you couldn't help yourself.

"… and Wayne found a picture of my mom. He says I have her eyes."

He continued, apparently. You pushed yourself up with your elbows, the covers pooling at your waist. You wondered how much of his monologue you had missed.

"I don't…"

The tears staining his voice were pretty noticeable tonight.

"I don't remember her that well anymore, I wish we'd had more time… Shit."

And that was all. Static, and then he was gone again. It was fast, part of you wishing you hadn't slept at all.

July 4, 1985

You took a deep breath in, bracing yourself for the pain. With one hand grabbing onto the bathroom sink, you draped the antiseptic-covered cloth against the wound in your abdomen.

The paramedics at the mall did a good enough job, but some cuts still needed a bit more attention.

It had been one hell of a week and you barely had time to breathe between being trapped in a Russian elevator, finding a Russian base, being drugged and tortured by said Russians, and for the cherry on top, fighting a human flesh-based giant monster.

You were heavily considering a vacation from Hawkins.

Biting into your lip, you carefully closed the bandage over the wound. The white sink of your bathroom was covered in blood, as were the tip of your fingers and parts of your clothes. Tonight, you thanked the heavens for your mother's busy schedule, providing you with an empty house and plenty of time to clean up the mess.

Steve, the ever-sweet boy, offered to stay with you and help with… whatever you might need. You said you were fine, which, was a lie, but he had enough pain of his own to take care of.

You discarded your shirt to the bathroom floor, looking at your exposed skin in the mirror with a grimace. Long sleeves and sunglasses would be your go-to for a while if you wanted to avoid questions. You were popping open the buttons of your jeans when the crackle and static of the walkie-talkie made you jump. The warm voice of the stranger buzzed through right after.

"Starcourt just burst into flames."

You placed a hand over your racing heart, tightly shutting your eyes before reaching out for the walkie that rested against the tub.

"Yeah it's- it's crazy, the new town mall just burned to a crisp, at least that's what the news is saying. But I don't know man, I was making a deal near there when I heard the ambulances, there were so many of them; I mean, they said a lot of people died, so…"

You sat down on the edge of the tub, holding the walkie tightly between your hands as you listened intently.

"But still, I walked up to see what was happening and the place was filled with cops, army even, and well, ambulances. I had never seen something like that. And the weird thing is that there were some people from school there, Harrington for one, I also saw some kids from middle school and… Y/N was there…"

A chill ran up and down your spine when you heard him say your name. This person, the one you've been listening to in what was supposed to be a dead channel, the one who chased away the cold feeling of loneliness; knew you. Your lips hung open in shock, he said your name with such ease. He saw you there, he recognized you from a distance and under the blinking lights of the ambulances. Your chest constricted around your heart, squeezing tightly up towards your throat. You wanted to know him too.

You felt guilty for not being able to pinpoint who he was. Okay, the sound of a voice through a walkie-talkie is not the best or clearest. Still, if he knew you so easily, he definitely went to the same school as you, had the same classes, walked the same hallways.

Raising a hand, you rubbed your eyes and clawed at your hair. Urging yourself to think of someone, anyone.

"She- I saw her, she was sitting by herself in the back of an ambulance and I think she was crying. I'm not sure but, she looked so beat up, and- and hurt and I was walking, I mean, I was going to walk up to her to see if she was okay but a cop didn't let me. Maybe for the best, would just end up scaring her more I guess. To be honest, I don't know why I'm talking about it, I just felt like… Nevermind."

Scare you?

Your unfocused eyes stared ahead for long seconds. The cold from the tiles seeping through your body because of your bare feet.

One person came to your mind.

You hugged yourself, arm closing around your abdomen, feeling the cold, bruised skin underneath.

You thought of soft and unruly brown curls, tattoos, metal band t-shirts, and leather jackets.

You had never talked with him, shared maybe one class, literature; he rarely said anything then too. You passed by each other in the hallways, and you once caught him watching you in the cafeteria, he had been so flustered when it happened that you found it adorable. You then started shooting him small smiles here and there, and he reciprocated with big ones of his own.

Robin told you about him once. The School's Freak, she said people called him.

______

There was no way for you to be completely sure it was him, it's not like you could walk up to him one day and ask about it.

But you did start paying more attention to him, Eddie. It was hard when you only had him in the same class as yours one time, and other than that, only bumping into each other in the hallways didn't leave much room to observe.

You could walk up to him and talk, he seemed sweet. You didn't have all that courage yet though.

So you kept on listening, and your eyes kept on searching for him in the crowds. A few months went by like that, and you grew attached to someone you had never talked to.

December 6, 1985

Cold wind was raging outside and you were glad to have a working heater in your house. No amount of it felt enough though, as you sat on the carpet in front of the lit fireplace.

Your dog lay beside you, as you annoyed yourself by trying to set up the Christmas tree; it was a bit too big for the flower pot you had at home.

Slowly letting go of the branches, you said a quiet "yes" when the tree didn't topple over.

You started with putting on the blinking lights, turning them on to bathe the room in a multitude of colors. And as you rummaged through the trinkets, your ears caught in with the familiar static;

"So, I felt like setting up a Christmas tree this year. It's in the kitchen and it's not big, but it's there. I- I even bought some lights and there were some ornaments tucked away in a box that I found…"

The walkie was resting on top of your couch and you found yourself yet again smiling alone because of the pure happiness that came from your unusual companion.

"Christmas was never a very… happy holiday for me but, maybe this year will be better."

"I hope it is." You caught yourself answering back quietly, for no one to hear.

January 3, 1986

Winters could be pretty harsh on Hawkins. The break was over and it just so happened to be pouring rain on the first day back to school.

The skies were grey, heavy drops of water hitting the pavement as you turned the wheel into the parking lot. Of course, it was packed with cars, no one wanted to walk when it was raining.

You groaned as you pulled up in one of the farthest spots from school. Closing the zipper of your jacket, you grabbed your backpack and a small yellow umbrella you always had in your car.

The little thing didn't do all that much in keeping the rain from reaching you, with help from the wind, the only part of your body you managed to keep dry was your head. With one hand holding the umbrella and the other a strap of your bag, you took quick steps towards the school; walking forward with purpose when actually you should be paying attention to the puddles and many leaves the wind knocked down last night.

Water splashed around your boots, but before you could even get annoyed at that, your foot was slipping on brown leaves; the motion sent you falling back and you could only think of your backpack being submerged in the puddle.

It never happened though. You closed your eyes bracing for the impact, and instead felt two arms around your waist, your back hitting someone's chest instead.

"Woah hey, careful. That would've been a disaster."

You clutched your sorry excuse of an umbrella, slowly standing up and removing yourself from the embrace that caught you. His voice reverberated through your body in the form of a shiver, making your heart pump blood faster. The tight grip you had on the umbrella was mimicked from the one in your lungs. You couldn't breathe, because you knew that voice.

Turning around, you met the chocolate brown eyes you had been secretly wanting to see this up close for months now.

Eddie looked down at you with the ghost of a smile, he wore a black hoodie to protect himself from the rain; still, some droplets of water clung to his hair and eyelashes, shining.

And your silence must have sent him the wrong message because he stuffed his hands in the hoodie's pocket and took a few steps away from you.

He cleared his throat, eyes moving to look at something over your shoulder. "Yeah, sorry. I just didn't want you to fall, didn't mean to overstep or anything."

You internally kicked yourself multiple times for being a weirdo. "No, you didn't overstep, at all. uh- thank you." You breathed, managing a reassuring smile. "Really, you saved me from a massive embarrassment and from being cold all day."

You quickly maneuvered your umbrella to cover both of you, moving to stand beside Eddie. "Come on, let's get out of this rain."

Eddie's cheeks flushed pink at the unusual kindness. He walked side by side with you, bodies close under the yellow umbrella. Butterflies fluttered inside his stomach because he finally talked to the girl who held his heart's affection.

Once inside the school, Eddie headed to his art class whilst you walked to your science one. He waved a shy goodbye at you and that was it.

Even if you tried, you couldn't possibly concentrate on what the teacher was saying or the notes you were supposed to be taking. Eddie Munson was the lonely stranger who had been keeping you company over the last year. Seeing the clear picture now, you were frustrated for not putting two and two together sooner.

You were fidgeting with the pencil on your hands, biting your tongue until you almost tasted blood because now the person who spoke over the static of the walkie was suddenly so real, so tangible. And if anything, knowing it was Eddie only made your heart swell harder for him.

January 23, 1986

Friday nights were your nights, the time you always gave yourself to simply relax. You'd pick up a movie at Family Video, taking the opportunity to hang out with Robin and Steve at their new place of work for a while; then get home and change into your most comfortable pajamas, make some popcorn, and lunge on the couch. Just as you are now.

You lazily stroked your dog's fur, who was passed out beside you. The lights were off and the only thing illuminating your face where the images on the TV.

Last time you checked it was around 8 PM, but after a long week, your eyes slowly started to drop with tiredness. That is until the walkie-talkie inside your backpack started buzzing with the familiar static, and you were suddenly more awake than ever.

You scrambled to grab it, quickly raising the antenna before throwing yourself onto the couch again. You lowered the volume of the TV, waiting.

You heard a pained grunt first and then;

"Jesus man, they got me good today. Ugh shit- I feel like a truck ran me over or something."

Concern etched itself into your face instantly, you grabbed your blanket closer to yourself, praying for some kind of elaboration from Eddie.

Eddie. It still felt so foreign to have a name for the lonely voice now.

"I should- I should be used to it by now but… I just want it to stop. Whatever man, I'll just strap a band-aid to it and sleep it off."

"No, no, no. Don't do that." You mumbled to yourself. You ran a hand through your hair, stomach twisting in anxiousness. Running over every possible scenario in your head, even with most of them Eddie hating you in the end, you decided that you wouldn't leave him alone today.

You took a deep breath, bracing yourself for what you were about to do, crossing your fingers for it to not be a mistake.

You pushed the button on the walkie. "You should clean the cut first."

Silence, there was silence for a long time. His voice was smaller when he spoke again, hesitant.

"I- I'm sorry I thought this was a dead channel… No one ever answered, I'm- I didn't mean to.."

"It's okay," you closed your eyes, interrupting him. "It was a dead channel, I think; I just stumbled upon it a while ago — not long, promise — and I heard you, and, I don't know it felt like you could use some company I guess. But then, I- I never really said anything."

You bit your lip, nerves making you tap your knee incessantly. "I sort of just, hung around in case you… I wasn't listening like a creep or something just- I'll switch channels in a minute okay? I just need to know, are you hurt?"

You let go of the button and groaned audibly, facepalming because of your own words.

"A little, yeah."

His quiet voice was a relief, part of you expected him to leave you hanging. You leaned back on your couch. "Okay, uh listen, if it's a cut, you need to clean it up, if you don't have antiseptics just use water. And if it's just a small one, it's best to leave it open, so it can heal on its own."

"You have a lot of experience with this stuff?"

You smiled. "Yeah, you could say that."

Eddie was surprisingly chill about your whole predicament. You walked him through patching himself up. From what he told you it wasn't that bad, just a few punches here and there that would leave him sore for a few days. It still made you feel sick to your stomach though.

Talking with him was easy, the way his voice addressed you made you smile. About an hour had passed when you deemed he was taken care of.

"Hey, I'm sorry for never telling you there was someone else on this channel. It was a shitty move, I just never managed the courage to speak up I guess." You told him before ending the call. "But I promise I'll never switch to it again."

You held the walkie between both your hands, the movie on your TV had long since been over.

"It's okay. Anyone could've found this random frequency, I'm glad it was you. I uh- usually change them, from time to time. But this one was always silent, so I figured I'd stay."

Picking at a loose strand from your blanket, you pressed the button again. "I'm sorry." You mumbled again. "It was never my intention to intrude. Just so you know, I wasn't always listening, to you, I mean… Sometimes it happened but, like I said I thought that maybe one day you might need someone to talk to or something."

Eddie must have heard the worry in your tone because his next words calmed you;

"You don't need to apologize, it's okay. To be honest I don't know why I started doing… this. I guess I just wanted to pretend like someone cared to listen to my whining. It feels- it feels nice to hear a voice answering back for a change. You don't need to leave."

And so you stayed.

______

The routine that you both created was different, to say the least. You didn't realize how much you were dreading having to leave his channel on the walkie until he said you could stay and you felt the weight being lifted from your shoulders.

Now, you were actually talking to each other. You felt like a thirteen-year-old with her first crush each time you heard Eddie's shy voice calling out for you over the walkie-talkie. He was always hesitant, always a bit too quiet in the beginning. But he seemed to enjoy the company just as much as you did.

You saw him at school every day, sharing nothing more than a few 'good mornings' here and there. Maybe he knew it was you who he talked to on the supposedly dead channel. Maybe he suspected it could be you, just like you did in the beginning. Either way, he never asked.

And you didn't either. It was a silent mutual understanding that names didn't need to be exchanged. You knew he felt more comfortable this way, after all, he was sharing his heart out with what he thought was no one before you spoke up.

You let Eddie set the pace, this was his safe space. When he felt ready to talk in person or ask about you, you'd be there.

February 4, 1986

"Come on guys it's no fun if you just stay sitting there," Max complained, before dropping her skate to the ground and making her way to the ramps.

You and Steve sat on a blanket under a big willow tree, one of the few shadows surrounding the skate park. The day was sunny and the place was filled with teens.

"Alright, I think I'll go then." Steve got up, stretching his limbs and picking up the rollerblades. "You coming?" He turned to you.

"Yeah, I'll be there in a minute." You smiled at him. He shot you a smile back before making his way to the cement slopes in the park.

You closed your eyes, breathing in the fresh air of the trees around you.

"Hey, um, you- you there?"

Hearing the sizzled voice coming from the walkie near your backpack, you stretched an arm to grab it; pulling the antenna up and pressing the button. "Hi, yeah, I'm here."

"Cool, is this like, a good time, am I interrupting something?"

You smiled with Eddie's voice, your eyes following Steve's wobbly movements on his rollerblades. You laughed when Max had to rush to him so he wouldn't fall.

"No, it's perfect," You told Eddie.

That was the day you held your first normal conversation with him. He had called just for that, to talk; and your heart just about melted. You told him where you were, told him how a friend of yours was kinda bad at skating and the younger one was a pro. And Eddie told you about going to lunch with his uncle, how the man sometimes was the dad he never had.

March 12, 1986

"And then he just ran over the living room, dragging mud everywhere. God, I was so mad." You giggled, laying down on your bed and holding the walkie over the pillow next to yours.

A soft static came and Eddie's voice followed. You heard his laugh first, making your smile widen.

"I can imagine the mess. But it's so cool that you have a dog, man. I've always wanted a cat, or a dog too."

You turned around, eyes fixed on the pillow beside you, a tiny part of you hoped to see Eddie staring back at you. Outside your window, you caught a glimpse of the evening sun, orange and pink rays announcing its departure for the day. "Yeah, he's good company. Makes me laugh even if I get mad first."

Silence followed after. You closed your eyes, conjuring up an image of Eddie raking his mind over what to say next. It was cheesy. You didn't care.

"You know, I- I've been learning a new song, I play guitar, and I've been learning this new song. It's pretty sick, it's not perfect yet but… Do you- do you wanna hear it?"

You pushed yourself up on your elbows, breathing out a chuckle. Your heartbeat was drumming against your ribcage, happy that he was slowly becoming comfortable enough to share more things with you. "I would love to."

"Okay, here goes…"

You could hear the smile on his words, and as he started strumming the cords on his guitar, you decided that you loved hearing him play.

March 22, 1986

You'd never wanted this to be the way for you to see him again.

After calling a bunch of people and searching up every Rick in town just to find Eddie, then finally getting a hold of him in a secluded house at Lover's Lake and sort of filling him in about what was potentially happening; your friends were now deciding how to continue.

"Are we just gonna leave him here?"

"I mean it's not like we can walk around town with him."

"Then we can, I don't know, stop at a market by morning and bring him some food."

Dustin, Steve, and Robin talked amongst themselves, their faces illuminated by flashlights and the moonlight seeping through the shack's windows. You were leaning against the iron wall in the far corner, gaze trained on the swaying boat but not really focused.

To put it lightly, things went to shit. The upside-down was showing its claws again, but your main concern is that Eddie was being accused of murder.

Slowly, your gaze found him, and the mere sight tore your heart into two. He was slumped down in the opposite corner of the small shack, hugging his knees to his chest and shaking violently; his cheeks had tear tracks on them, no doubt his mind was reliving what he went through.

You wanted to go to him. Hug him close and tell him everything would be okay. But things weren't so simple. Until now, you still hadn't spoken to him in person again. You didn't know where boundaries started or ended.

"Okay, it's settled then." Steve decided. "Hey man, we're gonna bring you something to eat by morning yeah? Until then just… Try and get some rest." He addressed Eddie, who could only look at him.

One by one, your friends exited the fishing shack, walking out into the night, your gaze switched between the door and Eddie's small figure against the wall. You took slow steps to the door but stopped by the threshold.

"Steve," you called for your friend, hand resting on the doorway, "I think I'm gonna stay too, it's not good for him to be alone."

Steve walked back to you with a frown, his sneakers crushing the leaves underneath. "Are you sure?"

You nodded, reaching out a hand to squeeze his. "Yeah it's alright, I don't want him alone."

The look in your eyes didn't leave much room to argue. Steve left with a reassuring smile and the promise of food by morning.

As the car sped off in the distance, you closed the door behind you and turned to Eddie. He hadn't moved, his eyes were clouded with dread.

You took careful steps towards him, wincing at how the old wooden floor screeched beneath your feet. You moved to sit down in front of him, leaning your back on some wooden crates.

"You didn't have to stay." Eddie forced out, with a quiet tone that broke in the middle. His gentle brown eyes were glistening under the fading moonlight.

Gulping down a lump in your throat, you managed a smile. "I wanted to."

Eddie's gaze drifted from yours, the curl on his lips was bittersweet. "It's you, isn't it? Who- who I've been talking to."

You could hear your own heartbeat. "Yeah." You breathed out.

Eddie bounced once in his seat, leaning forward with a real smile. "I knew it!"

His excitement made you chuckle. You thought about how this would happen, you never imagined it this way though. Yet somehow, sitting with him in an old fishing shack in the dead of night while hiding from authorities, felt weirdly right.

"I'm sorry I didn't say anything before, I just didn't want to…" You trailed off.

"Mess it up?" Eddie finished for you and you nodded.

He picked at a loose thread on the rip of his jeans. "Yeah, me neither. I mean, I had a feeling, that it was you, I thought your voice was familiar but… I never had the balls to ask."

Eddie looked up at you then, pupils blown as he took you in. You, the person who became his safe space. The one who could take his breath away with just a simple 'hello'.

Since the first time you shot him a dazzling smile at school his heart had been entranced with you. People rarely spared him the time of day, yet you graced him with a genuine smile every day. And Eddie wholeheartedly meant it the day he said he was glad it was you who found his channel on the walkie.

Back then he didn't know how much he was hurting, aching for someone that would care about him, about listening to him. And that day, when your voice came through the once dead channel, his lungs took a deep breath of fresh air after weeks, months of drowning in murky waters, alone.

Eddie counted the minutes to your conversations each day, it was the best part of his day, the one he looked forward to the most. Talking with you was easy, he became addicted fast, and fell even faster.

You decided that it wouldn't be a problem for you both to sleep inside Rick's house, it's not like anyone would come looking, and sleeping on hard wood or inside a boat was less than ideal.

The house was a mess inside, looking like it had been abandoned for some time. Dust covered the surfaces, most things being out of place and haphazardly thrown around. You searched around for rooms with Eddie close behind you.

There were two bedrooms, you stood in the hallway between both doors. "I can take this one and you take the other?" You pointed to one of the rooms.

Eddie nodded hesitantly, he was fidgeting with his rings, uneasy. You could tell something was bothering him, and you had a feeling about what it was. "Or, we could just take the same room."

"Yeah," Eddie let out a relieved sigh instantly, "please." He was dreading the feeling of being alone. Even if you were in the other room, it was too far.

You both removed shoes and unnecessary layers of clothing, laying down on the bed with a reasonable distance between you. The bed smelled… old, like it hasn't been used in some time, but it looked clean.

Eddie was as stiff as a rock beside you, even not touching him you could feel it. You turned to him, adjusting the covers over you. "Try to relax Eddie, you need to rest."

He breathed out, lower lip wobbling with the motion before he turned to you as well. Eddie clutched the covers closer to his chest, a cheap attempt at seeking some kind of comfort. "You know I didn't do it, right?" He tentatively raised his gaze to yours after he spoke, barely being able to make out your face in the darkness of the room.

You frowned, for a split second wondering what he was talking about until the worry in his voice caught up to you. "Of course I do. Eddie, I- I know you, and I know you would never hurt anyone. It's just not who you are. You're good." In a bold move, you reached out and took his hand in yours, squeezing and running your thumb over his knuckles.

Eddie felt his whole body filling with goosebumps at your touch, air getting stuck on his throat as he savored the feeling. He scooted closer to you, only a little, and didn't let go of your hand through the whole night.

March 24, 1986

After Max figured out she was most likely next on Vecna's list, you had to leave Eddie's side to help your friends.

Steve's car was waiting on the side of the road for you to get in, a breeze was flowing through the grey sky, rustling green and brown leaves.

You put on your jacket and prepared to leave Eddie's hiding place, walking to the front door of the neglected house, with Eddie right behind you. You turned to him before you walked outside. "Are you sure you'll be alright on your own?"

Eddie stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking around the house. "Yeah, I don't think anyone will come looking here. Plus, your friends need you."

"You're my friend too." You told him quietly, tilting your head as your eyes remained on him.

Gentle brown eyes found yours, Eddie pursed his lips before taking half a step towards you. He was about to reach out for you but hesitated, clearing his throat awkwardly before lifting a hand to the back of his neck and extending the other for you to shake.

His attempt at pretending he wasn't about to give you a hug made you giggle. You closed the gap between you with a smile, pulling Eddie to you and holding on tightly.

His arms went instantly around your waist and he lowered his head against your shoulder. "Be safe, yeah?"

After being separated from Eddie; Nancy, Robin and you took a trip to Pennhurst, managing to speak with Victor Creel just in time to save Max's life.

March 25, 1986

Between saving Max and finding Victor's abandoned house, only now do you and your friends have time to check up on Eddie.

Your knee was bouncing incessantly the whole car ride there, your stomach was twisting with a weird bad feeling like something wasn't right. And sure enough, when you finally arrived at Rick's old house, it was surrounded by cops, nosy civilians, and the town's reporters. Yellow tapes blocked the access to the area and you just about felt your heart dropping to your ass at the sight; surely going a few shades paler at the thought of anyone finding Eddie.

Luckily, he seemed to have gotten away. Your fists balled in anger when you heard the chief of police making Eddie's name public as the prime suspect of the damned murders.

"Dustin? Can you hear me? Y/N?"

You had never been so relieved to hear Eddie's voice through the familiar crackle and static of the walkie-talkie. Before Dustin could even think of answering, you were already snatching the walkie from his backpack and taking a few steps away from the crowd to answer.

"Eddie? Thank god, you almost gave me a heart attack, are you okay?"

From the other end of the frequency, crouching under a massive rock in the middle of the woods, Eddie dropped his forehead against the walkie held between his shaky hands; a single tear escaping his eye.

"Not really, sweetheart. But shit, it's so good to hear your voice through this thing again, you have no idea."

You smiled, tension leaving your body in waves for the very same reason. "Where are you? I'll come find you."

"Skull rock, you know it?"

"I know where it is," Steve told you, all of you already making a beeline for the car.

The woods you were walking through to find Skull rock were dense, everywhere you looked sort of seemed to be the same place and you could only pray that Steve and Dustin knew where they were headed.

All you could think about was finding Eddie, making sure he was okay, and then never leaving his side again. Leaves and branches crushed beneath your sneakers, Robin and Nancy spoke softly behind you, their voices mixing with the birds singing around the forest. Despite the situation, you found yourself smiling because of the unlikely bond you had formed with the long-haired boy.

Steve squeezed his way past dense bushes with a huge grin, revealing the giant rock. "There she is Henderson, Skull rock. In your face man." He said happily, apparently winning whatever discussion he'd been having with Dustin.

"Doesn't make sense," Dustin said beside you, making you turn your head to him with a soft frown.

"Yeah, even with it staring you right in the face, you can't admit it. You just can't admit that you're wrong, you little butthead." Steve shrugged, lightly mocking the teen.

A loud thud came from behind you, then. Making you jump on the spot and quickly whip your head around.

"I concur, you Dustin Henderson, are a total butthead." Eddie took a deep breath in, hands resting on his hips.

Your lips turned up with a relieved smile, you didn't waste a second before walking the remaining steps towards him. You pulled Eddie to you with a stronger grip than before, closing your eyes to just feel him, there and safe.

"I was so worried, thought they got you." You mumbled against him.

Eddie held you back with the same intensity, one hand running up your spine and to your shoulder blades. "Yeah me too, sweetheart." He squeezed a little tighter, basking in the feeling of comfort only you can give him.

______

You could safely say that being in the upside-down was not on your bucket list. Yet here you were, swinging oars at cursed bats that decided to feast on Steve's torso. The sight was nightmarish, it was your Hawkins, only much darker, with a never-ending red storm in the sky, dust particles that made it hard to breathe, and gross vines crawling everywhere.

And only after — sort of — winning the fight against the bats and losing the creatures with help of the forest; that you finally felt the nagging pain in your leg.

You were walking beside Eddie, who was still freaked out. Steve, Nancy, and Robin just a step ahead amidst the looming trees. It started with just a distant pain that had you limping, then you felt wetness running down your ankle and soon enough you were light-headed, some trees doubling themselves in your vision.

You didn't register you were falling until Eddie was scrambling to catch you.

"Y/N? Shit, don't do this to me. What happened?" He was already on edge and right now it'd be safe to say he was on the verge of panic. He had both arms under yours, maneuvering you to sit on the ground with your back against his chest.

His voice alerted the others, who came running back.

Nancy crouched in front of you, concern evident on her face as she checked for injuries. "I think she was bitten on her leg."

She lifted your jeans slowly, causing you to groan with the sharp pain shooting up and down your leg. You could feel Eddie squeezing your hand, his chin coming down to rest on your shoulder as you heard his soft voice telling you you'd be okay.

Using Eddie's bandana, Nancy managed a tourniquet around your leg. The bleeding ceased to a minimum, and you allowed yourselves at least five minutes to breathe given that you and Steve had been hurt pretty badly.

Eddie rested his back against a nearby tree, and even if you asked, you didn't think he'd let you go. So you remained in his arms, comfortably resting back onto his warm chest.

He had his arms wound around your abdomen, grip never wavering. You brought a hand over his, brushing over his knuckles.

You felt him tense momentarily behind you, then he started lazily playing with your fingers. "Getting back at me for making you worry earlier?"

A chuckle escaped you, leaning your head back on his shoulder. "Something like that, yeah."

Several heartbeats passed before you felt Eddie turning his head, his lips grazed your hairline. "I can't lose you, man. I just- can't."

His voice came out quiet and broken, if you weren't literally feeling his breath against your ear, you wouldn't have heard. Goosebumps filled your body, you grasped his hand in yours.

"You won't." You promised.

March 26, 1986

It was almost bittersweet, the momentary peacefulness of the green fields, when you knew what you would be heading into soon. The place was gorgeous, a hidden treasure maybe. The blue of the sky contrasts with the endless grass plains, with numerous trees surrounding the clearing.

You sat by the trailer Eddie and Steve stole, preparing molotovs with Robin. You opened one of the bottles, pushed the cloth inside, and heard a familiar laugh in the distance; looking up, you saw Eddie wrestling with Dustin, both boys running around on the green field with smiles on their faces.

"How's your leg?"

Robin's voice from beside you made you aware of your own smile. You tried to hide it, focusing back on your task, but not before stealing a last glance towards Eddie. "It's better. Bothering a little but nothing I can't handle."

When Robin didn't answer, you glanced up to meet her eyes. She had a shit-eating grin on her face, making you raise an unimpressed eyebrow.

"You two are adorable, y'know?" Robin mused, smile persistent as she put another finished molotov to the side.

"We're friends, Robin." You grumbled, feeling your cheeks heat up.

"Oh yeah, you totally are."

From far away, Eddie swung his newly made shield around, with an excited bounce on his feet. "Hit me, Henderson."

Dustin jabbed the makeshift spear into Eddie's shield, both of them smiling when both weapons held up well.

Twirling the spear in his hands, Dustin rolled his eyes when he noticed Eddie sneaking a glance towards the stolen trailer for the thousandth time. "When were you going to tell me about her anyway?"

Eddie's head snapped towards Dustin, and he straightened in his stance, both hands holding the shield to his chest. "What are you talking about, man?"

Dustin spread his arms and pointedly raised his eyebrows as if to say 'seriously?'; "you and Y/N obviously, when did that happen and why am I always the last one to know?"

"There's nothing to know and nothing to tell, alright? We're just friends." Eddie told him nervously, pushing away strands of hair that the wind had brought to his eyes. "She deserves much better anyway." He grumbled to himself.

The incredulous look on Dustin's face would have been comical if he hadn't all but shouted his next words; "spare me, dude, everyone can see it, you like each-"

"Jesus christ, shut it Henderson." Eddie sprinted towards him, shield pointed at the boy who had no other option than to stop talking and defend himself.

______

The moment you crossed the portal back to your Hawkins, and Eddie hesitated, you could swear you felt your heart freezing in your chest. Before he even cut the rope, you were already begging him not to do it.

The makeshift rope fell on your hands and he might as well have plunged the spear right into your heart. Eddie was looking up at you from the upside-down and your throat was already closing with dread, you were screaming at him, words you couldn't even remember. When he walked away from the portal with the promise to come back, for the first time, you didn't believe him.

Everything had happened in a haze, you told Dustin to not dare move as you managed a way up and back through the portal. The wounds on your leg were stinging with each of your movements, more so as you hit the ground on the cursed side of Hawkins.

Your pain hadn't been a concern then, the sole thing on your mind was to find Eddie. You had thrown open the trailer door and ran out into the upside-down world as fast as your legs could carry you, not stopping once, sneakers thudding against the grey ground.

When you saw the swarm of bats circling only one spot, in a hurricane-like manner, hundreds of them going from the ground and up to the sky; you knew Eddie was there, in the eye of the storm. With no regard for your own safety, air stuck in your lungs in a mix of fear and adrenaline, you ran to him.

You could remember the particles in the atmosphere clouding your throat, the blood flowing down your leg.

You had found him there then, tears collecting on the bottom lid of your eyes. You didn't stop though. Eddie was on the ground, with the tail of one of the bats around his neck and a few others trying to claw at his abdomen.

What lasted about five seconds felt like an eternity. You had spotted Eddie's spear, grasping it tightly in your hands and slicing the bat's tail clean off its body, aiming for the ones attacking Eddie next.

When Eddie stumbled up beside you, wobbly on his feet but still standing, shield in his hands; you had already felt a faint relief.

Not even a minute after, all the bats surrounding you were falling from the sky as some sick resemblance of rain. Dead. You thanked whoever did it. Dropping down to your knees — to catch the first real huff of breath ever since the rope had fallen heavily in your hands — you looked Eddie over, who had also been breathing heavily beside you. He was hurt, yes; a few bites and scratches here and there, but he was okay. No air seemed to be enough for you though, almost like the beginnings of a panic attack that you tried to chase away.

Eddie had extended a hand to you, you had seen the worry in his eyes that no doubt were mimicking yours.

And that had been the last look you gave him. You had pushed his hand away weakly, standing up on your own, with legs that almost didn't have enough strength to carry you. Your chest was going up and down with difficulty. You had dropped the spear to the ground with a thud, slowly limping back to the portal on the trailer. Eddie followed, you didn't look at him.

Now — after Steve, Nancy and Robin had found their way back through the portal as well, and you all but collapsed into Steve's arms because your body had simply given up — you sat on the couch at the back of the stolen trailer. Steve was driving, telling everyone all about the fight with Vecna, Nancy sat on the passenger's seat and Robin sat with Dustin near the front, along with Max, Lucas, and Erica after you picked them up.

And Eddie, given his home still sported a portal — a slowly retreating one, but it was still there — sat beside you. You put a distance between you both though, pressing yourself against the end of the couch and looking out the window.

You could feel the way his eyes hardly left you, most likely wondering why you were so quiet. Thing is, you couldn't bring yourself to look at Eddie, or talk to him. Anger was bubbling inside you because of what he did, because of how reckless his actions were. You knew the raw fear was lingering too, however.

"Hey guys, where should I drop you off?" Steve looked at you through the rearview mirror.

"I'll go to uh-" Eddie started, but you spoke over him.

"My house, he's coming with me."

"Yeah that- that's exactly what I was going to say." Eddie agreed quickly, his hands incessantly fidgeting with the hem of his green vest.

Your house arrived quickly, you said goodbye to your friends with a tight hug to each of them, making them promise to take care of themselves whilst they made you do the same.

The night was cold as you slowly limped your way up the stone path that lead to your front door. The lights on the house were turned off, you weren't surprised. It was late, you didn't know how late but the whole town seemed to be asleep already, unaware of the evil that had once again been defeated just minutes ago.

Eddie walked close behind you, one hand lingering against his stomach as the other stayed ready to catch you if you stumbled.

You hadn't bothered to lock your front door and for once you were happy about it, your guard dog came running to greet you, making a beeline for the stranger behind you.

"Hello to you too." You grumbled to your dog and turned on the lights in the living room.

"Oh, it's your dog, hey dude." Despite his wounds, Eddie was happy to crouch down and shower your dog with pats. Huge smile on his face as he bit his lower lip, fingers disappearing amongst the fur.

From your place in the hallway, you stole a glance at them. Instantly, tears were prickling at the back of your eyes.

Shaking your head, you walked to your bathroom. Turning on the lights, you winced at how the white tiles reflected the brightness. Bracing yourself on the sink counter, you met your own eyes in the mirror. To say you look awful would be a massive understatement. You had a rather big cut on your cheek that you didn't even know was there before now, droplets of blood and dust covered a good part of your skin, your hair all over the place, and not even counting how your whole body was complaining in pain.

You definitely needed a vacation.

Eddie slowly appeared behind you, brown eyes finally being able to find yours through the mirror. You saw how his hand reached out for you, and how he pulled it back before he could touch you.

"Are you- are you okay?"

And his voice was so gentle, so soft that you wanted to grab him and not let go, ever. You closed your eyes, lowering your head with a sigh and gripping the edge of the sink until your knuckles turned white.

Eddie shuffled, now standing beside you. He was confused, worried. His body was screaming at him to just hold you, but now, he was afraid of overstepping. "Are we just… not gonna talk?"

"Just sit down." You told him, voice steady.

He nodded, gulping down his feelings as he sat on the edge of the tub and you grabbed the first aid kit from under the sink.

You opened the small box, rummaging through mainly for antiseptics and bandages. You silently motioned for him to take off his shirt.

Eddie tried to do it on his own, but when the movement of raising up his arms elicited more than one pained grunt from him, you stepped in, carefully lifting his shirt above his head.

Seeing the gashes on his skin got your breath stuck in a massive lump in your throat. It wasn't too bad, but there was still blood and he was still hurt. In the back of your mind, you thought about the first time you answered him on the walkie.

"We can count this as progress right?" Eddie tried, a tender smile gracing his lips, his eyes looking up at you with blown pupils. "Last time you were giving me instructions, now you get to do it yourself." Apparently, he remembered it too.

His words made the tiniest smile come to you, which made his only get bigger.

You treated Eddie's wounds with the utmost care. Cleaning them up the best you could and closing the bigger gaps with white bandages that would soon be painted a slight red.

You didn't notice the unsteadiness of your hands, how they shook over his wounds; or the permanent frown on your eyebrows, or the lone tear that escaped your eye and slid down your cheek when Eddie hissed when you touched a particularly sensitive spot on his skin.

Eddie noticed.

Leaving the small cut on his jaw for last, you crouched in front of him, biting the inside of your cheek and raising a hand to clean his face.

Eddie's gaze was heavy, dark eyes fixated on you. You could see the turmoil going on inside his head.

He winced slightly when the wet cloth made contact with his skin, you mumbled an apology. Being so concentrated on what you were doing, you jumped a little when you felt his fingers gently grazing your cheek, over the dried tear track.

A shaky exhale passed through your nose, you met his eyes and saw they were glistening under the bathroom lights; swimming in the feelings he kept guarded inside his chest.

"Talk to me sweetheart, what's wrong?" Eddie asked tentatively, dry lips hanging open, waiting for an answer that never came. "Please." He tried again, quieter.

As much as you might want to, you couldn't bring yourself to do it. You let your hand fall to your lap, avoiding his eyes, you were basically sitting on the floor now.

Eddie pushed a stray hair behind your ear, his eyes roamed your face for a minute and then he was standing up and left the bathroom.

You frowned, but didn't follow after him. You heard as he walked back, your back was still turned to the door and you focused on the sound of his movements.

Eddie sat down against the wall to your right, hissing sharply at the cold tiles, his knees tucked close to his chest. Wordlessly, he reached out and gently dropped the walkie-talkie on your lap, before hugging his knees with one hand, the other holding onto his own walkie.

The grey device on your hands was nothing but a blur through your tears.

You heard the familiar crackle and static. You almost broke down then and there.

"I know you don't wanna talk right now, at least not with me. I just hope you know that I'm here, and I'm- I'm gonna be here whenever you feel ready."

You heard his voice, both from the walkie and from right beside you.

"And… I also hope you know that you're like, the most important person in my life, I think you don't even know how much you've helped me. You're the one thing that takes my mind off of all the bullshit this town has thrown at me… Shit, you make me happy, and maybe you're much more than anything I'd ever deserve; but I'm here for you too, so if you could just- just give me a sign that you're okay, I'll give you peace, or space, or whatever you need. I just need to know if you're okay, please."

Eddie finished, voice growing quieter by the end. He let go of the button on his walkie, making the device sizzle with static.

The tears in your eyes were on the brink of spilling over, chest impossibly tighter. You chanced a glance to the side, to him.

Some tears clung to Eddie's eyelashes, and a few others made their way down, collecting on the end of his chin or stopping at the corner of his lips. His eyes were pleading, burning a hole through your soul.

Running your tongue over your lips, you carefully raised the walkie to your lips. You pressed the button, hesitating only a split second.

"I'm okay, as… okay as one can be after that, but…" You started slowly, each word following a beat of your heart. "Damn it, Eddie, I thought I lost you."

Throwing away the walkie-talkie, you turned your body to him. "Do you have any idea, of the panic I felt when you cut that damn rope? What were you even thinking?"

Eddie put down his own walkie, opening his mouth to answer. You didn't let him;

"It was so- reckless." You uttered out shakily, running a hand through your hair, brows scrunched in anger. "I mean you- you could have fucking died for those damn things if I hadn't gotten there in time, and for what? A little extra time?"

You didn't register you were crying, you didn't register the sobs; and when Eddie reached a hand out for you, you slapped it away. "You don't get to tell me to be careful, or- or say that you can't lose me when you do stuff like that. This goes both ways for fucks sake." Your tone was louder, wobbly, mixed with sobs and tears as you groaned in frustration and hastily wiped your cheeks.

You only noticed that Eddie had successfully managed to grab you when you were pressed against his warm chest. Your head tucked against his neck as both his arms closed around you tightly. Both your legs became a mess of tangled limbs, Eddie lowered his lips to the crown of your head, squeezing you to him and mumbling countless "I'm sorry" and "I'm here" and "it's okay".

His skin was warm under your hands. Your ear, resting just above his heart, allowed you to hear the constant thudding; the reassuring sound slowly but surely calming your trembling body and ragged breathing.

"I never wanted to hurt you. Promise." Eddie spoke against your skin, fingers tracing lazy patterns over your body. "I- when I saw the bats, breaking through the door, all I cared about was keeping you safe. I knew I had to draw them away from you and Dustin. Maybe it was selfish but, I couldn't risk them getting through that thing to reach you."

Shaking your head, you pulled away only enough to look at him. Finally being able to take him in, he was just as much of a mess as you were. The sight made you chuckle.

Eddie felt his heart bursting with warmth at the sound of your laugh, a small smile coming to him as well.

You reached up, thumb carefully tracing the outline of his lower lip, engraving the image of him to your heart forever. He leaned towards your touch. You almost kissed him.

"Just, please promise me you won't do anything this reckless ever again."

Eddie hummed, his hands around your waist tentatively pulling you towards him. "For you, I'd do it again in a heartbeat." His words held a playful tone, accompanied by a cheeky grin. They also held the truth.

"And I'd go after you in a heartbeat." You raised an eyebrow at him, your hand burying in his hair.

"Good, then we got each other's backs on our reckless decisions," Eddie mumbled, his breath ghosting over your lips.

He glanced down to your lips with a silent question, a plea. You answered by closing the gap between you, both hands cradling the back of his head and pulling him to you desperately, urging for closeness.

Here, with your body flush to Eddie's, his lips mapping yours in a motion of love; you couldn't be happier for having stumbled upon him on that dead channel.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this story. It was one that took weeks of writing, rewriting, and editing, so feedback and reblogs are very much appreciated so I can keep bringing you these stories. <3

Eddie’s taglist: @alicefallsintotherabbithole @boooil @science--hoes @cherrypieyourface @tssf-imagines @daph-505 @astream-ofconsciousness @fentyreligion @fantasylovestoryme @justabeautiful-letdown @crazyrapunzel @yessica41 @dancing-hillary @bakugouswh0r3 @hehehehannahthings @jakebasement @zervopoulouu @forverdaydreamer-blog @fromthedt @oeuryale @mcueveryday @palah @witchbinchstories

@call-me-magpie @loveshineslikethesky @luvmybbies @tvserie-s-world @agirlsguidetolove @hallothankmas @ribyourtoplip @sweetpeapod @harringt8ns @forsaken-letters @hazydespair @fangirling-4-ever @electric-cabaret @ollyoxenfrees @linkpk88 @twinkofmydreams @paola-carter @masterlistmanic @xceafh

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson #strangerthingsedit #stranger things #eddie munson x you #imagine #fanfic #fluff #angst #eddie munson fanfic #eddiemunsonedit #joseph quinn #stranger things x reader #st #my story

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mvybanks · 11 months

Text

SOMEONE TO STAY - pt.1

a/n: i didn’t mean to make you wait 2 months but it’s here now!!! i really hope you guys like it and that it was worth the wait😫 (sorry if the ending looks rushed but it would’ve turned out way longer otherwise and i was already scared it was going to be boring oops)

warnings: mentions of cheating, abandonment issues (?)

word count: 3.5k

pairing: single dad!jj x babysitter!reader

nav someone to stay masterlist

add yourself to my taglist <3 (if you want to be added only to the taglist of the series you can specify it in the end note of this form!)

“This is getting ridiculous, JJ. Everyone is worried about you, man; you deserve to go out and have fun.”

It had been almost an hour since John B, JJ’s oldest friend, had called him to finally confront him about his lack of human interactions that hadn’t been with his own daughter, Isabella, lately. It had been seven months since Lily had left them on their own and for the blond-haired man moving on was harder than he had thought. After all she had been part of his life for five years and was engaged to him for six months prior to her sudden departure and abandonment not only of her soon-to-be-husband, but of their four-year-old daughter as well. He had never gotten an explanation from her, only the sight of an empty bed and a poor excuse of a message in his voicemail.

“I can’t do this anymore. It’s over.” that was all she’d had to say to him before bailing on her family.

He hadn’t been surprised, they’d had problems for quite some time, stuck in a loveless relationship that was kept alive for their daughter’s sake, born from an unplanned pregnancy. He had never seen Ella as a mistake; surely, he hadn’t planned to have a child with his girlfriend for they had been together for only a year, but Isabella had always and forever would be the best thing that had ever happened to him. Unfortunately, her mother didn’t feel the same way and it felt like a punch in the stomach to JJ, as he knew exactly what his little girl was going to go through, having experienced it himself; however, he was aware that, although she would feel the lack of her mom’s presence, Ella was going to receive all the love she deserved from her dad.

“I have to stay with Ella. She needs me,” JJ replied to his friend.

“JJ…You’re twenty-five! You’re allowed to meet new people, have new experiences and shit. We can help you find a babysitter for when you’re not around and it’ll be okay, trust me. This won’t change anything between you two.”

He couldn’t lie to himself, even though it did hurt him to admit it: John B was right. It wasn’t fair to himself if he kept going down that road, a life devoted to his daughter and to his daughter only, and hell, he was almost fine with it, she was his whole world after all, but he wanted to give life another try and listen to his best friend for once. Perhaps his biggest worry wasn’t his daughter; he knew with everything in him that no one and nothing could ever come between them, but he was afraid of what there was out there. He couldn’t face another delusion, another disappointment, one more relationship where he would have to ask, to beg for love.

However, he decided he was ready to let someone, other than his little girl, in his heart one last time before giving up on love. He owed it to himself, right?

“Fine,” he finally sighed. At his surrender, he could hear some noises on the other side, causing him to furrow his eyebrows in confusion, but no one was able to see him.

“Did you say ‘fine’? Are you going on a date?” John B excitedly asked again to make sure he had heard him correctly.

“Yeah…You gotta help me find a babysitter though!”

“I’ve got one for you!” An even more cheerful voice interjected, one that JJ recognized immediately as his best friend’s girlfriend; “A friend of mine knows this really great agency that you can call. Oh, and I’ve already got the perfect date for you, you’re going to love her!”

Although they couldn’t see him, JJ playfully rolled his eyes; of course Sarah had everything planned, he wouldn’t have been surprised if he found out that it had all been an idea of hers so that they could double date. Nonetheless, he couldn’t help but smile as she talked his ear off about this woman she wanted him to meet, because he knew they were doing this for him, because they loved him and wished to see him happy, and that warmed his heart.

As he dialed the number into his phone, JJ had to remind himself that he wasn’t abandoning his little girl. It was for their own good, he told himself, and a sweet little girl as his daughter would’ve definitely become friends with her babysitter in no time.

‘Great references’ and ‘we’ve never had any complaint about her’ were what they had told him at the agency about the babysitter they were going to hire for him. He had read everything on her file, thoroughly, making sure she was good like everyone said, even though he knew Sarah’s friend had hired the same woman for her two kids and she had only good things to say about her, so what was he supposed to worry about?

“So, she can come over on Saturday, right?” he questioned the man on the other line for the umpteenth time.

“Of course, sir. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

Finally, he realized that everything was taken care of and he didn’t have to keep pestering the poor man with questions anymore. It was done.

He walked into the living room of his home, looking for his daughter to give her the news. And there she was, his little angel drawing a picture as she sat on the ground, not even noticing the smile that her sight had provoked to her father.

“Hey, sweetie,” he made his presence known before sitting down next to her.

“Hi, daddy.”

“What you doing?”

She shrugged her shoulders, “Drawing.”

“I can see that. Who’s that?” He asked her as he pointed to the almost-unrecognizable figures.

“That’s me,” she said, directing her forefinger towards a small shape, “And that’s you!” And he could tell immediately because the other shape was three times as big as the little one, which made him chuckle.

He bent his head down to kiss her head while she went back to her masterpiece.

“Listen, I have to tell you something.”

She turned her head quickly to look at him, peering up at him with those big blue eyes that truly resembled her father’s, as she waited for his next words.

JJ knew that look too well and it made his chest squeeze; the same scared eyes she had given to him when he’d had to tell her about her mom not coming back anytime soon. Now, the fear that she might think that he could ever do the same made him sick to his stomach.

He picked her up and sat her on his lap, to remind her that he wasn’t going anywhere. “Daddy won’t be home this Saturday, but I called a great babysitter that will play and keep you company when I’m not home. Is that okay?” He tried to spill everything as fast as he could, not wanting to prolong this conversation; one look at her sad eyes would’ve made him pick his phone and call it off.

“Was I bad?” She asked, and he swore he heard his heart break.

He hugged her close to him before he began leaving countless kisses on her head and then on her face as she giggled. “You’re the best,” he said in between tickles and forehead kisses, “You did nothing bad, sweetie, I promise you. I will go out for a night, and I’ll kiss you goodnight as soon as I come back home, alright? You won’t even realize I was gone.”

She didn’t say anything else; she only showed him her little finger, silently asking him to pinky promise. Grinning, he latched his own fifth digit with hers before bringing it to his mouth to leave a quick peck.

“Char – Charlo – CHARLOTTE!” You snapped at your friend who kept rambling on the phone about what she had just done and in how much trouble she was in.

From what you had managed to gather from her words, she had been called in to babysit a new kid three days from then, but she was on a spontaneous vacation with her girlfriend and hadn’t told her boss about it. Charlotte had just had a whole weekend of babysitting the week before and she didn’t expect to be called for another Saturday, but there she was, freaking out and giving you a headache.

“You really can’t fly back in before this weekend?” You questioned, trying to reason with her.

“NO! There’s only one plane that could take us back, but it’s too expensive, neither of us can afford it.” She said with tears pricking at her eyes. “They’re gonna fire me. I don’t have a job, oh my God, oh my God- “

“Hey! Take deep breaths, okay?”

You could hear her hyperventilating. She had always been kind of a drama queen, however, it was impossible to not have the same reaction as her this time.

“You gotta help me, please,” she begged, and you knew if she had been there with you, she would’ve gotten on her knees.

“I don’t know what to do, Lottie.”

“Take my place! It’s a new family, they’ve never met me, they don’t know what I look like. I’ll give you the address, you’ll just have to watch a kid and pretend to be me. You’d get the money, of course, I just can’t lose this job, please.”

Although she couldn’t see you, your jaw dropped in disbelief. No way you were going to do that.

“I – I can’t to that. I don’t even feel like leaving the house-“

“Babe, if this is about Jake again, I swear to God…” She interrupted you immediately.

Charlotte wasn’t wrong; there was a reason why you didn’t want to go out and his name was, in fact, Jake, your ex-boyfriend. It had been two months since you had found him naked with another woman in his apartment…the one he had given you the key to. Nonetheless, you didn’t care about that anymore, not even about him in general. What was keeping you from leaving your bed those days was disappointment; why couldn’t you find a good guy? Someone who means what he says, who really loves you? And why was it impossible for you to find someone who was able to take your breath away? Was there something wrong with you?

“I love you, honey, I really do, but I won’t let you give up on love because of that jerk; if you do, I’ll haunt you forever.” And you knew she wasn’t kidding.

“ ‘Haunt me’ ? What are you? A ghost?”

“I will be if I don’t show up at that job.”

You sighed loudly before turning around in your bed. What was the worst that could happen?

“I’ll do it,” you groaned, surrendering to your pleading best friend.

“Are you serious? I love you, I love you, I love y-“ She kept screaming, possibly impairing your hearing by reaching ultrasonic sounds.

Maybe this was going to be good for you; it couldn’t have done more damage, right?

Walking up to the driveway of the Maybank’s household, you couldn’t help but think about why they would live in such a secluded area. It was beautiful, that was for sure.

The small and cozy white home was surrounded by green, all around it a beautiful garden, and you could tell that they had a good view of the ocean from inside; it was stunning.

Finally, you ringed the gold-colored doorbell that rested on the side of the front door and waited for someone to greet you, although your heart was beating like crazy from the anxiety. What if someone found out what you were doing? Wasn’t it a felony? It must have been, you thought. You were going to kill Charlotte; you couldn’t believe she had put you in such a difficult situa-

Well, you weren’t expecting to be met by the most handsome man you had ever laid eyes on. Perhaps your best friend was forgiven.

Wearing a white buttoned up shirt and casual jeans, JJ smiled at you. “Hi, you must be Charlotte Jones,” he said as he offered you his hand to shake, which you did politely. Your hands felt clammy as you took his palm in yours, hoping you weren’t shaking from the fear of him discovering your secret before you could’ve even stepped foot inside the house.

“Yes. And you must be Mr. Maybank, right?”

He chuckled, “You can call me JJ, we don’t have to be formal here.”

You nodded and showed him a soft smile while he gave you enough space to enter his home.

Alright, at least we’re in, you thought.

Like you had imagined, it was even more breathtaking inside, warm and made of wood. You understood why it was completely outside of reach from the city: that house was a safe little heaven. “You have a beautiful home, Mr. - JJ,” you corrected yourself and he was very thankful for that.

It was obvious you were pretty close in age, and he would’ve felt uncomfortable if you had continued calling him by his last name. He couldn’t help but notice how your eyes wandered around the room with curiosity, the way you gnawed on your bottom lip and played with one of your rings; were you nervous?

Suddenly, the sound of little feet running around the house filled your ears and a little girl with hair golden like the sun, and like the man beside you, came into view. She had big blue eyes and a sweet and genuine smile, the one that only kids can always wear with so much easiness.

The toddler walked to her dad and hugged his leg as she looked up at him. “Daddy, who is she?” she whispered, but you could hear her as well, loud and clear, which made you stifle a chuckle.

JJ grinned at his daughter before bending down to talk to her at her level. “She’s gonna be your babysitter, sweetie. Remember? We talked ‘bout that,” he spoke in a kind tone as he brushed some hairs out of the little girl’s face.

Was that man even real?

She seemed to think about her father’s words and then she turned to you, offering her small hand just like her father had had a minute before. “My name is Ella.”

You crouched down in front of her and accepted her hand. “Hi, Ella, I’m Charlotte. You’ve got a beautiful name, you know?”

“It’s short for Isabella, right honey?” JJ interjected and his daughter nodded furiously.

They looked like the cutest dad and daughter duo and that made your chest squeeze for multiple different reasons.

“You’re pretty,” Ella said, admiring your features.

Close to blushing at her words, after all kids always tell the truth, you added a soft “thank you. But you’re the prettiest.”

The man beside you could only agree with both statements as he realized how beautiful the woman that was about to spend every weekend, and probably weekdays as well, at his house was.

How was he supposed to go out on a date now?

Actually, scratch that because the most important question that was running in his head was another: why had a weird sensation settled at the pit of his stomach at the way you had simply tucked a strand of hair behind your ear?

You weren’t surprised to find out that JJ had left you a list of things his daughter liked to do and what her nightly routine was, in order to help her fall asleep faster, along with a post-it note attached to the refrigerator with his number written down on it; ‘in case of emergency, this is my number:’ it read. He had already ordered pizza for both you and the little girl, and you found amazing how much he was still taking care of Ella even when he wasn’t around. You realized that he was raising her on his own; you couldn’t tell what happened to her mother, but the lack of pictures of another woman made you suspect it shouldn’t have been an easy topic in that household.

Perhaps spending your Saturday night playing with dolls and drawing with a four year old hadn’t been in your plans, but it sure as hell turned out to be so much more fun than you had expected. Ella was the loveliest and sweetest kid you had ever met and you were glad to be the one to spend time with her. She talked your ear off about all of her stuffed animals, their names and about their likes and dislikes; she told you about her favorite shows and how she loved when her dad took her to the park or painted with her and about how he was building a doll house just for her. You couldn’t help but come to the conclusion that JJ Maybank was the best, most attractive dad you had ever had the pleasure to encounter, and you would’ve lied if you had said that you didn’t want to come back to that house to get to know the both of them better.

“Do you know how to braid your hair?” She asked you at some point.

You were tucking her into bed, carefully placing her stuffed animals next to her, when you looked down at her and smiled, “Yeah, of course. Why?”

“Daddy can’t do it…”

“I can braid your hair if you’d like,” You said, already knowing the answer to that. It was easy to understand, even after spending so little time with her, that she didn’t want to bother anyone and was scared to ask for stuff, so you realized it was easier to make it look like you were offering it to her in the first place. You couldn’t understand the reason behind that behavior, her father looked like he would’ve given her the sun and the moon if he could’ve, but it wasn’t something you were supposed to ask about.

She grinned up at you, nodding, before she turned around to let you work her hair into a braid. You gently combed your fingers through the blonde locks and got to work.

“You’ve got beautiful hair, you know?” You spoke softly.

“Thanks.”

You wrapped the end of the braid with your own hair tie, which was previously sitting on your wrist. “All done!”

Before you could understand what was happening, she sprinted to the bathroom, giggling in excitement as she looked at her reflection in the mirror. Jumping up and down, she threw herself at you, having ran behind her, and, thankfully, you were quick to catch her as laughter filled the room.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!” She never stopped saying as she hugged your neck; your heart ached at the action. Why had it felt like such a bittersweet moment?

Following the instructions given by her father, Ella fell asleep pretty quickly, although she asked about her dad, but didn’t make a fuss about his absence. Nonetheless, JJ came back home at exactly 11 p.m., just like he had told you, and you couldn’t help but wonder how his date had gone, seen it seemed like he couldn’t wait to be welcomed into his home once again. However, it was none of your business, you shouldn’t have cared about his personal life and you shouldn’t have made any assumption.

“Hey,” he whispered as he closed the front door behind him as quietly as he could, “Everything okay?”

“Yes, of course. She was an angel,” you smiled, and he did the same.

The moment you had left the house, JJ ran to his daughter’s bedroom because, as promised, he had to kiss her goodnight. He knew she probably wouldn’t have even remembered it, but one thing about him was that he would always keep a promise to his little girl.

The date had gone worse than he could’ve imagined; nothing wrong about that woman, but he wasn’t interested, and he felt uncomfortable the whole time. But on that night, JJ learned that he was ready to get back to dating; he didn’t know how or why, he just felt ready. That meant he was going to need a babysitter more often, right? He would have the necessity to call you again soon. There was no point in changing babysitters after all.

Bending down to kiss Ella’s forehead, he noticed the way her hair had been wrapped in a braid and it brought tears to his eyes. It was something Lily used to do a lot, and since she had left, the little girl had been asking him to do the same but he couldn’t for the life of him and he dreaded the disappointing look in her eyes.

She slightly opened one eye to peer up at her dad, “Daddy,” she yawned.

“Ssh, go back to sleep, sweetie. It’s late.”

Nodding, the little girl obliged, not before she’d had the chance to add, “I love Charlotte. Can she come back?”

It was obvious she was still in a sleeping state, yet he didn’t miss the peaceful expression painting her features and he couldn’t deny her of that. “Of course.” He pecked her forehead once again, “Goodnight, sweetie.”

“Goodnight, daddy.”

Maybe John B and Sarah were right; someone out there was going to make him believe in love again, and perhaps that person was closer than he believed.

taglist:

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prying-pandora666 · 5 months

Text

Imagine If Zuko Had…

Just imagine if Zuko had messed up. Imagine he had acted just a little too much like Ozai and recognized his mistake.

Imagine if in response, he abdicated the throne in disgrace and ran off to live in the woods alone. Completely isolated.

His relationship with his wife? Failed. His daughter? Estranged. His uncle, sisters, mother, etc? All gone from his life.

He spent years of his adult life into old age alone in the woods away from anyone who cared about him and ashamed of how terribly he had failed as Fire Lord.

Would anyone consider this a good ending for Zuko? Let alone a happy one? Would Zuko cracking jokes or saying he’s fine this way convince you? Or would it seem like he’s trying to justify the way he’s wasted his life in solitude and disgrace?

If that all sounds horribly unfair to you, then why is it okay for Toph?

Because Toph Did…

Toph in ATLA has a very clear motivation for running away from home and joining Aang’s group. Her family stifled her and kept her isolated from the world. All she longed for was freedom and for a family that loved and accepted her as she was.

In the comics, she extrapolates upon this further, talking about how traumatizing it was to be captured in a tiny metal cage. How much she feared being forced to be something she’s not, being imprisoned and having more pressure and pain applied to her to try to change her by force. And worst of all, she feared becoming like her parents and passing on that same pressure and pain to others.

So why in the world was her fate in LOK the very thing she feared most?

As Police Chief, her very role is locking people away and trying to force them to behave differently. At times applying pressure and pain to force conformity. Imprisonment is an inextricable part of her job.

And she betrays her own convictions this way to what end?

Her relationships all fall apart and her daughters feel neglected due to the demands of the job. Toph finds herself re-enacting exactly what she told Zuko hurt her most about her parents: “They gave me everything except their love”.

Only to eventually find herself in a situation where she must choose between the stifling rules of her job or throw her daughter into this same system of punishment to try and change her by force. So she chooses her daughter, selectively not applying the law; an act of corruption and nepotism. As such, she resigns in disgrace, ashamed of her actions.

She is estranged from both of her daughters. She is alone and isolated. She lives in the swamp like a hermit. Away from the world. With no one to accept her as she is.

How in the world does anyone justify this as a fair or happy ending for Toph? When I see people celebrating cop Toph or swamp Toph, making memes about how badass she is or calling other fans idiots for pointing out how terrible of a writing choice this is for her character, it really makes me wonder if these fans don’t really care about Toph as a character at all beyond the aesthetics of how cool she can be.

And that makes me really sad because the same is clearly not true for characters like Zuko.

Entire dissertations are written about Zuko’s wants and needs vs his experiences in the world.

When it comes to Toph? She gets boiled down to “she likes to knock heads and boss other people around.”

Even by Bryke themselves.

#atla #avatar the last airbender #avatar #Zuko #Toph #Toph Beifong #lok #legend of korra

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sungbeam · 6 months

Text

𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫

artist!kevin moon x senator's daughter!reader

after a long night, you find yourself on the front doorstep of a man who's heart you still held tightly in your grasp.

4.0k words, exes 2 lovers?, bittersweet angst with a happy ending, kissing, swearing, mentions of arranged marriages and controlling parents, mentions of social class, it takes place in washington dc bc i had a specific place in mind lol but i've also only went to dc once(???)

a/n: dug this up and dusted off the cobwebs — originally inspired (partly) by youngk's cover of moon river <3 (im sorry i always give you angst kevin...)

It was late when you knocked on his door. It was so late, in fact, that the fog had begun to roll over the Potomac and dampen the cobblestones beneath your shoes. You would have taken off the death traps your mother called fashion, but you'd seen your friends on the rowing team get foot diseases before. The streetlights here glowed from their perches in golden yellow flames, not amber like they did in some parts of the district.

You hadn't really expected him to answer. You knew he was almost guaranteed to be awake, but there were always exceptions. You knew he would recognize you, too, but if he would open the door for you… it didn't matter that he was the kindest person you'd ever met, there were always exceptions.

His expression sat carefully blank when you faced him, a war brewing in his beautiful eyes of a long past you shared. He swallowed, scanning your form.

"I'm sorry," you managed to say. You suddenly felt stupid. Why were you here? Why had you run all the way across the river to his place in Georgetown? Why him? Out of all the people, you chose the one person who's heart you let fall to the ground and shatter. It was a miracle he even opened the door. "I—I didn't know who else to go to."

The bobby pins in your hair stabbed your head and intensified the headache building in your scalp. It had been a long night; you weren't sure if you were even of sound mind and thought right now.

Kevin Moon considered you for a moment, his eyes and posture softening at the lines. "Come in," he murmured as he stepped aside in the doorway, "it's late."

You swallowed as you took slow steps into his townhouse and he closed the front door behind you. Everything was as you had last seen it—pictures of him and his family, his friends; his artwork hung on the entryway walls; stair leading up to the upper floors, and hallway traveling back toward the parlor and kitchen. You could extract the memories that you had of this place, but that would keep you up the rest of the night. It would be a dangerous endeavor, you thought, as if coming to Kevin in the first place wasn't already.

"Here." He held out one toned arm for you to grasp. "So you can take off your shoes."

You gave a barely-there nod. "Oh, uhm, thank you," you said, locking your hand against his forearm as you swiftly discarded the stilettos from your feet. When your aching feet met flat ground, a weight fell from your shoulders, and you lined up the pair against the wall neatly by his shoe rack.

He began trekking up the stairs, beckoning you to follow. "You can have the guestroom," he sighed, carding a hand through his hair. It stuck up in the back, you noticed whilst following him up, which meant he had probably been tossing and turning for awhile.

Everything smelled the same, felt the same.

A different weight fell upon your chest, suffocating. Was it a mistake to come here? It was all coming back to you.

And he was opening the only other bedroom door besides his on the floor, leaving the door open for you to follow. He fluffed the pillows and pulled a blanket out from the closet shelf. This room used to be for guests, not for you, but that change was your fault.

"I'll grab you something to change into," he said in the silence with one hand cupped behind the back of his neck. He didn't look at you this time. "You still know where everything is?"

"Yeah," you rasped. You cleared your throat and held your clutch in front of yourself like a pitiful shield. "Thanks, Kevin. I… I promise I'll be out of your hair by the morning."

A beat passed. You felt his eyes on you and met them.

"Just—" his arm fell to his side and tucked into the pocket of his sweats, "—take your time, Yn. Good night."

You watched him leave. "Good night."

The house was quiet again after you finished washing up in the bathroom and retreated into the guest room. Kevin could hear the door close even from the third floor in his attic studio, his feet pressed against the cool wood, eyes staring out at the half-filled canvas on the easel. He'd been stuck for awhile, having not yet decided what he wanted to do with the rest of it. This indecisiveness came with the artist's block, unfortunately.

He didn't like to admit that one of the few ways to get him out were the dozens of canvases shoved against the far corner. There was a drop cloth draped over them so he wouldn't get distracted, but… most nights he couldn't resist.

There was always something soulful about the way he painted your eyes. It had always been that, and your smile, that he intentionally captured first whenever he painted your portrait. It was a greedy, selfish attempt to keep some part of you for himself because he knew that it was and could never be like that in the real world. He knew that fact all too well.

The vision of you on his porch tonight… he'd almost believed he was dreaming.

Kevin released a frustrated huff from his mouth, rubbing his hands down his face, then up through his hair. His brushes remained untouched, canvas on the easel left undone.

He stood from his stool and quietly made his way back down to the second floor.

He could've sent you away, he thought. He could've, but did he want to?—

"Oh. Hi."

His eyes shot up at the sound of your voice, meek and soft. You stood in the doorway of the guest bedroom with his T-shirt and sweatpants hanging from your frame like it was two years ago. He lost his breath for a second; he didn't think you were still awake. "Did I wake you?" He asked, clutching the banister.

"No," you said while leaning against the door jamb. "I was… I wasn't sleeping."

That made the both of you.

"You still have bandaids in the medicine cabinet?" You asked him.

He nodded, stepping down fully onto the second floor. "Yeah. How many did you need?" He shoved the intrusive thoughts away from the forefront of his mind and replaced them with the idea of bandages. He padded over into the bathroom, turning the light on to rifle through the medicine cabinet.

Never mind that you knew where they were and that you were capable of getting them yourself—he already lost when he let you into his house.

You slipped in behind him. "Just a couple small ones is okay—for my feet."

Oh, right. He'd nearly forgotten you must have traveled all the way from across the river to get here in those god awful shoes. Not only that, but no doubt spent an entire night in them at some stuck-up, rich-prick gala—

Not now, he hushed. Most of the time, it was never your choice to even go to those functions.

He withdrew the box of Band-Aids he kept, all beat up from years of figuring out where they belonged. There was a mishmash of sizes, but most of the medium-sized ones were all gone, leaving only the extreme sizes on the spectrum. He picked out a few of the small ones for you, staring at the tile on the floor while you sat on the lid of the toilet to cover your blisters and bruises.

“I know that my showing up here unannounced was really unfair to you,” you suddenly said. He raised his head a little. You were grabbing your heel now, gently massaging your foot. “Especially at this time of night. I—” You paused, “I just—I’m sorry.”

If he didn't think about it too much, he could pretend this apology was only about you showing up unannounced, out of the blue, at an ungodly hour, and not about every other elephant in the room.

“It's okay, I understand,” he murmured. He felt his body move to settle on the edge of the bathtub across from you to take your foot from your hand to rub soothing circles into your aching bones.

You connected gazes again and he saw the flicker of gratitude in them, and something else he didn't want to see. Hope was so cruel sometimes. “You don't have to do this.”

“I know. I want to.”

It felt like college all over again, just you and him. Those four years had been some of the best years of his life—but they were filled with naïve bliss. The long, humid summer days and nights along the river; the golden light filtering through his windows as you read and he painted; the picnics on the Georgetown University lawns; the echo of your laughter against cobblestone walls and streets.

They were engraved into his memory, even with the rose-tinted lenses off.

He would call it a fever dream, but he knew you were solid and real when he held you. Your smile was real, your love was palpable. He could hear your humming in his kitchen in the evenings and feel the ghost of your arms around him in the mornings.

When you were called away by your family to fulfill filial obligations, you would always return home to him. Not them, him.

In this moment, he knew exactly what he was doing, even if he chose to pretend he didn't. Like this wouldn't lead to his heart getting broken again when all that was left of you in the morning was your perfume on his clothes and bandaid wrappers in the trash.

“So what was tonight about?” He piped up, daring another glance at you.

You shook your head. “You don't have to—”

“Only if you're comfortable.” Sometimes it helped for you to talk about it, and sometimes it didn't. He wanted to help, nonetheless. He still cared about you, after all.

You wrestled down a swallow. “It was some dumb charity that wasn't even about the charity,” you rasped, returning your bare feet to the floor when he was done rubbing the hurt away. You had to look away, and he resisted the urge to turn your chin back to him. “And something about—something about marriage.”

His heart fell to the bathroom tiles. “What?”

Marriage?

“It—it’s nothing—”

“Nothing,” he repeated, speechless.

“Not nothing,” you amended, tripping over your words. You shouldn't have mentioned it. Why would you mention it? Out of everyone, you and to say it to him. “My parents mentioned something about it, but it's just one of those things where they're urging me to start looking. I don't know. It's not arranged or anything.”

He said exactly what both of you were thinking, “Yet.”

You looked at him then. He saw the way silver lined your eyes, the hurt threatening to spill over just like what pounded against the floodgates of his heart. Yet.

If you waited any longer, who knew what your parents would do to secure a political alliance? You were a Senator's daughter, your family's jewel and pawn piece. You were born to be someone Kevin couldn't be with and god-fucking-damn did that hurt like a bitch.

They were giving you time to make your own, careful choice. It was an illusion of free will that made him seethe and ache for you.

“It's gonna be fine,” you said with little to no strength behind the words. “I'll be fine.”

Kevin stared at you. You and he had shared plenty of arguments about this exact topic before and it all ended in the same place. He didn't know what to say this time to make you say or think or do differently.

What could he possibly say to make you stay? To make you rethink your entire life and career, to make you turn your back on your own family?

“I'm sorry I said anything about this.” You sighed. “I don't know why I said anything about this.”

He swallowed. “I asked in the first place; it's okay.” His hands yearned to touch your skin, to swaddle you in his arms and rock you into assurance. He missed when he could reach over and warm your knee with his palm to silently tell you he was here and listening.

“We should try to sleep. I've taken so much of your time already. I'm sor—”

“Yn, love, stop saying you're sorry.” You didn't ask for any of this and you kept acting like you did, like it was your fault. He couldn't fault you for anything if he tried.

It looked like you were about to say something to him. He could practically taste the words that sat on your tongue.

Tell me I'm not suffering alone. Tell me that you still love me, even after all this time.

Instead, you nodded while rubbing your eye. “Okay,” you exhaled. “Thanks for the bandaids and your time.”

When you stood, so did he. He pressed a warm palm to the small of your back to lead you out of the bathroom, his other hand hitting the light switch.

He reluctantly drew his hand away from you to step towards his own bedroom.

He heard you stop, his head pathetically raising to meet you as you turned around.

“Kevin, I…” There it was again.

Oh, he wanted so badly for you to say it. But it was late and neither of you were in the right state of mind.

“Sleep on it,” he whispered. He couldn't handle any of those words exchanged now if you were going to regret it later. “Please.”

You inclined your head, lips pressing together. “Good night.”

“Good night,” he said back, for the second time tonight, and for as many opportunities as he was granted. As long as he didn't have to say goodbye instead.

Sleep refused to take you and you tossed and turned for what felt like hours. Two long hours of torture, and you gave up, throwing the sheets off your body to step over to the window. The street below was dark with only a small halo of golden light from a street lamp to provide some reprieve from the darkness. You'd always seen this back street from Kevin's bedroom, never this one. It was so odd seeing it from a different point of view.

You closed your eyes with a sigh and rested your forehead against the cool glass. What were you doing here? Why were you troubling a man who you'd already troubled before? Your being here had to be bad for the both of you, but why did your being here feel right instead? You could separate comfort from rightness anymore, couldn't find where the line was in the sand because maybe you had danced all over it before to muddle it up.

Maybe you didn't want to define it—you just wanted it to be him.

You would never forget this moment, standing with your eyes closed against a cold window pane, that you came to an understanding. You had little to no sleep in your system, but your heart hurt as much as your feet, and while there were plenty of ways to soothe sore feet, there weren't as many to heal a broken heart.

Maybe a glass of water would refresh you enough to fall asleep. It would be terrible of you to wake him up, especially when you'd bothered him this much. He had already done so much for you.

But you'd seen him just hours ago, and you'd seen the tenderness in his gaze, felt the tenderness in his touch.

The way he'd asked for you to “sleep on it” had been loaded with something. Hope was so cruel sometimes.

Your chest tightened and you pulled away from the window. You stepped over to the door to quietly open it and slip out. There was no light coming out from beneath Kevin's bedroom door, and you tiptoed across the landing to make your way downstairs.

When you'd successfully retrieved a glass of water, you climbed back up the stairs, only to freeze at the sight of Kevin stepping up onto the ones leading up to the attic. Your heart galloped at the sight of him.

“I hope I didn't wake you up,” you whispered this time, gesturing to the cup of water in your hand. “I just needed some water.”

He nodded. “Don't worry about it. Can't sleep still?” He asked.

You shook your head. Not even if you tried.

He seemed to understand, and with a sweep of his hand through his hair, he beckoned you up to the third floor with him.

You hadn't been up to the attic for as long as you had been away from Kevin. It was his studio space, somewhere he could let his creativity run wild. There were canvases pressed and stacked up against the slanted roof, paint cans and boxes of brushes off to the side, and the chaise lounge you always draped yourself over when the sun filtered in just right. It was the perfect spot to curl up with a good book, and you could feel its cushioned back imprinted against yours even now.

The memories all flooded back in one, big tidal wave and your hand tightened around your cup.

“Are you working on anything?” You asked quietly, lingering at the stair landing to sip your water. You feared you weren't allowed to venture further, as if you needed permission to wander now.

He glanced back at you from his easel stool, forehead creasing between his brows when he saw you still standing there. “Yn, you can sit,” he said, nodding to the chaise lounge. “Not really,” he confessed. “I just… I've been in a block, I guess.”

You crept over to the lounge chair and seated yourself on the edge, stiff and with your legs crossed one over the other. You leaned your forearms onto your knees, looking in the direction of Kevin, his body half blocked by the wooden easel. “Ah, I see,” you murmured. “Have you had trouble sleeping lately?”

His eyes flickered to yours. “It's… on and off. You?”

“Same.” Your mind went to what you thought about in the guest bedroom earlier. Would it be out of left field to spring it up on him? You didn't even know if he felt the same way anymore, but… but you had to try, didn't you?

Why did you come to him? Out of all the people and places in this city, your feet carried you here.

“I—” Both of you said at once, eyes clashing when you realized the other's voice was speaking.

“You first,” he said.

You shook your head. “No, please. I—I think you should go first.”

He seemed to hesitate, but relented. There was so much emotion in the way he looked at you then; the wideness of his eyes gave it all away. “Why are you here, Yn? Why are you really here?”

It was like he could read your mind. You knocked back the rest of your water and placed the empty cup on the floor a little ways from your feet so you didn't knock it over. “I,” you began, “I don't… at least, I don't consciously know.”

He pursed his lips together. “Do better than that. I know you can.”

You knew he was right; you could do better. You knew the truth, but it was a matter of how much courage you had to face it. “Kevin, I—I should've never let you go that easy, and I should've never let my judgment be swayed by my parents as it had. I'm so sorry for hurting you; you never deserved it. You never deserved any of it.

“I think,” you said, one hand grabbing your other shoulder, “after all this time, I still know who I want, and it's never been anyone but you. That's why—that’s why I'm here.” You wished you could shrink into yourself with his gaze pinned to you like it was. “And this is all so unfair to you—I know. I know it is, and I am so, so sorry.”

You would bear your entirety to him in hopes that he believed you and saw your sincerity. Because while your parents had raised you to be their perfect daughter, they missed the part when you fell hopelessly in love with your best friend from college. It tore you apart that day they forced you to part ways with him—you knew it did just the same to him, too.

Kevin was quiet for a moment with a pensive expression on his face burning into his floorboards. He suddenly stood and made his way over to you, your body shifting to make room for him on the chaise. The pair of you sat side by side with your shoulders and legs pressed against each other, sharing the other's warmth.

“I don't blame you if you're bitter,” you said. “I would be, too. And you can kick me out if that makes you feel better, because I…”

“Don't say it's because you deserve it.”

You tilted your gaze over to him.

He shook his head. “You don't deserve it. You hurt me, yes, but I know why you did it and I can't blame you for it, no matter how hard I try.” He turned his gaze up to the ceiling for a moment. “Sometimes I wish I had been born in a different position so neither of us would have to hurt so much.”

Your chest ached.

“It's not your fault,” you said. “Kevin, it was never your fault.”

His smile curled into something somber as his hand reached over to thumb your cheek. “I know it's not. And it's not yours either.”

For a moment, his hand lingered, and you let it.

“Don't marry someone else,” he said so quietly you thought you'd imagined it. But there was that tenderness in his eyes then, loving and imploring, and you knew you hadn't just kidded yourself.

His hand went to cup the side of your face. “I can't—” he swallowed, “I can't stomach that thought. I love you too much to see you unhappy.” His words were slurring together, voice watery, as he attempted to cover it up by pressing his lips to your hairline.

“I love you so much it hurts,” you told him in earnest. “Of course I'd run back here to you. It's always been you.” No amount of parental control could change that. They could never choose who you fell in love with when your heart was yours to give.

Kevin shifted to press his lips against yours, soft and cautious, giving you the space to back out. You reciprocated though, hands coming up to cup his face. And as you kissed, a sense of comfort settled over you, something akin to contentment, like knowing this was where you were meant to be. All the worries and heartache melted away for one split second of bliss that you found in a man whom you loved too much to let go.

His nose gently bumped against yours, his thumb caressing your cheekbone affectionately. “I love you. You can break my heart when you leave in the morning, but let me have this at least.”

“You can have this, and you can have me,” you said, nodding against him. You were going to fight this time; you would fight until you bled because you would be damned if you let him go so easily a second time. “You've always had me.”

a/n: i have to be up early tmr as usual... but i hope u didn't get bored by all the wordiness sjfbdkdn

tbz m.list

permanent taglist: @flwoie @vatterie @seomisaho @hqrana @ja4hyvn @tinkerbell460 @kaaimins @hyunjaespresent-deobi @otterly-fey @zzoguri @floatingpluto @winterchimez @ethereal-engene @gyulfriend @polarisjisung @jaehunnyy @shakalakaboomboo @loveliestfelix @bless-311 @zhaixiaowen @leaz-kpop-life @amourdsr @pxppxrminty @kqyutie @sseastar-main @kxthleen14 @fluorescentloves @mosviqu @justalildumpling @jaerisdiction @super-btstrash-posts @jundundun @http-gyu @mvvnsseul @outrologist @vernonburger @maessseongs @ericlvr @mars101 @kflixnet

#kflixnet #deoboyznet #the boyz x reader #kevin moon x reader #moon hyungseo x reader #the boyz angst #the boyz fanfic #the boyz scenarios #the boyz oneshot #the boyz drabbles #the boyz imagines #kevin moon imagines #kevin moon oneshots #kevin moon drabbles #kevin moon scenarios #kevin moon angst

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professional-demon-master · 1 year

Text

Cutting you off

Demons aren’t known for their patience.

Light Angst/ Fluff(?

Lucifer x MC (pretty sure it’s GN, if I made a mistake please tell me)

*Lucifer:

* Lucifer it’s not really the friendliest of all of his brothers.

* But that doesn’t matter to you, because shortly after your arrival to the devildom, you already coexist with him like he’s one of your closest acquaintances.

* You spend a lot of time together since you tend to help him with student councils paperwork at his office.

* And being the chatterbox you are, you always find a way to fill the silence with any idle thoughts you may have.

* Lucifer is a little bit annoyed by that

* Don’t get him wrong, he sometimes talks a lot himself, but really, Mc? You think right now is the best time to talk about the trilogy of books that “changed your life” when he still has two stacks of documents to finish by the end of the week?

* He tries, he really tries to be as patient as he can be.

* But one of those days where the coffe doesn’t taste as good and he hasn’t slept well in a couple of days, he interrupts you in an abruptly way,

* “MC, could you maybe refrain from talking so much right now? I‘ld love hearing about the book trilogy that changed your life but right now I have more important things to think about and it’s kinda difficult to concentrate when you keep telling me information I really don’t care about at the moment.”

* You blink rapidly before answering with a low “oh” and giving him a quick smile, a little red faced from the sudden embarrassment. “Sorry, you’re right.” You answered with a low voice.

* Lucifer doesn’t stops to analyze why your reaction kinda bugged him. It doesn’t matter if it sounded a little bit harsh, it was something that need to be said, right? And you should understand him! He hasn’t slept in days.

* That was probably the reason why his words kinda blurred together after talking and he didn’t actually analyzed how he could have phrased that in a better way to avoid looking like an asshole.

* Despite the uncomfortable feeling he had that night, the rest of the days working with you were spent pretty much in silence.

* He was happy. Now he was able to listen to his records while working without you interrupting every given minute.

* He loved working like that, right?

* Or that’s what he thought until the week after that.

* While walking through the HoL he overheard a little laugh that he immediately recognized as yours. It was coming out from Satan's room.

* Since when do you spend time in satan's room?

* But he didn’t had much time to think about it, since he could heard footsteps approaching from the other side of the door, accompanied with your voice.

* He quickly took a few steps back and waited behind a wall.

* Satan was plastered with a kind smile while he got out of his room with you by his side.

* “… and after that he tried to confess his love for her! Could you believe it? You would think that since the author has been married three times he would probably knew how to write live confessions that didn’t sounded so monotone!” You talked loudly and lively “Sounds like you enjoyed the new book MC.” Satan answered sharing a smile with you, while you both began walking side by side “I have a few other book recommendations that you could like. Our library has some good selections that could have better love confessions than that”

* Silently, he observed the way your face lightened up while Satan heard the way you spoke about, what he recognized to be, another one of the books you liked.

* Suddenly he felt upset. Why didn’t you told him about it?

* “I did asked them to shut up”

* He felt uncomfortable by his own answer and kept walking. He knew this had to be temporary, you will start talking to him again about everything, like you did before.

* At least that’s what he thought at the beginning of that week. But after several reunions alone with him and silent encounters while working in paperwork he realized how quiet you still were around him.

* It was just ridiculous! just like what happened the other day!

* Lucifer asked you to accompany him to run some errands. That wasn’t new, since you were pretty much the only person at HoL who would say yes without asking for something in return or causing him too much trouble.

* While walking by the stores he noticed the way you stopped near the window of a bookstore, looking at one of the newest human realm books acquisition in the devildom.

* He almost rolled his eyes when he listened to the little gasp you often gave every time you saw something you liked or knew. He was already preparing himself to listen to you telling him all about that during your walk back home.

* But as you kept on walking by his side he noticed how you kept quiet.

* What? Was he not deserving of hearing about the things you liked anymore?

* That experience really annoyed him. I mean, yes he asked you to be silent, but that was last week! Why couldn’t you just let it go?

* Still, what really made him mad happened a few days after.

* You entered the library all happy and lively, already screaming while open the door.

* “Hey! You’ll never guess what! So I was reading at… oh”

* You stopped abruptly when you saw Lucifer sitting there.

* “I’m sorry, Satan wasn’t in his room and I thought he was here,.” You confessed with a nervous giggle.

* You gave Lucifer a little head bow as to saying “sorry” again before you closed the door after you.

* Lucifer frowned, what was so private between you two that he couldn’t hear about? He was sure that he could give you better opinions than Satan.

* Still, he was too prideful to ask about the it or to consider an apology to you. But he could try a new option.

* The next time you two were alone in his office, he tried to initiate conversation

* He cleared his throat to catch your attention, once you looked at him, curious he talked.

* “So… I started to read the book you talked about.”

"Oh?”

“Yes, I can see how the hunger games could change your life perspective” you laughed at that comment, while a little blush invaded your face.

* You stayed silent for a little bit and Lucifer was afraid that little interaction was all he could accomplish. Until your soft voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

“So…What chapter are you on?”

#lucifer om #shall we date lucifer #lucifer obey me #Lucifer om x Mc #obey me mc #obey me scenarios #obey me x mc #obey me angst #lucifer imagine #om x reader #lucifer avatar of pride

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bookcrazyace · 3 months

Text

Dick & Jason and Why We Need to Stop Mischaracterizing Them and Their Relationship

I know it's been brought up a million times and will probably be brought up a million more times but I wanted to put my 2 cents in. Jason and Dick and their relationship is grossly mischaracterized and it hurts the narrative. Now there isn't anything wrong with a little ooc content I'm a fanfic writer and I've fallen onto some of the more fanon sides of things to make it fit my narrative better but the problem arises when people mistake fanon for canon and bring it up in serious fandom discussions.

Dick was the first Robin so we'll start with him first. Characterizing Dick as the happy-go-lucky Robin is very distinctly wrong and actually quite the opposite of what he actually was. Dick wanted revenge for the death of his parents and that's what drew Bruce to him in the first place. Bruce made Batman to focus his anger and grief into something productive that would help people. When he recognized the same yearning for vengeance in Dick he trained him so that Robin could be for Dick what Batman was to him, a coping mechanism. In the end Dick manages to let go of the notion of revenge and it means that Robin succeeded and he then takes on a new identity, Nightwing (Canonically Dick and Bruce start having arguments and that's more the reason he leaves but from a narrative perspective Dick going from Robin to Nightwing can be seen as him getting rid of the feelings of revenge and gaining new goals. Also it's an excellent juxtaposition to the fact that while Robin succeeded in freeing Dick Bruce is still Batman.) Dick starting off as a vengeful spirit and blossoming into one of the most outwardly cheerful members of the batfam (despite the most definitely present repressed anger) is so much more powerful than him essentially not changing throughout the entire story especially when you consider that multiple times in canon Bruce has said that NIghtwing is better than Batman and what Batman was meant to be.

Jason ever the fan favorite and probably the person in the batfam that is misharacterized the most (in my opinion) is the next topic of discussion. Jason being the angry Robin takes so much away from his story and honestly I'm not vibing with it. One of Jason's notable lines as Robin is the phrase "Being Robin gives me magic!"you surely can't hear that and picture a violent criminal in the making. Jason being a street kid that jacks tires for a living but still being kind and childishly innocent makes him as Robin so much more interesting. Jason's drive to help people is obviously heavily influenced by his mother and how he took care of her up until her death. The tragedy of his mother's death is what drives Bruce to him. Of course Jason's process of becoming Robin wasn't immediate like a lot of people believe, Jason was actually sent to an all boys school for a short period of time before realizing they were a front for a crime ring he then helped Batman take down their operation. I feel like after seeing all that one would lose their faith in most people but Jason didn't remember he wasn't Robin until after this incident and he still was so happy and bright. The big turning point in Jason's story (from what I remember I haven't read the comics in a while) Batman suspects he pushes a man they were chasing off of a roof (I don't remember if it's ever made clear whether he did or not) this puts a pretty big strain on their relationship. Soon after all that goes down Jason finds out that the same mother he grew up with, the same mother he took care of, the same mother he watched die isn't actually his mother. The tense atmosphere between him and Bruce in combination for his yearning for answers leads him to run away to find her. When he meets her she sells him out to the Joker who subsequently beats him with a crowbar and leaves him to die in a warehouse that's rigged to blow up. Jason's mother is in the warehouse too and he does everything he can to save her. In the end they both die but when Batman questions her Jason's mom tells him that he tried to save her. In most modern iterations of Jason's death story his mother is written out and his death is pinned on him and his "impulsive and brash decisions". When Jason comes back to Gotham after his revival he seeks vengeance and is incredibly violent a very stark contrast to the bubbly kid that was just happy to be there. Two of his most notable actions as Red Hood are decapitating the lieutenants of the top crime lords and delivering them in a duffel bag and attacking Tim Drake the new Robin in Titans Tower. Jason's main drive for attacking Tim and becoming a crime lord is the fact that he died, he died as Robin and he didn't think that children should have to take on crime in the way Bruce did Jason decided that the best way to get rid of crime was to control it. The way Jason went from sunshine personified to a gritty crime lord who was willing to kill is what makes his story so interesting. The way an innocent child that got exposed to the darkness of the world and got swallowed by it is what makes the story so meaningful. In comparison to Dick, Jason is Batman's greatest failure he became the very thing Bruce tried to prevent him from being, a vengeful spirit that kills. In some ways Dick and Jason's stories are opposites and parallels.

Now for Dick and Jason's relationship. Despite what a lot of people think Dick didn't hate Jason when he first appeared (I think there was a point where Dick wanted to adopt Jason but I don't remember). Making Dick hate Jason as Robin sort of ruins both of their character arcs Dick evolved past his hatred and need for vengeance and thus adores Jason, Jason growing into someone so angry and hating Tim as Robin despite the fact that Dick showed him so much kindness makes everything hit so much harder.

In conclusion, this isn't really a huge deal but I've been thinking about it a lot recently. I've written and read fics where Jason was an angry Robin and Dick was a happy one. I've written and read fics where Dick hated Jason at first. Fandom is all about what fans do with a piece of media they like and at the end of the day the characters can be whoever you want them to be. Don't let this post uninspire you or make you feel called out if you enjoy the more fanon dynamics and personalities of these characters. Fee free to point out any inaccuracies to me it's been a while since I've read the comics.

#batfam #batman #jason todd #red hood #dick grayson #nightwing #dc comics #dc universe #batfamily #canon vs fanon #fandom #fanfic

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mustainegf · 14 days

Note

i neeeed young parents reader x james, maybe 1984-85 ?

I hope I understood this correctly!! I’m such a sucker for cute stuff like this, and 80s dad James?? Oh my godddd

In 1985, James and I were 23 years old, living life with the reckless abandon of youth.

James was riding the wave of Metallica's rising fame, and I was swept along in the chaos and excitement of it all.

Everything seemed perfect the way it was, until we found out I was pregnant. That news stopped us both in our tracks.

I remember the day I told James. He was tuning his guitar, his brow furrowed in concentration. When I told him, he just stared at me, his hands frozen on the strings.

There was a long silence, then he let out a breath and said, "Well, looks like we're gonna be parents." His voice was calm, but I could see the fear in his eyes.

We were both terrified, but there was no question, we were going to keep this baby.

By the time our daughter was born in 1986, everything had changed.

Metallica was on the cusp of releasing ‘Master of Puppets’, and James was busier than ever.

Despite the demands of his career, he was determined to be a good father.

When he was home, he was entirely devoted to our little girl.

James was adorable with her. He was this big, rough around the edges rock star, but when he held her, he was so gentle.

I would watch him trying to figure out how to change her diaper, his fingers fumbling with the tabs, and I couldn't help but laugh.

He'd grumble about how "diapers are more complicated than guitar," but he always managed to get it right in the end.

There were nights when she'd cry for hours, and James would get up, scoop her into his arms, and pace the floor, whispering lullabies in his gravelly voice.

Those moments made me fall in love with him all over again.

He was clumsy and inexperienced, but his heart was in it. He was head over heels for our daughter.

Being young parents was hard to say the least. We had so much to learn and so many adjustments to make.

James's schedule was unpredictable, and there were times when he had to leave for weeks on end.

Those were the hardest times, feeling like I was doing it all alone. But he always called, always checked in, and when he came home, he'd bring all his love back to us.

One evening, after a particularly long tour, James came home exhausted but beaming. He scooped our daughter up, twirling her around, her giggles filling the room.

She had just started to recognize him, her eyes lighting up whenever he walked in.

Seeing them together, seeing how much he adored her, made all the struggles worth it.

James wasn't perfect. He made mistakes, and there were times when his temper would flare, or he'd be too tired to help as much as he wanted. And same with me, we were sad too young to be parents, but we did it with pride.

But he was trying, and that meant everything. He was present, he was loving, and he was learning.

In those early days, amidst the chaos and the sleepless nights, we built something together. James would often say that our daughter was the best thing that ever happened to him, and I couldn't agree more.

She completed us, gave us a purpose.

The memory of the day our daughter was born is drawn vividly in my mind, as if it happened just yesterday.

Labor had been long and exhausting, and by the time I finally held our daughter in my arms, I was completely spent.

But when I looked at her tiny, perfect face, everything else faded away. She was here. She was ours.

When the nurse finally handed our daughter to James, I saw a transformation in him that I would never forget.

He took her so carefully, as if she were made of the most fragile glass, and for a moment, he just stared at her, his breath catching in his throat.

His hands, usually so confident and sure, trembled slightly as he cradled her close to his chest.

"Hi, babygirl," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm your daddy."

His eyes were bright with unshed tears. I saw him fight to keep his composure, to be strong, but the tears welled up anyway, spilling over and trailing down his cheeks.

It was a rare sight from James.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice breaking. "I promise I'll always protect you."

Our daughter, swaddled tightly in a soft blanket, let out a small, contented sigh, and it seemed to break whatever last bit of worry James had.

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, his tears falling onto her blanket.

I reached out, placing a hand on his arm, feeling the tremor that ran through him. "She's perfect, isn't she?" I whispered.

James nodded, unable to speak for a moment.

James couldn't seem to take his eyes off her, and I watched as he traced a finger lightly over her tiny hand, her delicate fingers curling around his. It was as if he was memorizing every detail.

"I can't believe she's real," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "She's so small...and I'm so scared I'll mess her up."

I squeezed his arm, offering what reassurance I could. "We'll figure it out. You're already doing great."

Many months later, Our apartment in San Francisco was modest, but it was ours. The walls were adorned with posters of Metallica and other bands, a reflection of James's world and our love of music.

The living room was a mishmash of instruments, baby toys, and scattered laundry.

It was late afternoon, and James was home after a week on the road.

He was determined to feed our daughter her dinner, giving me a chance to sit back and relax for a moment.

I sat on the couch, my legs curled under me, watching the scene unfold with amusement.

James had our daughter in her high chair, a small bowl of mashed peas in one hand and a bright yellow spoon in the other.

His eyebrows were drawn together in concentration, his tongue poking out slightly as he tried to scoop up the right amount of food.

Our daughter, with her chubby cheeks and bright eyes, was all smiles, clearly delighted to have her daddy home.

"Alright, little lady," James said in his gravelly voice, "here comes the airplane."

He made a buzzing noise, moving the spoon toward her mouth. But just as he got close, our daughter batted the spoon away with a giggle, sending peas flying.

James's face fell, and I couldn't help but laugh.

"Nice try, Daddy," I teased.

James shot me a mock glare. "You're not helping, you know."

I shrugged, unable to wipe the grin off my face. "You're doing great, rock star."

He rolled his eyes, but there was a smile tugging at his lips.

He scooped up more peas and tried again, this time managing to get a little bit into her mouth before she clamped her lips shut and turned her head, giggling and squealing.

"Oh, come on, kid," he said, trying to keep his frustration at bay. "You gotta eat something."

Our daughter had other plans.

She grabbed the spoon with her tiny hands and promptly dropped it on the floor, squealing with delight.

James let out a sigh, bending down to pick it up, only for it to be batted away again as soon as he held it up.

"You're killing me, kid," he muttered, though there was a shine in his eye.

I could see the love and patience in him, even as he struggled with something as simple as feeding her.

It was moments like this that reminded me why I fell in love with him. Despite the scary rock star exterior, James was tender and caring. The sweetest man I’d ever known.

I got up from the couch and walked over to them, picking up the spoon and wiping it clean. "Let me show you a trick," I said, taking a small spoonful of peas and gently holding it up to our daughter's lips.

She opened her mouth obediently, and I slipped the spoon in, her eyes lighting up.

James watched, shaking his head in mock defeat. "I swear, she's got it out for me."

I leaned over and kissed his cheek. "She just likes making you work for it. You're doing great, James. She loves you."

He smiled, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me close. "I love you too, you know."

Our daughter made a happy noise, flapping her hands as if to say she loved us too.

We were young and often unsure of what we were doing, but we had each other, and that was enough.

James leaned down, planting a kiss on our daughter's forehead. "Alright, little lady, let's try this again."

With determination, he picked up the spoon and attempted another round of feeding. This time, he was more successful, managing to get a few more bites in before the inevitable mess ensued.

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renjunniex · 1 month

Text

Thank You, For Being You

Isaac Lahey x Fem! Reader Series

Fury

Prompt: the killer now about to be revealed means things are about to get very interesting. how will y/n choose to deal with every problem she is currently facing?

a/n: heyyy guys, hehe.. I’m back. sorry for the long time away, it’s been… chaotic to say the least. I just barely finished the chapter before i posted it so it’s not edited so please excuse any and all mistakes. i plan to go in later and edit when i have a chance, just wanted to get a new chapter out since it’s been so long.

*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧

You never got to have your morning kiss and you were definitely not happy about it. The boys had called you to tell you to get to the police station as fast as you could.

"(Y/N), you need to get here NOW!" The voice of your sarcastic friend made you have to pull your phone away from your ear.

"Jeez, okay, I get it. But I can't leave, I can't find Derek and they're barely keeping themselves under control."

You felt a hand grabbed you wrist and you knew it was Isaac's, "Go, it'll be okay, I can handle everything." You sighed and nodded before confirming you would be at the station as fast as you could.

That's where you were now, the lady at the front desk had let you in. You found Scott, Stiles, and the Sheriff staring at the computer screen. "Okay, what was so important that I just had to be here," your hands were on your hips and they all looked at you.

"The one killing people is Matt," Scott said. You swore you felt your brain explode, "I'm sorry, what?"

"Look he's on the video tapes," Stiles pointed to the computer. "We don't know that it's him Stiles," His dad exclaimed. You walked out to the computer and looked on the screen, you saw a nurse walk up to the boy on camera, "Well, hey, someone talked to him. Maybe you should try to get a statement." They're heads snapped to you and then back at the screen. That's when you got to take a closer look at the nurse that was talking to the supposed Matt.

"Oh, my god," you gasped.

"He's talking to my mom," Scott said horror dripping from his voice.

Scott had called Melissa, under the request of Sheriff.

"Scott, you know how many people I deal with in a day."

"This one's sixteen. He's got dark hair, looks like a normal teenager," Scott expressed. "Yeah, he looks evil," called Stiles.

"Scott, I already talked to the police about this."

Scott got his phone out of his pocket, "Okay, Mom, I'm gonna take a picture and send it to you." He snapped the picture and texted it to Melissa. "Did you get it?"

"Yeah."

"Do you recognize him? Do you remember him?"

"Yeah, I did. I mean, I remember I stopped him because he was tracking mud in the hall. Scott, what's going on?"

"It's nothing, Mom. I'll explain later. I gotta go," Scott stuttered ending the call before bringing his attention back to you guys. Sheriff shuffled through papers until he came across the ones he was looking for, "Alright, we've got shoe prints alongside the tire tracks outside the trailer."

"And if they match, that puts Matt at the scene of the three murders," Stiles exclaimed.

"The trailer, the hospital, and the rave," you listed.

"Actually four," Sheriff corrected, "A credit card receipt for an oil change was signed by Matt at the garage where the mechanic was killed."

"When," asked Stiles.

"A couple hours before you got there."

"Alright, Dad, if one's an incident, two's a coincidence, and three's a pattern, what's four?"

"Four's enough for a warrant," Sheriff motioned to Scott, "Scott, call your mom back, see how quick she can get here. If I can get an official I.D., I can get a search warrant. Stiles, go to the front desk. Tell them to let Scott's mom in when she gets here."

Stiles dashed out the room, "On it!" Scott had started to call Melissa and with all the stress you couldn't help but pace around the room. "She's on her way here," you glanced up at Scott and then looked at Sheriff to see his expression change, "Sheriff, what's wrong-." When you turned in the direction his eyes were directed you saw Stiles come back in, only he wasn't alone. Matt was behind him, with a gun.

You moved slowly to Scott and Stiles while Sheriff began to try and talk to the striped shirt boy, "Matt? It's Matt, right? Matt, whatever's going on, I guarantee you there's a solution that doesn't involve a gun."

The boy waved the firearm around like it was a toy, "You know, it's funny you say that, because I don't think you're aware of just how right you are." You saw Stiles' head raise up slightly and despite the dangerous situation, you couldn't help the scowl that made its way onto your face.

"I know you don't want to hurt people," Sheriff tried to reason but something told you that reasoning wasn't going to get you anywhere, "Actually, I want to hurt a lot of people. You four weren't on my list, but I could be persuaded. And one way is to try dialing somebody on your cell phone, like McCall is doing. That could definitely get someone hurt. Everyone."

Stiles and you both turned your heads to Scott, who had pulled his hand out of his pocket. You took a deep breath as you felt your nerves shoot through the roof, your head was hurting. You knew you were losing control because of the spike in emotions. It must of been your intuition trying to take over.

Gripping your hands into themselves you tried to stay focus on the conversation, "Now!" The loud voice made you jump slightly, "Come on," Sheriff nudged his head you guys and you three threw your phones on the desk.

Matt had made Stiles handcuff Sheriff in the holding cell area, while you and Scott stood just barely off to the side. When he was satisfied with how tight the cuffs were set, he grabbed Stiles and jerked him forward causing Scott and you to follow close behind. You had reached a hallway and there were officers laying all across the floor, blood, from their fatal chest wounds, spattered all over the walls.

A loud gasp of horror spilled from you, your hand coming up to cover your mouth. "What, are you gonna kill everyone in here," Scott asked in horror.

"No, that's what Jackson's for," he answered, "I just think about killing them, and he does it." Matt roughly pushed your shoulder forward as he guided you back to the main office. He made Stiles go on to his dad's computer to delete any and all files having to do with him. Scott and you were given the job of destroying all physical files.

"Deleted. And we're done," Stiles stated pressing the key on the keyboard, "So, Matt, since all the people you brutally murdered deserved it because they killed you first, whatever that means, we're good here, right? I'll just get my dad, and we'll go, you know, you continue on the whole vengeance thing. Enjoy the Kanima."

Lights moved across the windows outside and you felt your breath stop, Melissa was here and there was really nothing you could to protect without risking everyone else. "Sounds like your mom's here, McCall," Matt taunted.

You shook your head while Scott had a destressed expression, "Matt, don't do this," he said, "When she comes to the door, I'll just tell her to leave. I'll tell her we didn't find anything. Please, Matt."

The door opened in the distance as Matt scoffed a laugh, "If you don't move now, I'm gonna kill Stiles first, then (Y/N), and then your mom."

Maybe it was the adrenaline but you couldn't stop yourself from barking back, "You try to put one finger on any of us, and I'll send you through the wall so hard you'll forget who you are." Matt's head cocked to side as if he didn't understand what you meant but even then you could tell he was holding a brave face.

He once again, dragged you three to the front of the Sheriff's office, "Open it," he directed. Scott didn't look towards the door but showed his hesitation, "Please."

"Open the door."

You could practically feel all three of your heartbeats erratic from fear. Scott slowly reached for the doorknob, turning it to reveal not Melissa, but Derek. "Oh, thank God," sighed the werewolf in relief. That relief wore off sooner than it appear as Derek fell to the floor in front of you, he had been paralyzed. Jackson walked into the room standing where the Alpha werewolf once was. His eyes rolled, turning into his usual terrifying slits.

Matt stood over Derek, "This is the one controlling him? This kid," Derek observed in his monotoned voice. "Well, Derek, not everyone's lucky enough to be a big bad werewolf. Oh yeah, that's right. I've learned a few things lately. Werewolves, hunters, Kanimas. It's like a fricking Halloween party every full moon. Except for you two. What do you turn into?"

"None of your business."

"Abominable snowman. But, uh, it's more of, like, a wintertime thing, you know, seasonal."

Matt especially didn't like Stiles' answer, he tipped his head and instantly Jackson's claw swiped the back of Stiles' neck sending him to the floor and onto of Derek. You and Scott made noises of protest only for Jackson to mock you by wagging his finger.

"You bitch."

"Get him off of me," Derek gritted.

Matt laughed at the sight, "Oh, I don't know Derek. I think you two make a pretty good pair. It must kind of suck, though, to have all that power taken away from you with just a little cut to the back of the neck. I bet you're not used to feeling this helpless."

"Still got some teeth," Derek quipped, "Why don't you get down here a little closer, huh? We'll see how helpless I am."

"Yeah, bitch," Stiles muttered out, his voice muffled.

More lights passed by and this time you knew it had to be Melissa. Matt had seen them too, calling out, "Is that her? Do what I tell you to and I won't hurt her. I won't even let Jackson near her."

"Scott don't trust him!"

Matt grabbed Stiles' shirt pulling him over and placing his foot on the boy's neck. "Stop, stop! Leave him alone!" Scott had to get a hold of you to keep you from making any sudden movements. Stiles gasped and gagged for air, his face turning red, "This work better for you?" Matt had gone into a stare down with you two and you were seconds from losing control at this point. "Okay, just stop! Stop," Scott pleaded.

"Then do what I tell you to."

You glared at the boy, the amount of hatred you felt in this moment was unlike any other, "Let. Him. Go." You voice sounded so different and you couldn't tell if it was just your imagination or not. "Okay," Scott urged, "Alright, Stop!" The foot on Stiles' neck was released and the boy desperately gasped for air. Matt nudged his head in a direction as he commanded Jackson, “You, take him in there.”

“You…” Matt’s eyes locked onto Scott once more, “With me.” You had no ability to react as Matt grabbed your arm and twisted it behind your back, preventing you from doing anything as he made you walk in front of him. He guided you both to the front where Melissa came into the police station.

“Mom?”

Melissa sighed at the sound of Scott’s voice and made her way around the corner, “You scared me, where is every…” She stopped speaking when her eyes fell on you both, Scott in front with Matt’s gun pointing at the back of his head and you locked in position guarding Matt’s body. “Mom, just do what he says he promised he wouldn’t hurt you.” Frozen from the shock of the situation you just stood silently your head hanging slightly. “He’s right,” Matt confirmed. Everything felt slow, your ears began to ring and your mind tried its best to process the next few seconds.

You watched as Scott hunched over and Melissa cover her mouth as you assumed she screamed, you didn’t know. Your ears were buzzing like a bomb had gone off right next to you. The smell of gunpowder filled your nose and the sight of smoke covered your vision. Tears seeped from your eyes and dripped down your cheeks. Rationally speaking, Scott was going to be okay, being supernatural had those perks but your brain didn’t seem to register that in the moment. You pulled your arms down trying to release the grip Matt had on you but that only resulted in you having a gun pointed at your head.

“Back, back!”

Matt screamed his voice making the loud bells in your ears ring more, “Mom! Mom, stop, Mom!” Scott covered his wound, the pain making him wince. “Scott,” Melissa said shakily. You felt Matt bang the side of your head harder with the barrel of the gun, “I said get back, unless you want me to blow her head off,” Matt spit venomously. You heard Sheriff called from the holding cells and it caused an explosive reaction from the troubled boy.

“Everyone shut up! Shut the hell up! Now get up or I shoot her next!”

Your eyes closed instinctively, you heard the rustling of Scott’s clothes as he stood slowly. Matt forced Melissa into a cell, she stood at the bars her face covered in her running makeup from her tears. You and Scott stood off to the side, both not moving afraid to cause everyone else to get hurt. You held up Scott as best as you could, your hand also covering his gun wound putting pressure the best you could.

“Please, he needs to see a doctor,” Melissa pleaded.

“You think so?” Matt whispered back.

Sheriff yanked on the handcuff keeping him on the wall, “Hey! Hey, you listen to me!”

Scott interrupted to reassure both his mom and the Sheriff, “It’s alright, I’m okay.” Melissa could handle her son’s words as she shook her head in denial, “No, honey, you’re not okay.” Scott continued on to tell her it didn’t hurt, Melissa again denying her son’s words saying it’s the adrenaline talking, she pleaded once more with Matt to let her stop the bleeding. It only caused Matt to look at you both taunting you, “They have no idea do they?”

“Please. Just let me take a quick look at him!”

“Shut up! Shut up! Lady if you keep talking, I’m gonna put the next bullet through his head.” Melissa finally conceded and Matt order you both to the front.

Your heart raced, sweat dripping down your temple as your mind ran through every possible outcome. So far, not a single solution came to you, at least not one that allowed for most of you to get out of here alive. If only you knew of some kind of spell or chanting that could get you to call for help. Maybe a way to send a message mentally?

Every thought in your brain was cut off as Matt pushed you into Scott, nearly falling on your face had the werewolf not had caught you himself.

“The evidence is gone. Why don’t you just go?” Scott stressed to Matt.

“You think the evidence mattered that much, huh?” Your eyebrows scrunched at Matt’s reply, which only got you a look of annoyance back from him. “No, no, I want the book.”

The bestiary? Why would he need the Argent’s log of every creature?

You soon found out when Scott asked your same thought out loud and Matt lifted his shirt to show his ribs now scaly, reflecting the same sickly greenish gray that the Kanima did. You grimaced at the sight as if just the picture of it made you ill, which it practically did after everything you’ve been through this semester because of it.

You felt a grip on your arm pulling you more into a different room, Scott not far in front of you. You jolted as the cold metal of the gun Matt held to you touch your skin. Scott grimaced, leaning against the desk as he kept his palm on his bullet wound. You tugged at Matt’s grip on your forearm, “Let me try and heal him please,” you pleaded with not an ounce of venom in your words. Nothing but pure fear dripped from your lips, it was truly the first moment in your life that you felt helpless. Nothing, not Peter, not Derek, not even the death of your parents made you feel as useless as slowly watching Scott, who should be able to heal, die.

Matt tugged you away from Scott, twisting your arm as he spoke, “You know, I feel sorry for you, McCall, cause right now you’re thinking, ‘How am I gonna explain this when it heals?’ And the sad part is you don’t even realize how incredible it is that you actually are healing.”

Matt’s eyes were probably as wide as saucers, you hear the frothing that seeped from his mouth as malice flew with his words, “Cause you know what happens to everyone else when they get shot? They DIE.”

You flinched at his tone, trembling as the coldness that came with fear froze every nerve in your body. You couldn’t believe you were even thinking about this but in this moment you wished Isaac was here. Not even because you thought he could protect you from everything but just because you wanted him near you. As much as he continually pissed you off, now that he was working with you guys his presence had become much more comforting.

“Is that what happened to you,” Scott had cut off your panicked thoughts with his question to Matt. “You drowned, didn’t you?”

You watched as Matt took a shaky breath, “He shouldn’t have let them drink,” he muttered. Scott gave him a confused look, “What? Who? Matt, what do you mean?”

Matt’s voice boomed making you flinch once more, “LAHEY! He shouldn’t have let them drink.”

“Who was drinking,” you asked softly. Matt scoffed stepping forward a little, “The swim team you idiots!”

“I didn’t what was happening! I didn’t know that they had just won state, and Lahey, he’s letting his favorites come over to have a couple drinks to celebrate. Who cares if they’re seventeen, right?”

Your eyebrows scrunched up at Matt recounted his story, “Were you at Isaac’s?”

“He had this first edition Spider-Man, or was it Batman? And we were gonna make a trade. But then I’m over there and I hear music. And everyone’s having a good time and I see Sean. He throws Jessica in the pool. And then Bennett goes in and.. and…”

“Bennett, the hunter,” Scott interrupted his monologue. Matt ignored his question, nodding his attention on the floor, his eyes blurry from the light pool of tears he was started to collect.

“And then Camden. Isaac’s jarhead brother, he grabs me. He thinks it’s funny.”

You eyes widened in realization, the fear in your mind clearing when you connected the thoughts, “They threw you in.”

“I yelled that I can’t swim, but nobody listens. I go under and I swallow water,” Matt describes in detail, sweat dripping from his temples, “and no one cares. And I see these bodies underwater. I see Jessica’s got her hands down Sean’s board shorts. Tucker’s grabbing Kara. And I’m drowning. I’m dying, and they’re laughing. All of a sudden, I’m lying by the pool. And Lahey is right there right above me and he says…”

“You tell no one! This, this is your fault! You don’t know how to swim? What little bastard doesn’t know how to swim? You say nothing! You tell no one! NO ONE!”

“And I didn’t. I didn’t tell anyone. And I would see them at school and they wouldn’t even look at me. I’d wake up in the middle of the night, I’d gasp for breath. And my parents,” Matt spit out his story like he could taste the horrible memory, “They thought I was asthmatic. They even gave me an inhaler. They didn’t know that every time I closed my eyes, I was drowning.”

Matt finally turned to you and Scott, as if his trance had been broken, “You know about that little white light that they talk about, you see when you die? Well I didn’t see anything. Just darkness. Everything was dark. But then.. Then came the Argent’s funeral, and everything changed. I was taking some photos and they completely by accident, Lahey gets in one of the photos. I look down at the screen of my camera and I just had this unbelievable rage that fills up inside of me and I just… I look at him and I… I wanna see him dead.”

There was a moment of silence from Matt and that’s when you realized you had a tear trailing down your cheek. Was it for Matt, Mr. Lahey, maybe? Even despite what each of them have done, the raw emotion coming from Matt must have triggered some type of reaction from you.

“And the next day, he actually was. You know, Einstein was right. Imagination is more important than knowledge. It was like something out of Greek mythology.” He began to pace as he ranted some more and you took the chance to step closer to Scott, your hand coming to clench at Scott’s now bloodied shirt. “Like… Like the furies coming down to punish Orestes.”

He gave Scott an unimpressed look upon seeing the dull expression on Scott’s face, “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

“Was he the guy who stabbed out his eyes?”

Matt’s face turned red as he marched up to Scott and you, waving around the pistol in his hand, “God, that’s Oedipus, you dumbass!” Clenching Scott’s shirt tighter in your hand, you jumped as Matt’s gun waved right in your face. “The furies are deities of vengeance,” you whispered, your voice shaky with horror.

Matt without so much as a beat of pause, continued on “Their tears ran of blood and they had snakes for hair. If a crime that had gone unpunished, the furies would do the punishing.” Matt looked off in the distance where Jackson stood, hovering practically on top of Stiles and Derek. “Jackson is my fury.”

“When I saw him the next night, it was like this bond had been cemented between the two of us. I knew he had killed Lahey for me, and I knew he would do it again. So I went to Tucker’s garage. I even paid for an oil change, and guess what? He didn’t even recognize me. So when he wasn’t looking, I took a shot of him with my camera. And in a few hours, he was dead.”

Matt grew this satisfied smirk on his lips as he glanced at both you and Scott, “So I took more pictures. All I had to do was take their picture and Jackson would take their life.”

As if on cue with the end of Matt’s speech, the lights began to flicker on and off. The alarm system sounding from the malfunctioning of the lights. Matt freaked out from the sudden obstruction, “What’s that? What’s going on?”

He pointed the gone at both of you as Scott tried to assure him that you two didn’t know what was happening. A light scanned across Matt’s face and when you looked out all you saw were burly men with automatics before they began shooting into the window. Without thinking, you grabbed Scott by the back of his shirt and pulled him back out of the line of sight. Glass flung everywhere, scraping against your arms. In your haziness you barely heard the sound of a clank before the fog grenade exploded.

Scott took off with the knowledge that now you two were hidden, his hand in yours as you both ran towards the door, smoke filling your lungs. You saw the glint of Jackson’s half turned figure within the smoke and you took a chance. You flung your arm to the side casting a blast that smacked Jackson into the wall, giving you both enough time to get to Derek and Stiles. Scott went to Stiles and you to Derek only for you to be pushed away from the now almost healed man.

“Take him. Go!” The Alpha werewolf commanded, you scrambled up just behind Scott and Stiles, leaving Derek behind. Jackson recovered finally, walking after you three. You ushered the boys into the hallway of many doors, closing each one behind you to gain even just a spare second away from Jackson. It was short lived considering how rapidly the lizard boy smashed each barrier. You turned once more this time not just closing the door but sending another blast into Jackson’s chest. It sent him back just long enough for you to slam the door closed once more.

Scott set Stiles down somewhere safe, considering that he still couldn’t move, Stiles would only slow you guys down. “Don’t move,” you said dumbly. Stiles gave you a straight and unamused look, Scott sighed, “You know what she means.” Stiles head slinked down when Scott finally let go of him and you two rushed out the door, closing it quietly to hide your location within the station as best as possible.

Scott ran ahead, you only a few feet behind, when you smashed into his back from an abrupt stop. Allison was the reason for the stop, her cross bow pointing directly at Scott’s face. You figured it was from the tense situation, that is until she spoke with such venom.

“Allison,” Scott breathed in surprise.

The dark haired girl disregarded his tone, “Where’s Derek?”

You looked at her with concern, “What are you doing?” Allison did nothing to acknowledge your existence, “If you’re not going to tell me, then get out of my way.” You could feel the sadness start to radiate off the werewolf as he whispered her name once more only to get cut off, “Where is he?” Her words laced with such venom even made you shiver.

“What happened,” Scott asked once again, this time taking a step towards her. She raised her crossbow again, practically pushing it into his chest, “Scott…” Her voice hissed at him, “Scott, you need to stay away from me right now. You need to go. Just stay out of my way.”

Allison pushed passed Scott her shoulder brushing against yours. You tried to reach out to her, calling softly, “All-.”

“Back off.”

It became hard to breathe for a moment as you watched one of your best friends brush you off so coldly, so callously, as if you didn’t even matter to her.

Reality was brought back to you as Scott gripped your forearm gently, leading you through the still foggy police station. You could hear Sheriff yelling as he tried to most likely free himself, with the frighten encouragement of Melissa. Shortly after you hear the terrified shriek of your only mother figure. Scott and you made eye contact before rushing faster through the halls. You found the Kanima hanging along the bars of Melissa’s cell and Derek on the ground. Scott unleashed his claw, piercing the scaly flesh, grabbing ahold of Jackson’s lizard form and threw him on the ground.

Melissa made relief gasps as she saw that you and Scott were okay, “Scott…” She breathed for a second, “Oh, god Scott are you okay,” she cried through her worried tears.

You stood just in front of Scott as the Kanima stood once more, lunging at you. Without a second thought, you felt your eyes flash, your left hand raising to smack the Kanima’s scaly forehead. Your magical glow ringed out in a ripple effect, making the creature stumble from the force of your power. With the extra bit of time, you placed your right hand of his chest and blasted him back. The loud boom from your power echoed in the holding cell room. It gave just enough time for Derek to recover as he snarled, jumping the desk and chasing after the escaping lizard monster.

While your abilities may have saved you and Scott from the scaly claws of paralysis, it did nothing to aid you in the fear in Melissa’s voice. “Scott? Y/N?” She called clearly terrified and exhausted. Your eyes hadn’t stopped glowing from the amped up power you just displayed but it wasn’t like that was the only thing that gave you away. You slowly turned, flinching as Scott rose and you witnessed Melissa’s scared expression. She backed away into the shadows of her cell, as if to try and disappear from the monsters that were her kids.

Monsters.

Huh?

You had never truly felt any different to how you were before until you saw the look on Melissa’s face, the only mother you’ve known since you were just a little kid and she looks at you like you had just crawled out of the depths of hell.

Scott looked at Melissa like a frightened puppy but eventually left, running off to catch up with Jackson and Derek you had assumed. You on the hand stayed frozen staring at the woman with a longing for comfort. You didn’t get it as she continued to shake her head and whisper a cry of, “No!” A tear whisked its way down your face as you stepped closer to the bars, your hands wrapping around the rusted metal. Melissa quickly turned, holding herself as if to hide from you.

“Mom, please,” you whimpered, your eyes cloudy from tears. When you got no response in return, you did the same as your best friend, turned and ran away.

*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧

a/n: …um was that good for a sad ending? idk lol i guess let me know. Hope you guys enjoyed!

taglist: @somiaw @vvicaddiction @mushroomelephant @breadbrobin @traumverloren-anderswelt @fandom-princess-forevermore @vanessa-boo @mxltifxnd0m @thepopcultureaddict @rachlovesactors

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